The next day.
As Makoto approached the dojo, he spotted a familiar figure standing in the front courtyard from a distance.
Yachiru Unohana.
The woman who'd once pierced clean through his body still bore her usual chilling air. Her sword hung at her waist as she lingered by the entrance, seemingly awaiting something or someone.
Only when her gaze settled on Makoto did a faint smile curl across her cold, elegant features.
Makoto's spine prickled with unease.
Whether it was the memory of a blade through his chest or the blackout from blood loss, neither was an experience worth celebrating.
He'd come to grasp her impartiality in 'killing,' but that didn't stop the creeping dread coiling in his gut.
"That reiatsu yesterday, it was yours, wasn't it?"
As he drew near, Unohana spoke first, her eyes softening as they traced every inch of him, her gaze tender, almost maternal.
"Yes, Unohana-sensei."
Makoto steeled himself, keeping it formal.
Her stare grew more intrigued, that smile now a child's delight at a new toy, laced with a barely perceptible hunger. "Quite an impressive reiatsu. You've made notable strides again."
"…"
Makoto's expression tightened.
He knew full well this woman's heart held no flesh, her desires weren't rooted in love or affection.
They were pure, unadulterated… killing intent.
If one had to measure it, Unohana's love for someone was precisely equal to her urge to end them.
Her way of loving was to drive a sharpened blade with all her might straight into their heart.
"Is there anything else?" Makoto took a steadying breath, voice level. "Yamamoto-sensei summoned me."
Unohana's smile warmed, amused by his defiance. "Then let's go in together."
With that, she stepped past the courtyard threshold heading toward the dojo.
As they brushed past each other, Makoto noticed something, today, Unohana had undone the top two buttons of her white haori. The big breast beneath stood stark against the contrast of black fabric and pristine white, more pronounced than ever.
He froze for a split second.
Was this intentional or a slip?
With no time to dwell, he hurried after her.
"Here already?"
As they entered the dojo, a crowd greeted them.
Kinroku Izuhara, Chigiri Shijima, Nobutsuna Shigyō, Entetsu Kumoi, Yachiru Unohana…
Makoto's eyes swept the room.
After his time at the Genji School, he'd grown familiar with many faces.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto sat at the center as always, gesturing to the group. "Makoto, the task forces led by these masters are all short on someone of your caliber. Due to your lack of tenure, you'll start as a provisional instructor, formal status will come in a few years. Who do you want to join?"
Makoto blinked, then quickly interjected: "Wait, Yamamoto-sensei… what's a task force?"
"Oh, my oversight."
Yamamoto tapped his forehead, nodding to Sasakibe. "Chōjirō, explain it to him."
Sasakibe inclined his head. "We Genji disciples and instructors, upon passing the school's trials and earning our 'license' or 'full transmission' certifications, are required to undertake 'operational duties.' Typically, this means joining masters to exterminate Hollows across regions or suppress rogue Seireitei noble Shinigami within Genji territory. There are currently thirteen standing task forces, each led by various masters and instructors."
The prototype Gotei 13 is right there.
Makoto pieced it together instantly.
The fully-fledged structure of the original Gotei 13 hadn't sprung up overnight.
"Are there differences between the task forces?" He probed cautiously.
"Oh, yes, yes!"
Chigiri, slouched and listless, raised a hand high from the side. "Our 4th Division's the healing unit. No front-line fighting, way easier than the rest."
Makoto's tension melted, a grin breaking free. "Then I'll- "
From the sidelines, Unohana, silent until now, cut in sharply, "This one's ours. The 11th Division claims him. Anyone with objections can take it up with me."
The room fell still.
Her genial smile swept the assembly, lingering pointedly on one figure.
Chigiri shuddered, offering Makoto an apologetic grimace. "…But you don't know Kaidō, so we can't take you. Such a shame!"
His retreat was swift and shameless.
Understandable, though.
Despite her unassuming veneer, Yachiru Unohana was the undisputed second to Yamamoto among this generation's masters, Soul Society's most diabolical criminal, her title no hollow boast.
Makoto stood dumbfounded.
Then why'd you even call me here?
As if I had a choice.
"Ahem."
Yamamoto clearly caught the absurdity too, casually stepping in to smooth it over. "Makoto, Unohana only joined us midway."
At that, the others in the room exchanged glum looks.
They were short on capable hands too.
Unohana's smile only grew softer, more indulgent.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
Just as Makoto braced himself to accept his fate, a brash roar erupted from beyond the dojo's doors.
With a whoosh, a purple blur streaked inside, bellowing, "Why wasn't I told you were picking this kid?!"
All eyes turned to Saitō Furōfushi.
Great, another contender.
In a flash of Shunpo, Saitō crossed a dozen meters, landing squarely behind Makoto. Without a shred of decorum, she perched atop his shoulders, barking at the room, "Hey, old man! Don't you all know this kid's got a soft spot for me?"
Arms crossed atop his head, she swung a foot to prod his cheek, brimming with confidence. "Take a good look! He's still got my tabi dangling from his scabbard!"
"Right?"
Makoto winced as her straw sandal grazed his face, sighing helplessly. "Actually… I prefer bare feet."
As for the rumor he was some pervert? Probably too late to wash that stain off.
"Eh?"
Saitō blinked, muttering, "So picky, huh?"
Yet, surprisingly compliant, she kicked off her shoes.
Now a pair of pale, tender feet poked and prodded his face instead.
[You've advanced further on the Art of Footcraft]
[Shunpo (Talent-Locked): Tier-10 ↑]
[Whoa! You get it, don't you?!]
[I'm all about bare feet too!]
Makoto stared blankly at the panel before him.
There's a reward for this?!
Unohana's gaze turned odd as it lingered on him.
"What're you staring at? Wanna fight?!" Saitō bared her teeth at her, a cat guarding its meal.
Unohana ignored her entirely, locking eyes with Makoto, her smile serene. "You know where you belong, right? A weakling like her can't satisfy you."
Makoto froze, then it clicked, his eyes lighting up.
Right.
If he had to fight either way, why not pick the softer target?
"No!"
He bowed sharply, voice ringing with resolve. "I choose Saitō-san's division! My deepest apologies, Unohana-sensei!"
"That's more like it!"
Saitō crowed from his shoulders, her grin smug and triumphant.
Unohana's brow furrowed, unexpectedly irked.
But before she could retort, a petulant, entitled whine erupted from Makoto's waist, his Zanpakutō chattering incessantly.
[Of course you pick the softest boobs to squeeze!]
[Get it, dummy?]
[Only by getting strong enough can I beat you till you're moaning and cum!]
[One-sided thrashings are just too pathetic.]
[Honestly, though, Saito-chan's cute feet feel nice, but Unohana-mama's big boobs? That's the best!]
[Please, Unohana-mama! Let me bury myself in your big boobs!!]
[Saito-chan can't satisfy me!]
In an instant, Saitō's buoyant laughter froze solid.
Her smile slowly migrated to Unohana's face.
Cold sweat beaded on Makoto's forehead.
The room's occupants stifled grins, teetering on the edge of laughter they dared not release.
Damn it, Unohana-mama?!
This kid's somehow upped his heavyweight game?
Ridiculous!
…
Katori hustled toward the dojo in small, frantic steps. Yamamoto had summoned her, but she'd lost track of time buried in books too late last night.
She'd barely reached the courtyard when,
A furious shout thundered from within, a blazing pillar of reiatsu piercing the sky, fierce and unrelenting.
"Face your death, 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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