The instant Makoto's words fell, his figure vanished from Kirio's sight.
In a blur of motion, he lunged toward Unohana like an afterimage slicing through the air.
His Zanpakuto pressed at his waist, traced a fluid arc mid-flight.
Clang!
When his blade met her blade, a crisp metallic chime rang out.
But Unohana's brow furrowed visibly.
Makoto who lost in focus, didn't notice. He unleashed a ferocious assault on his beloved sensei.
The rebounding Zanpakuto veered with the force, tilting along his wrist's arc toward Unohana's hand, only to be effortlessly parried by her reiatsu-shielded wooden sword.
Her seemingly delicate wrist held firm, a pillar of forged steel, every motion honed through countless trials.
Yet this Makoto was no longer the greenhorn from their first clash. With a wealth of swordplay experience and a Tier-8 Zanjutsu, he stood among the Genji School's elite swordsmen.
Thrust! Slash! Flick! Chop! Wipe!
Blades danced at blinding speed, their clash igniting a storm of Reishi sparks at the heart of their small battlefield, a near-continuous flare.
[Go, you stinking big boobs mama! Don't hold back just 'cause I'm delicate!]
[Zanjutsu +3]
[So close! Just a bit more, I'll taste Unohana-mama's bib boobs!]
[Zanjutsu +3]
[Can you even fight right? Your stance is all off!]
[Zanjutsu +2]
Each of Makoto's strikes landed with precision, seizing every fleeting chance. A single misstep from her, and his blade could pierce her guard, claiming her teardrop pendant.
But every counter from Unohana bore a measured force, pressing a heavy weight onto his chest.
From start to finish, she matched his strength exactly.
All while shielding her fragile training sword with reiatsu.
Makoto had no choice but to summon more power.
Yet Unohana showed no delight at his strides in swordsmanship. Her frown only deepened.
Until, at last, her patience frayed.
Clang!
Her wooden sword flicked upward, shattering Makoto's relentless onslaught. The frail-looking blade whistled through the air, darting straight for his throat.
In that heartbeat, Makoto seized a long-brewing thread of instinct.
First Form - Severing Strike!
Reishi flared around him, wreathing his body in flame-like tendrils. The quaking pressure rippled outward, staggering even Kirio watching from afar.
His deflected wrist, in that split second, surged with newfound force. Twisting his elbow to shed the momentum, he rode a sudden swell of reiatsu, slashing toward the wrist Unohana extended.
His eyes burned, light all but extinguished within them.
Unohana's brow lifted faintly, a glint of excitement flashing in her gaze.
Boom!
The reiatsu-wreathed Zanpakuto collided with her wooden sword, unleashing a muffled blast like a depth charge in still waters.
Kirio, standing at a distance, felt her heart clench, her face paling as she stared at a scene beyond her grasp.
Makoto locked eyes with the woman before him, his gaze ablaze.
For the first time, Unohana's wrist betrayed a tremor.
Bang!
The sudden surge of force hurled Makoto back, tumbling a dozen meters across the ground, carving a deep gouge in the earth. Dust and ash coated him.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
Snapping out of the First Form, all-consuming exhaustion flooded his frame, a drilling agony piercing his skull.
It was as if he'd just run a marathon, or pedaled the entire Tour de France.
The moment he stopped, his body felt hollowed out.
His legs wobbled, barely propping him up before he nearly collapsed onto the dirt.
[Zanjutsu +10]
Another peak-tier gap of overwhelming pressure.
Makoto couldn't help but marvel inwardly at the dominance of this future first Kenpachi.
But… if this was the extent of his strength, wouldn't it disappoint her?
With that thought, he lifted his gaze to Unohana, still standing firm and unshaken.
Yet in her eyes, gazing back at him, flickered a trace of touched amusement.
"So… you've shaped Ikkotsu into a blade's sinew?"
"A creative notion."
"Worthy of reward."
Makoto blinked, caught off guard.
Lowering his head, he saw only the hilt remaining in Unohana's grip, the broken edge splayed like a blooming flower.
The rest had burst into fine sawdust, scattered across the ground.
A thrill of joy surged within him.
"Unohana-sensei, this…?"
She glanced down, shaking her head. "When you swung, I tried mimicking it. I failed."
Her words paused, then her gaze softened with quiet pride. "Makoto, you're truly a child brimming with potential."
"Thank you very much." A smile tugged at Makoto's lips.
His time at the Genji School had woven him into this era's fabric. He'd come to grasp the reverence these monsters, Yamamoto and the Master Instructors, commanded among the students.
Unohana needed no elaboration.
Beyond her title as history's most diabolical criminal, she was a swordsmanship prodigy without peer.
In this age, praise from the Soul Society's supreme swordmaster, named Yachiru, was an honor beyond measure. [1]
[What about my reward?! Where's mine!!]
[I love Unohana-mama the most! I wanna taste her big boobs!]
[I'll be the disciple who defies the master, ahhhnn!!]
[No one's stopping me from-…]
Makoto clamped the scabbard and bracelet tight around his blabbering blade, stifling its freedom with a sharp "Shut up!" before turning to his beloved Unohana-sensei with a placating grin.
Cold sweat prickled down his spine.
Unohana offered a faint, knowing smile, long accustomed to her bargain-bin disciple's private flights of fancy.
For a monster who'd weathered a millennium of storms, a boy's base, hormonal whims couldn't ruffle her resolve. She found it mildly amusing only because he still saw her as a 'woman', a novelty, nothing more.
"Sensei! I'm so sorry!"
"I'll make it shut up next time!"
And that cowardice, daring yet not owning it. Should I help him excise that too?
Makoto remained blissfully unaware that, in Unohana's eyes, he'd cemented himself as an endearing little deviant.
She shook her head, resuming her critique. "Still… your Reishi control has vast room to grow. A move you can't wield at will is as good as useless. You understand that, don't you, Makoto?"
He nodded stiffly. "Yes, Unohana-sensei."
As if struck by a thought, she reached into her wide sleeve, fishing out a small token emblazoned with the 'Unohana' name.
"For your reward..." She said evenly, "Take this to the Kidō class and learn the first thirty low-tier spells. Master them all, and your Reishi manipulation should improve markedly."
"Yes!"
Makoto agreed instantly, daring not to refuse.
But his bratty blade grumbled again.
[No boobs to taste? A hug would do!]
[Stingy! I worked so hard!]
Unohana's eyes flicked toward the sound.
Makoto's frame tensed.
Then, unexpectedly, she reached out, her touch gentle as she ruffled his head, running her fingers through his soft, mid-length hair.
The sudden gesture froze him, his startled gaze darting to his teacher as if spooked.
His body rooted itself in place.
Her voice remained calm and warm. "If Makoto-kun could shed those stray thoughts, perhaps… you'd satisfy your sensei sooner."
Meeting those tender eyes, he fumbled for a reply. The long-forgotten sensation atop his head stirred a strange, cared-for warmth, tinged with embarrassment. Kirio's watching!
"Yes."
"Of course..." Unohana continued, withdrawing her hand with an effortless smile. "And if Makoto-kun can't part with them on his own, your sensei could always… assist in cutting away those vulgar notions."
The word 'cutting' hit like a blade. A primal chill gripped his gut as if a lethal intent had grazed him.
Hiss...
"Unohana-sensei! N-No need for that!"
---
[1] Yachiru means thousand styles or eight thousand styles, she got the name 'Yachiru' because she have mastered all the countless styles of swordsmanship that exist in the world.
***
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
***
If you want to read up to 50 chapters ahead, don't hesitate to visit our patron: pat reon . com / XElenea (remove space)