Soul King Palace…

Inside the detached palace of Hyōsube Ichibē, the "Monk Who Calls the Real Name"...

Araki and the monk had finally reached a tacit understanding. After arriving via the Omotesando, a silent consensus lingered in the air:

The monk needed Araki's power to accomplish something unspeakable.

Araki, in turn, sought the monk's guidance to elevate his own strength.

Suddenly, like an old fox confronting a young one, a subtle yet potent tension surfaced.

"Araki… the powers within you are too complex," the monk murmured, eyes scanning him like ink tracing a soul.

"The power of the Shinigami—your Zanpakutō…

The fractured remnants of the Soul King's skin—Fullbring...

That strange, foreign spiritual force—Haki...

And finally, the power to bind all things together—the Operation Fruit..."

He circled Araki slowly, once… twice… thrice.

Then nodded. Then shook his head repeatedly.

"In all my millions of years watching over the Soul Society, never have I seen such chaotic harmony. You're a miracle—and a ticking time bomb.

Success, for you, will be exponential.

But so will failure."

"To transcend your limits, you must unify. You must specialize."

Araki remained silent. He understood what the monk was suggesting.

And he knew the monk wouldn't speak of something without having a method in mind.

"How do you plan to do that?" he finally asked.

The monk's answer was calm… but laced with something cold and divine:

"I will use the Soul King's residual essence to reshape your body—make it the vessel where all your powers converge... unified and refined.

But it's not without risk."

"At worst… I'll forcefully reconstruct you into a King Key. A Departed Palace. A gate through which realms may pass. And if you perish, I will still call your spirit back from the Valley of Screams."

It wasn't a command. It was a choice.

Araki said nothing at first. Instead, he gripped the hilt of Yakushi Ruriko, his Zanpakutō, and whispered—communing with the spirit within.

After several heartbeats, his eyes rose to meet the monk's.

"Alright. I'll do it."

He had verified the monk's honesty through every means:

His Zanpakutō, whose truth-binding ability ensured no lie could be spoken before it.

His advanced Observation Haki, which never stopped predicting possible futures.

He had tested this ancient being over and over.

But now, he was ready to take the leap.

Because he knew—this monk, a relic from the era of the original Soul King and the Five Noble Families, was not one he could afford to take lightly.

"Since you've chosen," the monk said, his crimson irises dimming to white, "then let us begin."

The entire palace shuddered.

Time passed… or perhaps it didn't.

"Already starting?" Araki asked, glancing at his unchanged form.

"Ah, Araki-kun… can you please set aside your Zanpakutō? I… can't perform the ritual with it nearby."

The monk's expression twitched with embarrassment—a rare crack in his composed façade.

This might have been the most humiliating moment he'd experienced since being charged with the Soul King's protection.

"Here."

Araki handed over his blade.

"N-no, don't hand it to me—just put it on the table!"

The monk recoiled as Yakushi Ruriko drew closer, sweat glistening on his brow.

"Alright…"

Araki calmly placed the weapon on the wooden table.

"Still testing me, huh..."

The monk wiped his forehead. That blade—Araki's silent warning—had shaken even him.

He cursed Araki inwardly for being so shrewd… yet couldn't help but respect it.

"Then—let the trial begin!"

With that declaration, the scenery around Araki warped—

Gone was the room.

In its place stretched a tranquil path, leading toward a red torii gate suspended in a void.

"What—?!"

Araki's body tensed. This illusion, this world—he hadn't seen it coming.

Even with his future sight, it had slipped through.

"This is…"

His pupils narrowed, trembling with realization.

"Damn it... is this fake monk trying to turn me into the next Soul King?!"

Araki's pupils shrank slightly.

At first, he had believed the monk merely intended to force him into forging the King Key and building the Dirty Palace, coercing him into the Zero Squad's ranks.

But upon walking this path, Araki realized—the monk's ambitions were far greater than he had imagined.

It was true that the monk sincerely wished to help him grow stronger. Every word he'd spoken rang with truth. He genuinely wanted Araki to improve… and just as sincerely, he wished for him to gather the scattered fragments of the Soul King.

But there was more the monk hadn't said.

Inside the Eye Monk's Dirty Palace—

"Without beginning, without end,

the name withers and becomes soundless.

The abyss of clouds surges and swirls,

pouring its overflowing contents into an empty vessel.

Alas, the incapable vessel buckles under the weight and turns to stone.

The stone crumbles into pebbles, then gravel—

battered by rain, it turns to dust.

Those who are not vessels cannot escape,

yet without entry, there is no worship.

To chant the name of something that will one day die…

is no true worship at all."

A false monk sat cross-legged in solemn silence, reverently reciting from the scroll he held. His gaze was deep, his tone reverent.

"Hey! Ichibei, I brought what you asked for~"

The Sword God, Nimaiya Ōetsu, stepped into the sacred chamber, holding a Zanpakutō. A few drops of seawater glistened on its sheath.

"Ah, thank you, Ōetsu," the monk smiled as he turned.

"You're really going through with this?" Nimaiya asked sharply.

"This is our mission," the monk replied gravely, taking the Zanpakutō.

"We of Squad Zero are forever loyal to the Soul King," Ichibei said. "Which means... we serve whoever is the Soul King."

"You've seen Yhwach's power. His return is inevitable—it's fate. If he falls, all is well. But if he wins... we'll need a new Soul King to stabilize the realms."

He placed the sword next to Yakshi Ruriko Araki's own Zanpakutō.

Ichibei knew fragments of truths others in Soul Society didn't. He had even glimpsed snippets of the future through the Soul King. But he still didn't know who would ultimately win.

So... the monk chose a sinister, treacherous path.

"Araki, show me your potential. Don't let me down..."

Ichibei threw the recovered Zanpakutō down atop Yakshi Ruriko.

"jijiba!

Today, I lift your seal—your true name shall be restored!"

"Zanpakutō—uncontrollable," Ichibei intoned, smiling. "Show me your true power..."

Elsewhere, on the winding path—

Araki's lips curled into a subtle smile.

Third Wish:

May I, in my next life, attain enlightenment, with boundless wisdom and skill...

Though his Observation Haki could not pierce the future hidden by the Soul King, his Zanpakutō—Yakushi—granted him something else: divine insight.

Empowered by the third vow of Yakushi, Araki had already deduced the monk's true intentions and every possible scheme.

He had played along—not only to seize the Soul King's power...

...but also to steal the power of Jijiba, the primordial Hollow—an ancient calamity who, like Yhwach, once plunged Soul Society into chaos over a millennium ago.

He ate up every sweet, sugar-coated promise the monk fed him.

And soon—

He would return it with a cannonball.

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