"WOOOOO—!!!"
Almost the instant the giant stone shattered, the two onlookers erupted in cheers simultaneously.
Miss Katori's reaction was even more exaggerated than Fujimiyagi Makoto's.
What was this? A surprise triple update?!
Behind her glasses, the girl's eyes sparkled with excitement.
Makoto, meanwhile, was on the verge of tears of joy.
That earlier outburst had been straight from the heart.
If he'd known this technique only required a single "talent point," why would he have endured Chōjirō's damn electrified whip day after day?!
Did that bastard have any idea how much those lashes hurt?!
Even his usually silent Zanpakutō, which never had anything useful to say, joined in the shouting.
[Yamamoto! I'll fuck your ancestors!]
[Just wait till I learn everything you've got—then I'm taking your damn throne!]
[All this wasted time! If you'd just shown me earlier, I'd have mastered it ages ago!]
Makoto couldn't help but grin.
This was the first time that damn sword had ever said something so relatable—it was like it had read his mind!
"Exactly!"
"That's the spirit!"
Miss Katori, however, froze mid-celebration. Her cheerful expression faltered slightly.
"Um, Fujimiyagi-kun?"
"Don't you think that's… a bit much?"
Makoto plopped onto the ground, sprawling flat on his back.
At that moment, he felt like all his strength had been drained by that last punch. He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it! Let it rant! I already checked—the old man's been out of town since yesterday."
"Even if this damn sword curses him out, it's not like the geezer's gonna teleport back from the 40th District, right?"
"Besides, even if he were standing right here, I'd still—"
"N-no, that's not what I meant!" Katori Urozakuro's voice grew smaller, her expression shifting to that timid look again. "It's just… behind you…"
"Huh?"
Makoto lazily responded at first, but his tone abruptly cut off mid-sentence.
Come to think of it…
That damn sword only ever acted up when there were people around, didn't it?
Before he could finish the thought—
Under the moonlight, a towering figure cast a shadow over him.
Yamamoto Shigekuni loomed above, bending down slightly to peer at Makoto lying on the ground.
That terrifying old face, grinning under the night's shadows, looked even more sinister—radiating a silent, murderous aura.
Without even a moment to mourn the shattered Sekkiseki stone, the one who arrived on the scene was—Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni!
"..."
The old man smiled down at him and asked:
"You'd still what?"
[Take your damn position as Head Instructor!]
The Zanpakutō didn't hesitate, its voice dripping with a mix of madness and childish defiance.
Makoto's soul left his body.
In the next instant, his brain—operating at speeds never before achieved—processed the situation in less than half a second. The rational part of his mind immediately decided on the only viable course of action:
Full. Immediate. Surrender.
His words came out in a rapid-fire stream:
"...I'd still—I'd still wholeheartedly thank Genryūsai-sama for his patient guidance and unwavering care! I swear to uphold everything I've learned at the Genji School and, from this day forward, pledge my undying loyalty to the supreme Head Instructor!"
His tone was resolute, his gaze unwavering—as if he were declaring an indisputable universal truth. He even straightened his back while still lying on the ground.
Behind Yamamoto, Chōjirō covered his face.
He couldn't bear to watch.
How had he never noticed before just how… slick Makoto could be?
"Sly little brat."
Yamamoto kicked him lightly, signaling him to get up. The old man shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked ahead.
"Come with me."
"Yes, sir."
Makoto scrambled to his feet, shooting desperate glances toward Chōjirō.
Chōjirō! Help a brother out!
But Chōjirō pretended not to notice, suddenly deeply engrossed in admiring the shattered remains of the giant stone.
Katori Urozakuro, meanwhile, looked at Makoto like he was some kind of legendary warrior.
She gave him a subtle thumbs-up.
Damn, you're brave! As expected of Fujimiyagi-kun!
Left with no choice, Makoto trailed behind Yamamoto like a dutiful disciple, accompanying the old man on his stroll.
The bamboo forest behind the Genji School covered a vast area, usually deserted. A single pebble path wound through it, and the occasional breeze made the walk pleasantly cool.
The rustling of bamboo leaves filled the air.
Yamamoto walked in silence for a long time before finally speaking.
Makoto, meanwhile, was sweating bullets.
Is the old man looking for a spot to bury me?
"Makoto."
"How long have you existed in this world?"
Instead of praising his achievement or acknowledging his talent, Yamamoto asked something entirely unrelated.
Makoto blinked, confused, but answered honestly. "Not sure. Ever since I appeared in [Zanpakuto Unknown], I've been on the run."
"There's no day or night there. I couldn't keep track of time."
"[Zanpakuto Unknown]..."
Yamamoto seemed surprised, but also as if it made sense.
A kid like him could survive anywhere.
"But I doubt you've seen how the ordinary people of Soul Society live, have you?"
"Ordinary people?" Makoto frowned. Where was this going?
