Morning light filtered through the courtyard, where the shishi-odoshi struck stone with a crisp clack.
Ripples spread across the pond, reflecting the warm dawn glow.
"Mmm-"
A long, groggy hum came from the inner room, as if someone were still wrestling with sleep.
"Time to get up, Makoto-kun."
"What do you want for breakfast today?"
A voice, familiar beyond measure, reached his ears.
Makoto's head was buried in the bedding, refusing to emerge, his voice muffled. "Tamagoyaki… Unohana-sensei's tamagoyaki…"
"Tamagoyaki again? Don't you ever get tired of it?"
"…Tamagoyaki." Makoto's voice, still hazy with sleep, insisted stubbornly.
"Alright, alright."
The gentle voice carried a hint of indulgence, like one might use with a child, before its owner rose and left the room.
A while later, perhaps the blink of an eye, another voice, this time a different one, prodded him, finally coaxing his eyelids open.
"If you don't get up soon, you'll be late for work again."
"Lazy Master."
As expected.
When he opened his eyes again, the figure in his view was Meira, clad in her black-and-white maid outfit.
Despite centuries together, Meira remained unchanged from their first meeting: golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her cool gaze meeting his bleary one, kneeling by his bedside.
Looking down at him.
Knowing he wouldn't easily escape the bedding's seal, Meira extended a hand, cold as metal, and pressed it lightly to his forehead, sending a shiver through him.
Makoto's mind snapped awake.
"Ugh, cold!"
"But, morning, Meira."
"Good morning to you too, clumsy Master."
"Shall I do it again?" Meira's lips curved faintly, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Before Unohana-sama returns."
"No need for that."
Makoto stretched lazily, rolling over in the tangled bedding with a soft yawn. His right hand, resting on Meira's thigh, bore a plain steel ring on the middle finger.
As his eyes fully opened, a familiar panel appeared before him.
[Defiant Disciple - Sign-In]
[Sign-In: Day One √]
[Obtained Golden Will Level 1↑]
[Note: Three hundred years have passed, how many 'Day Ones' has it been?]
Makoto ignored the system's taunt, waving it away without a care.
"You're up already?"
Unohana slid open the shoji, her voice tinged with mild surprise.
Fresh from a bath, her damp hair was gathered over one shoulder. She tilted her head softly toward Makoto, speaking warmly. "Since you're awake, come eat soon."
"Otherwise, Jūshirō-kun will start complaining again."
"Yes, yes."
Makoto mumbled his agreement, dragging himself to his feet.
Unohana looked up slightly, her gaze lingering on Makoto, now much taller than her, a faint wistfulness in her eyes.
"Unohana-sensei?"
"It's nothing."
Unohana smiled, her narrow eyes crinkling with warmth. "I just realized how tall you've grown, Makoto-kun."
She gestured at herself, comparing. "When we first met, you were only this big."
"Completely different now."
Makoto blinked, then stepped forward, wrapping his now-smaller sensei in a full embrace.
He lowered his head, his face nestling into her dark, damp hair, rich with the faint medicinal scent of gentian flowers, or so he imagined.
"If I grew a bit bigger, I could hold you like this, couldn't I?" He murmured. "That's why I wanted to grow taller."
"Well, then, it's wonderful you achieved your wish."
Centuries of closeness had erased any distance between this peculiar master and disciple. A playful exchange like this was easily parried.
Unohana extended a finger, tapping Makoto's forehead to push him back.
"Now, go eat."
"You dumped the rest of your squad duties on Jūshirō-kun the other day, didn't you?"
Her warm voice carried a gentle chiding, laced with affection.
"Everyone has their strengths!" Makoto trailed after Unohana toward the dining area, still trying to justify himself. "Jūshirō's just better at handling squad duties, so I left it to him."
Meira followed behind, her gaze on the pair complex and unreadable.
Oharai, however, chimed in without hesitation, its voice as childlike and sweet as ever.
[Wow, what a nagging master and disciple!]
[Good thing I'm not human, or I'd be doomed!]
