Beneath a tree in a small courtyard.
Today, Yachiru Unohana wore a simple, elegant yukata, layered with a teal overrobe. Her jet-black hair cascaded like a waterfall down her back, lending her an air of refined simplicity.
With her softly lowered eyelids, she exuded an ethereal grace beyond words.
She sat on the ground, a hemp mat spread beneath her knees. Beside her rested two cups of tea, wisps of steam curling faintly upward.
Unohana bowed her head, her expression unexpectedly tender.
The sky, it turns out, is round.
Makoto lay with his head nestled in Unohana-mama's soft lap, gazing up at the half-shadowed expanse of clear sky above. The thought stirred within him.
Is this the weight of a human heart?
Truth be told when Unohana first offered to guide him through Jinzen, Makoto's initial instinct was to refuse.
It wasn't that her lap lacked softness, nor that he didn't crave another taste of communing with his Zanpakutō. It was purely her temperament, too unpredictable to trust.
A single misstep and he might not live to regret it.
Even now, Makoto hadn't forgotten his first spar with Unohana.
Yet here she was, seeking him out herself.
And…
Makoto shifted his head slightly, settling the crown of his skull against the gentle flatness of her abdomen. A contented hum escaped his nose unbidden.
Is this a sensei's love?
So warm.
Who could resist this?
As for the little broken blade tucked beneath his neck, it hadn't uttered a peep since they began, utterly subdued by this world's bliss.
Lost in the sensation, Makoto felt a cool hand brush his cheek. Slender fingers, soft and smooth, pressed against his face with a featherlight touch.
Unohana's gentle voice drifted down from above:
"Still not in Jinzen, Makoto-kun?"
Just that call was devoid of any hint of menace yet the fingertips grazing his cheek felt razor-sharp, as if poised to slice through his skin.
They lingered, coming to rest at his throat.
A chill shot down his spine, prickling the hairs on his neck.
Makoto snapped awake.
This was Yachiru Unohana.
The most diabolical criminal in history.
She'd killed more people than he'd eaten grains of rice.
"Makoto-kun?"
Unohana's serene, beautiful face held that same tranquil elegance, her eyes devoid of emotion.
"Not quite working, Sensei."
"Need a new position." Makoto blurted out.
"Hm?"
A flicker of confusion shimmered in Unohana's gaze.
Makoto scrambled upright.
His face is down on the lap pillow.
Unohana froze, peering down at this rebellious student.
A trace of astonishment crept into her eyes.
At that moment, the Reiatsu fluctuations around Makoto stilled, sinking into a deathlike calm.
He'd entered Jinzen.
After a long silence, she let out a soft, amused sigh.
"Of course…"
"It's Makoto-kun's style."
Gazing at his peaceful, almost petulant sleeping face like a child throwing a tantrum, she couldn't help but reach out, gathering his long hair gently.
Her fingertips brushed his spine.
A faint thread of Reiatsu slipped forth.
…
Unlike the jarring shift of his last attempt, this time Makoto's descent into Jinzen was seamless.
Like an astronaut bounding high on the moon, drifting back to earth under the faintest pull of gravity.
When his awareness returned...
He opened his eyes.
Before him stretched a pristine, painterly expanse of white sand beach.
The vast sea met the shore, tracing a meandering line at the horizon's edge. The summer sun blazed overhead, the sky unmarred by all but a few stray clouds.
Yet, at that moment, Makoto had no mind for scenery that might've once dazzled him.
Because a far lovelier sight stood before him.
"So slow, Makoto-kun."
"You're the last one out of the changing room today."
A petite girl in a crimson swimsuit stood a short distance away, hugging a floating ring, her face alight with teasing mischief, "As punishment, you're on BBQ duty after our swim!"
Who's this?
Her words sparked a question in Makoto's mind.
"Exactly!"
Before he could process it, another voice piped up beside him, brimming with exasperation/ "Makoto-kun's always like this, clumsy and hopeless!"
"He'd be lost without me!"
Makoto's gaze followed the sound, the same question surfacing anew.
And who's this?
