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"When, oh when, shall we et again?"
"At dusk on the Obon shore!"
"Link pinkies, link pinkies, never tell a lie!"
"Break your word, and shatter to dust!"
"Stride forth, stride forth, to the shrine of the gods…"
"…"
A faint, ghostly nursery rhy drifted from an impossibly distant horizon.
Yet as it reached its final line, the lilting, soothing cadence dissolved within Makoto's mind, twisting into a chaotic buzz of scrambled static.
The clear lodic chant fractured amidst a grating zzzzt-zzzzt-zzzzt.
And snapped silent.
The jarring cacophony, paired with a primal dread surging from the depths of his soul, jolted him awake.
But what greeted Makoto's eyes left him montarily stunned.
A colossal screen lood before him, dominating an entire wall.
And the image flickering across it was one he knew all too well.
A line of blood-red text, nacing in its familiarity to any ordinary soul.
[FBI Warning!]
Makoto's eyes widened, his face contorting in visceral terror.
'Wait!'
'No, please!!'
'My Zanpakutō couldn't possibly be...'
Thankfully, the next fra dispelled his bizarre fears.
The screen flickered and shifted and there appeared Senjumaru Shutara, her elegant visage filling the center. As ever, a faint, disdainful smile curved her lips, her hands cradling a string of prayer beads.
"I don't know who holds the Bracelet of Silent Oath now, but if you're hearing this, it likely ans you're in a state of Jinzen, right?"
"Then listen carefully."
Senjumaru's voice flowed evenly, almost devoid of inflection, "The Bracelet of Silent Oath is a flawed creation. Their chanism forcibly suppresses a Zanpakutō's will to silence its voice."
"Naturally, when you enter Jinzen, you'll face their wrath and if it's severe, it could even warp your inner world dramatically."
"So, if your bond with your Zanpakutō isn't strong, be sure to soothe it after each use of the bracelet."
"Otherwise..."
"You might just be swallowed by your Zanpakutō's fury."
Her words, etched into the bracelet's mory, cut off mid-sentence as a fresh burst of zzzzt-zzzzt-zzzzt static erupted across the screen.
From behind Makoto ca a sharp, petulant child's voice, dripping with irritation.
"So noisy!"
"Are you playing the movie or not?!"
"If not, I'm changing the channel!"
The instant the words landed, Senjumaru's image vanished from the screen.
In its place erged two actors Makoto knew intimately, Yuga Mikami and Hikaru Nagi.
He recognized them because this was the very tangerine-tinted romance action flick from his E-drive's root directory, nestled among his study materials, a film he'd watched so often he could recite the plot by heart.
Within monts, the screen unfurled a classic crowd-pleasing school hypnosis storyline.
But Makoto had no appetite for viewing now.
He turned and his vision caught a figure.
A girl, perhaps eleven or twelve, with a mop of adorable white hair cropped short, adorned with twin sock-shaped pendants at her temples. Her legs dangled lazily over the edge of an oversized sofa, a picture of childish charm.
Her wide, watery eyes fixed unblinkingly on the screen, aglow with vibrant delight.
In her tiny hands, she clutched a bag of chips, munching away with a crunch-crunch, occasionally sucking on her little fingers. Her upturned face radiated eager anticipation.
The porcelain-doll innocence of her deanor clashed starkly with the tangerine scenes unfolding onscreen, forming a surreal spectrum of human experience.
The uncanny tableau stirred an odd, unsettling sensation in Makoto's chest.
Yet that crisp, slightly haughty child's voice snapped him into clarity.
This chip-munching, movie-watching gremlin was none other than his dear Zanpakutō.
But Senjumaru's warning gnawed at him, sowing seeds of unease.
"Swallowed by your Zanpakutō's fury, huh?"
Glancing at the girl perched on the theater's lone seat, a flicker of hope dared to rise.
What if his Zanpakutō was actually good-natured?
He had to try, at least.
With that, Makoto stepped forward, approaching the child at a asured pace, his face wreathed in a gentle smile.
"Hi-"
He'd barely uttered a syllable when the white-haired girl swiveled her head toward him.
