In that fleeting moment, or perhaps after many seconds had passed, Saito's resolve wavered. Hearing Makoto's simple yet unwavering words, meeting his gentle yet steadfast gaze, her heart betrayed her with a surge of emotion.
Indeed.
In the centuries-long span of her life, who had ever spoken such words to a blood-soaked warrior like her?
A woman with hands stained by slaughter…
The sudden confession of "I like you" from Makoto left her breathless, her previously indignant expression now flushed with an involuntary blush.
Behind them, the maid's lips curved slightly before she quickly masked it, pretending nothing had happened.
But even someone as brash as Saito soon snapped back to reality. Her fingers, nearly slackening, tightened again, gripping Makoto's collar fiercely as she tried to reclaim her earlier bravado. Yet her stammering voice betrayed the turmoil within.
"Huh? Huh?!"
"You… you jerk…?!"
"A guy who doesn't even spare his own sensei, and you still… still…"
Listening to the girl's faltering words, noting her wandering gaze and the loosening grip of her hand, Makoto felt a quiet relief. He had no doubt about the brutal consequences of angering Saito.
Naturally, his voice softened further, his arms subtly encircling her slender waist, gently pulling her closer, his tone as tender as possible.
"My relationship with Unohana-sensei isn't what you think, Saito."
The moment the words left his mouth, Makoto felt the petite figure in his arms stiffen, her muscles tensing as if ready to lash out.
He quickened his speech. "You saw the battle between me and Unohana-sensei yourself, didn't you?"
"Just like the 'tabi' from before."
"This time, it was the same kind of wager."
"Unfortunately…"
He looked up at Saito, leaving the rest unsaid, letting her imagination fill the gaps.
At those words, Saito's clenched hand, veins bulging, froze as memories flooded back, images of Unohana, that infuriating woman, leading a battered Makoto out of the Muken not long ago.
Her expression hardened.
"A wager?"
The girl muttered, her eyes clouded with a mix of confusion and disbelief.
"Yes."
Makoto's tone was resigned. "The loser has to do whatever the winner wants."
Saito recalled the scene she'd witnessed at Unohana's home.
It was indeed… unrestrained.
But as she thought it over, something felt off. "Wait a second!"
"Only a pervert like you would come up with such a bizarre demand, right?!"
"The tabi thing before was the same!"
Makoto sighed, patting the scabbard at his side. "How could I say something like that to my sensei?"
"It's all Oharai's fault."
"Even if I thought it, I could never say it to her face."
"And so, it ended up like this."
[???]
Seeing Makoto's heavy expression and hearing his dejected tone, Saito suddenly found the explanation plausible.
As one of the few in the Soul Society who could separate Makoto from his Zanpakutō, Saito knew all too well the outrageous demands that Zanpakuto had made before.
Back then, whether it was hanging tabi on the scabbard or stepping on the hilt, it had nothing to do with Makoto.
So that's how it was!
"You jerk!" Saito bared her teeth, yanking Makoto up from the bed. "You think I'm an idiot?!"
"You were clearly enjoying it!"
"Getting to indulge in that… curvaceous body… damn it!"
The more Saito spoke, the more her anger flared, stoking her frustration.
Thinking of her own childish frame, unable to even hold his gaze, her fury surged uncontrollably.
She wanted to drag this jerk up and slice him.
But just as her hand reached for her Zanpakutō's hilt, the arms around her waist tightened, pulling her fully into a broad embrace that refused to let go.
Saito, crashing into his chest, froze, forgetting even to draw her blade, stumbling forward.
Then, Makoto's familiar voice sounded in her ear.
"How could I?" His tone was soft, as if it were the most natural thing. "If I had to choose, I'd much prefer someone like you, Saito."
"Your delicate feet, your thighs, your hips, your waist."
"A small frame I can hold entirely in my arms…"
Sitting on the bed, Makoto lowered his head, his chin resting lightly on her sloped shoulder, his voice brushing against her flushed earlobe as he took a deep breath.
