Sowhere deep within the vast and ancient folds of the cosmos—
BZZZT
"Whaaa!!" Robin let out a sharp cry as he was violently ejected from a swirling space portal, only to co crashing down face-first with a dull poof against the rocky soil.
But he didn’t stay down. "Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, gritting his teeth. With a swift, practiced motion, he pushed himself up on his arms, then distributed his weight across all fours, eyes wide with urgency.
The space in front of him—distorting, warping, lting like a mirage in the heat—was unstable. That teleportation was supposed to launch him to the far side of... whatever planet this was!
But then—
BZZZT! The portal behind him sparked again, flickering ominously.
"Would you stop with these childish antics already? The matter is settled."
WOOOOOOM...
In the very next breath, Robin felt the space around him harden, stabilize, and return to its natural state—as if soone had pressed "pause" on the very fabric of reality. His technique was shut down, nullified before it even began.
"This is really bad," he muttered to himself as he sprang up to his feet, spinning around in place like a cornered animal. His sharp eyes scanned every direction, desperate to understand just what kind of nightmare he’d landed in this ti.
...The nightmare appeared, oddly enough, to be an isolated island—deserted, silent, far too calm.
He stood upon a stretch of golden sand, waves from an endless ocean stretching before him in every direction. Behind him, tall palm trees swayed gently, whispering secrets to the breeze.
The only thing that broke the illusion of a tropical paradise was the presence of a massive, ancient space portal—overrun by moss, crawling vines, it seed like it was never used since decades!
"Where... where the hell am I?! What is this bizarre place?!"
Robin shouted, bewildered beyond words. Who in their right mind would construct a spatial portal on an abandoned island like this? And why?
Then, as if rembering a presence he montarily forgot, he turned toward the blind old man, rage rising in his chest.
"And what the hell do you want from ?!"
"As for your location—does it even matter?" the old man replied with a light chuckle.
"You’re still within the middle sector, at the very least, hehehe..."
He laughed, his mouth spreading into a near-toothless grin, and began to approach slowly—his back hunched, hands clasped behind him, each step echoing with eerie calm.
"As for what I want from you... I already told you. I will be your master, your teacher."
"I don’t need to be taught by anyone!"
Robin snapped back, stepping away with every step the old man took forward. His fingers twitched, and the look in his eyes sharpened. His mind was racing—was this the right mont to risk a spaceti escape? Could he even pull it off?
"I don’t intend to harm you. That’s what really matters, isn’t it?"
The old man stopped, standing still just a few paces away.
"I’ve been watching you for a long while now. I believe you’re ready. Reckless? Yes. Short-sighted? Certainly. But ready, nonetheless."
"...’For a while’? ’A long while’?!"
Robin’s voice rose in outrage,
"You creepy, twisted old man! We crossed paths once over 170 years ago—and you’ve been stalking ever since?! Don’t you have anything better to do with your damn life?!"
"No."
The old man raised his non-existence eyebrow in the most casual, matter-of-fact way imaginable.
"In fact, I learned everything I needed about you during the very first year. That was enough. I decided then and there to make you my disciple. But you seed a little... preoccupied—chasing money like a rabid dog for reasons beyond my understanding. So I waited... I gave you ti to get it out of your system.
Shouldn’t you be grateful for that?"
"Oh yes, thank you so much for not kidnapping earlier and waiting a re 170 years instead!"
Robin clapped his hands mockingly, a forced, sarcastic grin spreading across his face.
"But no, really—I don’t want a teacher. And forgive if this sounds arrogant, but I don’t need one. There’s no one alive who can teach anything."
"And why would you believe such a thing?"
Genuine confusion flickered across the blind old man’s weathered features.
"Is it because you’re the Chosen of Truth, O great Lord Human?"
"...."
Robin’s brow furrowed deeply, his gaze darkened. He didn’t answer right away—but he wasn’t shocked either. After all, the man had supposedly been observing him for more than a century. It would be strange not to know about that title.
What unsettled Robin more... was how the old man had learned all this.
He had always been careful. Always.
Every few minutes, he’d unleash his spiritual sense to scan the entire hotel. He placed layered perception-blocking formations. The Soul Society themselves had deployed agents to guard the building’s periter. Every precaution taken, every angle covered...
And yet—the old man spoke as if he’d been sitting beside him the entire ti.
