Just as Paid was dying in despair, his body dissolving into Reiatsu and scattering into the air, a figure suddenly emerged in the vast desert.
The newcomer wore a pristine white clothes, his vibrant pink hair contrasting sharply against the golden hue of his piercing eyes. A contemptuous smile played on his lips as he surveyed the scene before him.
He cast a dispassionate glance at Paid, who was fading away into nothingness, his existence reduced to mere remnants of energy. With a tone of disdain, he sneered:
"What a waste. He couldn't even buy enough time. Absolutely pathetic."
With an air of indifference, he sighed and shook his head before muttering to himself, "It seems I'll have to accelerate the plan."
As his words faded into the wind, he slowly raised his hand, and in an instant, an overwhelming spiritual pressure erupted from his body, surging outward like an unstoppable tidal wave.
This was no ordinary reiatsu—it was dense, oppressive, and chaotic, carrying a terrifying presence far surpassing that of both Paid and Neros combined. The sheer weight of it distorted the air, causing the ground beneath him to tremble.
A fierce whirlwind formed around his body, kicking up a torrent of sand and forcing the desert to bow to his power. As the wind howled, dozens of towering cylindrical pillars, interwoven with streaks of red and black, began rising from the shifting dunes.
One by one, they emerged, each pulsating with an eerie, unfamiliar energy. By the time the final pillar stood tall, they had formed a perfect circular perimeter around the area, their combined power shaping a formidable barrier that sealed off the surroundings.
But the man wasn't finished yet.
"It's not over," he declared with an air of smug satisfaction. With another flick of his hand, a hidden mechanism was triggered, and the ground rumbled violently.
From beneath the sand, layers of pristine white walls shot up, encircling the area like a fortress materializing out of thin air. The once barren desert was now being transformed into a colossal structure, its smooth white stone slabs covering the sand below, forming a floor that radiated an unnatural sheen.
Before long, an imposing palace-like edifice stood tall, its towering walls and grand architecture exuding an aura of supremacy.
A deep, resonant hum filled the air as the last component of the structure activated—a powerful barrier sealing the entire space, ensuring that no one could enter or leave without permission.
At the center of it all, the red-haired man adjusted his glasses and took a theatrical bow, his voice dripping with feigned courtesy as he addressed Uehara Shiroha:
"My deepest apologies for the wait! The previous setting was far too crude, hardly worthy of hosting a guest of your caliber. A distinguished figure such as yourself deserves nothing less than a grand stage befitting your status."
Straightening up, he smirked and proudly declared:
"I am the Zero Espada—Szayelaporro Granz."
Unlike Paid and Neros, there were no visible Hollow traits on his body. His presence alone made it clear that he existed on an entirely different level than the fallen Arrancar.
Moreover, there was no malice in his expression, no thirst for bloodlust. Instead, he exuded an air of refinement, his composed demeanor and polished speech making him seem more like a scholar than a warrior.
With his glasses glinting under the eerie glow of the barrier, he gave off the aura of a gentleman—one who took immense pleasure in his intellect rather than brute strength.
Uehara Shiroha narrowed his eyes slightly, his senses keenly attuned to the shift in spiritual energy.
"You have impressive theatrics and exceptional barrier techniques," he remarked casually.
The moment he stepped into the space, he could feel it—his spiritual pressure was being suppressed. This was different from before. The restrictive force pressing down on him now was much stronger, more refined.
This ability… It must have originated from the Vasto Lorde that had attacked Suì-Fēng.
So Szayelaporro had extracted and enhanced its power?
Shiroha's lips curled into a knowing smirk.
He hadn't wasted Valdez's corpse after all.
As expected from Hueco Mundo's only scientist, his expertise in research and development was commendable.
Knowledge is power.
Even in the world of anime, science remained the ultimate driving force.
Just look at Naruto—Orochimaru and Kabuto thrived through relentless experimentation. In One Piece, Vegapunk had advanced technology to the point of creating artificial Devil Fruits.
And in Bleach?
Urahara Kisuke was practically a walking Doraemon, capable of crafting a metaphorical nuclear bomb with a snap of his fingers. He was essentially the Gray Wolf of research and development, outwitting even the most fearsome adversaries.
Then there were Aizen, Kurotsuchi Mayuri, and Szayelaporro himself—all pioneers in genetic engineering and life manipulation, their methods both fascinating and terrifying.
What else does this man have up his sleeve?
Shiroha was genuinely curious.
Aside from this suppressive barrier, what other twisted experiments had Szayelaporro prepared?
