With a soft whoosh, Yamamoto's figure materialized at the Genji School's main gate.
He bore the air of a man fresh from slaughter, his robes unstained by blood, yet tinged with a faint, lingering scent of carnage. His expression was fierce, the cross-shaped scars atop his head etched deeper into his weathered skin.
"Genryūsai-sama."
"What… happened?"
Almost in sync with Yamamoto's arrival, Sasakibe appeared at his side, his face taut with concern.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto's demeanor remained heavy, his mood visibly dour. "Nothing worth noting. While rooting out the Seireitei's blade tester in District 40, the Heads of the Tsunayashiro and Kuchiki ambushed me with a few hundred men."
"An ambush?!"
Sasakibe's tension spiked, his eyes darting behind his master. Noticing the absence of Genshirō Ōkikiba, who'd set out with him, his voice sank low, "Then Genshirō, he…"
Before he could finish, Yamamoto let out a gruff sigh. "A few slipped through. Nearly wiped them all out. I got careless."
"…"
"Huh?"
Sasakibe's mournful expression froze mid-formation.
Only then did Yamamoto catch the weight in his disciple's face, realizing the misunderstanding. He waved a dismissive hand. "Genshirō's back there, handling the bodies with the leftovers. The Kuchiki head's dead, and that Tsunayashiro whelp's gravely wounded, won't last long. Picking new heads will stall them for a while. They won't muster a decent counterattack anytime soon. I was more worried about things here, so I came back early."
His gaze shifted to the school, where smoke rose and sporadic flames flickered. His voice deepened. "But it seems the Genji School has its own troubles. An inside job, then?"
Sasakibe's face tightened, and he dropped to one knee in apology. "Genryūsai-sama, I've failed in my oversight. Please mete out your punishment!"
Yamamoto brushed it off, striding into the grounds. "Tell me what happened."
"Yes, sir."
Sasakibe swiftly recounted the events, delivering a concise report.
Yamamoto's brow arched, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "Katori? You're saying that girl finally stepped up?"
"Indeed!" Sasakibe's expression twitched with faint embarrassment. "Her study got blown to bits by those infiltrators."
"No wonder."
Yamamoto nodded, the pieces clicking into place.
That girl was a book fiend to her core.
Those fools had struck her one fatal nerve.
Sasakibe cracked a wry smile. "Thanks to Katori and Makoto's efforts, the intruders were wiped out before they could do much damage."
At that, Yamamoto's thoughts drifted to Makoto. "Speaking of him, how's his training coming along? It's been nearly a month, hasn't it?"
"Twenty-five days, to be exact." Sasaki replied, bowing slightly with a hint of regret. "But I've been remiss in my guidance. Over all this time, Makoto's…"
He paused, choosing his words. "…progress has been rather slow."
That was putting it generously, absurdly so.
Rather slow?
More like utterly stagnant.
Still, Sasakibe knew his master's temperament. Some truths demanded a softer touch.
As the self-proclaimed top disciple of the Genji School, he held deep care for most of the school's students and didn't want Makoto bearing undue blame.
Often, compared to Yamamoto, who taught once and left it at that, Sasakibe was the one doling outpatient, earnest instruction.
Yamamoto shot him a sidelong glance, his tone dry. "For you to phrase it like that… I'd wager there's been no change at all, has there?"
"…"
Sasakibe held his bow, silent.
"Hah."
Yamamoto let out a sudden, rasping chuckle, his rough fingers jabbing the air toward Sasakibe as he shook his head with faint exasperation. "Chōjirō, you really don't get it."
"Genryūsai-sama?"
Sasakibe lifted his head, brow furrowed in confusion.
The old man clasped his hands behind his back and strode forward, his voice tinged with the weight of a distant past as he countered, "Chōjirō. Do you think Makoto, with his reiatsu barely scraping 'instructor' level, could shatter that Sekkiseki?"
