"We think the flowers on the cliff wall are beautiful because we ourselves are standing on that cliff wall. There's no need to be afraid, because like the flowers, our feet have never stepped outside."
The moon reflected in water, flowers reflected in a mirror—when truth and illusion are tangled together, who can really tell them apart? And why insist on separating them so clearly?
Humans are nothing more than apes dressed in splendid clothing. Gods are merely humans who are very good at pretending.
Soul Society.
Shin'ō Academy.
A certain calligraphy instructor responsible for teaching "calligraphy," who also happened to moonlight as the captain of the Fifth Division of the Gotei Thirteen, kindly took advantage of another graduating class to show everyone his Zanpakutō—and, in passing, silently carried out a little "hypnosis test" on all of them. Then, smiling gently, he bid everyone farewell and returned to the Fifth Division barracks.
He made his way to his desk, spread out a sheet of pure white paper, dipped his brush in ink, and wrote a large, elegant character for "tranquility" in the center.
This "tranquility" character didn't have the sharp, forceful strokes one might expect. Instead, it was graceful and refined, much like the man himself… and deeply admired and praised by his students.
"Captain Aizen is kind, handsome, gentle, thoughtful, and always knows how to care about everyone's feelings. He really is the perfect man…"
More than one lovestruck female student had privately blurted out such shameless nonsense. Some of them were even bold enough to stare at him with sparkling eyes right to his face. And every time, Aizen would respond with the same warm smile.
It was as though he had always been that way, and always would be—never showing any emotion that might diminish that carefully maintained image of "gentleness," not anger, not mockery, not envy, not even… the faintest trace of sadness.
But today, when Ichimaru Gin pushed open the door and entered Aizen's office, finding him continuing to write one "tranquility" character after another across sheet after sheet of blank paper, the former lieutenant of the Fifth Division—now officially the captain of the Third Division—slid both hands into the wide sleeves of his robe, cast Aizen a sidelong glance with narrowed eyes, and said, "Well, this is rare. I haven't seen you write that character in a hundred years. Let me guess…"
"Your heart…"
"is unsettled."
The man, who likened himself to a snake—cold-skinned, emotionless, existing only to seek out prey and swallow it whole—said it in his Kansai drawl with complete certainty.
Aizen's brown hair draped down his back. Compared to Gin's sleek, pale lavender short hair, it looked just a little more fierce. But Aizen said nothing. He simply continued writing the character for "tranquility," occasionally pushing up the black-rimmed glasses resting on his nose so they wouldn't slide down, all while letting Gin go on.
"Hm… there aren't many things that can throw our Captain Aizen into disorder…"
"Let me think…"
At one point, Gin suddenly stopped mid-sentence and said, "Is it related to the Head Captain?"
At that, Aizen's brush paused. Gin's thin eyes immediately narrowed further in understanding.
"So that's it. Everyone's been saying the Head Captain's been acting strange lately. Looks like… there really is something wrong with him."
"Gin."
Aizen drew out the final horizontal stroke of the character so long that it ruined the balance of the whole piece.
Then, for once, the captain of the Fifth Division—who always wore the mask of a warm, easygoing gentleman—pushed up his black-rimmed glasses, raised his head, and looked at Gin.
"Do not speak recklessly about the Head Captain."
Gin's pale lavender hair swayed slightly. He tucked his right hand back into his sleeve and replied in a casual tone, "I'm just curious. Aren't you curious too?"
Aizen remained silent. He pulled over a fresh sheet of paper and resumed writing "tranquility," replying without even looking up, "You know where the Third Division barracks are better than I do."
"The door is behind you."
"I won't see you out."
Ichimaru Gin: "..."
His narrow eyes curved slightly.
After a brief silence, he slowly turned and left.
Creak.
The office door opened and shut again. From outside came the faint sound of someone greeting the captain, followed by the arrival of Hinamori Momo—her hair tied up in her usual bun-like style, dressed in a standard Shinigami uniform, the lieutenant's insignia of the Fifth Division pinned to her left shoulder. She carried a basket of peaches in her arms and quietly set it down at the corner of his desk.
"Captain, have some peaches."
"They're sweet." The petite girl, who was still every bit the little cutie, blinked her large brown eyes and chirped adorably.
