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"Huff… huff…"
Makoto gasped for air, his eyes bloodshot and his hands clutching tightly at the black fabric before him. Sweat drenched his entire body, seeping through his clothes.
His surface reiatsu pulsed wildly, plummeting as though he'd sustained a grievous wound.
A visceral, searing pain tore through him from the inside out.
Even with his formidable willpower, the sensation was so vivid it felt as if he'd truly died once, a jarring dislocation from reality.
What in the world was happening?
Doubt and alarm churned within Makoto's heart.
He'd ventured to connect with his Zanpakutō under the assumption that it couldn't inflict life-threatening harm on its wielder, a bold gamble born of that knowledge.
Yet this agony, branded into the very fabric of his spirit, planted a chilling realization.
'If I'm not careful, I might actually die.'
Deep within his skull, waves of excruciating pain lingered.
Amid the torment, a memory surfaced unbidden, the words of the Captain-Commander once spoken to him.
"When two identical beings face each other, who dictates the battle, and who is forced to submit?"
"What separates them?"
Once, Makoto had dismissed the question as a quirky quip.
But now, he grasped its truth with visceral clarity, the life-or-death struggle between king and steed.
"…Instinct, huh."
Makoto muttered to himself.
'Fail to master your Zanpakutō, and it would master you.'
That was… the instinct to survive.
And so, the power of a Zanpakutō was called release.
A liberation from the prison forged by a Shinigami's primal nature.
At that thought, Makoto drew a deep breath.
Hm?
It smelled… sweet.
"Hey!!!"
Just as the notion crossed his mind, a familiar voice, low and simmering with barely restrained fury, pierced the blackness beyond his vision.
Saitō knelt in place, her single eye narrowed, lips twitching uncontrollably. She glared down at the fool lying face-down across her lap, who since waking had been inhaling deeply, savoring her scent like a madman.
She couldn't hold back any longer.
Her pale, delicate fist, harder than stone, slammed into his head with a resounding thunk.
"You bastard! How long are you going to keep sniffing down there?!"
"Are you done yet? My legs are numb!!"
"Huh?!"
Saitō snatched up his Zanpakutō and tossed it aside, then hauled him up by one hand, snarling with righteous indignation. "And I sure as hell don't recall agreeing to this!"
"Get up already!"
"And hurry up and show me your Shikai!"
"Or you're dead today!"
Despite her constant old hag self-references, Saitō's reaction to the unexpected betrayed a childish tantrum-like edge.
A faint flush lingered on her slightly chubby cheeks.
Adorable!
Makoto rubbed his head, thinking as much, though a wry smile crept up, "Saitō, this was my first Jinzen today."
"How could I possibly unlock Shikai that fast?"
"Also, I'll need your help with future Jinzen too!"
He pressed his hands together, his tone earnest and pleading.
"Huh?!"
Saitō's lone eye widened into a perfect circle, her face a mask of disbelief.
"W-Why the hell should I help you with that?!"
Makoto smiled as if it were the most natural thing. "Because my Zanpakutō really likes you."
"And it's super strong."
Saitō faltered poised to refuse outright, but the word strong snagged her, rooting her in place.
Makoto pressed his advantage, coaxing gently. "Do you know how I died in Jinzen?"
"Don't tease, spit it out!"
Her curiosity was hooked.
"One glance."
Makoto raised a single finger, his voice calm. "I said one wrong word, and it popped me, blasted me apart."
"And that's probably just one of its tricks."
"How many it's got? Couldn't tell you."
At that, Saitō's crystalline purple eye widened slightly, a glint of bloodlust flickering within. An exhilarated grin tugged at her delicate features.
No wonder… his reiatsu had cratered so sharply after emerging from Jinzen.
He'd been beaten by his own blade?!
Sure, Makoto was a bit of a dimwit with a penchant for weird quirks, but he'd never been dishonest.
If even he said it was strong, it had to be the real deal, right?
A thrill stirred in Saitō's chest.
But...
Help him with Jinzen?
She glanced at Makoto sprawled on the ground, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face.
What a hassle…
As she mulled it over, a soft female voice drifted from the distance.
"There you are, Makoto-kun."
"If your game's over, it's time for business."
"There's a meeting at dojo."
Makoto turned to see Yachiru Unohana standing at the training field's edge, her usual cool detachment etched across her face.
Likely fresh from pilfering medical techniques.
"Yes, ma'am."
Makoto replied, hauling himself up with effort.
But before he could steady himself, a pair of shapely, slender legs looped around his neck from behind, yanking him back to the ground. His head slammed once more against a certain purple-haired girl's stomach.
"Hey, hey, hey!"
"Unohana-sensei~!"
Saitō remained seated, one hand pinning Makoto's head, pressing his face firmly into her belly. His flailing arms and muffled mmph-mmph protests echoed as he clawed at the dirt, unable to form a single word.
She looked up at Unohana, a taunting smirk curling her lips, her tone dripping with mockery:
"My game with Makoto's faaar from over!"
"This kid looooves me."
"Since he woke up, he's been glued here, refusing to budge."
She tilted her chin, her grin smug. "If you've got business, mind waiting a bit longer?"
A picture-perfect brat begging for a smack.
"Is that so?"
Unohana glanced at Saitō, then at the pinned Makoto, and nodded faintly:
"It suits you."
"As a game, that is."
A vein pulsed on Saitō's forehead, her true colors bursting forth.
"Damn it!"
"Don't look down on me, you hag!"
Unohana seemed deaf to her outburst, casting a fleeting sidelong glance before turning away with serene composure.
From afar came a quiet call.
"Makoto-kun."
"Don't forget."
Saitō shot to her feet, teeth grinding as she glared at the woman's retreating back, radiating defiance.
Yet after standing there fuming, she didn't charge after her with a blade.
"That jerk…"
She spat, her anger unclear in its target.
Makoto rubbed his neck as he rose.
Saitō's thighs had nearly strangled him.
Still, his time at the Genji School had given him insight into why Saitō constantly provoked their master.
It was simple.
Six battles, six losses!
And each time, at the critical moment, Unohana spared her life with deliberate ease, a display of effortless superiority.
For a self-proclaimed titan like Saitō, that humiliation was unbearable.
But Unohana had long grown bored of it.
Seeing the girl's seething rage, Makoto couldn't resist a jab. "You can't beat her, so why do you keep picking fights with sensei?"
Saitō planted her hands on her hips, brows slanting high, her eyes blazing.
"I know I can't beat her, but I'm still pissed!"
"Got a problem with that?"
"…"
"Damn it!"
The more she dwelled on Unohana's departing figure, the hotter her fury burned.
Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, Saitō whipped around to Makoto, bellowing.
"Hey!"
"Makoto, get over here!"
Saitō was livid now!
---
Sure enough.
By the time Makoto entered the dojo, Unohana noticed her barely recovered disciple sporting a fresh batch of bruises and a swollen face.
She smiled faintly and nodded.
Makoto and that mischievous girl got along splendidly, huh?
***
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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