Willing to Offer You Everything

The battle between Aizen and Ross ended in an extraordinarily dramatic fashion.

In the end, it wasn't a crushing defeat in strength. It was a crushing defeat in conviction.

For someone striving to reach greater heights, though, that was far easier to accept than being outmatched in strength.

A gap in strength could be explained away: he'd taken the wrong path, and if he'd had the same experiences, he would have been stronger.

But they had both longed for evolution. Ross's longing wasn't even for himself, yet Aizen had lost utterly.

No one present, Aizen included, could understand how Ross's hope that Aizen would evolve—and his faith that Aizen could reach the end of that path—could surpass Aizen's own.

It seemed impossible.

Yet the moment the Hōgyoku made its choice, the answer was plain.

Aizen's evolution sprang from the loneliness of standing at the top and his obsession with breaking the world's hollow conventions.

Beneath it lay the arrogance of one who stood alone at the summit, and the burden of believing he had to be the one to stand in the heavens.

Deep down, he still guarded against failure and the unknown summit ahead.

Ross's hopes for Aizen, however, came from the pure joy of pursuing the path.

Ross had no fear that Aizen would surpass him. In fact, he believed that even if Aizen reached the end, Aizen still could not be stronger than he was.

He desperately wanted Aizen to climb high enough to stand beside him, perhaps even to threaten him.

Ross saw his rival's evolution as the surest measure of his own path.

That supreme confidence, which found joy in a rival's strength, was free of fear or doubt.

The Hōgyoku could give form to the strongest desire around it.

It had sensed something keenly.