"Forgive this old fool," the elder finally said, shaking his head,
"But that belief of yours? That’s pure ignorance."
He raised his chin slightly, as if peering at Robin through invisible eyes.
"The Law of Truth is a Master Law in na only. But what strength does it truly offer? It is rely a thod for you—a spyglass through which one may glimpse the other heavenly laws, copy them, and hand them down like candy to the lazy and unworthy."
"Take that back!"
Robin’s eyes blazed with fury, his brows drawing into a sharp V.
"You have no right—none whatsoever, you senile, gas-leaking relic—to speak so casually about a Master Law!"
"Nas. Titles. Nothing more."
The blind old man waved a hand dismissively, as though swatting away an annoying thought. Then, without another word, he turned his back to Robin and faced the endless, heaving sea, its waves crashing rhythmically in the distance.
"I know you’re not just so average wielder of the Master Law of Truth. I’ve seen what you’ve built... I’ve even bought a few of your devices, to be honest."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"They weren’t bad at all. You have a mind that works like a hive of restless bees—constantly buzzing, tirelessly active, refusing to slow down. That is rare."
He pointed toward Robin twice with deliberate fingers.
"You—you’re the remarkable one, Robin. Not the Law of Truth."
"Putting aside the undeniable fact that I am exceptional..."
Robin lifted his head slightly, looking at the old man like he’d just uttered a blasphemy against the universe itself.
"You don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about. You’re dismissing sothing sacred, sothing ancient beyond comprehension. The eight Master Laws—those that birthed the cosmos—they aren’t just labels. They are primordial forces, divine in essence, and beyond the grasp of superficial minds."
"Hehehe... True. Very true."
The blind man nodded several tis, his expression unreadable beneath his wrinkled face.
"Tell then, disciple... have you ever heard what’s whispered about the Ultimate Power of the Truth Law?"
"I am not your disciple!"
Robin snapped, waving his hand angrily in the air, but despite his defiance, there was a gleam in his eyes—a reluctant curiosity.
"...What is it they say?"
"Hmhmhm... Then it seems your first lesson begins now, my rebellious disciple."
The old man grinned knowingly, clearly enjoying himself as he emphasized the word "disciple" again.
"You see... the Master Law of Truth has always been an enigma. A puzzle. A contradiction. Unlike the six other well-known Master Laws, it doesn’t move the stars, or bend ti, or give birth to galaxies. It doesn’t heal, destroy, or govern the rhythm of life and death.
It does one thing only—it sees. It observes.
It reveals the true nature of all things—nothing more, nothing less.
You could say that the Law of Truth is the universe’s mirror, showing everything exactly as it is, stripped bare of illusions, masks, or pretenses."
"..."
Robin didn’t interrupt. He nodded slightly, contemplative.
He had long suspected sothing similar. There was always a strange overlap between truth and identity—as if they were two halves of a deeper whole.
Connected. Intertwined. Yet fundantally distinct.
Identity defined what a thing was—why the essence of fire was not the essence of water, why stone would never flow like air.
A user of the Law of Identity could reshape reality itself, changing one thing into another, altering the core blueprint of existence.
But Truth?
Truth rely watched.
It saw the change. It studied the shift. It observed the nature of the alteration and chronicled it in silent awareness.
If anything, Truth was like the younger sister of Identity—forever trailing behind, eyes wide open, recording everything, understanding nothing, yet seeing all.
"...But that alone isn’t enough," Robin said at last, his voice lower now but no less intense.
"That task—however noble—isn’t enough to justify its place among the Master Laws."
The old man bowed his head, the air around him growing heavier, as though the wind itself was pausing to listen.
"And that is the question," he murmured.
"The sa question that has haunted the greatest sages, scholars, and cosmic minds across the stars for millions—perhaps billions—of years.
Why? Why is the Law of Truth given such exalted status? What secret does it hold? What destiny does it serve?"
He turned his head slowly, eyes—though blind—locking onto Robin with piercing weight.
"Do you want to know what we discovered after all those million of years of searching? After all the speculation, the ditation, the failed experints, the forgotten prophecies?"
"What?"
Robin leaned forward slightly, voice taut, drawn in despite himself.
"..."
The old man took a long breath, and when he finally spoke, it was a whisper wrapped in thunder:
"It is the Law... responsible for the end of the universe."
User Comments
0 comments from readers