Aizen, who had been slightly displeased by Gin's earlier probing, finally showed a trace of a smile on his handsome face and said warmly, "Just leave them there. I'll eat them."
Momo nodded eagerly. Then she leaned over the edge of the desk, looked at the sheet where Aizen had written "tranquility" again and again, and blurted out, "Huh? Captain, you haven't written this character in forever."
"Has it really been that long?" Aizen stopped writing.
"A really long time. Let me count…" Momo started counting on her fingers.
Aizen simply watched her with a smile. After a moment, she said, "It's been a hundred years!"
Without changing expression, Aizen set the brush back on its rest and looked out through the window. Soul Society lay beneath the evening glow as it always had. A ripple passed through his gaze as he recalled that very same day a hundred years ago…
The day he used hundreds of souls with Shinigami powers to create an incomplete Hōgyoku.
The day he laid hands on the young Rangiku Matsumoto, drawing Gin into his world as a result.
And the day he became absolutely certain that he could surpass the limits of a Shinigami.
Aizen stared out the window, momentarily motionless.
Momo bit into a peach with a crunch and waved a pale hand in front of his face.
"Hey, Captain, what are you thinking about? You look so far away…"
The young Shinigami, childhood friend of Hitsugaya Tōshirō, was clearly still childish in some ways… just a little too lively.
She kept eating peach after peach like a squirrel, cheeks puffed out. Aizen came back to himself, reached out, and gently rubbed her little head.
"Yeah… what am I thinking about?" he murmured, sounding half reflective, half evasive.
Why is my heart unsettled?
Gin was right.
Aizen turned his gaze toward the part of Seireitei where the First Division barracks lay, his eyes darkening as he whispered inwardly, It's because of you… Head Captain.
Someone as steady and immovable as you for over two thousand years—how could you suddenly start zoning out? How could you suddenly lose focus?
Or is there something… something, or someone, beyond my knowledge, drawing your attention?
Aizen's eyes narrowed sharply.
Or perhaps… someone?
Crunch.
Another peach disappeared into Momo's stomach.
Feeling the warmth of his hand on her head, the little lieutenant shyly handed him a peach too.
"C-Captain… you should eat one too."
Aizen: "All right."
He took the peach and bit into it. Crisp. Sweet.
But the taste didn't bring his thoughts back. They drifted farther away, like the spiritual wind sweeping through all of Soul Society, hanging there in the distance, fixed firmly on the place where the First Division stood.
And for a long while, they refused to return.
Whoosh.
The wind blew—out of Seireitei, through the clear sky…
out of the Demon Slayer world, through the deep midnight darkness.
Midnight.
Demon Slayer world.
One old man and one young man stood high in the sky, their backs to the moonlight. Now that Roy had drawn in his radiant Nen-light, the two of them were reduced to no more than two tiny black dots against the heavens, disappearing from the sight of the people below.
"The… the sun vanished… The great Sun God has returned to His divine kingdom. May you bless my son / my wife / my father / my mother with health and peace…"
"And me too."
"Me as well."
"Me too."
"Namu Amida Butsu. Praise the Sun…"
Worship, prayer, devotion—countless living beings kept providing [Faith Power] in an endless stream, accompanied by the constant system notifications ringing in Roy's ears.
Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni stood there with Ryūjin Jakka resting in his hand. He only had to casually glance downward once, and his spiritual pressure, carried by the night breeze, swept across the earth. In that instant, he sensed it all—men and women, young and old, all living, breathing people… all sincerely bowing to the boy, grateful to him from the bottom of their hearts.
So could this still be called "Kyōka Suigetsu"?
Yamamoto turned to Roy and said gravely, "The eyes of the people do not lie. Their sincere worship is real, and the trembling of their souls can be seen plainly enough. Therefore…"
"Young man, do not mistake my age for failing sight."
Yamamoto's white beard was braided neatly, almost reaching his feet.
A casual glance from those old eyes of his carried enough force to awe without anger. He stood there holding the cane that concealed Ryūjin Jakka, quietly watching Roy.
Roy calmly glanced at his panel.
[Panel Notice: [Faith Power] +0.0001 +0.0001 +0.002…]
[Current [Faith Power]: 578]
And it was still rising rapidly.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. As he released the hand clasped behind his back, a strand of his flame-red hair fell forward, slipping down in front of his nose.