"All of it, I love the most."
Saito, who moments ago was ready to draw her blade, now stood frozen, her expression locked in place, her body still in Makoto's embrace, unmoving.
Just hearing his unreserved affection made her entire being feel like it was melting.
When it came to lovers' sweet nothings, Saito had no defenses!
"Liar."
Amid his whispered words, Saito muttered, struggling faintly.
But compared to her earlier murderous intent, she was utterly disarmed.
Seeing her like this, Makoto finally let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"Everything I said is true."
"Shut, shut up!!" Saito's voice was a mix of embarrassment and exasperation.
What kind of idiot was this guy?
Who says stuff like that in front of others?
Her thoughts raced, her peripheral vision catching the maid standing nearby.
Noticing Meira's gaze, Saito's eyes snapped away as if shocked.
Her cheeks burned even hotter.
What a complete fool!
Saito muttered under her breath, her body limp in his embrace, yet her heart quietly began to believe his words.
Come to think of it, his tastes had always been oddly consistent.
If it was him…
Unconsciously, both fell silent.
Makoto buried his face in her deep purple hair, his nose subtly twitching as he inhaled gently.
"Don't… don't smell me!"
"Idiot."
Saito's flush deepened, her voice a mix of shy protest and gritted teeth.
She'd bathed that morning, but after rushing over, she doubted she smelled pleasant.
"It's fine."
Makoto didn't mind.
Having lost his sense of smell, even burying his face in her hair yielded only the faintest warmth.
As if touching his steady heartbeat, Saito sank into the embrace, lost in a moment belonging only to them, wordless.
As if she'd forgotten all the things that had angered her for so long.
If only it could stay like this forever.
That was Saito's only thought.
She wanted to hold this moment tightly in her hands.
Makoto, listening to her slowing heartbeat, felt his own heart settle at last.
This should mean he'd passed the test, right?
He relaxed, thinking as much.
But as the saying goes, fortune never comes in pairs, and misfortune never travels alone.
Just as Makoto relaxed into this moment of calm, a familiar, impish voice cut through the air, dripping with the sarcastic tone unique to a mischievous Zanpakutō.
[Muda! Mudada! Saito-chan!]
[So spineless!]
[If it were Unohana-sensei, she'd have already pinned you down and made her move by now.]
[Saito's just completely hopeless!]
[With this level of game, you think you can handle the heat?]
The instant the voice rang out, Makoto felt the petite figure in his arms tense, veins slowly bulging along her temple.
Makoto's eyes widened as he shot a glare at Oharai by his side.
You little!
This is revenge, isn't it?!
In the next moment, the soft figure in his embrace erupted with sudden force, breaking free and storming toward the door, Zanpakutō in hand.
"I knew it! I'll chop that Unohana jerk first, then come back and finish you!"
"Saito? Saito!"
Makoto lunged forward, practically clinging to her leg, refusing to let go. "Oharai was just talking nonsense!"
Saito stumbled to the ground under his weight but kept struggling to rise, one small foot pressing into his face as if to sink it in, crawling forward while shouting.
"Let go, you jerk!"
The room dissolved into chaos, a noisy tangle of shouts and scuffles.
Meira stood calmly to the side, watching the two roll across the floor like children, letting out a long, resigned sigh.
Just as she thought this, footsteps approached from outside.
Meira's brow furrowed as she turned toward the door Saito hadn't bothered to close.
A moment later, Sasakibe pushed open the half-ajar door, calling out familiarly.
"Makoto! The date for your captain promotion ceremony has been-"
His words choked off as the scene inside came into view.
His voice caught in his throat.
The two figures tangled on the floor froze, looking up to meet Sasakibe's bewildered gaze.
The room fell into dead silence.
Sasakibe stood rooted in place for a long moment before managing to finish his sentence.
"...set, hasn't it?"
...
One month later.
Shin'ō Academy dormitory.
"Jūshirō! Are you ready?"
"The ceremony's about to start!"
Shunsui called from the doorway, shouting toward the next room.
