No Hope in Sight

On the other side of the battlefield.

"Oh my, please go easy on this handsome guy. I'm very afraid of pain."

Giselle Gewelle stood atop a sand dune, wearing that sickly sweet smile. The two ahoge on his head flailed erratically in the wind.

Beside him stood a strange figure wrapped in a hood, silent as a stone.

One of the Four Elite Guards, Pernida Parnkgjas.

And opposite them—

"Tch. A chatty dead tranny, a mute putting on a mysterious act, a half-dead consumptive, and a sleazy-looking gay guy."

Grimmjow impatiently dug at his ear. His wild, unruly gaze swept over the lineup across from him, his face full of annoyance and displeasure.

"What kind of freakshow is this? Fighting trash like you, I can't even work up any enthusiasm."

Ever since he had fallen to tenth place, he had refused to admit defeat out loud, but a ball of frustration had been building inside him.

And now, not only had he failed to get matched against those tough opponents at the front, he had instead been assigned this bunch of weak-looking losers.

"Cough, cough. Sir Hollow, you shouldn't say that."

Although Jushiro Ukitake's face was pale, he still retained his cheerful good temper and habitually began fishing for information.

"May I ask which Espada you are in True King's Palace?"

"Heh. Listen up, Shinigami."

Grimmjow raised his thumb, tore open his clothes, and pointed at the number exposed on his back, a wildly arrogant grin appearing on his face.

"I'm No. 10!"

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez!!"

"Oh my! So you're the famous No. 10~!"

Giselle covered his mouth in mock surprise and said in a strange, mocking tone, "Two-digit numbers must be stronger than one-digit numbers, right? After all, the number is so much bigger~ You have to go easy on