Bleach: Stirring Up a Storm

Why did Urahara halt his experiments on the Hōgyoku? And why, knowing full well that Aizen intended to overuse it, didn’t he just use it himself? No matter how you looked at it, having Urahara wield the Hōgyoku would be far more reassuring.

Was it because he lacked the confidence to control such immense power? Perhaps, but Kōe didn’t think Urahara was that kind of person. After all, this was the founder of the Department of Research and Development.

By providing a suitable environment for dangerous individuals, wouldn’t that create more people capable of turning danger into an asset?

Adhering to this very philosophy, the Department of Research and Development was established—a place capable of housing Kurotsuchi Mayuri and the other inmates locked away in the Maggot’s Nest, allowing their talents to flourish. This was Urahara’s attitude and judgment toward people, and simultaneously, his attitude toward all things in the world.

Danger and utility were inherently two sides of the same coin. Whether a sword was used to harm or to save depended entirely on the wielder’s intent; the outcome was the result of a clash between the individual’s own dual nature.

Understanding this, looking back at how Urahara handled the Hōgyoku made his complete rejection of it seem incredibly unnatural. From beginning to end, he resisted the idea of anyone mastering the Hōgyoku—including himself. This was absolutely not Urahara Kisuke’s style.

In Urahara’s eyes, was it truly impossible for anyone to maintain their self-discipline when faced with the Hōgyoku’s ability to shatter one’s limits? Kōe didn’t think so.

First, if that were the case, Urahara would be no different from that bunch in Central 46. Second, while others might be unpredictable, the fact that he, as its creator, had consistently maintained his distance already disproved that impossibility.

Because of this, Kōe formulated a hypothesis. Perhaps the Hōgyoku didn’t possess a dual nature at all. It was simply pure danger. Unbound by the limits of thought or cognition, and incapable of becoming an asset regardless of who used it, it was fundamentally hazardous and harmful.

Without any possibility of becoming an asset, it was impossible to create a suitable environment for it. And without a suitable environment, it meant this danger was completely independent of one’s stance. Even comparing it to poison wasn’t quite accurate. For most people, poison taking a life was dangerous, but given the right environment—such as in war, or for someone desperately seeking death—it had the potential to be useful.

Irrespective of the user’s own stance or intentions, it was dangerous and harmful to individuals, to groups, and to the interactions between groups. This was the Hōgyoku—the incomprehensible Hōgyoku.

Of course, these were all just Kōe’s speculations based on Urahara’s reactions. However, combining his understanding of Urahara from his past life with his own growth, this guess was highly likely to be true.

And this naturally led to another question...

”Why?”

Yoruichi wasn’t the type to relentlessly dig for answers unless it was absolutely crucial. Therefore, she rarely asked *why*, especially not to those close to her like Urahara and Kōe.

If Urahara said the Hōgyoku was dangerous, then it was dangerous. She had never bothered to think about exactly *where* the danger lay, or whether they could find a way to turn it into an asset.

Kōe was different. He had always been an overthinker, and at his core, he possessed the same boundless curiosity as Urahara, just expressed in a different manner.

Now, after Kōe’s explanation, Yoruichi suddenly realized what kind of existence the Hōgyoku truly was. She was far from stupid, so a question naturally popped into her mind. ”Why is the Hōgyoku an unchangeable danger? Could Kisuke have misjudged it?”

”Hey! I’m not that incompetent!”

Everyone makes mistakes, and even Urahara Kisuke was no exception. But after a hundred years had passed, the ever-levelheaded Urahara still stood by this judgment, meaning it couldn’t possibly be a misunderstanding.

”Then why? You must have had a reason to make that judgment, right?”

”Although I hadn’t reached that stage at the time, I realized that if I continued developing it, the Hōgyoku would absolutely spawn some sort of consciousness.”

”So that was the reason.”

”But that wasn’t the reason I made my judgment. If anything, the fact that the Hōgyoku would develop its own consciousness only solidified my conclusion.”

”*Ahem!*” Urahara’s words thoroughly irritated Yoruichi. ”Then why are you spouting nonsense! Are you messing with me on purpose?!”

”How could I!” Urahara waved his hands in denial, though his demeanor did absolutely nothing to clear his suspicion. He knew this too, so he continued to explain, ”I just thought clarifying this point would help Kōe organize his thoughts better. But looking at you, it seems you already knew this, right, Kōe?”

”I did not!” Kōe shook his head like a rattle drum. ”To think it would spawn a consciousness, that’s truly surprising!”

The fact that Urahara knew the Hōgyoku would develop a consciousness wasn’t surprising in the slightest. On the contrary, it would be surprising if he *didn’t* know. As the creator of the Hōgyoku, no one understood it better than Urahara.

Indeed, the perfected Hōgyoku possessed a certain consciousness. Kōe had also considered whether it was this spawned consciousness that led Urahara to make a judgment so out of character for him.

But this possibility was quickly dismissed. If consciousness determined the Hōgyoku’s danger, then the user themselves could perfectly represent the other side, and the dual-nature dynamic wouldn’t be broken.

For people like them, opposition meant having a choice, and they had more than enough confidence to conquer powers that weren’t under their control.

If the problem didn’t lie in the consciousness the Hōgyoku would spawn, then they had to think on a more fundamental level.

”The Hōgyoku can shatter the boundary between Shinigami and Hollow. This is different from Hollowfication or Shinigamification. Its purpose isn’t to make an individual possess both Shinigami and Hollow abilities, but to break the boundary and become a new entity independent of both—capable of doing what Shinigami and Hollows can do, and also what they cannot.”

”That is where the problem lies. The moment you choose to use the Hōgyoku, its dual nature ceases to exist. And if you don’t rely on the Hōgyoku to break that boundary, then the Hōgyoku naturally has no value in existing.” Urahara crossed his hands, resting his chin on them as he continued, ”Of course, this doesn’t mean that breaking the boundary between Shinigami and Hollow is inherently wrong. The Hōgyoku is merely one method of breaking it—a flawed method.”

”I knew this in my heart, but I still had my doubts. I wondered if I should have waited a little longer, if I should have tried again.” Urahara looked up at Kōe, asking with a smile, ”Do you think I should have waited, Kōe?”

”Me?” Kōe didn’t react in time. Noticing Yoruichi’s suspicious glare, he hastily explained, ”I’ve never touched the Hōgyoku, really! He didn’t even tell me about it back then!”

The suspicious glare shifted back to Urahara, who remained entirely unfazed. ”It’s precisely because you haven’t touched it that your perspective might be more objective. You can give me some advice from a different angle.”

”Having created mature Arrancars at least forty years before Aizen, you must have quite a bit of insight into the Shinigamification of Hollows, don’t you, Kōe?”