Before he could puzzle it out, a soft embrace enveloped him from behind.
A girl with deep purple hair rested her chin on his shoulder, her eyes glinting with a sickly gleam as she whispered.
"What took so long?"
"You weren't sneaking a bite with someone in the changing room, were you, Makoto-kun?"
The moment her words landed, a chorus of female voices swelled around him.
"Makoto-kun!"
"Makoto-kun?"
"Makoto."
The calls tugged at his soul, pulling him deeper as if urging him to melt into their arms.
But that last shred of reason stabbed him awake.
'I'd absolutely be drained dry!'
In the instant that thought flared, Makoto tore free from the encircling embraces and calls, leaping out of the crowd. He landed on the white sand beach, eyes darting left and right.
Something's off!
What is this place?
As if sensing his bewilderment, a familiar childish voice piped up nearby.
Today, though, the little broken blade's tone carried an unusual edge of exasperation, tinged with irritation:
"This is already the Script, you know."
Makoto whipped his head toward the sound.
There stood the smallest incarnation of his broken blade, clad in a pink children's swimsuit, sprawled on a beach blanket. A parasol shaded her, and she sipped an iced drink through a straw with a lazy slurp.
Catching Makoto's gaze, she rose sluggishly, brushing sand off her rear with a scowl:
"You're such a hassle, you know that?"
"I was enjoying myself!"
"Did you have to barge in now?"
Makoto turned to her, realization dawning as he stammered, "Enjoying yourself… in the Script?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
"Why do you think I cooked up all those scripts hidden in the Study Files?"
As she spoke, she snatched up the parasol from the sand.
With a flick of her wrist, it morphed into a blade, its design faintly unfamiliar.
She huffed, displeasure clear, "Today, my side dish was this place."
"And now you've gone and ruined it!"
At that moment, Makoto recalled words another girl had spoken during his last visit here.
"Since it's a reflection of your own heart, some scenes might really appeal to you. Like the nuclear codes I said before. Stuff like that, there's a bunch around here."
The instant that memory surfaced, his film-buff radar blared to life. The surroundings grew eerily familiar.
"You can tell, right?"
"This is… The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, Really, Really Love You."
Before Makoto could voice it, the little broken blade laid bare the Script's true nature.
The cheeky brat shot him a gleeful grin.
Makoto's throat tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he fought to keep his eyes off the girls around him.
One slip and his resolve might crumble.
"Wait!"
"What's with the Zanpakuto?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Her cute face twisted into a sickly sweet smile, one hand cradling her cheek. "Think about it... here I am, enjoying my world, living my best life, when suddenly some guy with equal authority crashes in. Of course my first instinct is to take him out!"
"Besides."
"All the effort it took to slip into this world, what's it even for?"
"You know the answer to that, don't you?"
"Makoto Fujimiya!"
Her words clicked, and he understood that feeling all too well.
Guess there's no avoiding a fight!
The gremlin thrust her sword forward, pointing at him with a jubilant cackle.
"So, come defeat me!"
"If Makoto-kun can beat me... power, scripts, rules, cute onee-chan, you can get all of it!"
"This one-third that's mine? It's all yours!"
The moment her words fell, the hundred young girls who'd surrounded Makoto earlier had somehow formed a distinctive line nearby.
Makoto's expression sobered, his hand reaching into the air.
An identical blade materialized in his grip.
In the end, it always came down to strength, didn't it?
"Oh, right."
As if struck by a thought, she giggled, adding, "The loser? They've got to be drained dry by everyone here before they black out."
Makoto's grip on the blade faltered, his mouth twitching as he strained to keep his eyes locked ahead.
A silent roar of defiance thundered in his chest.
'Are you trying to make me lose or win, damn it?!'
Their gazes met.
In the next heartbeat, both, as if sharing a single mind, shouted the same Pact in unison.
Makoto and the little broken blade's lips moved in perfect sync:
[First, let's make a pact.]
[Whoever's vital point is pierced by the blade first loses!]
The instant the words landed, a familiar nursery rhyme chimed in their minds.
A symbol bearing [3] flared above their heads.
Draw!
***
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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