The scientist's eyes gleamed with interest as he observed his guest's reaction.
"I see you've already figured out that this is a trap," he said, sounding almost amused. "In that case, tell me—why didn't you stop me from deploying the barrier? Surely, with your speed, you could have intervened. And even if you were too late, escaping this place should be trivial for someone of your caliber."
Uehara Shiroha merely shrugged, his tone nonchalant.
"Because it wasn't necessary."
Szayelaporro's expression faltered for a brief moment before he let out a surprised chuckle.
"Ah… I see. You believe you can handle whatever I throw at you."
Shiroha's lips twitched into a smirk.
"It sounds like you've done your homework on me." He tilted his head slightly. "I take it you've gathered plenty of data?"
The scientist adjusted his glasses, looking pleased with himself.
"Indeed. A year ago, you ventured into Hueco Mundo and unveiled your mesmerizing Bankai—a truly breathtaking spectacle. You annihilated Rodney, Leo, and Jerome within the anti-membrane. A pity, really. Those three were some of my most promising test subjects."
His smirk widened.
"Fortunately, I had planned ahead. I implanted soul-recording bugs into their bodies before their demise. My little darlings faithfully recorded every moment of your battle, every technique, every movement—every ounce of your power."
He spread his arms, exuding boundless enthusiasm.
"The Bankai of a Shinigami, the enigmatic powers of time and space—ah, such an exquisite realm of knowledge! A completely new world of power for me to dissect and analyze!"
His golden eyes gleamed with feverish excitement, as if he were standing on the precipice of a grand discovery.
Whether it is the Bankai of the Shinigami or the power of time and space, it is a whole new world and a whole new power for him.
The power of time and space was wondrous—so profound, so intricate, and above all, so overwhelmingly powerful.
Szayelaporro Granz could not resist its allure. It was an irresistible temptation, a mystery that demanded to be unraveled. The mere thought of it was enough to send a thrill down his spine.
And so, despite Aizen's orders, he had made his decision.
He would ambush Uehara Shiroha.
Uehara Shiroha, however, remained completely unfazed. His eyes, calm and unshaken, gazed at the self-proclaimed scientist with an almost amused indifference.
"So," he said, his voice devoid of concern, "you really believe you can handle my Bankai?"
Under normal circumstances, perhaps it could have been countered—neutralized, even. But without the Mind Stone, that is.
In the world of Bleach, every power, every ability, required the mind's influence. Even Bankai was nothing more than an embodiment of the wielder's mental will, a manifestation of their very soul.
And yet, the Mind Stone granted dominance over the very essence of thought.
For Szayelaporro to believe he could suppress it? To think he could impose his own will over Uehara's?
Absurd.
If anything, it was laughable. The sheer irony of it was almost comical—how could he, a mere scientist, expect to outmaneuver someone who wielded absolute control over the mind?
And yet, Uehara saw no need to reveal this.
The longer he concealed his true strength, the more valuable this deception would become. There were others who sought to steal Bankai, others who thrived on manipulating powers not their own. If they truly believed his Bankai could be suppressed, then they would be in for a rude awakening—perhaps even Yhwach himself would suffer a devastating miscalculation.
Meanwhile, Szayelaporro, oblivious to the deeper layers of Uehara's strategy, continued to bask in his self-proclaimed brilliance.
"Not just your Bankai," he declared with unshakable confidence, "but all of your techniques. Every movement, every ability—you are already an open book to me."
He adjusted his glasses, a smug smile spreading across his lips.
"I have analyzed all of your spiritual pressure patterns, turned them into data, and recorded them meticulously. With this information in my grasp, there is nothing you can do that I have not foreseen. No attack, no trickery, nothing you attempt will ever pose a threat to me."
His eyes gleamed as he spoke, his voice filled with anticipation.
He wanted to see it—Uehara Shiroha pushed to his limit, backed into a corner, stripped of every option. The very idea sent a thrill through him.
Just imagining this powerful Shinigami laid bare before him, helpless, nothing more than an experiment waiting to be dissected—it was exhilarating.
And yet…
Uehara simply let out a short, unimpressed chuckle.
"Is that so?" he mused. "I don't believe you."
Without hesitation, he raised his blade and swung.
The motion was effortless, casual even.
Yet, it was deliberate.
He mimicked the same slashing technique he had used a year ago—an exact replication. He wanted to see for himself—just how much did Szayelaporro truly understand?
And sure enough, the Espada grinned as he dodged, narrowly avoiding the strike.
"I told you," he sneered, "I already have all your data."
Brushing off his pristine white coat, he smirked triumphantly.
