XX-level Hokage

Shaking.

My soul was stolen? Silver... was it for me?

This truth, which she had never dared to imagine, was now being presented to her in the most cruel and direct way, in a bloody manner by Mashiro.

"Now, do you still think that our promise was just an accident?" Mashiro looked at her, her eyes deep and complex. Rangiku could no longer suppress her emotions; she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

The cries contained shock, regret, heartache for Yin, and even more so, deep self-reproach for a century of ignorance.

Mashiro didn't comfort her; she simply waited quietly for Rangiku to release the pain that had been building up in her heart for a hundred years. After a long while, when Rangiku's crying gradually subsided, leaving only suppressed sobs, Mashiro finally spoke again.

Her voice carried an irresistible, fate-like allure. "Rangiku, stay with me."

Rangiku slowly raised her head, her face, streaked with tears, filled with a bewildered expression.

“Become mine.” Mashiro stared at her, his eyes filled with an undisguised possessiveness befitting a powerful man. “And then, I’ll grant you two requests.”

“First,” Mashiro held up a finger, her voice filled with absolute confidence, “I will ensure that Gin Ichimaru lives.” Rangiku’s pupils dilated sharply.

“Second,” Mashiro extended a second finger, a mysterious smile playing on her lips, “I will take back that stolen piece of your soul, and make you whole again.”

Mashiro's promise, like two divine pronouncements, struck Rangiku's heart hard.

Silver...can he survive? I...can become whole again?

This was something she wouldn't even dare to dream of!

Looking at Mashiro before her, at her confident yet profound eyes, a storm raged within her. This was a deal.

A deal in which she gave herself in exchange for her lifelong wish...

Could she believe it? Could this woman, who seemed like a devil and saw through everything about her, really do it? She didn't know.

However, the longing in her heart, the longing for Silver to live, the longing for wholeness, was like a wildfire that instantly burned away all her reason.

Perhaps... only this woman can completely save her from this century-long torment.

Rangiku slowly lowered her hands from her face. Looking at Mashiro, her eyes, red and swollen from crying, revealed a mixture of embarrassment, shyness, and helplessness.

Helplessness, pain... in the end, all transformed into a kind of all-or-nothing, complete acceptance.

She didn't speak, but slowly extended her trembling hand towards Mashiro. Upon seeing this, Mashiro's face broke into a satisfied, victorious smile.

She took Rangiku's hand, pulled her into her arms, and then lowered her head to seal away all her unspoken words with a kiss that carried both possessiveness and promise.

"A wise choice, my dear Rangiku." Shiro's lips whispered a final murmur in Rangiku's ear, "From this day forward, you, and everything you desire, will belong to me."

The moonlight outside the window, cool and clear as water, illuminated the two figures tightly embracing in the corner.

Chapter 261: Her (Part 1)

As Mashiro's figure slowly stepped out of the carelessly torn "black cavity," the cold wind of Hueco Mundo, like a waiting attendant, carried a familiar scent.

Deathly silence and desolation enveloped her in an instant.

The wind had no temperature, but it carried the unique chill of Hueco Mundo, a chill that seemed capable of freezing spiritual pressure. When it brushed past her hair, even the spiritual particles floating in the air seemed to freeze.

She looked down at her feet and saw an endless white desert—the sand was so fine it was like crushed bone ash, and there was no sound when she stepped on it. Every step felt like treading on countless vanished, illusory remains.

Looking up, the dark moon overhead was broken like a gnawed jade plate, its pale light spilling onto the sea of ​​sand, turning the whole world into a monotonous gray-white. There were no clouds, no stars, only eternal deathly silence shrouding this land.

This is Hueco Mundo, a world filled with "nothingness"—a world devoid of life, color, and where even the passage of time seems exceptionally slow.

For a Shinigami who enters for the first time, this is a forbidden zone that can make the soul tremble, a place of despair where even spiritual pressure can be swallowed up; but for Mashiro, this desolation is more like a "landscape" that has been deliberately preserved in her "garden" that spans the three realms—it has a primitive and unrefined "beauty" and is a backyard that she occasionally uses to sort out her thoughts.

She didn't even need to use her spiritual pressure to sense it; her gaze had already pierced through the white sand and she could clearly "see" the magnificent yet eerie palace at the end of the sand sea—the Void Palace.

The black dome gleamed with a cold, hard sheen under the pale moonlight, the palace's silhouette resembling a lurking beast, exuding an ominous aura that sent chills down the spine. Further away, atop the throne at the very top of the palace, a familiar yet strange spiritual pressure lay dormant, as if it had already sensed her arrival.

A destined meeting awaits there.

"Oh dear, it seems my student has more backbone than I imagined." Mashiro smiled slightly, a smile without hostility, but with a hint of amusement and appreciation—she had already guessed that Aizen wouldn't run away, but she hadn't expected him to stay in Hueco Mundo so decisively, waiting for the final confrontation.

