At the entrance of the hot spring inn hung a plaque inscribed with [Spring Bath], encircled by a simple wooden fence. Perhaps it was Tenjiro's fearsome reputation that kept the area devoid of souls.
Makoto sat numbly on a bench to the side of the inn, staring out at the vast, desolate expanse of Rukongai in the distance.
By now, his tattered rags had been replaced.
He wore a jet-black shihakushō, layered over a crisp white undergarment, with a fresh pair of straw sandals on his feet. The blood-soaked scraps and grassroots he'd once called clothes had been discarded somewhere after the fight—lost to oblivion.
His greasy, lice-ridden black hair, now washed clean in the spring bath, was tied into a simple short ponytail with a grass root, draping down his back.
He gazed into the blank void ahead.
[Name: Makoto Fujimiya
[Reiatsu: Tier-6 Lower (3rd~4th Seat)
[Four Arts:
- Zanjutsu: Tier 7 (13/100)
- Hakuda: Tier 2 (29/100)
- Kidō: Tier 1 (35/100)
- Hohō: Tier 6 (20/100) [Talent Restricted]
[Zanpakutō: Unreleased
[Talent Points: 1
[Bond Traits: Swordsmanship Prodigy (Yachiru Unohana - Level 1)
[Love Traits: None
[Note: Reiatsu, Four Arts, Zanpakutō, and Bond/Love Trait limits are constrained by innate talent, which can be transcended or enhanced via Talent Points.]
Makoto glanced at the lone talent point on his panel, recalling Tenjirō's parting words that Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto might summon him soon. For now, he held off on using it, tempering his impulses.
Feeling the tangible swell of reiatsu within him and the flood of swordsmanship techniques that had bloomed in his mind after waking, he wavered between gratitude and an urge to curse.
Perched on the bench, he mulled over the intel he'd pried from that bathhouse worker, a mix of sighs and groans escaping him.
"What kind of rotten period did I land in?"
"Unbelievable."
He knew Tenjirō.
Tenshirō Kirinji was one of the Royal Guard, the Divine General of the East dubbed Hot Spring Demon, overseer of the Kirinden in the Zero Division's palace.
But…
That was meta-knowledge from a thousand years in the future!
Right now, he was just a doctor tinkering with corpse dissections in a bathhouse.
And it wasn't just that tidbit that was useless. From what Makoto had gathered, the Soul Society's current landscape was a world apart from the era he knew.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto hailed as the mightiest in Soul Society for a millennium past, had founded the Genji School nearly a thousand years ago. Under his banner were three thousand disciples and seventy-two instructors.
The old man's burly muscles could flex into the shape of the kanji for 'virtue' with a mere twitch.
His Ryūjin Jakka commanded unwavering respect.
And for those who doubted? Well, they'd likely been reduced to ash by Zanka no Tachi.
His authority was so immense that even the woman branded the most diabolical criminal in Soul Society history had bent the knee after her defeat, dutifully taking her place as a swordsmanship instructor in his Genji School.
A true paragon of benevolence.
If that were all, it'd merely mean one more powerhouse in the Soul Society's ranks, a footnote in its million-year saga, where monsters like him weren't unheard of.
But the crux was this invincible old man refused to just fight and brawl. Instead, he'd turned to teaching
Was that normal? No! He was anything but!
And teaching aside, this old coot only recruited the dregs of Rukongai, starving wretches with no next meal, surviving on water alone, fighting like their lives depended on it!
Who in their right mind would tangle with that lot?
So, after centuries of amassed renown, the Genji School under Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto's iron grip naturally became a whispered legend in Rukongai, a sacred training ground, the destined path for any departed soul with reiatsu potential to rise as a mighty Shinigami, the hope of all Rukongai.
Over time, these hand-picked, cream-of-the-crop gutter fighters from the eighty districts of Rukongai's four corners had swelled in number, recently surpassing even the Seireitei's forces.
More than that, the average skill of the Genji School's rank-and-file Shinigami outstripped the pampered nobles of the Seireitei by a wide margin.
