Bleach: The Invincible Slacker from Rukongai

Chapter 180: Chapter 180



This kind of reverence—this awe of overwhelming strength—was something etched into their instincts.

Just like lower life forms naturally submitted to higher ones, people like Ichigo and Grimmjow couldn't help but be awestruck by Uehara Shiroha.

Only those who had touched true power could even begin to grasp how terrifying Shiroha's movements were—his flash step, his hand-to-hand strikes.

And even then, they only barely understood it.

To Ichigo Kurosaki and Grimmjow, Uehara didn't just fight differently—he felt like he existed in another dimension entirely.

Zaraki Kenpachi was terrifying. That much was undeniable.

His monstrous pressure, his unrelenting spirit, his slashes that split the sky—no ordinary warrior could face him and walk away.

But in Uehara Shiroha's hands?

He was like a child.

Not just defeated—dismissed.

That was what shook them the most.

They both understood how powerful Kenpachi was. They had experienced that pressure firsthand, and neither of them had the confidence to take on a full-powered strike from him head-on.

And yet Uehara had tossed him aside like a broken doll.

But it wasn't just the power that left them stunned.

It was how he did it.

Uehara had been so casual, so effortless—like swatting away a fly while sipping tea. There wasn't even a fluctuation in his Reiatsu.

Orihime and Nel couldn't grasp the depth of what had happened—their spiritual perception wasn't developed enough.

But Ichigo and Grimmjow?

They saw it. And they were shaken.

Because they understood Kenpachi. His strength was within their realm of experience—the kind of power they could imagine and maybe, someday, reach.

But Shiroha?

He was beyond that.

They couldn't even process how he moved. His footwork wasn't like a Shinigami's Shunpō or an Arrancar's Sonído. It was something else—faster, cleaner, and completely undetectable.

One moment he wasn't there.

The next, he was standing in front of his opponent, arm already extended.

It was like watching a ghost in motion.

If Kenpachi was a wild tiger roaring through the mountains, Uehara was a dragon gliding silently through the clouds—untouchable, unreadable, unreal.

Even his strikes were contradictory.

A single palm.

It looked light. Gentle, even.

But then came the sound—the visual shockwave—the sudden collapse of Kenpachi's chest.

They watched, frozen, as the energy defense around Kenpachi's body shattered in an instant. His torso dented inward, and he was frozen in mid-swing, completely still, just for a moment—like reality had hit pause.

That fleeting instant of stillness felt eternal.

A palm so fast it seemed slow.

So light it carried infinite weight.

It broke their understanding of combat—and of physics.

The result? Chaos in their senses. Blurred vision. Dizzy spiritual perception. Stars in their eyes and nausea bubbling in their chests.

It wasn't just the strike.

It was the unknowability of it.

Kenpachi's slashes were terrifying—but they made sense. You could see them coming. You could react.

Uehara's techniques? You couldn't even process what was happening, much less fight back.

How do you resist something you can't understand?

That kind of power—hidden, unfathomable, and casually lethal—was enough to make anyone despair.

Uehara turned his gaze to the still-stunned Ichigo and sighed.

"Look at them… and then look at you."

He shook his head with exaggerated disappointment.

"You're young, but where's the fire? You swing your sword like you're embroidering a pillow. So soft—who's that gonna kill?"

He didn't even try to soften the blow.

"You need to stand up."

"You haven't learned any real techniques, but you've already mastered holding yourself back? What are you doing sealing yourself like that?"

"The truth is—you can try to suppress your instincts all you want, but they don't go away. They're part of you."

"The more you force them down, the harder they'll bounce back. You keep holding it in, and one day, you're gonna explode in the worst possible way."

Uehara's tone sharpened.

"You don't understand power. Not truly."

"You don't even deserve that mask."

That was the core of Ichigo's problem.

He wanted to protect—but didn't want to fight.

Didn't want to kill.

Didn't want to change.

He wanted power without sacrifice, victory without conflict.

That, in Uehara's view, was the real taboo.

"Why is it that the 'blackened' version of someone is always stronger?" he asked, half-mocking.

"It's because that version dares to kill."

"Once the hero starts hesitating—'what if I hurt someone?' 'what if I go too far?'—they're already three steps behind."

"That's how the term 'carpet Ichigo' came about."

In Bleach, there were people who insisted on making their own lives harder.

They had power. They had ideals.

And yet they chose to not use them.

Ichigo Kurosaki. Kisuke Urahara...

Even Batman has this disease.

Now Uehara was fully in rant mode.

Think about it. Bruce Wayne. He's got absurd combat skills, genius intellect, next-level tech, and more money than several countries combined.

He's got power in every sense—physical, mental, economic.

And yet, somehow, he still can't deal with the Joker.

Uehara shook his head in mock disbelief.

This guy wears a high-tech batsuit, drives a tank disguised as a car, and spends billions on gadgets... all to play cops and robbers with a dude in clown makeup.

In a world where money can move mountains, Bruce Wayne is still too conservative.

All that money—and he doesn't just fix Gotham? Why not change the laws, rebuild the system, lift the poor out of the slums?

The answer's simple.

Because Bruce Wayne is the system.

Wayne Enterprises is part of the upper class. The root of Gotham's rot. As long as the old money elite stay untouched, Gotham won't change.

The Wayne family benefits from the way things are.

Uehara crossed his arms.

Batman plays vigilante not to change the world, but to pretend he's not a part of it.

The cape, the mask—it's cosplay. It's theater.

And the villains? They get it.

That's why no one dares expose his identity.

If they do, they're not fighting Batman anymore. They're fighting capitalism itself.

He smirked.

That's when you stop dealing with batarangs and start getting hit by economic blacklists, offshore accounts, and corporate assassins.

It's like Lex Luthor with Superman. Sure, he knows Clark Kent is Superman. But he still plays along.

Because once the mask is off, the game's over—and no one wants to stop playing just yet.

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