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"Oh!!!"
The moment the monolith shattered, a simultaneous cheer erupted from the two figures present.
Katori's reaction outshone even Makoto's.
Her bespectacled eyes gleamed as if lit from within.
Makoto, meanwhile, teetered on the edge of joyful tears.
That earlier curse had been a raw, heartfelt outburst.
Had he known this move only cost one Talent Point, why would he have endured day after day of Sasakibe's damned electric whip?!
Did they know how much that thing stung?!
It wasn't just him, his ZanpakutÅ, usually too stubborn to muster a decent word in eight lifetimes, joined the chorus.
[Yamamoto you old fukcing man! I'll fuck your ancestors!]
[Wait till I master all your tricks, I'll snatch that top spot of yours, just watch!]
[You just know to talk nonsense! Show me once, and I'd have learned it ages ago!]
A flicker of delight crossed Makoto's face.
For the first time in its wretched existence, this blade had spat out something resembling human speech, and it echoed his soul perfectly!
"Exactly!"
"That's the spirit!"
Katori, hearing this, faltered. The giddy joy on her small face stalled, replaced by a hesitant pause.
Timidly, she ventured: "Um... Makoto-kun? Isn't that a bitā¦?"
Makoto plopped onto the ground, sprawling backward.
At that moment, every ounce of strength had been wrung out by that punch. He waved her off carelessly. "No worries, let it rant! I checked that old man left for a trip two days ago. What's that junk gonna do? Summon that old geezer back from District 40? Besides, even if he were standing right here, I'dā¦"
"No, that's not what I meant!" Katori's voice shrank, her usual meekness creeping in. "It's justā¦ behind youā¦"
"Huh?"
Makoto's lazy drawl hitched mid-sentence, snagging on a sudden realization.
Come to think of it...
This cursed blade only got chatty when people were aroundā¦
Before the thought could fully form.
Moonlight framed a burly silhouette looming over him.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto bent down with a toothy grin, peering at the sprawled Makoto.
That grizzled, menacing face, wreathed in shadow and night, twisted into a smile both feral and chilling, silent killing intent seeping through.
Not even sparing a moment to mourn the fallen Sekkiseki, the man who'd arrived on the scene was none other than Yamamoto himself!
"ā¦"
The old man's grin held as he asked, "You'd what?"
[Snatch your throne!]
The ZanpakutÅ's sickly, juvenile voice piped up without a shred of hesitation.
Makoto's mind went blank.
In less than half a second, his human rationality kicked into overdrive, forcing an immediate, unequivocal surrender.
His brain had never whirred this fast.
"ā¦I'd also unswervingly thank Yamamoto-sama for his earnest guidance and boundless care, vowing to uphold all I've learned at the Genji School, pledging my heartfelt devotion to our supreme Grandmaster from this day forth!"
His voice rang with resolve, his tone unshakable, his gaze devoid of doubt, as if he'd uttered some universal truth etched into his soul. Even his prone spine straightened with conviction.
Sasakibe, trailing behind Yamamoto, buried his face in his hands.
He couldn't bear to watch.
How had he never noticed Makoto'sā¦ slick finesse before?
"Slippery brat."
Yamamoto snorted, delivering a light kick to nudge him up. Hands clasped behind his back, he shook his head and strode ahead, gruffly ordering.
"Follow me!"
"Yes, sir."
Makoto scrambled to his feet, shooting a desperate glance at Sasakibe.
Sasakibe! Help your bro out!
But Sasakibe feigned blindness, studiously admiring the shattered monolith instead.
Katori, meanwhile, watched with the awe of someone beholding a hero, secretly flashing Makoto a thumbs-up.
You're fearless, Makoto-kun! Truly impressive!
Resigned, Makoto trailed Yamamoto step-for-step, accompanying the old man on a stroll.
The bamboo grove behind the Genji School spanned a vast expanse, rarely trodden by others. A lone gravel path wove through the stalks, kissed by occasional breezes that lent a cool reprieve.
The surrounding bamboo rustled softly.
Yamamoto walked a long stretch in silence.
Makoto's back prickled with unease.
The old man wasn't planning to bury him out here, was he?
"Makoto."
"How long have you existed in this world?"
Yamamoto neither praised his feat nor lauded his talent, instead posing an unrelated question.
Makoto blinked, thrown off, but answered honestly, "I don't know. Since waking in Zaraki, I've been running nonstop. No day or night there, I couldn't track time."
"Zarakiā¦"
Yamamoto's tone held a flicker of surprise, though it soon settled into acceptance.
A kid like him could thrive anywhere.
"But you've likely never seen how ordinary souls in Soul Society live, have you?"
"Ordinary souls?" Makoto's confusion deepened. What was he getting at?
