Hueco Mundo bled into the sky like a bruise when Kokuto stepped through the Garganta.
He emerged alone.
The other side was a shattered Soul Society outpost—an ancient stronghold long abandoned after the war. A crumbling place of white pillars and broken zanpakutō half-buried in the sand.
Aizen had given no specifics. Only an order:
"There's something stirring in the ruins. I want to know what it is… and if it laughs."
Kokuto stretched his arms out and twirled once, boots clicking on old stone. "Spooky. Ghost town vibes. I love it."
He wandered deeper, the jingling bells on his ankles echoing like a wind chime in a graveyard. His golden eye twitched as something tugged at him—not reiatsu exactly, but something colder. Familiar.
Memory.
He passed old barracks. A broken training ground. Faded chalk drawings on a wall—childish scribbles of shinigami faces.
And then he saw it.
A cracked mirror.
Standing alone at the center of an ancient courtyard.
He moved toward it without thinking.
The reflection stared back: his own face, pale and painted in shadow, red-and-black hair flickering like fire. But behind him, in the mirror, was a hospital hallway.
His grin faded.
The courtyard warped around him.
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He stood in scrubs now.
The bells were gone. So was the mask.
His hands were human—scarred from biting his nails.
He was in a hospital corridor again, just like the one from long ago. Rain tapped gently on a window. The lights buzzed overhead. Faint voices echoed. His sister's voice.
"You always turn everything into a joke… I never know when you're serious anymore."
"I have to be funny," he remembered whispering once, "because if I'm not… you'll see the real me."
Footsteps behind him. He turned—
And saw himself.
But taller. Older. With the Hollow mask. The jester grin. The cracked golden eye.
His Hollow-self leaned in close.
"Do you think they laughed at your funeral, Kokuto?"
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Back in Reality
A scream ripped through the air.
Kokuto staggered back, blood trickling from his nose. His hand had crushed a broken zanpakutō—glass and steel in his palm.
Around him, figures emerged from the shadows.
Hollows—but wrong. Half-formed. Puppets of reiatsu. Like they'd been reanimated by something else.
Their eyes glowed with a color Kokuto couldn't name.
And they all laughed.
Not a good laugh. Not his laugh.
A twisted chorus of mocking, robotic chuckles that sounded like they were trying to mimic him.
Kokuto wiped his mouth. "Okay," he said, voice low, grin crooked.
"You wanna do impressions?"
He vanished.
The next few moments were pure carnage.
He danced between them—flickering like firelight. Blades missed by inches. His nails slashed one open from the inside out. He planted a knee in another's spine and shattered it with one blow.
Laughter followed him everywhere—his and theirs, clashing like dueling pianos.
But something cracked mid-fight.
One of the reanimated hollows looked exactly like—
His sister.
Not in form. But the eyes. The guilt.
He froze.
It screamed his name—not in a voice, but in feeling.
Kokuto let the blade hit him.
He stood in the ruins. Alone again.
The fake Hollows were dust. His chest was bleeding, but he didn't care.
The mirror was gone.
The reflection wasn't.
He stared down into a pool of blood and rainwater. His golden eye met itself.
He whispered, "You still don't think they forgave you, huh?"
The water didn't answer.
But something in his head chuckled—soft, broken.
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He stood in the ruins. Alone again.
The fake Hollows were dust. His chest was bleeding, but he didn't care.
The mirror was gone.
The reflection wasn't.
He stared down into a pool of blood and rainwater. His golden eye met itself.
He whispered, "You still don't think they forgave you, huh?"
The water didn't answer.
But something in his head chuckled—soft, broken.
______________________________________________________________
Back in Las Noches, Aizen tapped a finger on a map of the outpost ruins.
His smile thinned.
"Interesting…"
Behind him, Gin raised an eyebrow. "He's unraveling already?"
Aizen shook his head.
"No. He's just remembering. And that… is far more dangerous."