Saito's Hoho flashed, her form darting across tiled rooftops, piercing through half the Seireitei in moments, racing toward the source of the Reiatsu tremors.
Her voice seethed with frustration. "That idiot!"
During the time Makoto had lost his Shinigami powers, Saito had been at his side, knowing his condition better than anyone.
Even with his powers restored, he couldn't possibly be ready. Facing Unohana now was sheer recklessness!
Despite witnessing his ferocious strength against the Quincy, Saito's worry gnawed unabated.
The girl who once rampaged across battlefields, drinking blood like a demon, heedless of life, hers or others', had changed, subtly, silently.
Though their bond spanned mere years, the pervert who hung her tabi on his scabbard had, unbeknownst to her, carved a deep place in her heart.
"Damn it."
Her teeth clenched unconsciously.
Her Hoho surged faster.
She barreled toward the Muken.
"Stop right there!"
At the prison's entrance, Ninth Division members in black Shihakusho stepped forward, hands on their Zanpakuto.
But recognizing the white haori, the lead officer faltered, lips trembling.
An old-timer from the Genji School days under Yamamoto, he knew exactly who she was.
His heart quaked.
Saito's centuries of slaughter had earned her the title "Killing Demon." a name as infamous as Makoto's "Pervert."
Yet duty compelled him. Steeling himself, he lowered his voice. "Captain Saito."
"Please present a visitation permit."
"Get out of my way!"
Saito had no patience for them now.
Her single eye snapped to the officer, pupil contracting.
A colossal Reiatsu, like a mountain's weight, poured from her slender frame, crashing like a tsunami, distorting the air around the squad.
To these low-tier fighters, none above Tier-10 Reiatsu, this overwhelming force was a natural disaster.
Her ferocious glare alone dropped them to the ground, drained of strength.
Saito stormed into the prison, her steps unrelenting.
Rules be damned.
She had to save Makoto from that woman.
But at the deepest level, a blonde woman in a maid outfit stood calmly, eyes closed, waiting.
"Tch."
Saito's gaze darkened, killing intent flaring as she clicked her tongue. Her left thumb flicked, sliding her Zanpakuto an inch from its scabbard, revealing a glint of steel. Her voice was ice. "Meira, you're stopping me too?"
Meira opened her eyes, serene. "My master's orders are clear: no interruptions."
"I follow only his commands. You know this."
"Captain Saito."
Saito's glare sharpened.
Though familiar from hospital visits, this woman, always clinging to Makoto, grated on her nerves.
Her tone turned venomous. "Hah?"
"And if I insist on passing?"
Meira didn't reply, standing firm.
Her silence was her answer.
Rage surged through Saito's chest. Never one for calm, a single spark of anger drove her forward, blade half-drawn.
But in that tense moment,
Boom!
A violent Reiatsu wave erupted from the prison's depths, its force breaching the sealed gate. A gale of energy shook the underground, rattling the structure.
The massive gate, towering meters high, swung open.
Roaring winds howled, plastering the women's clothes to their bodies, their hair whipping wildly.
Saito raised a hand, her twin purple ponytails dancing in the gusts. Her single eye strained to see.
But one glance froze her in place.
Her gaze locked on the scene.
Bewilderment.
Two figures stood, blades crossed, surrounded by lingering Reiatsu ripples.
A viscous liquid dripped to the floor, its clear hue turning crimson.
Splat,
Makoto's grip faltered, his black nodachi slipping from Unohana's chest wound.
His body lurched forward, collapsing into his sensei's arms.
He'd overestimated his control and underestimated the backlash of Hollow and Shinigami powers clashing.
In those brief moments, his body felt shattered, the World of Ecstasy unraveling.
The pain, masked by ecstasy, surged back in an instant.
He lacked even the strength to cry out.
Using a new skill recklessly was, indeed, a bad idea.
His only solace was that his test subject was Unohana.
'Thank goodness.'
The thought loosened his taut nerves.
His consciousness sank into darkness.
Unohana's raven hair spilled loose, cradling her disciple. She set her cherished Zanpakuto aside, silently embracing him.
Her dark eyes flickered with tenderness, tinged with wistfulness.
After eons stalled, her swordsmanship, her relentless pursuit, had broken through.
Yet, now, that milestone seemed secondary.
Her arms encircled Makoto, blood trickling from her lips, unheeded. She held him close, their faces near.
"That final strike… it was deliberate, wasn't it?"
"Makoto-kun."
No response came, as expected.
Her fingertip brushed his chest wound, a faint Kaido glow flickering, staunching the blood. Their restraint had kept the injuries non-lethal for warriors of their caliber.
Her own wounds, she ignored for now.
Supporting Makoto, Unohana rose, her steps faltering from weakness.
Then steadied.
Bloodied and battered, she limped forward, guiding him toward the gate, seemingly oblivious to the two women at the entrance.
Until they nearly passed.
"Hey!"
Saito's single eye blazed, near-feral. "Let him go."
Unohana, as if deaf to her, walked on, her expression serene, not pausing for a moment.
A killing arc of swordlight flashed, crescent-like, through the air.
Clang!
Unohana didn't even glance back.