At the Genji School, the Genji faction broadly split its ranks into 'instructors' and 'masters', roughly akin to the future Gotei 13's lieutenants and captains.
Sasakibe's frown deepened, uncertain. "What do you mean, sir?"
Yamamoto paced ahead, his tone calm. "Chōjirō, I was young once too. I know all too well what churns in the minds of those brash, powerful, prodigiously gifted geniuses. From Makoto's fearless gaze, unawed by anyone, and that insolent blade of his, it's plain as day. Eyes often speak truer than words."
Sasakibe's face lit with understanding. "I see. So you wanted Makoto to recognize his limits?"
"No."
Yamamoto shook his head again. "Chōjirō, you underestimate him. More than recognizing himself, I want him to reach the absolute. Complete restraint, or dazzling brilliance. He wields a lively blade and his spirit… it's something extraordinary."
Leave it to the master to wield words so deftly, Sasakibe mused.
Yamamoto sighed. "It took me a full decade of fumbling in my youth to barely grasp that. Back then, my reiatsu wasn't much beyond what Makoto boasts now."
Hands clasped behind him, he stood atop the peak, gazing toward the distant bamboo grove. His eyes seemed to pierce the night, settling on the towering, wall-like Sekkiseki, pure white and stark against the dark.
He could almost see his younger self, a fool hammering at mountains, feeble and unyielding.
"But.. the day I mastered that restraint and shattered my own shackles, I stood unrivaled for millennia."
He turned to Sasakibe. "In my eyes, Makoto is the second soul I've witnessed who could achieve this at his stage. That day, I didn't see his limit."
Sasakibe froze, struck by the words.
He knew his master meant the day Makoto clashed with Saitō Fufofushi.
To think he held such faith in him.
Almost reflexively, Sasakibe asked, "Then… how long do you think it'll take him?"
"Pfft."
Yamamoto, ever stern, shook his head with a rare flicker of amusement, part mockery, part anticipation. "What's ten more years? I can secure a decade of peace yet."
"Ten years… huh?"
Sasakibe let out a quiet breath.
For a Shinigami, it was a fleeting span. But with the chaos looming over Soul Society, evident in the five noble houses' ambush, it was a storm at their doorstep.
"Let's go."
Yamamoto turned first, heading toward his quarters.
Sasakibe trailed close behind.
But they'd barely taken a step when...
From the bamboo grove's edge, a raw, ferocious reiatsu erupted, pure and unrestrained. It was as if every ounce of spirit and will had fused, compressed to a breaking point, igniting the soul and smashing through all barriers.
A crimson pillar of reiatsu speared into the sky.
Sensing it, Yamamoto whipped around, his aged eyes widening.
Sasakibe's jaw dropped.
With their prowess, they instantly recognized it.
Makoto's reiatsu.
Thoom!
An earth-shaking blast followed, the mountain beneath the Genji School trembling in its wake.
The ten-meter Sekkiseki, under that terrifying force, shuddered and slid back several meters, dragging heavy soil with it. Even from afar, the deep imprint left by the strike stood clear.
The first punch.
Thoom!
The ground quaked again.
The white monolith at the grove's heart groaned, a web of cracks spidering across its surface in an instant amid a storm of dust.
The second punch.
Thoom!
This blow, sharper and denser than the last, bore transcendent piercing power.
Countless white fragments exploded outward, propelled by unimaginable force, disintegrating along a straight path within a brutal shockwave, forming a trail of white smoke.
The final punch!
Amid that thunderous roar came a hoarse, resentful bellow, fueled by dozens of days enduring Sasakibe's electrified lash.
"Yamamoto! Sasakibe! Fuck your ancestors!!"
"…"
Yamamoto stood rooted, eyes wide with shock, his mouth agape for an age.
Sasakibe's eyes nearly popped from their sockets.
Yet, as that voice rang out, Yamamoto's gaze sharpened, gleaming brighter.
The corners of his ever-downturned mouth, unnoticed, curled upward.
"…You little brat!"
***
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
***
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