The Central 46's rot wasn't new, but only now, with the fire at their heels, did their sluggish minds register the truth.
Wasn't this Genji School getting a bit too strong?
Exterminate it.
It had to be exterminated!
Could they win?
Hah.
Whether the Central 46's orders came from brains or empty skulls was anyone's guess, a mystery too murky to unravel.
In any case, since that decree, the war between the Seireitei nobles and the Genji School has raged on to this day.
Now, the chief culprit, Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, topped the Seireitei's most-wanted list year after year, his bounty a staggering fifteen billion kan, ten times the combined sum of the next nine names.
In another world, he'd be the undisputed King of Shinigami!
This stretch of history, predating the main storyline, was anything but kind to someone like Makoto.
"This damn plot, I've never even heard of it!!!"
"Tite Kubo! Give me back my life, you bastard!"
Makoto fumed, tempted to bash his head against the ground in frustration.
"Hey, cool it!"
"What's with you, you weakling? Scared stiff by a woman?"
Just as he was about to ram the wall in his rage, Tenjirō sauntered back from outside, grinning ear to ear, his voice laced with the rolling cadence of a street punk.
Those tiny eyes narrowed into slits as he chewed on a toothpick, taunting.
"It's just Retsu giving you the eye!"
"Hah."
"You're gonna end up in eight thousand pieces anyway, might as well enjoy it while you can."
"Do you even know how to comfort someone, you jerk?" Makoto shot him a dark glare, his irritation flaring at the sight of that face. "And can you open your eyes when you talk to me?"
Tenjirō's face stiffened, then flushed crimson. His eyes now bulging like date pits locked onto him as he roared.
"They're already as open as they get, damn it!"
"Huh?" Makoto froze, staring at him. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, his gaze darting away sheepishly. "Sorry… uh, really sorry about that."
"You little punk!" Tenjirō 's veins bulged, his features twisting in fury.
Suddenly, he got it.
Yachiru wanting to chop this kid to bits wasn't without reason.
"Instructor Kirinji."
As he began rolling up his sleeves, a cold voice cut through from the doorway behind.
"Genryūsai-sama is still waiting for him."
At the sound, Tenjirō snapped back to the matter at hand.
Makoto turned toward the voice. There stood a tall, lean man with silver hair and golden eyes, his hair swept back in a sharp, imposing style. He lingered at the entrance.
His left hand rested on his sword hilt, a short white cape draped over his shoulder. His eagle-like gaze pierced through them both.
His mere presence was a blade freshly unsheathed.
Chōjirō Sasakibe.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto's foremost disciple.
Even among the Genji School's elite, he was a standout, a powerhouse who'd followed Yamamoto for a full millennium, his most trusted right hand.
"Tch."
"Brat, they're here for you!"
Tenjirō spat, but he didn't defy the summons, stepping aside to clear a path.
Sasakibe gave him a slight nod before turning his calm gaze to Makoto.
"You're Makoto Fujimiya?"
"Genryūsai-sama wishes to see you."
"Come with me."
With that curt declaration, cool and devoid of excess, he vanished in a blink.
When he reappeared, he was dozens of meters away.
Makoto's pupils shrank.
The people of this Genji School were fast freakishly so.
But just as he stepped forward to follow, Tenjirō tilted his head, tossing out a casual warning.
"Hey!"
"That old man ain't as easygoing as me, you know."
Makoto flashed a grin, glancing back. "Guess that makes you a pretty decent guy, huh?"
"You brat!"
Tenjirō lunged, aiming a hand chop at his back.
But Makoto, as if foreseeing it, flickered away with Shunpo, darting dozens of meters to trail steadily behind Sasakibe, vanishing into the distance.
"Tch."
Tenjirō chewed his toothpick, spitting rudely onto the ground with a scowl.
"That damn punk."
"Serves him right, getting targeted by that psycho Yachiru!"
"Die for all I care! I won't lift a finger!"
***
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