Catching up on updates was a descent into hell itself!
Since returning to his room, Makoto had plunged into a grueling three-day, three-night marathon, an endless abyss of torment.
He'd carved a bloody path through West Rukongai, from one end to the other, slaughtering for two and a half months without batting an eye. Countless wicked souls fell beneath his blade, a steely, iron-blooded warrior through and through.
Yet after just a few days of that hardened life, he'd racked up over two hundred missed updates!
Even with Lord of Mysteries etched into his memory, writing it by hand was an entirely different beast.
In those three-plus days, Makoto felt as if his very soul were being hollowed out.
Were it not for dear Katori standing over him, her face an icy mask, shackling his ankles with chains, prodding his waist with her Zanpakuto, permitting nothing but meals and bathroom breaks, even tying his hands with rope while he slept, he'd have bolted long ago.
It wasn't until the fourth day, when the chapters were bound into a book and cradled like treasure by Katori on her bed, that Makoto was finally debt-free earned his freedom, and released from her dorm.
"I-I'm back…"
Exhausted beyond measure, Makoto's red-rimmed eyes struggled to push open the door to his long-abandoned room.
For a moment, everything felt achingly familiar.
Kirio, hunched over a desk with her homework, jolted as if sensing something. Her pen clattered to the floor, and with a wail cry, she crashed into his arms, sobbing with heartrending ferocity.
"Makoto-nii! You're finally back!!"
"I'll be good and go to Kidō class from now on! Just take that mean sensei away!"
Kirio clung to his clothes as if he might vanish, tears and snot streaming freely.
These past days had been pure misery!
Makoto blinked, startled.
Then he looked up to see Senjumaru perched calmly at the desk by the window. Her skeletal arms extended from her back, holding an open book as she read leisurely in the sunlight.
"Yo, congrats."
"You actually made it back alive."
The haughty woman retained her usual air of unruffled composure, as poised as she'd appeared on the giant screen in his inner world, steady, unhurried.
"Y-Yes."
"Thanks to your blessings, I suppose."
Makoto lacked the energy to spar verbally. All he craved was to flop onto his bed, sleep deeply, and do nothing else.
"Makoto-nii?"
Kirio gazed up at him, still sniffling pitifully.
Makoto glanced at her, noting that in their brief time apart, she'd shot up noticeably, a sign of rapid reiatsu growth for a spirit.
He ruffled her pink hair with a smile, "Kirio-chan, you've got to learn to adapt."
"Otherwise, if I marry Senjumaru-sensei someday, how will you cope?"
Senjumaru's brow twitched, her gaze sliding to him with faint disdain.
"You've got some guts saying that."
"I've no physiological inclination to pair with a caveman."
Kirio froze as if struck by catastrophic news, standing dumbstruck.
Then she burst into even louder sobs.
"Waaah!"
"Makoto-nii, please! I'll grow up and marry you!"
"Don't be with that jerk, okay?!"
Makoto pinched her chubby cheeks, chuckling despite himself.
As long as she didn't mind crying and he didn't have to console her, teasing kids was pretty fun.
"Sure, sure."
"I was kidding."
Kirio exhaled sharply, hiccupping through her relief.
Seeing him sprawl on the bed, teetering on sleep, Senjumaru rose from the desk.
A skeletal hand tossed a small box his way with casual flair.
"Here."
"That thing you mentioned last time."
"It's usable, more or less."
"Since the deal's done, I'll be off."
She meant the wireless communication spirit platform crafted from Makoto's concept.
He hadn't expected the prototype to be so compact.
Senjumaru drawled lazily, having minded the kid for a while. It'd been amusing at first, but the novelty had worn thin.
"Thanks, Senjumaru."
Makoto caught it with a grin, "I'll need your help again next time."
"Hmph."
She turned, smirking mockingly, "What? With that brain of yours, you think you've got more useful ideas?"
She'd never pegged him for a font of creativity.
Even with the radio as proof, she chalked it up to dumb luck, a blind cat stumbling on a dead mouse.
"Oh, plenty."
Makoto's smile turned foxlike.
He saw her as a renewable resource ripe for exploitation.
"Ah?! No way!"
Only Kirio cried out in desperate protest.
Sadly…
Objection overruled!!!
---
Life settled into a calm rhythm after that. As a rotating combatant on leave, Makoto spent his days at home either teaching Kirio advanced Kidō or honing his Zanjutsu and Hakuda alone.
He also carved out time each day to keep Katori's updates flowing.
It was a full, satisfying routine.
Unohana seemed to have noticed that his meteoric growth only sparked in life-or-death sparring, like their first encounter. Regular practice yielded little of the same.
After a few bouts confirmed this, she let him roam free.
Utterly irresponsible.