Yamamoto halted, pointing to a distant village where a few wisps of cookfire smoke curled upward. "Those Pluses who survive on water alone, or the rare few needing scant food."
"Never met them."
Makoto spoke the truth.
After escaping Zaraki, he'd been whisked straight to the Genji School.
"I see."
Yamamoto let out a faint, regretful sigh. "So, what do you think of them?"
Makoto's voice hitched. "Justā¦ ordinary people, I guess?"
"Ordinary people."
Yamamoto chewed on the response, nodding slightly. "Good that you still see them as people."
"Huh?" Makoto blinked, caught off guard.
The old man settled onto a large bluestone by the path, waving a casual hand for him to ease up. "When I was first born, it was in West District 3, at Karifushi Mountain. A kind couple took me in, and we lived relying on each other. That's how most ordinary souls in the Rukongai get by, treating each other as family."
His eyes narrowed as he recalled the past as if peering into the distance. "As time passed, my talent began to show. Water alone couldn't sustain me anymore, so I left home on my own, searching for a place where I could eat my fill. At first, I worked for merchants in District 1 Junrinan, then ran errands and odd jobs. But without a way to learn Shinigami arts, even filling my belly didn't stop my power from spiraling out of control. People despised me for itā¦ I even burned innocents alive once."
"I had nowhere to learn. The nobles hoarded every path to power. Even groveling as their lapdog took luck, and most couldn't even get that far. It wasn't until I met my first master in the wilds and claimed my ZanpakutÅ that life turned around. With power, I wanted to return home in triumph."
He turned to Makoto, his tone flat. "But when I got back, it was gone."
"Gone?"
Not dead.
Not relocated.
Makoto, who'd been listening like it was a tale, frowned.
Yamamoto continued matter-of-factly, "Karifushi Mountain, my home, had been turned into a hunting ground by the local nobles years before. They released Hollow bait from the peak for their heirs' coming-of-age rites. Every Pluses in the area became part of the prey. Hordes of Hollows devoured everything, only for the nobles to slaughter them all to prove their valor. By the time I returned, every trace I remembered, village, faces, ponds, hills, was wiped clean. No sign left."
The calm recounting sent a chill through Makoto's core.
He knew from the source material how Hollows, nightmares to the powerless Pluses, were mere trifles to prepared Shinigami.
"ā¦"
"Nobles don't see commoners as 'people.' Even the term Pluses, they coined it. To them, ordinary souls are blade testers, lab fodder, bait, or a dozen other 'useful things.' Anything but equals. It took me a long time to grasp that."
Yamamoto's voice stayed even. "So, the day I wiped out that noble clan, I swore to erase their kind, this unjust existence. If I couldn't, I'd at least give the Rukongai's talented a shot at learning Shinigami power, a chance to fight back. That's why I founded the Genji School. But the more I learned of this world, the clearer it became upending a million years of Soul Society's rules is no small feat. My strength alone might not cut it."
Makoto caught on fast.
It wasn't just the Seireitei's five great noble houses upholding the order.
The Soul King's Palace played its part too, home to IchibÄ HyÅsube, the million-year monster who named all things, the mightiest of them all.
"There's someone stronger than you in Soul Societyā¦" Makoto mused, part awe, part curiosity. "And you're still taking on the Seireitei head-on?"
"No choice left."
Yamamoto gave a self-mocking scoff, thumping his leg. "If I don't act soon, this body of mine will start its decline. This is my last peak. Win or lose, I have to try."
Makoto fell silent, struck by the thought of Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto a mere millennium later, frail and stooped.
For a monster of his caliber, a thousand years was a fleeting breath.
But why spill all this to him?
Makoto studied the old man quietly.
After a pause, Yamamoto spoke evenly, "If I fail, Makotoā¦ will you carry my will?"
So that's it.
Makoto understood now.
Was this a passing of the torch?
The notion felt absurd.
He'd barely been at the Genji School a handful of days.
Unaware of Yamamoto's mountaintop talk with Sasakibe, Makoto had no clue how staggering his recent feat was, or that Yamamoto already saw him as a successor, perhaps even a surpasser.
Truth be told, didn't Yamamoto himself know how premature this heart-to-heart was?
Urgency drove him, nothing more.
How long would it take Makoto to grow into that mantle? Ten years? Twenty? A century?
Would this untested soul even want it?
For Shinigami, time stretched long yet snapped short.
Makoto's voice held firm, "You'll succeed."
"ā¦Slippery brat."
Yamamoto's tone carried a hint of exasperation.
He rose, brushing it off. "No inclination to take it up? Fine. Be at the dojo early tomorrow. Time you got some fresh air."
Makoto dipped respectfully. "Yes, sir."
***
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