Cold.
Trembling.
A constricting pressure gripped his chest as if something were wrapping around it, yet it felt soaked in a warm, slick liquid, suffocating in a way he couldn't quite name.
Makoto's consciousness clawed its way back.
Then, in a sudden jolt, his eyes snapped open.
Unfamiliar…
Gurgle… gurgle…
Splash!
The boy lurched upright from a half-filled wooden tub, his weakened body nearly collapsing. He braced himself against the edge, though his struggling splashed water in wide arcs.
Wait... what was this place?!
"Oh."
"You're awake?"
"Congratulations! Starting today, you're a cute little girl now."
A long-haired man, busy with something near another bed, turned at the sound behind him, a wooden ladle dangling from his hand.
Huh?
At those words, Makoto's hand instinctively darted into the shadowy depths of the water.
Phew.
He let out a quiet breath of relief.
His treasure was still intact and unchanged.
Good thing it was a joke.
He turned his head toward the man.
"Did you save me?"
"Thanks."
"But…"
Makoto trailed off, his gaze sweeping the surroundings.
What he saw was a room roughly the size of an ordinary bedroom, thick with steamy mist. Nearby stood several large barrels of hot water… a bathhouse?
The realization hit him, and he froze for a moment.
In Zaraki, where nearly all resources, water, food, and clothes, were hoarded by the strongest, even drinking a few sips at a fixed spot was a grueling ordeal, every moment shadowed by the blades of ruthless monsters.
Bathing? Unthinkable.
You'd need a helmet just to fish there.
With that thought, Makoto voiced the question gnawing at him.
"Where the hell am I?"
"And that crazy, big-breasted woman who tried to kill me, where's she?"
"Oh, didn't take the bait, huh? I thought you'd…" The bathhouse guy rambled on, seemingly caught off guard by the question at first, then echoing it back.
"Big-breasted what?"
It took a beat before realization dawned. His cheeks puffed out, his face flushing a deep liver-red.
He tried hard to stifle it but failed spectacularly.
"Ku.."
"Kukukuhahahahaha…"
His laughter erupted, wild and unrestrained, as he clutched his stomach, doubling over. His body shook, breathless from the fit.
Makoto stared, bewildered.
He'd nearly been hacked to death by that woman.
What was so funny?
"You… you little…"
The small-eyed bathhouse guy wheezed, trembling with mirth. His grin stretched ear to ear, uglier than a sob.
"No wonder you survived that woman's hands, you're a real tough one!"
"Hah!"
"Stick around, I'll look out for you plenty from now on."
Makoto's confusion deepened. He gripped the tub's edge, instinctively trying to stand.
But the moment he lifted a hand, a searing, tearing pain ripped through his chest and abdomen.
"Ugh."
He grunted, glancing down.
Thick bandages swathed his chest, arms, and stomach.
The warm water cradling him had taken on a delicate pink hue.
Blood-tinged hot springs.
"As a professional doctor, I'd advise against moving around too much." The long-haired bathhouse guy chimed in, barely containing his amusement. His tone carried a hint of seriousness as he offered the warning.
He turned back to his task as he spoke.
Makoto followed his gaze and noticed, for the first time, what lay on the bed ahead... a stripped corpse.
His pupils shrank.
Instinct drove him to lunge for the battered Asauchi resting nearby.
Smack.
Before he could fully rise, his wrist was abruptly pinned by the seemingly carefree bathhouse guy.
Makoto froze.
His wrist wouldn't budge.
Such strength.
And that Shunpo freakishly fast.
He flicked his eyes to the corpse, then back to the long-haired man now standing before him without warning. A thought surged in his mind.
Did that woman drag him back to her damn lair?
"Easy there, kid."
The bathhouse guy released his wrist with a casual air, tossing out a warning.
"Drawing a blade on my turf is a dangerous move."
"You'll die, you know."