Weeks passed, and just as Makoto grew accustomed to this leisurely pace, headquarters finally issued an order.
---
At the Genji School's gates.
By the time Makoto arrived, two figures stood waiting.
Chōjirō Sasakibe and…
Yorita Shiba.
Unlike Chika Shihōin's last dojo appearance, the Head of the Shiba bore no rune-etched Sekkiseki shackles today.
A mark of freedom.
Yet his demeanor seemed more haggard than when he'd been gravely wounded.
Today, Makoto and Sasakibe's mission was to escort him back to the Seireitei.
"Shiba-san, Sasakibe-kun."
Makoto dipped his head in greeting.
"Ryuma… no, I should call you Makoto-kun now, right?"
Yorita perked up slightly at his voice, offering a faint smile.
Makoto's cover blown, his thick skin faltered, and he could only laugh awkwardly in assent.
Sasakibe, as ever, nodded coolly with his usual stoic face.
"If you're ready, let's move out."
---
Yorita's recent days had been a trial.
Not from torture or harsh interrogations at the Genji School.
No, it was a deeper death and rebirth, a shattering of his worldview.
Raised as a quintessential scion of the Seireitei's five noble families, his century-plus of life had been framed by the polished vistas atop the Soul Society's heights.
His father had hinted both subtly and overtly at harsher truths, but who expects a mere hundred-year-old to grasp it all?
Especially as the primary heir to a great noble house, burdened with rigorous training in every skill, he'd spent most of his time cloistered at home. Few beyond his inner circle dared or cared to expose him to the Seireitei's underbelly.
Grown in such a bubble, Yorita's brief stay at the Genji School rewrote his understanding of the world.
The catalyst was simple.
Days ago, Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto had taken him on a tour, first to a nearby village's tranquil life, then infiltrating a noble estate to witness a hellscape of starvation and dehumanization.
That alone sufficed.
Yorita came to see the nobles lording over the Rukongai not as he'd imagined them.
The journey back reinforced this with every sight and sound along the way.
When he finally beheld the lives of the Pluses in Genji territory, unmarred by noble exploitation, he could no longer stomach the misery festering under aristocratic rule.
At last, he stood before the Seireitei's gate.
The Seireitei ahead and the Rukongai behind seemed divided by a tangible yet invisible line.
Pristine towers and halls.
Filthy straw-and-wood hovels.
Haughty, upright noble lords.
Hunched, groveling Rukongai poor.
An unseen boundary cleaved them apart.
Even with the Sekkiseki wall yet to descend, this divided zone remained a serene white.
"Makoto-kun."
Yorita paused before the gate, asking out of the blue, "If you had the chance, would you become… someone above others, like a noble?"
Makoto considered, then countered, "If nobles are 'above,' what does that make the Rukongai commoners?"
Yorita faltered, musing for a moment before testing:
"Below others?"
"Mm."
Makoto nodded, "Stripping away most practical constraints, being 'above' isn't that crucial to me."
"But reducing the number of those 'below' that matters."
Statistically, most souls never get a shot at rising above.
So the effort must tilt the other way.
His answer rang clear.
"Hahahahaha!"
Yorita burst into laughter.
Truth be told, he harbored no grudge against the man who'd stabbed him yet unveiled the world's raw face.
"Interesting…"
So young, yet more perceptive than he, a hollow century-plus of life.
With that thought, he left the pair behind, striding through the Seiryū Gate.
Beyond, hundreds of black-clad guards lined a straight path to the Central 46 Hall.
Yorita marched onward, descending into the depths.
The Central 46 stood atop their dais, faces obscured by white screens, voices alone piercing through.
"Head of the Shiba."
"Yorita Shiba."
"This session's agenda was the trial of Yorita Shiba for falling to the ryoka, carelessly sent to the front, resulting in the demise of the Head of the Asaimon."
Though the young man below led one of the five great houses, in formal proceedings, the Central 46 reigned as the Seireitei's supreme authority.
Yet this time, Yorita defied tradition, cutting off the droning vermin and fools above with a calm retort.
"Spare me the time."
"I'm here to tell you the Tsunayashiro's trump card is known to the Genji School."
"Genryūsai-sama tasked me to inform you…"
"He awaits Tsunayashiro Shōgo's punitive visit anytime."
With that, he turned, not lingering a step, and strode out.
That single statement derailed their scripted agenda.
But what stunned the sages and nobles more was Yorita's demeanor.
Chaos erupted atop the dais.
Only one voice cut through, sharp and commanding:
"Halt! Yorita Shiba!"
"The trial's unfinished! What are you up to?!"
Yorita glanced back, his wolfish gaze sweeping the lofty assembly. A smoldering ember flickered in his deep eyes as he chuckled low.
"Up to?"
"I've defected to the Genji School!!"
***
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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