Chapter 65: The Mask… Can’t Be Taken Off!

Yamabuki Haruto sprinted through Hueco Mundo’s sands, chasing after Sasakibe Chōjirō and Kazenami Haru. His mobile turret barrage had held back the Hollow tide, buying time. Ahead, he spotted his teammates surrounded by four Giant Hollows. For Chōjirō and Haru, mid-tier Gotei 13 fighters, four was a stretch.

“Bakudō #62: Hyapporankan!” Haruto thrust a hand forward, conjuring a light pillar that split into dozens, pinning the Hollows to the sand.

“Brother Yamabuki!” Chōjirō exclaimed, relieved. “You’re okay!”

“What could touch me?” Haruto smirked, leaping atop Lizard Maru. Thank the stars for this mount. Without it, he’d never have escaped so far.

The crisis wasn’t over. Their Shinigami reiatsu blazed like beacons in Hueco Mundo’s dark. Hollows would track them relentlessly. “Contact Soul Society,” Haruto ordered. “Get a Senkaimon opened at a fixed point. We’ve killed enough to report back.”

Before Chōjirō could summon a Hell Butterfly, more Hollows emerged, their laughter echoing. “Found you!”

“Found your head!” Haruto retorted, flashing forward with Utsusemi. His Zanpakutō pierced a Hollow’s mask, twisting through its skull.

“We can’t keep running—they’ll catch us!” Haruto said. “We need a safe spot and a way to mask our reiatsu.” He longed for Mayuri Kurotsuchi’s twisted genius—a device to erase their traces would be perfect. “Simplest method it is.” He slaughtered approaching Hollows, peeled their masks, and donned one. “Think Hollows are smart enough to see through this?”

Chōjirō and Haru’s brows twitched. We’re not idiots, their looks said. But Chōjirō gasped. “Brother Yamabuki, your reiatsu changed with the mask! It might work!” He grabbed a mask from a corpse, slipping it on with a grin. Haru followed, skeptical but compliant.

As they disguised themselves, the four-armed Adjuchas appeared. “Kid, you run fast! Our fight’s not done!” it growled.

Haruto cleared his throat, rasping, “Wrong guy. I’m a Hollow—see the mask!”

The Adjuchas’s mask hid its twitching eyes. You think I’m blind? But it paused. Haruto’s reiatsu, once pure Shinigami, now felt murky, mixed with Hollow-like turbulence. Confused, it hesitated.

“I’m a Hollow!” Haruto insisted. “I’ll prove it with a Cero. Stand still—Hadō #63: Raikōhō!” A golden-blue bolt obliterated a cluster of Hollows.

“What are you two staring at?” Haruto yelled at Chōjirō and Haru. “Run! The disguise flopped!”

Chōjirō groaned inwardly. That disguise was doomed. Who’d fall for it? Use your Chief of Staff brain! He and Haru tossed their masks aside.

Haruto sighed, reaching to remove his own. It wouldn’t budge. He pulled harder—no luck. A chill gripped him. What’s happening? The mask felt fused to his face. Tearing it off would mean ripping his flesh. Oh no, this is bad. Returning to Soul Society like this? He’d be cut down on sight.

His Quincy reishi manipulation was already a secret to guard. Now a Hollow mask? This is a nightmare. Aizen’s Hollowfication experiments had turned eight captains and lieutenants into Visored, only for Central 46—and Yamamoto’s tacit approval—to exile them. Even after rejoining the Gotei 13, the Visored avoided Hollowfication, likely bound by a deal to suppress it. Haruto’s situation was worse—a Shinigami with Quincy and now Hollow traits.

If I have to, I’ll cut my face off and heal it with Kaido, Haruto thought, prying at the mask’s edge with his blade. But then he froze. The mask wasn’t stuck—it was fusing into his body, sinking into his flesh. Within a minute, it vanished, absorbed completely. Haruto touched his face, feeling only skin, but dread surged. What’s happening to me?

“Brother Yamabuki, you ditched the mask?” Chōjirō asked, smiling. “Thought you said it was cool.”

Haruto forced a laugh. “Yeah, kept it for style, but I’m good now. Don’t worry—I’ll handle the pursuers.” He turned, hiding his panic, and tried tugging at where the mask had been. Nothing. It was part of him now.