With a single command from Yamamoto, the unassailable pinnacle of the Genji School, the entire faction sprang into motion. Scores of instructors led their graduated Shinigami in waves, dispatched to every corner of the Rukongai. Their mission was a sweeping purge of all Seireitei noble influence from District 30 to District 80.
When Makoto and his group returned to the Genji School, they were greeted by the sight of squad after squad departing the base, fanning out in all directions.
At that mont, he hadn't yet grasped the sheer scale of this war.
Unohana, upon their return, made straight for the central dojo to report the operation's details to the old man.
As for Makoto?
He'd already been roped into her 11th Division, plenty of ti later for her to toy with him as she pleased.
So, like a discarded burden, the wicked woman left him stranded by the roadside, directionless.
"Well, whatever."
"Might as well head back to the dorms early, got to sort out Kirio's situation too."
Makoto's thoughts lingered on Saitō, who might be lurking sowhere in the school, poised to murder him. The dorms seed the safest bet for now.
"Kirio?"
"Yes!"
At his call, the pink-haired girl scurried after him on short legs, timid yet quick to follow.
Pretty obedient, he noted.
"Makoto."
"et at the training grounds later."
Just as he mulled this over, Unohana's flat voice drifted back from ahead, her back still turned.
Makoto's body stiffened.
Damn it, did she hear plotting to slack off?
Snicker! Snicker! Snicker!
As he inwardly groaned, an unabashed chuckle broke the air beside him.
Turning, he found Senjumaru standing quietly, her narrow, alluring eyes glinting with amusent. Her brows arched downward in mock pity, her laughter unrelenting.
"So you're the one that madwoman's got her claws in? Maybe fools do have their own luck."
"Hah?" Makoto shot her a withering sidelong glance, nudging Kirio behind him protectively. "If you're so tough, say that to her face when she's around, Senjumaru-san. Better finish remaking your junk soon."
From their first eting, she'd worn that haughty, dismissive air, looking down on everyone. Even soone as mild-mannered as Makoto could only take so many jabs from that sharp tongue before firing back with open defiance.
Kirio peeked out from behind his leg, tilting her head with a small, curious blink at the woman.
Senjumaru's expression faltered, her lips twitching. Her eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering as her knuckles cracked audibly. "Quite the silver tongue. It'd look even prettier stitched shut, don't you think?"
"You'd have to manage it first." Makoto scoffed, his fingertips resting warily on his hilt.
Why's this old hag play acting like so coy, arrogant schoolgirl?!
Besides, venomous quips and tsundere vibes were out of fashion these days.
What reigned now were tragic, beautiful yuri girls with a citrus twist!
As the tension crackled...
His waist-bound nuisance of a blade piped up again.
[Ahhhn! Classical won are the best!]
[I want Senjumaru-neesan to poke all over!]
[In return, can I poke you too?]
[A foul-mouthed classical onee-san spitting Soul Society slang, isn't that just perfection?!]
[Let have a lick already!]
The Zanpakuto's chatter rang out, plunging both sides into an odd, strained silence.
Senjumaru's bony little hand, poised to strike, slackened slightly.
Kirio's eyes widened, darting to Makoto's sword.
The blade's talking again!
"…"
After that outburst, Senjumaru's gaze flickered toward Makoto, then darted away, her head turning aside as if to evade sothing unspoken.
Her lips, stained like cinnabar paper, parted slightly as if to murmur sothing, only to snap shut abruptly.
Her sidelong glance darted away, then stole back.
Caught by Makoto, she jerked her head aside again, her left arm instinctively clutching her right.
"Wait a second!"
A chill of foreboding swept through Makoto, sweat beading down his back.
"You know that wasn't talking just now, right?!"
"O-Of course I know!!!"
Senjumaru's voice spiked with sudden nerves, her pale earlobes flushing red. She turned her face away, muttering under her breath.
"A foul-mouthed, corpse-and-loom-obsessed, tasteless, single-minded tech geek like , obviously no man would ever be interested. I get it."
Makoto's panic surged. "I didn't say it that harshly!"
"But… being told soone wants to poke ? That's a first!"
Senjumaru twisted her head aside, as if deaf to his protests, a faint thrill escaping her lips. Her fingers unconsciously summoned a cluster of oversized, nacing sewing needles, their gleam downright sinister.
Before he knew it, her gaze on him smoldered with newfound heat. "I didn't expect you to have this kind of potential."
"I said it's not !"
Senjumaru's brow creased faintly. "A Zanpakutō's nature doesn't stray far from its master's, often, they're a perfect mirror. Denying your true self endlessly isn't wise. If it gets bad, forget achieving Shikai, you might not even reach Jinzen."
Her tone softened imperceptibly, a quiet admonition laced with comfort.
That shift sent a shiver of dread through Makoto.
Yet her words struck a nerve, piercing his current weakness.
"Uh… can regular Shinigami all enter Jinzen?" He ventured cautiously.
"Hm?"
Senjumaru's look turned odd.
No, downright bizarre.
Her eyes raked him up and down, her nimble, slender hand probing his joints and pressure points. Her expression grew increasingly peculiar. "You… with a body this sturdy, reiatsu this vast, and battle skills this honed, haven't even touched Jinzen?"
Jinzen, the communion between Shinigami and Zanpakutō, was foundational across all eras.
"So how much are you fighting the fact that you're a freak?"
"Think you're not one?"
Senjumaru was clearly straining to soften her phrasing.
But often, lies spare feelings, and truth cuts like a blade.
Makoto felt that knife twist in his chest.
"I'm not, period!" He shot back, clinging to defiance.
"Yes, yes." Senjumaru's reply dripped with growing indifference. "I get how you feel, who'd enjoy a Zanpakutō that won't shut up, right?"
"Oh, by the way..." She paused, as if struck by a thought. "Want to silence it?"
"Huh?!"
Makoto's eyes blazed with sudden brilliance.
"You can do that?!"
"Of course." Senjumaru flashed a coy, bewitching smile, turning to him. "But why should I hand it over for free?"
"…"
Makoto fell into a thoughtful hum.
What could he possibly offer soone like Senjumaru?
Surely not a lifeti indenture.
But as he pondered, a spark flared in his mind. "Speaking of, situations like today, where a task force loses contact with headquarters for hours… you wouldn't want that again, right, Senjumaru-san?"
Her ears perked up, though she scoffed. "You think you can teach sothing? I've got confidence in my craft. If you're about to ntion Tenteikūra, save it."[1]
"No, simpler." Makoto's face grew deadly serious. "It's a concept I've devised, a portable, real-ti communication tool using single-line binary Reishi frequencies. I call it… a radio transmitter!"
His expression was utterly earnest.
Senjumaru's narrow eyes widened in disbelief, staring at him as if he were a monkey assembling a rifle from scratch.
In an instant, she flashed to his side with Shunpo, her breath ragged, eyes glinting with fervor. She seized his sleeve tight.
"Explain. Now!"
---
[1] Tenteikūra is primarily used for communication. The practitioner draws symbols upon their arms, hands, and the ground using a black powder or their own blood (Like how Isane Kotetsu reported Aizen's betrayal to the entire Soul Society).
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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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