After nearly a full day and night of relentless assault, the 11th Division had deftly seized the mountain range sprawling between North Rukongai's Districts 30 and 29, carving a direct path forward with ruthless efficiency.
By the time the group traversed the range, however, the sun had dipped low, ushering in the evening of the second day.
"Unohana-sensei, please try this."
"The flavor should be decent enough."
Makoto spoke casually, extending two skewers of grilled fish toward her.
"Hm."
Unohana sat beneath a tree near the crackling campfire, her gaze fixed quietly on a map as she contemplated the next leg of their march. She offered no particular reaction to the dinner Makoto presented.
When a master had matters to attend to, it was the disciple's duty to serve, a truth so ingrained in this era that it required no mention.
Especially when it came to this insolent disciple who seemed intent on challenging his master.
Yet, when she took a tentative bite, she lifted her head in mild surprise, her eyes settling on Makoto.
He flashed her a warm smile before turning to direct the other squad members, assigning shifts for rest at designated spots.
Only then did Unohana lower her gaze to the fish, taking another measured bite. Her pristine, ivory teeth left neat impressions in the flesh, the glossy, crisped skin glistening under the firelight. A faint dusting of red powder clung to it, igniting a subtle sting on her tongue like a gentle prick.
It struck her sweet spot unexpectedly.
For a Shinigami like Unohana, who had endured a millennium in this world, most earthly delights had long lost their allure. Only niche realms of knowledge and amusement could still stir her interest.
She hadn't anticipated that her own disciple would uncover one.
"What seasoning is this? Poison, perhaps?"
Unohana turned to Makoto with a spark of curiosity, intrigued. "It tastes like wasabi, but it doesn't overwhelm the senses."
"It's chili pepper, Unohana-sensei." Makoto replied, half his face illuminated by the flickering campfire. The glow softened his already refined features further. "After I arrived, I asked Senjumaru about it. She happened to know where it's sold and gifted me some."
"Senjumaru, hmm." At the mention of the name, Unohana nodded knowingly. "She's always had a penchant for collecting oddities."
"Still..." She added offhandedly, a faint trace of amusement in her voice, "You've managed to make quite a few close friends, Makoto-kun."
"I've known Senjumaru for years, and she's never once given me a gift."
Makoto's frame stiffened slightly where he sat by the tree. Past experiences screamed at him, warning that her words could spiral into a dozen perilous interpretations.
But since it was his captain speaking…
He turned to look at her. Unohana reached up gracefully, tucking a strand of her raven-black hair cascading like a waterfall behind her ear. The firelight bathed half her pale, serene face in a gentle glow as she ate the roughly gutted, skewered, and roasted fish with an elegance that clashed subtly with its crude preparation.
It was reminiscent of history's most diabolical criminal appearing, in truth, as a refined and gentle woman.
Seeing her composed demeanor, Makoto realized he'd overthought things once again.
Of course.
Unohana-mama, jealous? That would be the day chicken flew.
"What's on your mind?"
Sensing his stare, Unohana tilted her head slightly, puzzled.
Makoto let out a relaxed chuckle. "It's just that you seem so unapproachable, sensei... like an iceberg."
"Even though we're on the same side now, whenever I accidentally meet your gaze, I can't help wondering if this woman's about to cut me down again."
The moment the words left his mouth, he felt a twinge of unease.
Sure enough.
He turned to find Unohana smiling at him.
That smile was impossibly kind almost maternal.
"So that's what you think, Makoto-kun."
His entire body tensed, his expression hardening as he prepared a loud protest.
But he failed to notice that his voice overlapped perfectly with the chirping of his Zanpakutō spirit.
"N-No, but facts soon proved-"
[Anyway, I'm usually just staring at her ass.]
"Unohana-sensei's kindness and warmth are genuine-"
[Unohana-mama's boobs are seriously big! So round! They practically bounce when she walks!]
"My worries were utterly baseless-"
[They've got to feel amazing!]
"Her daily guidance-"
[I don't dare look up when I'm facing her but I think she'd definitely catch me.]
[But those are Unohana-mama's big boobs!]
"The effort she puts into training, those swaying boob-"
[Stealing a glance now and then despite the risk? Totally worth it!]