Meira had already intercepted the blade.
The sharp edge bit into her gleaming, metallic skin, yet she stood unmoved.
Saito stared at the Quincy, always dressed as a maid, a flash of shock in her single eye.
She hadn't known that this woman, tamed by Makoto at some point, possessed such power.
Meira didn't retaliate, maintaining her full-body Blut Vene, standing calmly and speaking softly, "Captain Saito."
"Please return and rest."
"…"
Saito's gaze lingered on the woman, then shifted to the distant figure of Makoto, supported by Unohana, their silhouettes fading. Her expression grew complex.
An inexplicable emptiness gnawed at her.
As if something precious, within reach, had been snatched away.
Her heart churned.
"Tch."
Finally, Saito sheathed her Zanpakuto.
Turning away, her stern face softened, and she exhaled a long breath.
It seemed that idiot wouldn't die after all.
With that thought, she stormed out of the prison, kicking the gate with a scowl, muttering, "Idiot!!"
"Stupid beyond belief!"
…
Tranquil, soft.
In the darkness woven of exhaustion and pain, Makoto faintly sensed a delicate touch on his body.
Slightly cool.
Though his sense of smell was long gone, he inexplicably felt a phantom sensation, as if catching the familiar scent of takanotsume and herbal balm nearby.
His eyelids, heavy and sore, soon lifted.
The glow of sunset beyond the courtyard flooded his vision, momentarily dazzling him.
Having slept too long, Makoto's mind was foggy, his body sluggish, each movement a struggle.
"Don't move."
As the thought crossed his mind, a familiar voice reached his ears.
Makoto turned his head with effort, looking toward the sound.
Unohana's familiar figure came into view.
But unlike her usual self, she wore a simple, pale blue-gray yukata, accentuating her mature curves. Her damp, raven hair was tied with a cord, revealing a beautiful neck.
In her hands, a damp silk cloth gently wiped his body.
"Sensei?"
Freshly awake, Makoto's memories were jumbled, his voice instinctive.
"I'm here."
Unohana's voice was as gentle and warm as ever, her gaze meeting his, embracing his every fleeting thought. "Can you move your body?"
"Yes."
Makoto clenched his fist, finding it less difficult than expected.
The clash of Hollow and Shinigami powers had disrupted his body, but it was manageable.
"Shijima and Tenjirō said you'd be fine, but you slept for six days straight, Makoto-kun."
Unohana looked down at him, her narrow eyes parting slightly, her slender hand resting on his forehead. "You really had me worried."
Makoto grumbled under his breath, "That's your fault, isn't it, sensei?"
"I never taught you such dangerous power usage."
Unohana's smile was soft, sidestepping the topic. She draped a fresh dark yukata over him. "After sleeping so long, you must be starving."
"Food first, or a bath?"
Makoto perked up, recalling something. "Food-"
But before he could finish, a slender finger tapped his nose.
Unohana's face held its usual gentle expression, her voice soft. "Your wounds haven't healed, have they?"
His enthusiasm deflated.
"Food first. I'm starving."
As he sulked, her voice continued, "Also, until your wounds heal, you'll stay here, Makoto-kun."
His eyes lit up instantly.
Soon, a table was laden with dishes.
Surprisingly, Unohana's culinary skill was exceptional. Her knife work was impeccable, and her mastery of heat and seasoning shone through.
Though the dishes were simple, stews and fish typical of the era, Makoto devoured them with gusto.
After eating, he soaked in a bath.
Though Unohana's estate was modest, its rear courtyard boasted an open-air hot spring.
Huff.
Rising from the pool, Makoto exhaled deeply, his yukata slipping open.
The evening breeze carried a soothing chill, relaxing his body.
He strolled toward the bedroom at the corridor's end, the wooden floor creaking underfoot.
But halfway, he paused.
Unohana sat poised on the corridor's edge, holding a steaming teacup, gazing quietly at the moonlight.
Though wrapped in a conservative yukata, her form was elegantly outlined.
Her pear-shaped silhouette cast a long shadow across the wooden floor.
"Makoto."
Sensing his steps, Unohana turned to him.
Makoto hesitated, then stepped forward.
He knelt, wrapping his arms gently around her slender waist from behind, like a child, resting his chin on her shoulder.
Though he couldn't smell, he inhaled deeply.
His body and mind eased.
Looking down, he glimpsed the long scar at the center of her pale collarbone.
A mirror of his own.
"Sensei."
Needing no prompting, Makoto pressed his cheek to her warm earlobe, nuzzling softly. His embrace tightened, his voice teasingly defiant, "You said that day you'd give me everything."
"Right?"
Unohana sat still, pausing at his words.
After a long silence, a soft murmur reached his ears, "Makoto-kun."
"I'm here."
She turned, meeting his gaze. Her usual tender expression melted into softness, her smile radiant and breathtaking.
In that moment, she abandoned talk of unhealed wounds.
Instead, she lifted her chin, as if challenging him. "Are you confident you can help me put on a kimono?"
"…"
Thud!
Meanwhile, Meira, in her maid outfit, stood silently at the courtyard gate, eyes closed.
Pretending nothing was happening.
***
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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