Chapter 397 BSUS Chapter 400: Towards the Abyss, or Paradise?

Tsukishima was one of the few people in this world who knew and understood Ginjō.

But ultimately, he was not Ginjō Kūgo. He could be the greatest asset to any of Ginjō’s plans, but at his core, he lacked the grand ambition to dominate and control everything. This inherently meant he could never fully guess what was on Ginjō’s mind.

Looking back, after discovering that the Shinigami were merely using him as a tool, Ginjō decisively chose to vanish without a trace. He sought out subordinates and built up his own faction with the intent of exacting revenge on the Shinigami.

In this regard, he shared a certain similarity with Aizen. Because of this, he could better comprehend the cold apathy of Aizen, the creator of Las Noches.

At the previous outposts, once a station was breached, the guards inside would choose to sacrifice themselves to destroy the outpost, perishing alongside their enemies.

If that could be called loyalty, the enemy had clearly used the humans to force Hiroe’s side to split their forces. Yet, once that goal was achieved, they were extremely ‘candid’ in not stationing enough power at the outposts to defeat the squads. It all felt like a game played under some unspoken, universally accepted set of rules—fair, in a certain sense.

A game. That was exactly how Ginjō felt about it so far. And Aizen, who could treat a war as a game and casually discard his subordinates like gambling chips, was truly chilling. Cooperate with such a man? No, even submitting to him wouldn’t offer the slightest shred of security.

In contrast, although Hiroe was incredibly shrewd—commanding Arrancars who obeyed his every word, possessing the trust of Shinigami and humans alike, and having coerced Fullbringers like themselves—he did not wield the absolute control that Aizen did.

At the same time, starting from the continuous division of their forces, Hiroe showed signs of being restricted by these various factions instead. This was another manifestation of his lack of absolute control.

Compared to Aizen, interacting with Hiroe was oppressive, but it didn’t leave one entirely without room to breathe. Just as he had said back then, Chōzuka Hiroe was someone who could be used; he was a danger, but also an opportunity.

If he absolutely had to choose someone to temporarily submit to, Ginjō had never considered anyone other than Hiroe from the very beginning. Even if Ukitake were to stand before him once more, that outcome would not change.

Ukitake was gentle and approachable, but more often than not, he couldn’t even control himself. Even with a sincere heart, he couldn’t avoid betrayal. He could not give others a sense of self that he didn’t even possess.

Chōzuka Hiroe was elusive. If anyone had seen his true colors back at Tsukishima’s villa, they surely wouldn’t have bared their soul to him. Yet, ironically, it was exactly this highly ambitious man who could tolerate the ambitions of others. He was fiercely independent, but he didn’t completely strip away the autonomy of those around him.

Whether you were friend or foe, you could always see the hope of fulfilling your own desires through him. Because of this, cooperating with him wasn’t entirely unbearable. He truly was a strange guy.

Upon entering Hueco Mundo and meeting Ashido, Hiroe became even stranger in Ginjō’s eyes. His previous assessments of the man no longer seemed so solid. Even that terrifying ‘true face’—could it really just be another one of his masks?

Counting the four factions Hiroe currently had at his disposal, the Shinigami and the brats led by Kurosaki Ichigo obviously didn’t obey his every command. The only thing maintaining their relationship was a mask of hypocrisy.

Ginjō understood his own side even better. He and Tsukishima only took orders from Hiroe because, firstly, their lives were threatened, and secondly, there was indeed an opportunity to use him to complete their revenge against the Shinigami.

With three factions not truly submitting to Hiroe, the final one—the Arrancars—had to be completely subservient, right? Ginjō had thought so at first, especially since that Arrancar named Roka acted entirely like a servant.

But after meeting Ashido, that assumption seemed to warrant a question mark. Ginjō could sense that the man wasn’t lying; his opposition to Las Noches wasn’t born from a desire to become the next ruler of Hueco Mundo.

And the captive Arrancar from Las Noches verified this point. Ashido and his Arrancar companions had always been active in the lower levels of Hueco Mundo—the Forest of Menos. They were not the rulers of Hueco Mundo before Las Noches appeared.

Hiroe had established his forces in Hueco Mundo earlier than Aizen. If this was truly his most trusted foundation, then not attempting to rule Hueco Mundo simply didn’t make sense.

This meant that either Hiroe had another faction in Hueco Mundo with ideals different from Ashido’s group, or the Arrancars weren’t entirely subservient to him either. In other words, the forces in Hiroe’s hands were all gathered together through a variety of different methods.

Between these two possibilities, Ginjō leaned more toward the latter. If there really was a second faction in Hueco Mundo aiming for domination, it should have clashed with Ashido long ago. And even if this other faction had remained hidden, the emergence of Las Noches was undoubtedly the perfect opportunity to merge the two forces—an opportunity Hiroe would never pass up.

Under these circumstances, recalling Hiroe’s previous claim that he wanted to hold Hueco Mundo, the World of the Living, and Soul Society in the palm of his hand simply didn’t hold up to scrutiny. None of the factions’ ideals seemed to have anything to do with ruling.

Ginjō tried to put himself in Hiroe’s shoes. If he were Hiroe, the only way to break out of the current predicament would be to gradually change everyone’s ideals. Though difficult, it wasn’t impossible.

For example, by utilizing Tsukishima’s Fullbring, this could be achieved to a certain extent. That was probably the reason Hiroe needed people like them.

But the problem remained: from Hiroe’s perspective, there was no way to guarantee that Tsukishima wouldn’t play tricks. Any method he could think of had to be executed through the hands of others, making it complex and rather unreliable.

Therefore, Ginjō began to rethink Hiroe’s true motives. What exactly was he trying to do? Did he really want to become the behind-the-scenes ruler of Hueco Mundo, the World of the Living, and Soul Society, as he had once thought?

The answer was becoming unclear. If the answer was no, then it couldn’t explain why he secretly allied with Arrancars and coerced them into joining.

But if the answer was yes, Hiroe’s current enemy was Aizen. Even without seeing the ruler of Hueco Mundo fight firsthand, just based on the Espada they had encountered earlier in Karakura Town, Ginjō didn’t think they could be of any use in such a showdown.

Was it for post-war rule? Ginjō felt that if he were in Hiroe’s position, he would absolutely never bring his future puppets right to the enemy’s doorstep to die.

Could it be exactly as Inoue had said? That Hiroe’s goal was to unite all forces outside of the Shinigami, not only to better protect humanity but also to reduce the tragedies caused by the Shinigami themselves?

Could he really be such a simple man?

If this were a few days ago, Ginjō would have absolutely scoffed at the idea. But now, this possibility seemingly couldn’t be completely ruled out.

If his previous judgment of Hiroe was that he was unfathomably evil, then in Ginjō’s eyes now, Hiroe had become a massive contradiction. Defining him purely by good or evil both seemed correct, yet both felt strangely off.

The only thing he could confirm was that this man always had a way of detaching people’s actions from their thoughts, using that to achieve his own goals.

But was this destination the abyss? Or was it paradise?

If it was the abyss, then what Hiroe would ultimately deliver was an unimaginable despair. But what if it was paradise? Ginjō tried to picture it. The things Ukitake had once spoken of might actually be realized through this man. And he had to admit, that prospect was something to yearn for.

It was just that, between Hiroe’s true heart and his outward facade, there always seemed to be a closed door.

Ginjō stopped in his tracks, looking up at the white stone door blocking their path. He wondered—if he pushed this door open, would he be able to see clearly?