Makoto swatted his waist lightly, grumbling, "Pipe down!"
Unohana glanced at the two with amusement, saying nothing.
After a moment, as if recalling something, she asked, "Should I save dinner for you tonight?"
"No need."
Makoto sat at the table, digging in without ceremony. "I'm sleeping at home tonight… Counting the days, Saito's probably due to come snooping again. Getting caught would be bad."
Unohana seemed unfazed, eating calmly, her tone only slightly surprised. "She still hasn't given up?"
"It's been three hundred years."
"…Best if she doesn't." Makoto muttered under his breath.
But a single glance from Unohana silenced him, his chopsticks darting across the table like a whirlwind.
Seeing his guilty demeanor, Unohana only chuckled lightly, far less bothered than he'd feared.
After all, she was the one who always came out on top.
After breakfast and washing up, Makoto changed into his work shihakusho.
Unlike three hundred years ago, his black shihakusho was now draped with a pure white, wide-sleeved haori.
At its center, a bold '9' adorned the back.
Unohana stood across from him, gazing at her proud disciple.
The tall young man stood at the courtyard gate, his loose robes concealing his frame, his skin a soft, jade-like white. He looked barely twenty, perhaps younger, his long hair tied loosely with a black-and-red cord, trailing behind him.
He tilted his head slightly, his features relaxed under the early summer sun, an Zanpakuto at his waist. He stood like a steadfast pine.
Yet his demeanor remained languid, almost careless.
"You've grown, Makoto." Unohana murmured softly.
"Sensei, I'm off!"
Makoto grinned, waving over his shoulder.
Unohana waved back. "Safe travels."
In a blink, the courtyard was empty.
Silently.
For powerful Shinigami, a mere millennium is scarcely enough to measure their lifespans.
For monsters like Yamamoto or Unohana, their lives are counted in tens of thousands of years.
Three hundred years pass in the blink of an eye.
Yet for the Seireitei and the Gotei 13, they have brought a cascade of changes.
Since assuming the role of 9th Division Captain after the promotion ceremony, Makoto has been diligent and dutiful, never once neglecting his responsibilities.
For a disciplined Shinigami captain like him, clocking in on time each day is only natural.
"Captain Makoto-"
But before he could step into the captain's office, a wail of despair echoed from within. "You're two hours late again!"
"You completely missed the morning squad meeting!"
"Huh?" Makoto feigned shock. "Wasn't the meeting at ten?"
"It was eight! Eight!"
Jūshirō sat inside the captain's office.
The young man with snow-white hair was slight and pale, his already frail health seemingly burdened further by a certain irresponsible captain's antics.
At Makoto's question, he nearly spat blood. "That's the rule you set! It's been in place for nearly a century!"
"Ahem."
Makoto's face stiffened, and he glanced to the side.
Spotting the three towering stacks of documents, each nearly half a person's height, on Jūshirō's desk, he forced a smile, awkwardly changing the subject. "So many files to handle this early in the morning."
"You're working hard, Jūshirō."
"Whose fault do you think this is?!"
Jūshirō clutched half his face, eyes bloodshot, teeth gritted. "The reports due last month were all shoved under your desk!"
"I only found them the day before yesterday!"
"What happens if we miss tomorrow's submission deadline?!"
His heart burned with resentment.
It was proof that even the most mild-mannered saint could be driven to profanity by an unreliable superior.
To this day, Jūshirō couldn't fathom it.
When he graduated from the Shin'o Academy tied for first in his class, what possessed him to join Captain Makoto's division as the damned 3rd Seat?
He must've been out of his mind back then!
Clearly, the starry-eyed youth who once gazed at Makoto's back from the ceremony stage had been mercilessly crushed by the brutal reality of corporate Shinigami life!
"And this one! Sign it right now!"
Without looking up, Jūshirō shoved a massive stack of documents onto Makoto's desk, the sight alone enough to make anyone's scalp tingle.
Then, as if struck by a thought, he fixed Makoto with a bloodshot glare, his voice low. "Don't even think about escaping until you're done."