Yamamoto stopped walking, pointing toward a distant village where thin trails of smoke rose from chimneys.
"Those 'wholes' who survive on just water, with only a handful needing scraps of food."
"Never interacted with them."
Makoto wasn't lying.
After leaving [Zanpakuto Unknown], he'd been brought straight to the Genji School.
"I see."
Yamamoto sighed, almost regretfully. "Then what do you think of them?"
Makoto hesitated. "They're just… normal people?"
"Normal people."
The old man chewed on the answer, nodding slightly. "Good. You still see them as human."
"Huh?" Makoto was taken aback.
Yamamoto sat down on a large rock by the path, gesturing for Makoto to relax.
"When I first came into being, it was in West Rukongai's Third District—Koinbozan. A kind couple took me in, and we lived together, relying on each other. That's how most common folk in Rukongai are—forming makeshift families."
The old man's eyes grew distant as he reminisced. "As time passed, my spiritual power grew. Just drinking water wasn't enough anymore, so I left home, searching for somewhere I could eat my fill."
"At first, I worked for merchants in Junrinan (District 1), then took odd jobs. But even when I scraped by, my uncontrolled power made people despise me… I even burned an innocent person to death once."
"But I had nowhere to learn. The nobles hoarded all knowledge of spiritual power. Even becoming their lackey required luck—most never got the chance."
"Then, one day in the wilderness, I met my master. I found my Zanpakutō. Life got better after that."
"With power comes the desire to return home in glory."
Yamamoto turned to Makoto, his voice flat. "But when I went back… I 'couldn't find it.'"
"Couldn't find it?"
Not destroyed. Not abandoned.
Makoto, who had been listening like it was just a story, frowned.
Yamamoto continued matter-of-factly.
"Years before I returned, the local nobles had declared Koinbozan a 'hunting ground.'"
"They lured Hollows to the mountaintop for their heirs' coming-of-age rituals. Every 'whole' in the area became part of the 'prey.' Swarms of Hollows devoured everything. Then, to prove their valor, the noble lords slaughtered every last Hollow."
"By the time I returned… almost nothing remained of the past."
"The village, the faces, the pond, the hills—"
"All gone. Not a trace left."
Just hearing the detached way Yamamoto recounted it sent a chill down Makoto's spine.
He knew the original story—he understood just how terrifying Hollows were to powerless "wholes."
But to trained Shinigami? They were barely a threat.
"..."
"The nobles don't see commoners as 'human.'"
"Even the term 'whole' was their invention."
"To them, ordinary people are test subjects, experimental materials, bait—anything 'useful.'"
"But never their equals."
"It took me a long time to understand that."
Yamamoto's voice was calm. "So, the day I slaughtered that noble family, I swore to eradicate the very concept of nobility."
"If not that, then at least give Rukongai's talented a way to learn Shinigami powers—let them fight back. That's why I founded the Genryū style."
"But the more I learned about this world, the clearer it became: overturning a million years of Soul Society's rules wouldn't be easy."
"My strength alone might not be enough."
Makoto immediately understood.
The ones upholding Soul Society's order weren't just the Five Great Noble Families in the Seireitei.
The Royal Guard in the Soul King's Palace were part of it too.
And there, residing above all, was the strongest being of the past million years—the one who named all things in existence: Ichibē Hyōsube.
"There are people stronger than you in Soul Society…"
Makoto sounded almost awed. "Yet you're still going to clash with the Seireitei head-on?"
"I have no choice."
Yamamoto let out a self-deprecating chuckle, rubbing his leg. "If I don't act now, this body will start its decline."
"Right now… this is my final peak."
"Whatever the outcome, I have to try."
Hearing this, Makoto fell silent.
He couldn't help but picture Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni a mere thousand years later—frail, aged, a shadow of his former self.
For someone of his caliber, a thousand years was nothing.
But why was the old man telling him all this?
Makoto quietly met his gaze.
After a long pause, Yamamoto spoke again.
"If I fail…"
"Makoto."
"Will you inherit my will?"
Ah.
Now Makoto understood.
Was this… a deathbed entrustment?
The thought felt absurd.
He'd only been at the Genji School for a short time.
Unaware of Yamamoto and Chōjirō's earlier conversation, Makoto had no idea just how astonishing his feat had been.
Nor did he realize Yamamoto saw him as the one who could not only inherit his legacy—but surpass him.
Truthfully, Yamamoto himself knew this was too much, too soon.
But time was running out.
How long would it take for Makoto to grow strong enough to carry his will?
Ten years? Twenty? A hundred?
And even then—would he even want to?
For Shinigami, time was both endless and fleeting.
Makoto's reply was firm.
"You'll succeed."
"...Sly brat."
Yamamoto's tone was resigned.
He stood up, brushing it off.
"Fine. If that's how you feel."
"Just come to the dojo early tomorrow."
"It's time you got some fresh air."
Makoto bowed slightly.
"Yes, sir."