"…"
Makoto's face froze into a death mask.
He'd barely gotten halfway through his explanation before the tangent derailed him completely. Left with no choice, he endured his Zanpakutō's mortifying commentary, his expression rigid as stone.
He didn't stop it because he'd already exhausted his daily "shut up" quota. Less than fifteen minutes remained until the next day's reset.
By some cruel coincidence, as he fell silent, so did his little blade.
At that moment, Makoto couldn't muster the courage to gauge Unohana's reaction.
His toes curled into the dirt, practically excavating a tomb fit for his body.
You're done for, you shity gremlin!
The next time he entered Jinzen...
He'd discipline that insolent brat until she was leaking yogurt from every seam!
As he mulled over these thoughts, intent on offering some explanation to his beloved Unohana, Makoto suddenly noticed that Unohana had risen to her feet at some unnoticed moment. Her brow furrowed slightly as she gazed off in another direction.
"Makoto-kun."
"We have guests. Go greet them."
"Huh!?"
In an instant, a dazzling spark flared within Makoto's eyes.
What was this if not salvation in the nick of time?
Perfect timing!
"Yes!!"
The moment the command fell, Makoto vanished with a sharp whoosh.
Unohana settled back beneath the tree. She resumed nibbling at her grilled fish in small, deliberate bites, her gentle features tinged with subtle complexity.
Though she was well aware that Makoto's Zanpakutō had its… quirks, hearing such words spoken aloud by the blade that embodied his inner self left her, his sensei, in a mildly awkward position.
Surely she couldn't resolve this issue for him personally?
"After the war ends…"
"I'll correct it properly then."
Murmuring softly to herself, Unohana took another delicate bite of the fish, her smile as warm and serene as ever.
Naturally, the correction would come through the language of steel and pain.
"Hm~"
"A slightly heavier taste would be nice."
…
Makoto's figure flickered through the pitch-black depths of the dense forest.
The hidden sentries stationed around the perimeter caught sight of him and instantly fell in behind, swiftly forming a small unit.
"Instructor Makoto! Over there!"
Before he could speak, one of the Genji shinigami trailing him shouted out.
The distant lookout posts, meant to stand vigil, now lay silent crumpled in pools of their own blood.
Several others had met the same grim fate.
"Stay alert!"
But before his words could fully settle, several figures emerged abruptly from the shadows.
As they stepped into view, Makoto realized they were members of the Omnitsukido, their bodies shrouded in heavy fabric, faces concealed behind masks.
Yet one detail set them apart…
His gaze dropped to their wrists.
These figures wielded not Zanpakuto, but grotesque, living blades, tendrils of flesh and sinew writhing as they clung to their wielders' arms. At each hilt gleamed a golden orb, resembling an eye.
Makoto could sense it... the reiatsu within these individuals was being ceaselessly siphoned into those weapons.
A term flashed into his mind.
Bakkōtō.
A weapon featured in the anime forged by the Kasumioji, a lineage of royal artisans across generations. It devoured a Shinigami's reiatsu, transmuting it into raw power. Much like the creations of the Asaimon he'd once faced, it was likely the culmination of years, perhaps centuries, of secretive research.
"Be cautious!" Makoto warned, his expression tightening.
If memory served, these blades could elevate mere fodder to the strength of seated officers or even lieutenants.
Yet the figures across from him turned as one, their eyes locking onto him.
The leader barked out in a gravely serious tone.
"Target Number 16 - Makoto Fujimiya!"
"His crimes were the murder of nobles, desecration of the dead, assembling living human-centipede monstrosities, violation of noble men and women alongside dogs and Hollows, habitual slaughter of entire families! He's even captured the Head of the Shiba, incited rebellion, and subjugated the Head of the Shihōin!"
"His sins… are too vast to be recorded!"
Yet as this litany of accusations concluded, a heavy silence descended upon the leader's comrades. An oppressive air swirled around them as they exchanged wary glances.
The unspoken question hung between them.
What kind of rotten target did you pick? Can we even fight this?
Even the leader's masked face betrayed a flicker of strain.
Damn it! How can one man be this vile?
Finally, steeling himself against the pressure, he roared his decision:
"The enemy outmatches us! Retreat immediately!"
"Scatter and run!"
"???"
***
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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