Makoto pulled back his faintly bruised wrist, rising from the tub with gritted teeth against the pain. Cautiously, he asked, "Where is this place? Who are you? Can I… leave?"
"Ah, ah… no rush."
The bathhouse guy flashed a grin, flicking his thick, flowing hair with a flourish. His tone softened.
"My apologies, though that was rude of me."
"You're currently in West Rukongai, District 64 - Sabitsura."
"And this? This is the only training sanctuary in all of Soul Society, the Genji School!"
He did not explain the name as if it were some obvious, universal truth.
Finally, he thrust out a thumb, pointing at himself with unmatched swagger, his voice booming with unshakable confidence:
"And I am the legendary guardian of the Genji School, the phantasmagorical powerhouse, the fastest legend in all of Soul Society!"
"Tenjirō the Great!"
"That's me!"
The bathhouse guy flung his long hair with a flourish, closing his eyes in quiet anticipation, awaiting the awestruck praise from the gravely injured boy before him.
But after a long stretch, only a deathly silence greeted him.
He cracked an eye open, his expression shifting to confusion.
Makoto stood frozen, unresponsive for what felt like ages.
"Hey!"
"You little punk... you didn't just die recently, did you?"
"To think you've never even heard of me!"
But in the next breath, Makoto bolted upright, seizing him with a grave intensity. "What did you say your name was?"
The bathhouse guy blinked, thrown off. "Tenjirō."
"Tenjirō Kirinji!"
"Hey, hey, hey. I've been famous far and wide for ages! Don't you dare act like you don't know me!"
After all that bombastic self-introduction, how embarrassing would it be otherwise?
Makoto ignored his bluster, swallowing hard before pressing on:
"Then… the Genji School is…?"
"You little… Don't tell me you really just crossed over from the dead?!"
Tenjirō's eyes widened. "The Genji School of course it's the hallowed ground founded by the grandmaster, the master of teachings, the unrivaled shinigami who's held the title of Soul Society's mightiest for a thousand years, Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto!"
As expected.
Makoto's mind churned, clinging to one last thread of hope as he asked, "Then… the Seireitei's Gotei 13 has it… been formed yet?"
Now it was Tenjirō's turn to look puzzled.
"Seireitei?"
"Lately, we've been tangling with those damn nobles, sure lost a fair few in the fights, too."
"But… Gotei 13?"
His small eyes glinted with a clear, almost foolish innocence.
"Never heard of that unit."
Done for.
The worst possible draw!
Makoto's hands fell limp, his body slumping back into the tepid tub. His face drained to an ashen gray.
He'd crossed into a time at least a millennium before even the Gotei 13 squad had been established.
An unknown era.
Not only was his meta-knowledge advantage gone, but if he lived long enough, he'd have to face the omniscient, omnipotent Yhwach… twice!
TWICE!
And that didn't even touch the relentless chaos and bloodshed of the Soul Society.
Inevitable.
Noticing his sudden descent into despair, Tenjirō grinned, tossing out a few consoling words. "Still, you're pretty impressive, kid."
"To survive that woman, Retsu, when you don't even look that strong? Amazing."
"Besides that old man, you're the first to pull that off."
"Right now, I'd bet eight out of ten folks in the Genji School are buzzing about your name."
At the mention of that woman's name from Tenjirō's lips, Makoto's body jolted as if struck by lightning, a faint twitch rippling through him.
When his brain caught up, he asked, "Who'd you say?"
"Retsu!"
"That's the woman who nearly killed you."
"Oh, but these days, you'd better use this new name."
Tenjirō flashed a carefree, mischievous grin, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Because she's the most diabolical criminal of history…"
"Yachiru Unohana."
"Yesterday, she's the one who dragged you back here, said she wants that old man to take you as a disciple."
Makoto's demeanor grew eerily calm. He slid slowly back into the tub, utterly unmoored.
Damn you, Zaraki District.
What a cursed hellhole!
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC