As Makoto pondered the letter covertly sent by Mera Hiuchigashima, his mind wrestling with the looming Quincy war, his spiritual senses twitched.
"Who's there?!"
He spun toward the door, tense.
With a flick of his hand, he scattered the Reishi fragments into an indecipherable swirl.
"Hey!"
The voice outside spiked, then hushed to a guilty whisper, cautious as a thief. "Lower your voice, keep it down!"
Makoto froze at the familiar sound, then cracked the door open.
Saitō's petite figure slipped through the gap, lithe and silent as a fish.
"Saitō?" Makoto eyed her, puzzled. "What are you doing here?"
Saitō pressed her lips tight, hands clasped behind her back, head turned aside. Her single eye avoided his, stammering as if she wanted to speak but couldn't muster the courage.
"I, uh, came here to… well…"
The girl stumbled over her words, so unlike her usual self that even she seemed embarrassed by her nervousness.
But… those words were too weird, too humiliating!
For Saitō, who prized her pride, this was harder to endure than a body riddled with wounds. Her cute, fair cheeks flushed with shame.
Seeing her tongue-tied, Makoto suddenly recalled something and hurried to explain. "Last time, after the meeting, I didn't get a chance to clear things up."
"Actually, Katori is sticking close to me to shield me from Unohana-sensei's attacks."
"It's Yamamoto-sama's order."
"I wasn't sure if you misunderstood, but… I felt uneasy not telling you, Saitō."
Makoto's tone was earnest, holding nothing back.
"Huh?" Caught off-guard by the shift in topic, Saitō froze, then muttered, "I-I didn't misunderstand!"
"And I don't care about that stuff you're talking about!"
Feeling she'd just made a fool of herself in front of him, Saitō quickly crossed her arms, turning her head with a huff.
Her twin purple ponytails swayed, revealing the swan-like curve of her pale neck, her skin almost glowing.
She stubbornly insisted, "I'd nearly forgotten about it until you brought it up!"
Adorable.
Makoto's heart warmed, but his gaze fell on the items clutched in Saitō's small hands.
"Then… what's with the tabi?"
"Hm?"
"Eh?!"
Saitō blinked, then yelped, realizing what he meant. She fumbled to hide the two pairs of tabi behind her back, unsure where to stash them, instinctively trying to shove them into her sleeves.
But in her frantic scramble, she looked up to meet Makoto's amused, composed smile.
A wave of girlish embarrassment and panic surged, prompting her to raise her voice. "N-No, it's not like that! I was just… just…"
Her words faltered, and she lowered her volume, until even Makoto, standing right in front of her, could barely hear.
"…I thought, Makoto, you might've used them, and they're washed so clean."
"So, it's better if you keep them."
"You might… need them."
Those few words seemed to drain Saitō's strength, her cute face nearly crimson, her head dipping as if to burrow into her collar. Her single eye refused to meet Makoto's reaction.
Ugh!
She knew it!
Stealing the tabi only to return them, what kind of bizarre move was that?!
Saitō's scalp tingled with embarrassment; she wanted to chop Makoto, the sole witness, into pieces!
Lost in her shame, Saitō didn't notice Makoto's face, muscles taut, veins bulging on his forehead from the effort to hold back.
He was struggling.
What to do?
Saitō was so adorable, it'd be a crime not to whisk her home.
Plus, advancing his [Art of Footwork] required someone's help.
And right now, Saitō seemed perfect.
But years of battle had taught him to see both sides of a situation.
While acknowledging Saitō's charm, he knew she was a powerhouse who could send him to a bad end with a single stroke of her blade.
In such cases, a cooler head was needed.
Ahem.
Makoto coughed theatrically, drawing Saitō's instinctive glance.
Saitō's pretty face tried to muster a fierce scowl, but paired with her flushed, rosy skin, it came off as adorably fierce, nearly breaking Makoto's composure.
But he pressed on, deadpan. "Captain Saitō, I don't need the tabi."
"But could you help me with something else?"
"Huh?"
Saitō froze at the first sentence, a faint emptiness settling in her chest.
But the second sentence made her tense up.
This was no longer the naive Saitō. She'd seen through Makoto's foolish nature!
The mere thought of Unohana's vivid description of his Shikai at the meeting made her blush uncontrollably.
To say she had no wariness toward Makoto would be absurd!
Yet, driven by some inexplicable impulse, she didn't step away, as if waiting to hear more.
"Saitō, could you try on some other 'socks' for me?"
"…"
Saitō froze, her expression shifting from tension and worry to confusion, bewilderment, and uncertainty.
"For what?"
Makoto, straight-faced, replied, "To try on socks."
Almost instinctively, Saitō's voice spiked. "W-Why should I do something like that for you?!"
"Because Saitō's feet are adorable."
"If I had to choose, it'd be between Captain Katori and you."
Makoto's tone remained sincere.
But to any sane person, his words were outrageous, his scheming was loud enough to echo from the Soul Society to Hueco Mundo!
Luckily, Saitō wasn't exactly sane.
Her focus was elsewhere.
"Hah?"
Saitō bristled, as if gravely insulted. "What do you mean, choosing between Katori and me?!"
Makoto sighed dramatically. "Honestly, Captain Katori isn't just strikingly bold, but her legs, usually hidden under her skirts, are also perfectly shaped."
Saitō's eye widened.
And he wasn't done.
Makoto continued, sighing, "Not only that, she's Yamamoto-sama's chosen protector for me, tasked with shielding me from Unohana-sensei's probes until I grow stronger."
"Thinking about it, her strength is unfathomably deep too."
"Truly worthy of respect, Captain Katori."
Saitō's single eye nearly popped out.
Her small hands seized Makoto's collar, shouting, "...Who said I lost to Unohana six times?!"
"I just wasn't using my full strength!"
"That big-chested fool Katori is nowhere near me, and that old bastard Yamamoto knows nothing!"
Makoto tilted his head, skeptical. "Saitō, are you stronger than Captain Katori?"
"Of course I am!" Saitō huffed, glaring as if he'd insulted her honor. "I'm older than her here!"
"In other aspects too?"
"All of them!"
"Then, Saitō-sama, would you mind coming with me for a bit?"
At this, Makoto, cloaked in sheep's wool, finally bared his wolfish fangs.
"Eh?" Saitō froze.
Meeting his gaze, she suddenly felt a pang of unease.
"W-Where to?"
"To get some custom clothing from Senjumaru, of course." Makoto's smile was warm.
"I…" Saitō instinctively groped for an excuse.
But as she opened her mouth, she realized her earlier bravado had boxed her in.
Makoto pressed, doubtful. "Saitō-sama, were you just lying to me?"
"No big deal, I'll just ask Katori-"
"Who's lying?!" Saitō cut him off, triggered by the mention of Katori's name.
She couldn't control her mouth!
Though she regretted it instantly, Saitō wasn't one to back down. She stiffened her neck, glaring at Makoto.
It's… just trying on some new socks.
No big deal, right?
She consoled herself.
---
"What did you say?"
Senjumaru, peering at root cells in a petri dish, listened to Makoto's "custom request."
Halfway through, she couldn't help but frown, rising from her microscope to give him an odd look.
Makoto repeated, "I want a stretchy, translucent fabric that adjusts opacity with thickness and density, perfectly fitting the entire leg."
Senjumaru pictured it. "You mean silk?"
"Similar, but elastic, clinging to the skin to accentuate the leg's shape!"
Words fell short, so Makoto asked, "Got paper and pen? I'll sketch it."
Intrigued, Senjumaru quickly provided them.
The two hunched over the desk, Makoto sketching a 60-denier black lace design, he'd self-taught this bit, though only for black stockings.
His devotion was pure.
Senjumaru, equally curious about novel fabrics, shared his enthusiasm for silk weaves.
Saitō, meanwhile, stood like a wooden post, unable to join in as they scribbled.
After a while, the sketch was done.
Senjumaru's skeletal fingers lifted the paper, studying it closely. Her furrowed brow relaxed.
"A fabric that melds with the body, revealing yet concealing…"
Her gaze turned teasing. "You're quite the expert, Makoto-kun."
"Just borrowing others' wisdom, nothing more." Makoto replied humbly. He wasn't some old lecher; his goal was pure, bond traits, nothing else.
The path was just… winding.
Senjumaru ignored him, turning to Saitō. "So, tailored to Saitō-sama's legs?"
"In a rush?"
"If not, I can add some extra features."
"Really, Senjumaru-sama?!" Makoto lit up.
No joke, Senjumaru's skill was legendary in the Soul Society!
"Hmph!" Senjumaru turned away, as if above his flattery.
"Wait!" Saitō finally snapped. "If it's socks for me, shouldn't I at least see what they look like?!"
"What if they're super weird?!"
"Here." Senjumaru casually extended her skeletal hand, having memorized the design.
"Eh!" Makoto lunged to stop her.
But Saitō, far from the indifference she'd feigned, darted forward, snatching the paper.
Her eye widened at the sketch.
The legs looked so real.
But then she noticed the fabric wrapping them, semi-sheer, with delicately traced lace patterns stretching from mid-thigh downward.
Imagining it on her own legs…
Saitō's brain short-circuited, her head steaming.
"No! No way!"
"This doesn't count! These aren't tabi!"
Clutching the paper, she chased Makoto, swatting him, her voice thick with betrayed embarrassment.
Makoto fled, arms shielding his head.
Senjumaru watched from afar, a faint smile creeping onto her face.
"…What a lovesick young monkey."
But as her soft chuckle faded, she noticed the pair had frozen.
Senjumaru blinked.
Her spiritual senses detected a massive Reiatsu surge from the distant sky.
In the next moment, a blinding light roared like thunder, piercing the earth.
***
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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