Shinigami: Medicine Can't Save The Soul Reaper Society

The next day, at the main gate of the Expeditionary Force camp.

Though Hueco Mundo remained locked in eternal night, the Expeditionary Force adhered to the same time schedule as Soul Society.

Tōsen, who had led a team of elite Shinigami out to purify Hollows, returned to camp nearly half a day later than planned.

By the time Tōsen appeared at the gate, the entire camp was on high alert, prepared to respond to a potential crisis. Even Makoto stood ready with the medical unit, poised to mobilize if needed.

Aizen Sōsuke, the Expeditionary Force's nominal commander, quickly approached, his expression one of genuine concern.

"Captain Tōsen, what happened? You're quite a bit later than expected."

Tōsen's expression darkened slightly. "Nothing significant. Just… a minor complication."

Makoto finished his headcount of the returning Shinigami and frowned slightly.

"Captain Tōsen… don't tell me you got lost out there?" he asked, voice tinged with half-hearted skepticism.

He hesitated for a beat before adding, with a doctor's sincere concern, "Captain Tōsen, I admire your unyielding spirit—continuing to fight despite your blindness. But perhaps it's time I try treating your condition. There's a chance I might be able to restore your sight."

Tōsen's face twisted in disbelief.

Senju Makoto—a man Tōsen instinctively disliked—was offering to cure his blindness?

His immediate reaction was mistrust… but the prospect of regaining his sight sent a tremor through his rigid sense of justice.

"You… you can restore my vision?" Tōsen asked, struggling to suppress his sudden surge of hope.

Makoto adjusted his glasses and smiled gently. "As a healer, I don't make baseless claims."

Tōsen's heart raced. "What are the odds?"

Makoto held up one finger.

"A high probability…" he said confidently.

Tōsen's lips parted into a hopeful grin.

Then Makoto added with practiced calm, "Approximately… one percent."

…What?

The word hung in the air.

The surrounding Shinigami froze, expressions blank with disbelief.

One percent… is considered 'high probability'?!

Tōsen's dark complexion took on a faint greenish hue as his jaw tightened.

"Vice-Captain Senju… are you mocking me?" he demanded.

"Of course not," Makoto said with wide-eyed innocence. "One percent is significant. If we do a bit more preparation, the odds could improve dramatically."

Tōsen's eye twitched. "Preparation? What sort of preparation?"

"Well," Makoto began with professional candor, "I'd need practice—transplanting eyes in a few test cases to build experience. After all, cases of blindness are rare in Soul Society, and cases like yours, with total blindness and intact spiritual perception, are practically nonexistent."

Tōsen's head turned instinctively toward his subordinates.

The members of the Seventh Division stiffened, their legs tightening involuntarily.

Their gazes darted away, dread seeping into their expressions.

Who in their right mind would volunteer for such an experiment? Especially when the success rate was only one percent?

Tōsen remained silent, unwilling to voice the unethical suggestion aloud.

And then Aizen spoke, his tone mild yet laden with calculated intent.

"Makoto-kun, what about Hollows?" Aizen asked.

"Hollows?" Makoto blinked.

"If the spiritual particle composition of Adjuchas-class Hollows closely resembles that of captain-level Shinigami, perhaps you could… practice on them."

Makoto's brow furrowed. "Adjuchas… Well, yes, theoretically. Their spiritual bodies are dense enough to make for decent test subjects."

He smiled faintly. "Captain Tōsen, if you're nervous about the odds, why not start by capturing some Adjuchas for me to experiment on? That might increase your chances."

Tōsen hesitated.

Makoto gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and turned away, adopting the air of a well-meaning doctor who'd simply shared his thoughts and left the decision to the patient.

---

Later, after Tōsen completed the debrief and sent his team to rest, he followed Aizen into a secluded tent.

Aizen sat down, his demeanor shifting from the benevolent commander to something more detached and calculating.

"Well?" he asked without preamble.

Tōsen lowered his head, shame and frustration visible even without eyes to convey it.

"I… failed, Lord Aizen," he admitted through clenched teeth. "I couldn't find Las Noches."

Aizen didn't respond immediately. He merely lowered his gaze slightly, the weight of his silent scrutiny pressing down on Tōsen like a physical force.

The blind captain's shoulders tensed under the unspoken judgment.

"I followed your instructions precisely," Tōsen continued hastily. "But I sensed no large congregation of Hollow spiritual pressure. And the location recorded in Soul Society's archives… was nothing but crumbling ruins."

Aizen's fingers tapped the hilt of his Zanpakutō.

His mind processed the discrepancy with practiced efficiency.

The Twelfth Division's latest devices recorded an unexplained surge in Adjuchas-level spiritual pressure across Hueco Mundo.

Yet during our operations, the number of Hollow encounters has been far lower than anticipated.

And now Tōsen finds only ruins where Las Noches should stand?

His mind connected the fragments into a pattern.

Something happened in Hueco Mundo… quietly, without a trace.

His gaze shifted, as if peering through the tent walls.

Could a new king have emerged?

The thought sent a ripple of intrigue through his consciousness.

And with it came an unbidden image of Makoto.

Makoto… even under constant observation, have you managed to influence Hueco Mundo as well?

Aizen's lips curved into a smile, eyes gleaming with challenge.

"Makoto-kun… how fascinating you are," he murmured.

"If this is your move, then I'll play along. Let's turn Hueco Mundo into our chessboard… and see whose pieces endure."

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