Her gaze was flat, almost indifferent.
Golden eyes flashed, then lted into a vivid, searing crimson.
That single, fleeting glance struck Makoto's heart with a suffocating dread far worse than anything he'd felt facing Chika Shihōin.
'I'm going to die!'
The thought erupted unbidden.
A fine sheen of cold sweat blood across his back, threatening to drench him.
Then, a delicate hand patted his shoulder.
"Hey!"
The sa light, lodic voice rang out.
In an instant, the alien sensation, that oppressive force poised to erase him from existence, vanished from his surroundings.
The pouty little creature huffed softly, turning back to her movie and chips, nibbling her fingers as if nothing had happened.
Makoto's heartbeat skipped, faltering mid-rhythm.
…He'd survived.
Nothing had occurred, yet the notion gripped him all the sa.
As he turned, a finger poked his cheek, and his gaze t a girl with shoulder-length white hair, one hand clasped behind her back, her bright eyes and gleaming smile radiant.
She stood poised and graceful, a bud on the cusp of bloom.
"Scared you, huh?"
Her voice was soft and warm, laced with the playful lilt of youth, impish and charming.
She'd have a lovely singing voice, no doubt.
The girl regarded Makoto with a chuckle, "Still, it's best not to bother her while she's watching her movies."
"This whole theater's her creation, after all."
"If she throws a tantrum, no one's stopping her!"
"Is that so? Thanks."
Makoto exhaled slowly, eting her gaze.
Her eyes, too, burned a vivid crimson.
"And you are…?"
She laughed brightly, her voice a crystalline chi, "Isn't it obvious? I'm your Zanpakutō."
"You can't lie here, you know."
"That's the 'rule' everyone follows."
Makoto blinked, struck by their resemblance, and blurted, "I've got dual blades too?"
"…Not necessarily."
She turned to him, her eyes tinged with a helpless sigh.
"Oh, right!"
"How about a little tour outside?"
"It's your first ti in this world, right?"
"I'll be your guide!"
Hands clasped behind her, she skipped ahead lightly, "Since this is a reflection of your heart, so spots should suit your tastes."
"Like so of your favorite nuclear codes, 304307, 274788, 366091, or 465202, there are plenty around!"[1]
"What?!!"
Makoto's heart leaped fiercely.
But Senjumaru's words lingered in his threadbare mind, sparking a wary instinct. He wrestled down his excitent, his voice trembling.
"Can't you just tell your na directly?"
The girl eyed his torn, cautious expression and laughed, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
"Sure, I could."
"My na's ■■■■."
"But you who hasn't accepted your own heart or earned 'recognition'."
"Can you really hear it?"
Makoto froze, staring at the girl so close he could touch her.
Partly because he hadn't expected such bluntness.
And partly because…
The mont her na sounded,
He saw it clearly a fleeting shadow of dim, quiet stillness flickering through her crimson eyes.
"Lewdness reigns supre!!!"
"I wanna get stepped on by an Onne-chan too, yo!"
Just as he pondered, the child behind him let out a gleeful, crystalline shout.
But with that single cry, she plopped back onto the sofa, tearing into another bag of chips, gulping cola with loud glug-glug swallows, and letting out a satisfied burp.
Utterly adorable.
Makoto instinctively glanced back at her.
So this was the defective little perv who kept ruining his social life!
"Well? Isn't she cute?"
The girl smiled tossing the question casually.
Makoto's expression faltered, then blood into an eager grin.
"Of course!"
In that fleeting instant, the girl's face froze. She turned to him.
The screen stilled too, the child puffing her cheeks in a tiny, indignant glare.
The air in the theater congealed, heavy, and unyielding.
Makoto stood rooted, breathless.
"Didn't I just say?"
"You can't lie here."
Her crimson eyes bored into him, her voice still clear and sweet.
The mont her words fell, Makoto's body locked rigid.
In the next breath, he swelled like a balloon gorged with water, bloating, distorting,
Until, with a pop, he burst.
Vanishing from this world.
Leaving only a faint, lingering sigh.
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[1] If you know, you know.
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