Days had passed since Aizen had taken you to Las Noches, fascinated by your unusual abilities. You had been assisting Gin in the infirmary, tending to wounds and monitoring the arrancar, but lately, you’d noticed cold stares following you wherever you went—resentment simmering just beneath the surface.

One evening, exhausted from pushing your powers beyond their limits, you trudged back to your room. Dropping onto the couch, your mind swirled with worry and fatigue.

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Two tall arrancar strode inside, their expressions dark and hostile. Before you could react, they slammed you against the wall, their grip harsh and unyielding.

A strangled scream caught in your throat.

Then the room’s tension shattered.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” A rough, commanding voice cut through the silence.

Grimmjow appeared, eyes blazing as he stepped between you and the attackers. The two arrancar snarled, but before they could respond, Grimmjow raised his hand. A brilliant red blast of Cero erupted, engulfing them instantly.

As their bodies disintegrated, Grimmjow turned to you, hands shoved casually into his pockets. His sharp gaze bore into you, his voice low and guarded. “Heard you scream. Figured I’d check what the fuss was about.”

You blinked, startled. “Why… why are you here?”

He hissed defensively, as if annoyed by the question. “Don’t ask dumb shit.”