"I have recorded your blade movements, your attack angles, the very momentum of your swings. Every detail has been analyzed and converted into precise calculations. Your attacks can never hit me."
He looked utterly pleased with himself, as if victory had already been secured.
Uehara Shiroha, however, said nothing.
Instead, in a blink of an eye, he vanished—reappearing an instant later as his blade flashed once more.
This time, the strike carried a different weight.
It was sharp, cold, and lethal—as if a white rainbow had pierced through the heavens, cutting through the void itself.
But still, Szayelaporro scoffed.
"I already told you," he said, his tone dripping with arrogance, "I have seen through all your attacks. You're simply—"
A sudden explosion of blood cut him off.
His right shoulder burst open, a deep gash splitting through his flesh.
The smirk on his face froze.
For a moment, the Espada could do nothing but stare—stare at the crimson droplets splattering against the pristine white floor, stare at the searing pain radiating from his wound.
"…What?"
His mind reeled.
This wasn't possible. This wasn't scientific.
His calculations had accounted for everything—everything! His combat data was flawless!
So why…?
Why had he been hit?!
His breath hitched as he turned his stunned gaze to Uehara Shiroha.
"Your speed… your strength…" His voice faltered. "They weren't like this before. Your spiritual pressure shouldn't be able to harm me. What the hell are you?"
For the first time in a long while, Szayelaporro Granz felt fear.
He had prided himself on his preparation. His Hierro was strong enough to withstand most attacks, his meticulous data collection ensured that no opponent could ever surprise him, and he had meticulously adjusted his own spiritual structure to counteract Uehara's reiatsu.
And yet, after all of that…
He had still been wounded so easily.
This…
This wasn't supposed to happen!
The massive palace around them loomed ominously, the silence stretching between them.
Uehara Shiroha, unfazed by Szayelaporro's turmoil, raised his sword once more.
His technique wasn't flashy—nor was it wild and reckless like Zaraki Kenpachi's.
It was a perfected blade technique, one sharpened through a million repetitions—a strike refined to be precise, fast, and utterly lethal.
To the untrained eye, it seemed almost basic.
But to those who understood swordsmanship, it was an executioner's blade—one that could even bring a thousand-year-old Captain to ruin if they weren't careful.
Szayelaporro, this time, did not underestimate him.
He gritted his teeth, backing away while raising his own blade in defense.
He was no ordinary Arrancar. As a top-tier Vasto Lorde, his strength rivaled even that of high-ranking Captains.
Even though his thoughts were in disarray, his body instinctively reacted—defending just in time to block Uehara's second strike.
Quickly regaining his composure, he activated his high-speed regeneration, the wound on his shoulder rapidly knitting itself back together.
Uehara raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Super-speed regeneration?" he mused. "You're different from the others. Most Arrancar lack that ability."
Indeed, the Arrancar he had fought before were incomplete.
But this one…
This one was different.
Szayelaporro, now fully healed, let out a dark chuckle.
"Do not compare me to those failures." His eyes gleamed with something sinister.
"The Arrancar you fought before were nothing but defective experiments. But I…"
He spread his arms, exuding confidence.
"I am evolution made perfect."
But despite his bravado, one thought clawed at the back of his mind.
Why…?
Why had Uehara Shiroha suddenly become so much stronger?
And more importantly…
Had he ever truly been in control?
Uehara Shiroha smirked in disdain.
"You don't seriously believe that after an entire year, my strength has remained the same, do you?" His golden eyes glowed with quiet confidence. "I train hard. Naturally, my strength grows just as fast."
Szayelaporro's expression twisted into one of utter disbelief.
"…What?"
A question mark might as well have floated above his head.
Is this guy serious?
This wasn't just a case of "getting stronger" after a year of training. No—this was a qualitative leap in power.
This kind of growth shouldn't be possible!
He had seen many Hollows evolve over time, devouring their own kind to rise through the ranks. He had studied the rapid progression of Adjuchas to Vasto Lorde.
But this…?
This level of power escalation in such a short time? It defied logic.
Szayelaporro had always considered himself a genius, an outlier among Hollows. His rise in strength was faster than most, his intelligence leagues above the mindless beasts of Hueco Mundo.
But compared to the monster standing before him…
The difference in talent was like comparing a hill to a grain of sand.
And then, suddenly, that disbelief faded—replaced by something else.
Fascination.
His eyes gleamed, alight with manic excitement as he gazed at Uehara Shiroha, as though he were looking at some rare and exotic specimen.
Szayelaporro's voice trembled with barely restrained glee.
