"Whoosh."
Fujimiyagi Makoto's figure flickered in and out of sight as he executed successive Shunpo steps.
Behind him trailed over a dozen sturdy, black-clad members of the Genji School.
However, most of them kept their heads down, doing their best not to look in Makoto's direction as they desperately stifled their laughter.
Only the tall figure in the white haori at the front occasionally glanced back at him—specifically at Makoto's face, now swollen to the size of a pig's head.
"Makoto."
"Are you sure you don't want to go back and rest?"
Unohana Yachiru's tone was gentle, utterly devoid of any teasing undertones.
"I'm fine!"
Makoto pouted, turning his head away stubbornly.
Truthfully, he did want to go back.
If only Sōken hadn't been chasing him all over the Genji School.
But this was just unfair.
Those words had been spoken by his sword—why was Sōken only targeting him?!
Where was the proof that he had thought them?
Hah?!
Makoto felt deeply wronged.
With no other choice, he had no choice but to follow Unohana out on a mission to lay low for a while.
"By the way, Instructor."
"What exactly are we doing?"
Makoto suddenly remembered the actual purpose of this trip and lowered his voice to ask Unohana—Unohana-mama—ahead of him.
Unohana gave him a slightly odd look, but this woman always had boundless patience for those worth cutting down. Her voice was warm as she explained:
"The Shutara Scale detected spatial fluctuations near the 35th District. The scale is significant—it's likely a Menos has appeared."
"A Menos, huh..."
Makoto glanced at the dozen or so people in their squad and understood why Unohana had been dispatched.
Menos were entities formed when hundreds or thousands of Hollows cannibalized each other, eventually merging into a new being—classified into three tiers from lowest to highest: Gillian, Adjuchas, and Vasto Lorde.
Generally, even the weakest Gillian was beyond what ordinary squad members could handle. At minimum, an 'Assistant Instructor'—equivalent to a future lieutenant—was required to lead the assault.
And even then, weaker lieutenants might not stand a chance.
Since arriving in the Soul Society, Makoto had yet to encounter a Hollow, and he couldn't help feeling eager.
However, when the group reached the location indicated by the Shutara Scale's alert, they found a small riverside village dotted with a few fruit trees.
Most of the houses were simple thatched huts, some fenced in with small vegetable patches where green sprouts peeked out. In the distance, figures could be seen laboring in modest fields.
A child was struggling to cast a net by the river.
A peaceful, pastoral scene.
Yet, the moment the villagers noticed their presence, they froze.
Then, the villagers dropped what they were holding and sprinted back toward the village as if fleeing wild beasts.
Unohana and the others, however, seemed entirely accustomed to this reaction. After scanning the area and finding nothing, they strode toward the riverside settlement.
Unsure of the situation, Makoto followed closely behind Unohana.
By the time they entered the village, the once-bustling streets were completely deserted.
Only a few elders knelt in the center of the road, trembling as they waited.
The moment the group approached, they immediately prostrated themselves, pressing their foreheads to the ground.
Makoto peered into the darkened houses lining the road, catching glimpses of eyes watching from within.
Ah.
They were being mistaken for nobles, weren't they?
Admittedly, this feeling—like stepping into the feudal era as a high-ranking official—was uncomfortably alien.
No, wait.
Makoto rapped his knuckles against his head, correcting his own era-blurred perspective. The living world a thousand years ago was the feudal era.
He needed to adapt.
Unohana and the others, however, were already accustomed to this—or rather, like her attitude toward killing, she simply didn't care.
"Have there been any signs of Hollows nearby?" Her voice was icy, devoid of the warmth she'd shown Makoto earlier.
"N-No! It's been nearly a decade!"
"All thanks to the noble lords' efforts. We lowly peasants are eternally grateful..."
The elder leading the group wasn't just paying lip service—he was genuinely kowtowing, weeping openly in abject terror.
"A false alarm?"
Unohana ignored the elder's display, frowning as she pulled out a mirror-like device from her waist.
According to the Shutara Scale's red marker, the disturbance was nearby—practically on top of them.
Yet, the 'wholes' here were all alive and well.
Makoto, recalling the original series, murmured, "If it's a Vasto Lorde, couldn't it be hiding in the village?"
Unohana's eyes sharpened.
Vasto Lorde were the highest class of Menos.
At this level, a Hollow's size was nearly humanoid, and their strength at least matched that of a future captain-level fighter.
"Unlikely."
Unohana shook her head. "A Menos of that caliber would crush these 'wholes' under its spiritual pressure just by existing."
"Unless..."
Her gaze swept over the frail spirits hidden in the huts before she deliberately released a fraction of her spiritual pressure in one direction.
A violent gust erupted from Unohana, kicking up a dust storm that forced the kneeling elders flat onto the ground, drenched in cold sweat.
Makoto, sensing something, expanded his own perception and immediately detected an unstable spiritual pressure amidst the weaker ones—suddenly flaring several times stronger.
His guard shot up.
But just as he tensed, a small figure burst out of a hut, its erratic spiritual pressure flaring wildly as it hurled a clay pot.
"Die, you noble bastards!"
Makoto's grip on his sword loosened slightly.
"Crack—"
He swung his sheathed blade, smashing the pot midair and sending pickled radishes flying.
The surrounding Genji Shinigami immediately raised their guard, two of them nearly cutting down the pink-haired girl who'd charged out.
"Stand down."
Makoto snapped irritably.
Were they really about to slash at everything?
The two halted their blades.
The girl rushed to the fallen elder, throwing her arms around him as fat tears rolled down her cheeks, her voice trembling with fear and anger.
"Nobles are all evil!"
"You were already here this morning, and now you're back?!"
"Grandpa Tawara's rice fields—they're all gone!"
"He still needs to eat!"
Makoto froze.
For the first time, he understood what Old Man Yama meant by 'not treating people as people.'
Unohana, however, paid no attention to such trivialities. Her eyes narrowed.
Not a Menos disguised as a 'whole,' then?
And the Seireitei's people were here earlier?
The stench of conspiracy was too thick to ignore.
But before she could ponder further—
Almost the instant they'd stepped into the village, everyone's heads snapped toward the western sky.
A violent surge of spiritual pressure rippled outward. Even the spiritually inept 'wholes' trembled as if gravity itself had gone haywire, collapsing to the ground.
Breathing became labored; muscles twitched helplessly.
The girl who'd been wailing moments ago choked as if an invisible hand had seized her throat.
"Boom—"
The air itself vibrated, the very landscape shuddering.
The dozen or so Genji Shinigami immediately shifted into battle stances, expressions grave.
Makoto, however, looked up in awe. This was his first time witnessing such a sight.
Hundreds of meters above, a massive white skeletal hand peeled back the 'curtain' of the sky, tearing open a corner to reveal the darkness beyond.
A gargantuan, bone-white mask with a jester-like pattern loomed over them, peering down from the heavens.
Slowly, the tear widened, revealing the colossal figure lurking behind it.
A towering, white-stilted leg stepped through.
The earth quaked.
"Rooooar—"
A subsonic bellow threatened to shatter eardrums, announcing their presence.
One, two, three...
As the numbers grew, the expressions of most present shifted drastically.
Menos Grande.
Gillian.
—An entire herd.