"Ack… coming! Coming!"
Jūshirō, still tying his robes, stumbled out of his room in straw sandals, answering hurriedly.
Once outside, he gave Shunsui a sheepish smile. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
"You must've been out cold to sleep this late, huh?" Shunsui teased, nudging Jūshirō's side with his elbow. "I was up ages ago."
Jūshirō laughed awkwardly, tying his slightly long silver hair into a bundle with a cord. "I couldn't sleep for hours last night. Only drifted off just before dawn."
"It's a captain promotion ceremony, after all."
"And with so many captains ascending at once!"
"Yeah."
The Quincy War's devastation needed no elaboration.
Captains from the 5th, 9th, 10th, 12th, and 13th Divisions had fallen in battle, leaving vacancies that demanded filling.
After months of selection and trials, the candidates were finally confirmed.
Thus, this joint promotion ceremony for multiple captains was born.
The two chatted idly as they walked, leaving the academy gates side by side, heading toward the newly built grand assembly hall, blending into the sea of shihakusho.
Gazing at the figures around them, Jūshirō couldn't help but feel a pang of awe.
After the Quincy War, their cohort of emergency-deployed senior students had been sent back to the academy to resume their studies.
Only a select few, like Jūshirō and Shunsui, were granted permission to attend the captain promotion ceremony, thanks to their battlefield valor and stellar academy records.
For mere students, this was an extraordinary honor.
And above all,
Among the captains being promoted was that legendary figure.
Jūshirō's heart raced with anticipation.
Upon entering the venue, the students were arranged in a single line, separate from the thirteen divisions.
With so few students attending, they naturally stood near the front.
Yamamoto's speech was as dull as ever, lulling many in the audience into a drowsy haze.
Only when the promoted candidates stepped forward did the atmosphere finally spark to life, heads lifting in unison to gaze at the stage.
"Former 5th Seat of the Eight Division, Makoto Fujimiya!"
At the sound of that name, countless eyes followed a young figure stepping forward.
The languid youth emerged from the lineup, ascending the stage step by step under the weight of the crowd's gazes.
Jūshirō watched from afar, his eyes gleaming with admiration.
After this war, the name Makoto Fujimiya had echoed throughout the Seireitei.
"So that's… the man, the myth, the legend?" He murmured unconsciously.
"Yeah." Shunsui replied softly, his gaze fixed on Makoto. "The one who single-handedly defeated the Father of Quincy … bearer of the strongest rule-based Zanpakutō."
"I hear he's quite the joker, too."
Jūshirō's eyes betrayed a flicker of reverence. "If I could serve under him one day, that'd be incredible."
"Serve?" Shunsui chuckled, tilting his chin. "A real man should aim higher."
At this moment, Jūshirō and Shunsui had no idea.
A millennium later, they'd both deeply regret the wishes they made today.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, they'd even slap themselves for it.
Onstage, the soon-to-be captains paid no mind to the gazes from below.
"Pretty laid-back, huh, Makoto-kun?" Senjumaru, perched on her small wheels, glanced at the youth's slightly pale face, smirking. "I heard Saito burned down your house the other day. Been crashing at someone else's place, have you?"
"Need a little outside help?"
"What help?" Makoto bristled. "Saito and I are doing just fine!"
Senjumaru smiled faintly. "That's a shame."
"I was hoping you'd test this large-scale stamina elixir for me."
"Huh?!"
Makoto whipped his head around, eyes wide.
But before he could respond, Captain-Commander Yamamoto's stern voice boomed in his ear.
"Makoto, step forward!"
"Yes, sir."
His face snapped back to solemn professionalism as he stepped out.
Yamamoto extended a hand, tying a white poppy plaque emblazoned with the 9th Division's symbol to his shoulder.
Behind him, two attendants draped a pure white haori over his shoulders.
Yamamoto stood before him, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder, nodding with approval.
"From this day forward, you are the captain of the 9th Division."
"Do not slack."
"Yes, sir!"
***
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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