"Your growth rate is… truly astonishing." He let out a breathless chuckle, adjusting his glasses. "I've analyzed the reiatsu patterns of countless Shinigami, but none of them—none of them—can compare to you."
He took a step forward, hands trembling with excitement.
"You are special. Not just among Shinigami, but among Hollows, among humans—no, among all lifeforms!" His voice rose with exhilaration. "To think I would encounter something so rare, so unique—this is a blessing!"
A crazed smile spread across his lips.
"You are the perfect experimental material!"
Uehara Shiroha simply shrugged, entirely unfazed.
"You're not bad yourself," he replied casually. "At least, you're qualified to be my grindstone."
His words, spoken so effortlessly, sent a jolt through Szayelaporro.
A grindstone?
A mere tool to sharpen his blade?
For the first time, the scientist's eye twitched in irritation.
Then, his lips curled into a dangerous smirk.
"You should worry about sharpening yourself first!"
Without another word, his body trembled—then, black liquid oozed from his pores, slithering through the air like living ink before rising high into the sky.
Then, like rain, it fell.
Uehara Shiroha's sharp senses immediately analyzed the result. His eyes narrowed slightly.
A cloning technique?
Frowning, he stepped aside, dodging most of the falling droplets. But the sheer volume of the liquid was overwhelming—one stray droplet landed on his arm.
The moment it made contact, it began to shift—twisting, expanding, molding itself into something.
And then—
A perfect duplicate of Uehara Shiroha stood before him.
Not just a crude imitation, either—an exact replica. Every detail was precise, from his flowing robes to the Zanpakutō in his grip. Even his expression was eerily accurate.
Yet, Uehara Shiroha remained unfazed.
"You're good at party tricks," he said flatly. "What's next?"
Szayelaporro laughed.
"Oh, you'll see."
The black liquid on the ground rippled. More droplets rose, shifting and twisting—until more copies began to form, each a perfect mirror of Uehara Shiroha.
One by one, they turned their cold, golden eyes toward him.
And then, they attacked.
A blur of slashes came from every direction, as the replicas surged forward in perfect synchronization.
Uehara Shiroha barely spared them a glance.
With a single motion, his blade flashed—and in an instant, one of the clones was cleaved apart.
Yet…
The moment its body hit the ground, the black liquid reformed, reassembling itself back into shape.
Szayelaporro grinned triumphantly.
"Hahaha! Did you think this was just a simple copy technique?"
He spread his arms dramatically.
"My Clones of Perfection are not mere illusions! They don't just mimic your appearance—they copy everything! Your abilities, your techniques, even your Zanpakutō's powers!"
He gestured toward the gathering clones.
"They are endless—no matter how many you cut down, they will regenerate!"
Then, his eyes gleamed with excitement.
"Now, show me more! Show me how you handle despair!"
But before he could finish his sentence—
Uehara Shiroha casually waved his hand.
"Ice Age."
A chill spread instantly.
Within seconds, the air froze solid, and an invisible wave of cold rippled outward.
Everything—every copy, every droplet of black liquid—froze in place.
The clones, once poised to attack, became lifeless statues of ice.
Even the liquid on the ground was rendered motionless, suspended in crystalline frost.
Uehara Shiroha observed the frozen battlefield with a hint of amusement.
Even though they were fake, he had to admit—
They still looked quite handsome.
Szayelaporro, however, was in absolute shock.
"…Impossible!" His eyes widened in horror. "Why—why didn't the clones use this ability?! Why couldn't they replicate your Zanpakutō's power?!"
Frantically, he released a surge of spiritual pressure, scanning every fiber of Uehara Shiroha's reiatsu.
And then—
His face paled.
"…Your spiritual pressure… your soul… it's… protected?"
Szayelaporro staggered back.
"This… this isn't normal! A year ago, you didn't have this power! Is this… some kind of new Bankai technique?!"
His mind raced.
His ability wasn't just simple replication—it was an imitation of the essence of the soul itself.
That was why he could suppress Bankai, why he could copy them.
But now—it had failed.
His calculations had been flawless.
His strategy had been impeccable.
And yet, this Shinigami had broken everything.
Uehara Shiroha merely tilted his head.
"So that's all you've got?" He smirked. "Go on, then—use that 'invincible' skill of yours to think of a way out."
Szayelaporro's entire body trembled.
Uehara had seen through everything—every trick, every calculation.
This wasn't just strength.
This was a nightmare given form.
And worst of all—
For the first time in his life—
Szayelaporro had no idea what to do next.
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