Chapter 9: Battle
To be honest, Mizuma was getting a little angry.
Sure, he was a slacker—but a man without principles was no different from a corpse. There were still things that could light a fire under him.
For example: his temper wasn't nearly good enough to let him calmly chat with someone who had just tried to kill him.
And frankly, back when he'd read the manga in his previous life, he'd always found this pink-haired maniac insufferable.
It was the same with Ainicht.
Why did a man like Watanabe Mizuma—lazy, cynical, and allergic to work—still have friends across the Gotei 13?
Because no matter how much he slacked off, he never crossed the line. He was lazy, not corrupt.
In the words of his peers, Mizuma might avoid responsibility like the plague, but he never strayed from what was right.
He wore many masks, but that core part of him—the line he wouldn't cross—was genuine.
So, if Ainicht had been some villain who gleefully unleashed Hollows to massacre innocents, Mizuma would've personally sent her to have a long "conversation" with Kurotsuchi Mayuri.
But now he had a far greater problem in front of him—and one that was much harder to ignore.
When the blinding light faded, Szayelaporro Grantz frowned.
There it was again—that strange, impossible discontinuity.
He blinked, and the Shinigami was still there, standing in midair, perfectly unharmed, not a thread of his uniform singed.
What…?
That was impossible. Szayelaporro had felt his Cero hit. Felt the man's body vaporize under its power.
If the target had blocked or dodged it, fine—but he hadn't.
He'd felt him turn to dust.
So why was the Shinigami still standing there, alive and calm?
A mirage? A decoy?
Szayelaporro wasn't the only one who felt uneasy.
Clicking his tongue, Mizuma gauged his reiryoku reserves and already knew the outcome of this fight.
No chance of victory. Not head-on.
Sure, he could unleash all the Hadō he'd stored through his System Quests, but those were meant for true emergencies—Quincy invasions, or someone like Aizen—not this twisted researcher.
He didn't have Bankai, and while his Kidō mastery was exceptional, it wasn't limitless. Against a Vasto Lorde, the odds were nonexistent.
But—this wasn't his real body.
It was a clone, created through his Zanpakutō, Ryugetsu.
He had no reason to fear death.
The ability he'd just used to survive Szayelaporro's Cero was one of Ryugetsu's deeper techniques and applications—"Erasure."
It was similar to King Crimson's "erasure," from Jojo but not quite the same. Unlike Diavolo, Mizuma couldn't predict the future—but he could schedule his time erasure in advance.
It allowed him to delete a short period of his own existence—not rewinding time, but erasing a chosen interval from his personal timeline.
He could say: "One hour from now, erase three seconds of my timeline."
So when the Cero struck, those "three seconds" simply ceased to exist. To the world, it was as if the attack had never touched him.
A terrifying ability—but with a crushing cost.
It devoured reiryoku like mad.
At his current level, he could erase time only six times a day before his spiritual power was completely drained.
And that was from someone who could cast Kurohitsugi ten times without collapsing.
Worse, Ryugetsu's Shikai only affected Mizuma himself—it had no offensive capability at all. His attacks relied purely on Kidō. Even though he could release Hadō #90 and above, his power was nowhere near Aizen's.
Still, his hand wasn't empty.
He didn't expect to kill Szayelaporro—but at least, he intended to leave a scar the scientist wouldn't forget.
And the opportunity?
It was now.
"Oh? Fascinating ability," Szayelaporro murmured, stepping forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
Good. Just what Mizuma wanted.
Let him think. Let him hesitate. That hesitation would open the gap Mizuma needed.
Mizuma raised a hand, blue light crackling across his fingers.
"You want a fight?" he said quietly. "I'll give you one."
Alarm bells blared in Szayelaporro's head. He prepared to use Sonído—
—but Mizuma was faster.
"Bakudō #63: Sajō Sabaku!"
Golden chains shot out, snaking through the air to coil around Szayelaporro's waist and tighten.
"Hadō #63: Raikōhō!"
A thunderous roar split the sky as a massive golden lightning blast engulfed Szayelaporro head-on.
But Mizuma didn't stop there.
He sheathed Ryugetsu, pressed his hands together, and began a rapid chant, each word flowing seamlessly into the next:
"The limits of a thousand hands cannot touch the darkness!
The archer of the distant blue sky cannot reach the brilliance!
The road of radiance, the wind that ignites the flame—gather together, follow my command!
Light bullets, eight bodies, nine treasures, heavenly scripture, great wheel—gray turret, aim far and fade in purity—!"
"Hadō #91: Senjū Kōten Taihō!"
The space above them erupted into light.
Dozens of radiant spheres streaked across the air like falling stars, crashing down on Szayelaporro's position with cataclysmic force.
But even as the explosion roared, Mizuma frowned.
"Still too weak…"
He could feel it through the reiryoku feedback—his attack had barely pierced Szayelaporro's hierro. The display had been dazzling, but the damage was shallow.
And that meant one thing:
He'd just made the Vasto Lorde angry.
Inside the storm of Kidō, black light began to pulse.
Reiatsu pressure surged—dense, suffocating, absolute.
A flood of darkness tore through the air, faster than thought, impossible to evade.
It wasn't an ordinary Cero.
It was the Gran Rey Cero—the Cero of a King.