"Captain!"
Makoto sensed trouble and scrambled to deflect. "Damn it! That jerk Ryoma's got you working yourself to death, Jūshirō… Your health can't take this!"
"Where's that guy at?"
"I need to give him a piece of my mind!"
"What kind of vice-captain is he?!"
Before he could finish, he flashed a half-step back with shunpo, dodging Jūshirō's outstretched hand, and bolted for the office door.
He left only a fleeting silhouette for the 3rd Seat.
Jūshirō stared at his captain's retreating figure, eyes wide with strained disbelief, fists clenched.
Whether it's Makoto-sama or Ryoma-senpai…
The superiors in the 9th Division are utterly useless!
In that moment, Jūshirō vowed that if he died at his desk, he'd scrawl "misery" across it a dozen times.
"Oh, right! Captain!" He suddenly remembered, rushing to the door to shout, "Don't forget the captains' meeting later!"
"Got it!"
A distant reply echoed from the corridor's end.
Jūshirō stood at the doorway, watching Makoto's figure vanish into the distance, his gaze heavy with melancholy.
Life…
Back to work.
…
After darting through two corners, Makoto's figure flickered in and out of sight.
Only when he was safely beyond Jūshirō's precise reiatsu detection did he relax, letting out a long breath.
Truth be told, he didn't hate work.
The problem was,
It's too damn long!!
A Shinigami's near-endless lifespan might be a boon for savoring life's pleasures.
But equate that "endless lifespan" with "work hours." and the result is anything but pleasant.
Mortals working from their twenties to sixties already feel like they're drowning in monotony.
How much worse is three hundred years of near-identical, assembly-line tasks, day after day?
Makoto was convinced he had a condition: "Start working, and I'll slowly poison myself."
As he mulled this over, a slender arm suddenly shot out from a side corridor.
Makoto flinched instinctively.
Before he could see who it was, he was pulled into a soft, enveloping embrace, a pair of small hands covering his eyes.
"It's work hours, Captain Makoto."
"What exactly are you up to?"
The moment he felt that unmistakable silhouette, Makoto blinked, surprised. "Katori?"
"Well, well."
Katori released her hands, peeking around his neck with a small smile. "You recognized me just by my voice?"
"Sharp as ever, Makoto-kun."
Her pure, guileless face broke into a gentle grin.
Makoto didn't admit he'd identified her by touch, instead asking, "I thought you'd be in the World of the Living longer. Back so soon?"
"Soon?" Katori turned, giving him an odd look. "I spent three whole years hunting Quincy remnants, Makoto-kun."
"That long already?" Makoto mused, a touch wistful.
Since becoming a Shinigami, his sense of time had gone awry.
Or perhaps it was the ageless body and face that warped his perception.
"Anything fun happen in the Seireitei lately?"
"How's Captain-Commander Yamamoto doing?"
Katori clasped her hands behind her back, strolling beside him casually.
"Same old." Makoto replied without any stiffness. "Captain-Commander's 'in seclusion' again. Probably grooming that big beard of his."
"Completely hands-off."
"Hasn't he been growing that beard since a century ago?" Katori giggled. "Did he braid it this time?"
"Nope, but it's ridiculously long now!"
As they chatted, Makoto glanced behind her.
Since earlier, a timid figure had trailed Katori, silent, merely listening to their conversation.
Noticing his gaze, Katori seemed to remember, reaching back to pull the young woman forward. "Oh, oh!"
"Almost forgot."
"This is my new vice-captain."
She tilted her head, whispering a warning. "I went through a lot to find her, so don't get any funny ideas, Makoto-kun."
"Yeah, yeah~"
Makoto waved dismissively.
What kind of guy did Katori take him for?
He thought as much.
Then, the soft-spoken young woman before him spoke.
"Good morning, Captain Makoto."
"My name is Sosumi Aizen."
"Please guide me."
The moment her words landed, Makoto's gaze locked onto her.
His expression darkened abruptly.
The air itself seemed to freeze.
Aizen… 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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