"You overestimate me, Head Captain."
"With your experience and insight, how could I possibly dare deceive you? I only did a few small things for them before this, nothing worth mentioning…"
According to the original course of the Demon Slayer story, even if Roy had never intervened, the Demon Slayer Corps with Tanjiro's arrival would likely have slain Muzan and wiped out the demons within the next two or three years, bringing peace to the night.
"No. Whether it is small or great isn't for you to decide," Yamamoto said. His scarred old face silently told the story of a brutal past. His gaze swept over faces—Kyojuro Rengoku, Kagaya Ubuyashiki, Gyōmei Himejima, and every ordinary person kneeling on the earth below. "They decide that."
Roy fell silent.
This time, he did not argue.
He accepted it openly, and with gratitude.
"That, too, is what I hoped for." Standing with the bright moon behind him, looking down over the earth, the flame-haired boy said, "If I could bring them even the slightest bit of hope, that would be enough."
Yamamoto nodded in approval. "Then it seems this world, like the living world, has also endured suffering."
The living world had Hollows—fallen souls unwilling to disappear, tearing open Garganta and wreaking havoc upon mankind.
The Demon Slayer world had demons, devouring humans in the dark of night.
But that was all in the past now. Those days had gone like drifting smoke, not worth dwelling on any longer.
Roy steadied himself, then turned to look at Yamamoto, his gaze lingering on the cane in the old man's hand.
All things in the universe were destined to become ashes—Ryūjin Jakka was a blade worth beholding.
"It's called Ryūjin Jakka," Yamamoto said in a low voice, noticing Roy's glance. He held the cane level and gently stroked its length, as though touching a lover.
Roy followed the movement of his fingers and took a slow breath. "I know."
One of Yamamoto's white brows rose. "I don't know that you know."
Roy replied, "I know that you don't know that I know."
Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni: "..."
Visibly, a cross-shaped vein bulged on his forehead, as vicious as the scar slashing across his face.
The old man stared at Roy dangerously. "Brat! In two thousand years, you're the first one who's dared speak to me like that!"
"And the others?"
"They're dead!"
He had lived for two thousand years, and fought for two thousand years. The man who became Head Captain had earned the title in blood.
Roy fell silent.
Facing Yamamoto head-on, feeling the volcanic force hidden in that withered body, he admitted honestly, "If I said I didn't mean to, would you believe me?"
"You're already here. Whether I believe you or not doesn't matter." Yamamoto's white beard swayed in the wind. "Draw your blade. A sword that has become a blazing sun should not remain hidden. It should shine openly in all directions."
Boom!
An overbearing, scorching, utterly unreasonable wave of spiritual pressure tore through the darkness, ripped apart the moonlight, and came roaring toward Roy.
Splinters flew.
The moment Ryūjin Jakka saw the moonlight, it broke free from the cane that concealed it, revealing its true form in a single motion. Yamamoto seized it at once and leveled the blade point straight at Roy's face.
Combined with that spiritual pressure, it was enough to make Roy feel as though he had dropped straight into the deepest hell. Even his breathing grew sharper.
Draw the blade! Draw it! Draw it!
"At your invitation, Head Captain, I answer gladly!"
A sword-cry rang out.
Ring!
A blazing sun shot into the heavens.
[Eclipse] trembled as Roy manifested it. In the first second it turned red, in the second it ignited, in the third it erupted into roaring flames.
As Roy threw open every aura node in his body and unleashed [Ren] in full force to resist Yamamoto's crushing spiritual pressure—
at that very midnight hour,
another miracle appeared.
The night sky was illuminated once more. Only this time, it was no longer one sun hanging above the heavens—
but two.
One founded in Nen.
One sustained by spiritual pressure.
In an instant, even the moon behind them grew dim.
Crash—
All across the world, the men, women, old, and young who had only just gotten back up from the ground, only just resumed their lives after Roy had earlier drawn in his Nen and restored the night, were caught once more by the blinding light pouring through their windows.
They froze.
Then they ran outside in a panic and looked up at the sky.
Every single one of them stood there dumbfounded, their minds going blank.
"Two… two suns?!"
~~~
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