"You're brimming with confidence, Makoto-kun."

Unohana's voice was calm, her smile softer than usual, almost disarmingly gentle.

Yet a faint chill laced her words, her eyes narrowing as she gazed at him. "If that's the case, you're prepared, aren't you?"

"Sensei?!" Makoto's face tightened, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Let me explain! That was all just a jo-"

[It was all from the heart!]

[I can't wait any longer!]

[To clash with sensei in an all-out, exhilarating battle, I'd gladly die for it!]

His zanpakuto's voice screeched in his mind, drowning out his defense.

Makoto's words caught in his throat.

Fuck you, gremlin!

Sure, it was the truth this time, but did you have to blurt it out so loudly in front of her?

Unohana paused, momentarily taken aback.

Then, her gaze deepened, as if shedding a final hesitation or casting off a heavy chain. "That's perfect, then."

As she spoke, she slowly raised a hand to her chest, murmuring, "In a way… I've been eager for this too."

"Hm?" Makoto blinked, confused.

But realization hit like a flash.

Clearly, the "battle" his zanpakuto envisioned wasn't the same one burning in Unohana's heart.

"Uh, sensei." Makoto said, shifting on the hospital bed, a sheepish hesitation in his voice. After a moment, he pressed on. "About this duel… could we keep it a secret?"

A flicker of curiosity passed through Unohana's narrowed eyes. Her gaze drifted to the bedside, catching sight of an open jar of honey and a few strands of deep purple hair.

Her expression grew knowing, a subtle, heart-stirring smile curling her lips.

Perhaps it was her disciple's brazen words, or the reckless freedom of shedding her self-imposed restraints, but a playful impulse sparked within her.

Unohana released Meira's mouth and stepped toward the bed.

Makoto, already on edge, felt his heart lurch as she drew closer.

In an instant, her delicate, seemingly fragile hand seized his collar.

The strength in her grip was undeniable, unyielding.

Unohana leaned in, her face inches from his, her raven hair cascading, her loose Shihakusho revealing the mature curves of her form. Her nose nearly brushed his.

Their eyes locked.

Makoto's body tensed, as if caught red-handed.

At this distance, he could feel the warm breath grazing his cheek.

Though her scent was faint, it was surely the same subtle fragrance as always, wasn't it?

The thought flickered unbidden in his mind.

Then, Unohana's voice purred in his ear. "A secret?"

"Lately, you've been quite close with Saito, haven't you?"

"So…" Her fingers delicately lifted a strand of purple hair from the bedsheet, holding it between them, catching his eye. "…you don't want her to know, do you?"

Makoto's pupils shrank.

It was over!

His dream of juggling multiple romances hadn't even begun, and it was already crumbling!

But driven by primal male instinct, he stammered, "S-Sensei, it's not what you think…"

Before he could finish, his zanpakuto chimed in again, its tone smug and gleeful.

[Whether it's Unohana-sensei or Saito-chan, I'm ready to fight them all!]

[Fight.jpg (with an unmistakable swagger)]

That's twice now!

Makoto's fury blazed, sparks practically shooting from his eyes.

He didn't know if he'd survive "fighting" Unohana tonight.

But his zanpakuto? It was done for.

Yet Unohana, hearing the Zanpakuto's outburst, showed no anger, perhaps, after so long with Makoto, she'd grown accustomed to such defiance.

"If that's the case, Makoto-kun…" She smiled faintly, her gaze fixed on him. "…you'll satisfy me, won't you?"

Makoto met her mischievous, almost girlish smile, knowing he had no room to dodge.

And a man couldn't say "no" in a moment like this.

He took a deep breath. "Of course!"

Unohana's smile lingered, but she said nothing more. She turned and glided out of the room.

Was it his imagination, or did her steps seem lighter as she left?

His eyes lingered on her retreating figure, lost in thought.

Until a soft, probing voice broke the silence. "So, Master, that's the kind of relationship you have with your sensei?"

Makoto jolted, turning toward the sound.

Meira's eyes gleamed with implication.

"What, got a problem with that?" He shot back, a hint of reckless abandon in his tone. "Keep talking, and I'll devour you first!"

Meira raised an eyebrow, tugging at her loose skirt. "If you don't mind this occasionally steel-hard body…"

Makoto glared, exasperated.

Damn it.

He was a traditional, pure-hearted romantic at heart.

How had he ended up with his foot in several boats?

But if someone asked him to step off any of them now, he'd refuse outright.

Hypocrite!

As their playful banter continued, a timid knock sounded at the door.

Makoto looked up to see a small figure peeking cautiously from the doorway, a head barely visible.

When their eyes met, Ryoma Kuruyashiki spoke, shyly. "Um, Makoto-sama… Did I come at a bad time?"

Noticing the newcomer, Meira discreetly smoothed her skirt and stepped back.

Makoto glanced at the clock. "Oh, it's time for today's sword practice already?"

"Wait outside a moment, I'll be right there."

"Yes, sir!" Ryoma replied loudly, then bolted, clearly overwhelmed by the adult tension he'd glimpsed.

Makoto casually changed into training clothes.

Though still in the hospital, he hadn't been idle.

Beyond practicing his Hollow energy and rehabilitating his Shinigami powers, he'd been experimenting with a new, unique Bond Trait.