Instead of immediately heading towards the Palace of the Void, she turned and walked in the opposite direction. Her steps were unhurried, and her skirt swept across the white sand without creating a ripple.

Before having her final "graduation talk" with that "failed student," she wanted to see her "little pet" in Hueco Mundo—the Arrancar she hadn't seen in a long time, the one she had pulled out of her predicament.

Outside the Hueco Mundo, a forgotten ruin stands silently.

The crumbling walls and ruins outlined a broken silhouette under the moonlight, and the stone pillars still bore the cracks from the battles of yesteryear. This was once the "home" of Nelielu du Odeschvank and her subordinates Pesser Kadische and Dondochaka Birstein—before she was betrayed by Nnoitra and before she lost her powers and turned into a child, this was her only refuge in Hueco Mundo.

At this moment, Nelliel, who has regained her adult form, is sitting on a broken stone pillar.

Her long, dark green hair swayed gently in the cold wind, the ends trembling slightly; her usually innocent emerald green eyes were now shrouded in a thick, unyielding fog, so deep that it was impossible to discern her emotions.

Her gaze was fixed on the direction of Hueco Mundo, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing, pain, and confusion. She didn't even notice when Pesser and Dondochaka walked up to her.

“Lady Nereil…you’ve been sitting here for a long time.” Pei Xue spoke cautiously, his voice full of worry—ever since regaining her memories and power, Nereil had often been lost in thought like this, the heaviness in her eyes something they had never seen before.

Dondochaka nodded in agreement, his thick hands gripping the hem of his clothes tightly: "Yes, Lady Nilu, it's windy here, let's find somewhere to take shelter first."

“I’m fine,” Nelielu replied softly, her voice slightly hoarse, but her gaze remained fixed on Hueco Mundo.

Ichigo Kurosaki's appearance was like a sharp key, unlocking her long-sealed memories—she remembered her glory as the 30th Espada, the days she spent alongside her subordinates, Nnoitra's face filled with jealousy and cruelty, Szayelaporro's morbid smile, and the woman who liberated her from her child form and then mysteriously influenced the course of the battle at a crucial moment.

Just then, a lazy and teasing voice suddenly rang out from the ruins, breaking the deathly silence: "What? My little pet, are you reminiscing?"

Is this your departed throne?

Neriel's body stiffened abruptly, her spiritual pressure instantly tightening—she couldn't mistake that voice! She slowly turned around in disbelief, only to see Mashiro...

She didn't know when he had appeared not far behind her, his white coat swaying gently in the cold wind, his face still bearing that ambiguous smile, as if he had been standing there from the very beginning, but she had never noticed.

“Masashiro-sama…” Nelielu’s voice trembled slightly, not with fear, but with awe from the depths of her soul. The woman before her was an absolute powerhouse, the one who gave her “new life,” and also the one who made her instinctively feel insignificant.

Pesser and Dondochaka were so frightened that they immediately hid behind Nelliel, their bodies trembling and not daring to breathe—they had seen Mashiro's power from afar, a power that could shake Hueco Mundo, and now, facing it up close, they felt as if their spiritual pressure was about to be frozen.

Mashiro's gaze swept over Nelliel, as if examining a carefully preserved collectible, her tone carrying a hint of satisfaction: "Looks like she's recovered quite well, her spiritual pressure is stable, and her demeanor is mature—much more pleasing to the eye than that little brat who only knows how to cry."

The words, though seemingly a compliment, carried the air of a master surveying his possessions with an undisguised air of superiority.

Nellyel bit her lip, hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "Why...why are you here? Is it for...Legacy of Las Noches?"

"I suppose so." Mashiro replied casually, her gaze shifting to the distant Las Noches, her tone as relaxed as if discussing a trivial matter. "Aizen-kun, he..."

Is it still there?

Upon hearing this, Nelliel's expression darkened, and she slowly nodded: "Yes, he has always remained on the throne and has never left. Since the battle in Pseudo-Karakura Town ended, he has returned to Las Noches and has never come out again."

"Oh? No running away, no hiding?" Zhenbai raised an eyebrow, his smile deepening. "You do have a bit of a loser's self-awareness."

“Aizen, he… he seems to be waiting for you.” Nellyel hesitated for a moment, but still spoke truthfully what she had sensed. “His spiritual pressure is calm, but it is deeper than before, as if he is deliberately suppressing something, or as if he is waiting for an opportunity.”

"Waiting for me?" A playful smile curved at the corner of Mashiro's lips, and a hint of interest flashed in his eyes. "It seems that my student has finally learned how to face his teacher in the very end."

After she finished speaking, she turned around and prepared to leave without asking any further questions.

Chapter 262: Her (Part 2)

Nellyel suddenly called out to her, "Mashiro-sama!" "Hmm?" Mashiro stopped in her tracks without turning around.

“Please…please be careful.” Neriel’s voice was filled with genuine concern. “Lord Aizen may have failed, but his spiritual pressure is now even more unfathomable than before. I…can’t even see through his limits.”

