NOVEL WEB Chapter 188: Chapter 188
The SR-class Mind Gem glowed faintly in Uehara Shiroha's hand, radiating a hypnotic yellow mist. It was small, elegant, and mesmerizing—like a candle flame burning in the void of Hueco Mundo. Mysterious. Powerful. Alive.
Even in a world full of spiritual anomalies, this gemstone stood apart.
As a singular space treasure, the Mind Gem didn't need to show off its power. It didn't shake the sky or scream with thunder—it simply was. A silent authority. The kind of item that could dominate not by force, but by presence alone.
To any spiritual being—Shinigami, Hollows, even humans—the gem was a beacon of impossible magnitude. They couldn't fully explain why, but they instinctively knew:
This is a treasure beyond comprehension.
It wasn't just pretty.
It was terrifyingly right.
And the stronger your Reiatsu was, the more its pull echoed through your soul.
Even now, Nel was practically drooling.
The moment her eyes landed on the gleaming yellow crystal, her entire expression shifted. She transformed from a proud former Espada into a googly-eyed toddler in a toy store.
"W-What is that...? It's so shiny…" she whispered, mouth agape, practically leaning forward in her seat.
Her hands twitched. Her whole body trembled with suppressed longing.
If not for the very real possibility of being smacked by her boss, she might have pounced on the gem like Smaug defending his hoard or Gollum reunited with his One Ring.
"My… preciousss…"
But instead, she sat frozen, eyes locked on the gem, chanting a new mantra in her head:
I love gems, but I love not getting beat up more.
Compared to the raw, captivating allure of the Mind Gem, Uehara Shiroha's aura was far more effective as a deterrent.
So, for once, Nel restrained herself.
She settled for puppy-dog eyes and silent suffering.
Uehara, of course, completely ignored her silent begging.
He was deep in thought, analyzing the war's progression and potential variables. The stage was nearly set.
Soon, they would see the appearance of Fullbring Ichigo, and Butterfly Aizen would spread his sparkly wings like some gothic Final Fantasy boss.
"Strategically, I can ignore them. Tactically... I'll give them face."
He didn't fear them. He didn't even truly respect them.
But he had learned that underestimating theatrical villains with monologues longer than their attack animations could be... messy.
Still, no matter what variable arose, Uehara knew one thing for certain:
He was the variable.
The butterfly effect didn't scare him—it bent around him.
His very existence had already warped the timeline beyond repair. Any minor fluctuation was his doing. The script had long since burned, and now he was just flipping the pages to see what flavor of drama came next.
He didn't need to act unless it was entertaining. And when he did? He'd fold the boss like laundry.
For now, though, there was only one priority:
Collect the completed Hōgyoku.
That was the current special mission assigned by his system.
The rewards were bound to be top-tier.
Though, honestly, he could have completed the mission ages ago. With his abilities, snatching the Hōgyoku from Aizen was about as difficult as grabbing a TV remote off the couch.
But... where was the fun in that?
Rushing through a mission? Finishing it too early?
That was for tryhards.
Uehara preferred letting others do the hard work—growing, struggling, monologuing their way to greatness—so he could swoop in and claim the loot like a smiling final boss at the end of a speedrun.
Besides, if he stole the Hōgyoku too early, Ichigo and Aizen would never grow strong enough to become usable resources against Yhwach.
No Ichigo training arc. No Butterfly memes. No satisfying final cutscene where he "saves the world" while Uehara watches from the shadows with popcorn.
"Let 'em grow. Let 'em suffer. Let 'em think they matter."
More screen time = more exploitation value.
Plus, Uehara had no intention of developing the Hōgyoku himself. That sounded like work. Boring, technical, inefficient work.
Let Aizen pour his twisted soul into the thing.
Uehara would just collect it later like a high-level player yoinking a legendary item from a newbie's corpse.
The best part?
The longer he waited, the bigger the reward.
Thanks to the unique mechanics of his task system, the mission's reward accumulated over time. A slow-cooked critical hit. The longer the quest lingered, the greater the payout.
It was like playing an idle game where the longer you didn't click, the more coins rained down.
And best of all?
There were no deadlines.
No ticking timers. No "complete or die" nonsense like those edgy systems from cultivation novels.
His system was gentle. Encouraging. Supportive of slacking.
A genuine fishing system.
Which meant: no need to rush.
Let Aizen finish evolving. Let the Hōgyoku reach maturity. Let fate run its dramatic course.
He'd be ready.
Turning back to reality, Uehara began reviewing his own combat strength.
"Let's see… Shadow Clones, check. Unlimited Blade Works, check. Mind Gem, check. Physical stats maxed? Of course. Can I dodge filler arcs now? Not yet..."
His foundation alone made most captains look like unpaid interns.
Even if he stripped himself of every system reward except one—just Shadow Clone Technique—he would still be a top-tier threat.
With clones training daily, endlessly, tirelessly...
He didn't just master his techniques. He multiplied his efficiency.
While most Shinigami spent centuries perfecting a single form of Zanjutsu, he was grinding dozens of techniques in parallel.
Each clone was a soldier, a sparring partner, a library of battle experience.
He'd become the Soul Society's version of Kuchiki Byakuya, if Byakuya had thirty copies of himself training 24/7 while the real one drank tea and listened to lo-fi.
Honestly, he was the real hard worker here.
Everyone called Ichigo a battle freak. They praised Aizen's intelligence. But who else pushed themselves like he did?
He literally worked himself to death.
Or rather, dozens of his clones did. Daily. For years.
"You think you work hard? Try killing yourself in training 38 times before breakfast."
Even Coby from One Piece, the poster child for effort, would cry if he saw Uehara's grind schedule.
"Have you seen the Soul Society at 4 a.m.? I have. Every day. In triplicate."
The system had rewarded him well.
Shadow Clone was only A-rank, but the system adapted ability strength to world context. Which meant in Bleach, the clones were insane.
The standard clone from Naruto could punch.
Uehara's clone could destroy landscapes, master Shikai, and cook a decent omelet.
And then there was Unlimited Blade Works—an EX-rank Reality Marble.
A treasure trove of infinite weapons. A counter to everything.
He hadn't even used it seriously yet.
Didn't need to.
He was saving that for the final arc. Or maybe a prank. Whichever came first.
His system mechanics were absurd in scope. Every technique, skill, or item wasn't just copy-pasted from another universe—it was buffed by his world's power scaling.
Even a B-rank Substitution Jutsu might become a true time-space ninjutsu. A C-rank fireball could melt Zanpakutō. A D-rank technique could be deadlier than a captain's Bankai if used properly.
Rank wasn't a number. It was a promise.
And Uehara's kit? Was built entirely from promises that broke the game.
He glanced down at the Mind Gem again, watching it pulse with light. He could feel it now.
Requiem.
His White Album, already nearing perfection, was starting to shift—its abilities becoming broader, sharper, denser. It wasn't just freezing matter anymore. It was freezing concepts.
If it reached Requiem status…
Who knew?
Time might stop for him. Concepts might unravel. Or he might just become even cooler than he already was—which, frankly, seemed impossible.
He was already immortal, invincible, and had style.
What else could a man ask for?
Behind him, Nelliel continued to stare at the Mind Gem with longing.
She whispered softly:
"Boss… can I touch it… just once?"
He didn't even turn around.
"No."
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