Makoto raised his gaze to meet Unohana's gentle and seemingly encouraging expression. It felt as though she was subtly urging him to make a rash or inappropriate move.
No—wait!
A sudden chill ran through Makoto's heart as clarity struck.
This was likely one of Unohana sensei's cunning schemes, a moment when her sly inner self inadvertently revealed her true intentions!
If he were to accidentally commit some kind of blunder, she'd have the perfect excuse to punish him!
The only viable option now was to strictly adhere to the boundaries of his role as her disciple and comply with her expectations.
"Yes... Sensei, I understand," Makoto murmured, his voice trembling under Unohana's warm gaze. Slowly, he began to loosen the ties of his shihakushō.
Gradually, the room filled with a mix of frantic and gentle sounds, a dissonance that mirrored the emotional tension.
Moments later, the door to Unohana's chamber creaked open. Makoto, his chest wrapped in bandages and sweat beading his forehead, staggered out, supporting himself against the wall. His footsteps faltered as he made his way back to his quarters.
What had just happened was pure torment!
In that dimly lit room, a young, naïve man like him had been coerced into removing his outer garments under the intense scrutiny of an overwhelmingly beautiful and authoritative older woman. Straining to uphold his boundaries, he endured her "gentle" yet relentless treatment at an uncomfortably close distance.
Through it all, Makoto had to maintain his carefully crafted persona in front of Unohana, suppressing any hint of instinctive reactions. The experience was nothing short of mental and emotional torture.
'Unohana Retsu... She's fully aware of her allure. She must be baiting me just to find an excuse to release some punishment!'
His mind flashed back to the memory of her casually unleashing a Hado No. 88: Hiryu Gekizoku Shinten Raiho to obliterate an Adjuchas in an instant. Makoto knew full well that even with his utmost spiritual refinement, he stood no chance against her.
Thus, he could only endure. And endure. And endure…
By now, his thoughts had begun to spiral. Even Ikkaku's shiny bald head was starting to seem oddly charming.
'No! Never!'
Clenching his teeth, Makoto made a silent vow:
'Unohana, just you wait. One day, I'll repay this… repay it thoroughly… and give you a treatment you'll never forget!'
Finally back in his own bed, Makoto felt utterly drained. His body was weak, yet his mind was unusually alert.
At that moment, the air before him seemed to shimmer. A regal woman, her demeanor dignified and chest expansive, appeared to float by in the room.
'Am I hallucinating now?'
Despite this thought, his gaze involuntarily followed the ethereal figure. Her appearance grew clearer—a resplendent purple robe, long black hair elegantly pinned up, and a finely sculpted face. Only her eyes were concealed behind a black leather strap. Most striking of all was her ample chest, which seemed unabashedly prominent.
The phantom moved closer, her expansive presence almost tangible. Then… it shifted slightly, as if beckoning his attention.
A sharp voice suddenly broke the silence.
"Ah! You little rascal! You can actually see me—how delightful!"
The words snapped Makoto back to reality. He blinked, focusing on the woman's lips as they moved.
This wasn't an illusion.
He instinctively backed away from the overwhelming whiteness in his field of view and studied the chatty, elegant figure before him.
Was she a… spirit particles?
Upon closer inspection, Makoto realized the figure wasn't entirely real but was formed from faint spiritual pressure condensed from the ambient reishi(spiritual particles).
"Who are you?" Makoto asked warily.
"Urozakuro" the woman replied crisply, her tone brimming with enthusiasm. "No need to be nervous, Makoto Senju. I bear no hostility. It's simply thrilling to find someone who can see me in this state."
Makoto's eyes widened slightly. "How do you know my name?"
"Of course I know. Everything that happens within the Seireitei, I am aware of. My master has merged their very being with the spiritual particles of this place through my power," Urozakuro explained rapidly, holding nothing back.
What?!
Makoto froze, struggling to process this revelation. Merging one's being entirely with the Seireitei?
Questions flooded his mind—her identity, her purpose, the level of threat she posed.
Even so, he doubted she was lying. After all, he himself had observed the faint spiritual energy emanating from the Seireitei's environment, an anomaly as eerie as sensing life in inanimate objects.
"Are you a Zanpakuto spirit?" Makoto asked cautiously. "If so, who is your master?"
"My master?" Urozakuro's tone turned thoughtful. "Have you ever heard of the eighth Kenpachi, Soya Azashiro?"
Makoto shook his head. "No."
"That's unfortunate," she replied. "My master, Soya Azashiro, is currently imprisoned in the lowest level of the underground prison—Muken. If you ever get sent there, perhaps you'll meet them."
What?!
Who would want to go there?
Muken was reserved for the worst criminals in Soul Society's history. Being sent there meant total abandonment by the Seireitei, forever erased from its annals.
Makoto recalled that in the original narrative, even Aizen Sosuke's punishment was a sentence of 18,800 years in Muken!
What kind of absurdity was that?
The entire history of the Seireitei spanned only a few millennia, with the Gotei 13 existing for just about a thousand years. Eighteen thousand years might as well be an eternity!
Makoto had no intention of joining that club just to play cards with Aizen someday.
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