“I know.” Mashiro waved her hand casually, her voice light and airy. “After all, that was the last gift I gave him.”

Her figure gradually disappeared at the end of the white sand, leaving only Nelliel standing there, repeatedly chewing on the phrase "the last gift," her eyes filled with even more confusion—she still didn't understand what secret was hidden between Mashiro and Aizen.

Meanwhile, the throne room in Hueco Mundo was deathly silent.

The enormous throne, constructed of pure white bones, stood high at the far end of the hall, overlooking a vast space large enough to hold thousands of troops. Inside the hall, there were no candles, only pale moonlight seeping in through the gaps in the dome, casting dappled shadows on the ground, making it even more eerie.

Aizen Yosuke sat alone on the throne, wearing his old white robe, with his usual gentle smile on his face, as if he had returned to being the respected captain who once led the Fifth Division.

But upon closer inspection, one would find that the ambition and sharpness of his former brown eyes have vanished, replaced by a deep, unfathomable calm, like a black hole.

He was reflecting, reflecting on his failure.

Despite his repeated reluctance to admit it, the truth could not be ignored: he had meticulously planned for a century, fused with the Hogyoku to evolve to a higher dimension, and even once touched the throne of the Soul King, but ultimately he was defeated by Ichigo Kurosaki's "Final Getsuga Tenshou".

That was not simply a difference in strength.

As that pitch-black slash tore through his body, Aizen clearly sensed something he had never possessed before from that power—a loneliness that transcended existence itself.

That was the absolute loneliness of willingly sacrificing everything to protect, an emotion that even the Hogyoku was shaken by. But was that all?

Aizen slowly raised his head, his eyes seemingly piercing through the dome of Hueco Mundo, gazing at the Seireitei sky that he once knew so well.

In his mind, a white figure gradually became clear—Zhenbai, his former teacher, the woman who always wore a playful smile and seemed to treat the three realms as a chessboard.

Only when he was defeated by Ichigo Kurosaki, and only when the Hogyoku began to reject him because of that "loneliness," did Aizen finally understand something amidst the pain and resentment of defeat.

The seclusion of Yamamoto Genryu Shigekuni, the burning of the Central 46 Chambers, the "accidental" acquisition of the Jade, and even the appearance of Kurosaki Ichigo... all of these things seem to be connected by an invisible thread, and at the end of the thread is Mashiro.

He always thought he was a chess player who controlled the whole situation and manipulated the three realms at will, but he never expected that from beginning to end, he was just a carefully placed piece on the true white chessboard - the most important and the most "interesting" piece.

"Hehe...hehehehe." A low laugh escaped Aizen's lips, echoing in the empty hall, carrying a deep sense of self-mockery and desolation.

So that's how it is. His ambition, his plans, even his failure, were all within Mashiro's calculations. She was the true victor in this war spanning three realms.

Aizen slowly stood up, walked to the throne, and looked down at the empty hall below—this place was once a symbol of his power and proof of his rule over Hueco Mundo, but now only deathly silence remained.

He knew that Mashiro would arrive soon.

Although he had already escaped the desperate situation in the pseudo-Karakura Town through his prepared backup plan, and although he still retained enough power to overturn the three realms, he knew that he could not escape.

Mashiro would never allow an "imperfect work" to continue to exist in the world, and he, Aizen Yosuke, was her most perfect and most failed work, so she would definitely come to personally bring his magnificent yet tragic "performance" to an end.

"Come on, Mashiro-sensei." The last trace of confusion and resentment faded from Aizen's eyes, replaced by an almost calm expectation. "Let me see where your so-called master is."

His voice echoed in the deathly silent Hueco Mundo, lingering for a long time, as if drawing back the curtain on this inevitable end.

Since its construction, the main hall of Hueco Mundo has been permeated with an unchanging atmosphere of death.

The dome, built of pure white bones, soared into the clouds. The cold bone patterns swayed like snakes in the dim light. Only the figure atop the throne had imbued this space with the oppressive aura of a "god."

Until Mashiro stepped in.

There was no leakage of spiritual pressure, no sharp edge of a drawn blade; she was as composed as if she were strolling in a spring courtyard, her skirt sweeping across the ground without even stirring up a speck of dust.

But this silent appearance caused the air in the entire hall to freeze instantly—even the ethereal flashes suspended in mid-air stopped, as if even space itself was in awe of this silent declaration.

On the throne, Aizen thought that Sousuke was already in his place. He had taken off his usual captain's haori, and his dark outfit outlined his tall figure. After the Hogyoku was fused, his pair of distinctive horns that shone with a faint light were hidden in the shadows, and only his eyes remained as deep as the night.

When he sensed Mashiro's presence emanating from the outskirts of Hueco Mundo, he released his grip on the hilt of his sword—facing this woman, any hasty precautions seemed superfluous.

Their gazes met in the empty hall, though they were dozens of feet apart, they seemed to be very close.

There was no fire of hatred, no clash of murderous intent, and not even the wariness that should exist between adversaries.