At this moment, the noblewoman froze in place.
Under Makoto's warm, pure smile—like the rising morning sun—she was inexplicably overcome with a sense of inadequacy. It was as if she had been transported back to her youthful first love, back when those childhood memories were vivid. A face she thought time had long eroded suddenly sharpened in her mind.
Yet, without realizing it, that face had been subconsciously replaced by the image of Makoto.
"What… what am I doing?"
The noblewoman bit her lower lip, silently chiding herself in shame.
What had she come to think of Doctor Senju as? How could she have uttered such shameless, indecent words in front of him?
It was, beyond question, an insult to his dignity!
Hastily, the noblewoman straightened her posture and adjusted her disheveled attire, which had slipped into an unbecoming state.
Normally composed and experienced, the noblewoman now found herself uncharacteristically nervous and embarrassed. With a hint of awkwardness, she stammered,
"Forg… forgive me, Doctor Senju. I… I got caught up in my emotions for a moment."
"I see…"
Makoto stepped forward, gently easing her spiritual body's tense muscles. His voice, soft as a spring breeze, carried his response:
"Madam, the past is behind us. Dwelling on it too much can affect your health. Why not focus instead on the bright horizon of tomorrow?"
Lying prone on the treatment bed, her back to Makoto, the noblewoman felt her cheeks grow warm. She answered shyly,
"Y-Yes, Doctor Senju…"
When the massage ended, the noblewoman, who had previously exuded confidence and composure, softened her demeanor, carrying hints of a girlish charm as she said her farewell.
"Doctor Senju… thank you. I feel much better now."
"Good, I'm glad to hear that. Just don't forget to settle the payment—though the fee might be a bit steep," Makoto remarked casually.
"No problem at all, Doctor Senju! Whatever you need, I…"
Realizing her enthusiasm was misplaced, the noblewoman flushed deeply, bowing so low she nearly buried her face in her Schrift G. Flustered, she quickly corrected herself,
"No, no, I mean… if it's for you, Doctor Senju, no amount is too much! I… I'll look forward to our next meeting."
And with that, the noblewoman, normally composed like a seasoned driver on a smooth road, left hurriedly—like a sputtering engine, struggling to run.
Makoto, however, found her parting words agreeable.
Massage techniques themselves were not particularly advanced. However, Makoto had the ability to precisely adjust his pressure and movements based on the spiritual particles within each patient's body. This allowed him to achieve results that were nearly perfect.
Naturally, his fees reflected this exceptional skill, which he considered entirely reasonable.
As for the noblewoman's self-perceived charm, Makoto had, indeed, been dishonest in his response.
To avoid damaging her confidence, he refrained from sharing his true feelings.
From the perspective of a spiritual body's external appearance, the noblewoman's Schrift G might seem an extraordinary treasure to a layperson. But Makoto's vision, attuned to the microscopic structure of spiritual particles, told a different story.
Just as different viewpoints lead to different biases, Makoto's prolonged focus on the microscopic world of spiritual particles had subtly shifted his aesthetic preferences.
To him, the external appearance of a spiritual body was no longer the sole standard of beauty. The inner arrangement, quality, and sequence of spiritual particles—that was the true artistry.
In this regard, the noblewoman, aside from the abundance of useless spiritual particles concentrated in her chest, had little else of aesthetic merit in Makoto's eyes.
Her spiritual particle structure? Chaotic. Her spiritual energy? Mediocre. Her overall impression? Dreadful.
It was no wonder her spiritual pressure was so limited. Even if she sought to "sow seeds," it would amount to nothing more than wasted effort.
In comparison, even Soi Fon held far greater appeal.
That said, among all the spiritual bodies Makoto had encountered, none could rival the unparalleled beauty of his teacher, Unohana Retsu.
From both a macroscopic and microscopic perspective, Unohana was an epitome of perfect incarnate.
At this thought, Makoto's hand, which had been recording the noblewoman's case details, faltered slightly. His gaze grew distant.
Another figure began to take form in his mind—a figure whose spiritual particle structure and arrangement were even more flawless, carrying immense potential for medical research: Aizen Sosuke.
---
Meanwhile, the Aizen occupying Makoto's thoughts had just returned to the Seireitei after flawlessly leading his team on a rescue mission.
Using Kyōka Suigetsu to create the illusion that he was attending to paperwork at the Fifth Division barracks, Aizen discreetly made his way to a hidden underground laboratory.
The room was filled with equipment, rivaling even the Shinigami Technology Development Bureau's setup, each device busy calculating and processing data.
Without hesitation, Aizen headed toward a section containing samples of stripped Shinigami powers—more precisely, fragments of souls harvested from Rukongai residents.
He stopped before one particular sample.
This was a fragment of Rangiku Matsumoto's soul.
During the extraction, Aizen had detected a peculiar fluctuation—a discovery he had yet to fully investigate. Thus, he had preserved it carefully until now.
In his quest to transcend the limits of Shinigami power, Aizen had gathered these soul fragments, aiming to create a unique substance.
But the prototype, formed from hundreds of soul fragments, remained unstable, far from completion.
"It lacks a core to serve as an anchor point…"
This was the conclusion Aizen had reached in recent weeks, and it had left him troubled—until today.
His interaction with Gin Ichimaru, and Makoto's apparent interest in Matsumoto, sparked a new intuition within him.
"Could it be that Makoto's focus on Gin isn't about Gin himself, but rather something connected to Rangiku Matsumoto?"
As for the idea that Makoto's interest was purely altruistic, Aizen dismissed it outright.
Just as humans would not concern themselves with mere ants, Aizen believed Makoto wouldn't invest attention in Gin without reason.
In this world, Aizen saw only two true equals: himself and Makoto.
"So…"
The azure glow of Matsumoto's soul fragment reflected off Aizen's glasses as he gazed at it with renewed interest.
"Perhaps the anchor I need lies within this…"
======================
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