The rain was not heavy. Aizen stood high in the sky, wearing a raincoat. Raindrops pattered against the plastic coat, and from time to time, one or two stray droplets landed on Aizen's glasses, forcing him to take them off and wipe them clean again with his sleeve.
In truth, with his abilities, if he did not wish it, let alone this light rain, even standing on the ocean floor would not leave a single drop of water on him.
However, ever since reaching that level, Aizen had gradually realized that he seemed to have lost some of his human emotions. He had become indifferent and ruthless, slowly beginning to see those weaker than himself as ants. Most of the time, that feeling was quite pleasant, but at times, Aizen found himself rather hating it.
Thus, in order to deliberately preserve that last trace of humanity, Aizen often did things that others found exceedingly strange.
For instance, he was particularly particular about pairing and brewing tea leaves. He liked giving his glasses a thorough cleaning every so often, and when practicing calligraphy, he liked staining his sleeves with ink.
To others, all of these actions were sometimes truly peculiar, but Aizen did not care about their opinions. Or rather, even if he wanted to care, the pride within him would instinctively disregard what others thought.
To Aizen, other people were no different from ants by the roadside.
When you passed by one, all your attention was focused on how to step over it without crushing it to death.
As for how the ant judged you, Aizen simply would not care. Or rather, he did not even notice it.
They were beings from two entirely different dimensions. There was no possible point of intersection between them.
Watching the death warrior speeding