[Bond Trait #12: Heir of the Soul King]

[Details: By teaching and forging deep connections, you can 'share' others' talents, wisdom, and abilities, breaking through their innate potential limits.]

This trait, gained after defeating Yhwach, was a lesser version of Yhwach's soul-sharing ability.

But its method was entirely different.

"Ryoma, heads up."

Makoto arrived at their usual training ground, picking up a wooden sword from the corner.

Ryoma Kuruyashiki drew his Zanpakuto without hesitation, his focus absolute.

"Yes, sir!"

Meira watched from the sidelines.

Makoto's guidance was sparse, his philosophy clear: true understanding came through combat.

The half-grown boy was knocked down by the wooden sword, only to rise and face the same cycle again.

Until a moment came.

Makoto's eyes locked on Ryoma, bruised and battered, catching a fleeting azure shimmer on the boy's shoulder.

The wooden sword swung down.

Almost instinctively, Ryoma Kuruyashiki 's movements flowed with uncanny precision. His loosely gripped Zanpakuto arced downward, following the trajectory of Makoto's wooden sword.

The metal blade clashed against the wooden one, emitting a dull thud. The sharp edge grazed parallel to the wood, slicing through the air.

Ryoma's feet surged forward, closing the distance in a blink. With reckless abandon, he and his blade charged into Makoto's reach.

The wind howled, his breath stilled.

That fleeting moment stretched endlessly in Ryoma's eyes, as if time itself had frozen.

Each frame etched in his vision lingered, impossibly vivid.

"Haa!"

His blade thrust downward.

Every ounce of his Reiatsu poured into that single point.

In that instant, Ryoma felt something within him shatter, a nameless barrier deep inside.

The sensation of boundless power made him believe, for a moment, that he could pierce the three worlds themselves!

Until...

Clang!

The blade's tip, poised to rend the sky, was halted by a single finger.

The razor-sharp edge pressed against Makoto's fingertip, failing to leave even a dent.

To the keen observer, a hair's breadth of space remained between finger and blade.

Pure Reiatsu alone had stopped the strike.

But force works both ways.

Ryoma, having poured his all into the attack, felt the recoil like a truck's impact.

The momentum that seemed to pierce the clouds now crashed back upon him.

His small frame tumbled backward, rolling across the grass.

Thud.

Ryoma hit the ground, his body deflated, as if all air had been knocked out.

A nameless frustration flooded his heart.

In that moment, he'd thought, hoped, he could at least force Makoto back a step.

The gap between them was incomprehensible…

The midday sun glared down on Ryoma's face, stinging his eyes, souring his mood.

Though he'd risen to Fifth Seat after the Quincy war, his heart and body were still those of a child.

But then, the harsh sunlight was eclipsed by a cool shadow.

Makoto leaned down, extending a hand with a grin. "Not bad at all, Ryoma."

"Compared to usual, you made a real breakthrough today."

"…Huh?" Ryoma blinked, stunned.

Makoto didn't hesitate, grasping Ryoma's small hand and pulling him up.

His gaze, however, remained fixed on a panel visible only to him.

A new interface had appeared alongside his own.

---

[Name: Kuruyashiki Ryoma]

[Reiatsu : Mid Tier-5]

[Four Arts:

Zanjutsu: Tier 9 (99/100) → Tier 10 (1/100) [Bottleneck Broken]

Hakuda: Tier 4 (19/100)

Kido: Tier 8 (62/100)

Hoho: Tier 6 (33/100)

[Zanpakuto: Gagaku Kairō (Shikai)]

[Innate Traits: Devour, Robust Soul]

---

A breakthrough notification glowed beside the Zanjutsu panel.

Simultaneously, a prompt flashed in Makoto's vision.

---

[Heir of the Soul King · Activated]

[Zanjutsu: Tier 15 ↑]

[Zanjutsu Bottleneck · Stage 5]

[Sharing in Progress - Zanjutsu Bottleneck Breakthrough ↑]

[Zanjutsu: Tier 16 ↑]

---

A brief notification appeared on his own panel, marking a bottleneck surpassed.

Watching this unfold, even Makoto couldn't suppress a relieved smile.

Since his Zanjutsu and Hoho reached Tier 15, progress in the four arts, Zanjutsu, Hakuda, Hoho, and Kido, had stalled, trapped by an invisible ceiling.

This was the natural path.

For ordinary Shinigami, such barriers required centuries of relentless effort or a spark of transcendent insight to overcome.

But having tasted the rocket's speed, who could settle for a slow train?

Yet…

Makoto recalled the azure shimmer on Ryoma's shoulder, a fleeting glimpse that held the key.

He glanced again at the [Heir of the Soul King] description, murmuring, "Through teaching and… deep bonds?"

Lost in thought, he reached out, ruffling Ryoma's messy, grass-like hair, making it even more disheveled.

The boy's face flushed red. "Makoto-sama! I'm not a kid anymore!"

Ryoma's stubborn protest came with a quiet mumble.

"Sure, sure." Makoto teased, his hand only ruffling harder.

Gotta tease the little guy while he's still small!

"Makoto-sama!" Ryoma's complaints grew louder.

Ignoring him, Makoto studied the panel.

With this power, could he help Unohana break through her own bottleneck?

He pondered.

…

Time raced like a fleeting spark.

In a blink, the day of Makoto's duel with Unohana arrived.

The woman in pristine white sat calmly in the deepest depths of Muken.

Waiting.

***

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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