LATE NIGHT SACRIFICE

The sun was setting over the Soul Society, casting a golden glow over the academy's empty training field. The grass still bore scorch marks from failed Kido spells earlier in the day.

Mohit sat on the edge of the wooden platform, unwrapping the bandages from his knuckles. His muscles ached, but there was a quiet satisfaction in the pain.

Arthur plopped down beside him, tossing a small canteen of water his way.

"You know, some people take naps after three classes. You just bleed and grin," Arthur muttered, rubbing his shoulder from an earlier spar.

Mohit caught the canteen and took a long sip. "Some people don't get stronger by sleeping."

Arthur scoffed. "Yeah? Some people don't get their asses lit on fire by Kido either. Thanks for laughing by the way."

Mohit chuckled. "You blew a hole in the ceiling, Arthur. That's not a mistake, that's a talent."

Arthur leaned back and looked up at the sky. "Still sucks, though. I try to keep the pressure in check, but it's like trying to fit a storm into a bottle. Kido hates me."

"You just haven't figured out how to focus it yet," Mohit said, wiping his hands. "I've seen you in sword class. You don't hold back, but you don't lose control either. It's in there — you just need to find the right switch."

Arthur stared at him for a second, then shook his head with a grin. "Since when did you become the wise monk?"

Mohit smirked. "Since I started waking up at 4 every morning."

They sat in silence for a moment, the wind gently brushing past them. Distantly, bells rang out signaling the end of the day.

Arthur finally broke the quiet. "You think we'll make it? Like, really become Soul Reapers?"

Mohit looked out at the fading light.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I know I'm not wasting time wondering. I'm just going to keep moving forward."

Arthur stood up and stretched. "Fair enough. Just don't get too far ahead. I'd hate to have to kick your ass to catch up."

Mohit smiled. "Try me.". As the second term drew to a close, Mohit began shifting his focus toward preparation—not just for tests or sparring matches, but for something far greater.

He had started studying Kido more seriously. Not with the same obsession he gave to swordsmanship or Hado, but with strategic purpose. He wasn't aiming to master every spell—just the ones that mattered. A handful of illusion-based Kido, a few mid-range control spells, and techniques he suspected might help him in what he feared was an inevitable future confrontation.

A name echoed through his thoughts more than any other:

Aizen.

And with that name—Kyoka Suigetsu.

For nearly two years, Mohit had wrestled with a single question:

How do you counter a power that manipulates all five senses?

There were theories. There were "ifs." None of them were good enough.

Eventually, Mohit reached a horrifying conclusion.

If Kyoka Suigetsu controls sight—then the only way to resist it... is to sacrifice it.

The moon hovered high above, cold and distant, casting pale light over the academy's deserted training grounds.

Mohit stood alone in the center of the field, holding a small blade in trembling hands. Sweat clung to his skin. His breathing was shallow. For nearly an hour, he stood frozen — not from fear, but from the crushing weight of choice.

"If I do this... there's no going back."

His hands trembled more violently.

"But if I don't—what chance do I have when he comes?"

Then, without another thought, he clenched his jaw, raised the blade —

—and plunged it into his own eyes.

The pain was immediate. Blinding. Absolute.

Darkness consumed his vision. His knees buckled as a howl tore from his throat — not just of pain, but something deeper. A scream of sacrifice