As Makoto pondered the letter covertly sent by ra 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 fragnts 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, stamring as if she wanted to speak but couldn't muster the courage.
"I, uh, ca here to… well…"
The girl stumbled over her words, so unlike her usual self that even she seed 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 sha.
Seeing her tongue-tied, Makoto suddenly recalled sothing and hurried to explain. "Last ti, after the eting, I didn't get a chance to clear things up."
"Actually, Katori is sticking close to to shield 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 ward, 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 ant. 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 et Makoto's amused, composed smile.
A wave of girlish embarrassnt 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 volu, 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 seed 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 et 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 embarrassnt; she wanted to chop Makoto, the sole witness, into pieces!
Lost in her sha, 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 cri not to whisk her ho.
Plus, advancing his [Art of Footwork] required soone's help.
And right now, Saitō seed 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 ca 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 with sothing 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 re thought of Unohana's vivid description of his Shikai at the eting made her blush uncontrollably.
To say she had no wariness toward Makoto would be absurd!
Yet, driven by so inexplicable impulse, she didn't step away, as if waiting to hear more.
"Saitō, could you try on so other 'socks' for ?"
"…"
Saitō froze, her expression shifting from tension and worry to confusion, bewildernt, and uncertainty.
"For what?"
Makoto, straight-faced, replied, "To try on socks."
Almost instinctively, Saitō's voice spiked. "W-Why should I do sothing 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 an, choosing between Katori and ?!"
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 , tasked with shielding 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 tis?!"
"I just wasn't using my full strength!"
"That big-chested fool Katori is nowhere near , 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 for a bit?"
At this, Makoto, cloaked in sheep's wool, finally bared his wolfish fangs.
"Eh?" Saitō froze.
eting his gaze, she suddenly felt a pang of unease.
"W-Where to?"
"To get so 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 ?"
"No big deal, I'll just ask Katori-"
"Who's lying?!" Saitō cut him off, triggered by the ntion of Katori's na.
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 so 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 an 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, anwhile, 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 lds 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 so 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 so 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 , shouldn't I at least see what they look like?!"
"What if they're super weird?!"
"Here." Senjumaru casually extended her skeletal hand, having morized 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 embarrassnt.
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 mont, 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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