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Unohana's healing methods were undeniably brutal, yet one couldn't deny their efficacy, especially in the chaos of a battlefield. The results spoke for themselves, swift, decisive recovery.
That said, when they returned to Tenjirō Kirinji's bathhouse, the need to reopen freshly healed wounds inevitably added a few extra steps to the process.
"I! Told! You! So!"
Outside the bathhouse, Tenjirō's voice boomed as he berated Unohana with unrestrained gusto.
"How many times have I said it?!"
"Stop acting like slapping a bandage on the outside and calling it 'healed' fixes everything!"
"Look at this guy! His abs are fused to his stomach lining, and... where's his gallbladder? Where'd it go? Did you stitch it to his stomach pouch? Are you trying to make his life a living hell?!"
Unohana tilted her head slightly, avoiding his gaze. Curiously, she didn't wear her usual chilling expression. Instead, she listened in silence, her peripheral vision subtly tracking Kirinji as he sliced open the unfortunate patient's abdomen, meticulously separating the tangled organs.
Stealing techniques!
Oh, Yachiru, you sly old skill thief!
But credit where it's due, such hands-on apprentice-style training was remarkably effective.
It just happened to come at the cost of a few extra Shinigami lives, lost to accidental overexertion.
Inside the bathhouse, Makoto lounged near a window, his body submerged below the chest in one of Tenjirō's custom bath barrels. Warm, milky-white water lapped around him as he propped his chin on the sill, grinning mischievously at the sight of Unohana getting scolded.
What a rare treat.
Across the entire Genji School, only Tenjirō dared to strut this boldly in front of her.
His mastery of the healing arts Kaido outshone everyone in the order.
Even Unohana herself occasionally slipped over here to pilfer a trick or two, just in case.
Still, Makoto couldn't help but wonder if Tenjirō was genuinely fearless or simply too dim to see the danger.
Had he never considered what might happen on some fateful, murderous day when this woman mastered every last one of his techniques?
Makoto mused to himself.
He suspected that in some distant future, Tenjirō's retreat to the Soul King Palace might stem from exactly that, his skills completely plundered, yet his sharp tongue unchanged, earning him a thrashing from Unohana every time they crossed paths until he fled to higher ground.
It wasn't hard to imagine.
After all, Tenjirō was the poster child for foul-mouthed misfortune.
A faint smile curled Makoto's lips at the thought.
Then, as if on cue, Unohana who'd been slyly studying Kaido essentials from the corner of her eye turned her head toward him.
Her lips parted into a gentle, utterly benevolent smile.
Makoto froze, then promptly sank into the barrel like a submarine, gurgling bubbles as he submerged.
"Hey!!"
"Makoto! You in there?!"
The voice arrived before its owner.
Saitō Furofushi's exuberant trill echoed from afar, her petite frame flashing across rooftops with Shunpo, twin purple ponytails whipping in the wind as she zeroed in on his reiatsu.
Crash!
The straight-line-loving girl smashed through the roof, somersaulting into the bathhouse and dangling upside-down from a wooden beam, her long hair cascading in twin streams.
Her single eye scanned the array of barrels, landing on the one still bubbling suspiciously.
A gleeful grin spread across Saitō's face.
"Hah! Think you can hide?!"
With a nimble leap, she launched herself at Makoto's barrel, landing with a splash that sent water surging. Her small feet planted firmly on his shoulders as she yanked his sopping hair.
"Makoto! Let's fight!"
"That move you pulled with that guy at the end, use it!"
"You've gotten way better, haven't you?!"
"Wait a sec! Don't tell me last time we sparred, you weren't even trying?!"
"Huh?"
When Saitō's excitement flared, she couldn't care less about what her target was up to.
There he sat in his barrel, only for a girl to drop from the sky.
Makoto's face squished flat against her thighs as he tilted his head, straining to meet her gaze. He sighed, "I know you're eager, but hold off a second."
"Someone's bound to be more impatient than you."
Sure enough, no sooner had Saitō crashed through the roof than Tenjirō's head snapped up outside, his voice erupting in a foul-tempered bellow.
"Saitō, you punk!"
"Pay for that roof, damn it!!"
Saitō clicked her tongue. "Oops, my bad."
She glanced down at Makoto, her tiny feet swishing in the water as she asked, "You've got cash on you, right?"
"You're asking me?"
Makoto stayed put, gesturing to his utterly bare state with a flourish of sincerity.
Saitō peered down, her slight frame teetering forward atop his shoulders as curiosity tugged at her.
What's that weird thing in the water?!
So odd... let me take another look.
It's so…
In an instant, realization dawned. A fierce blush flooded her pale cheeks, her toes curling instinctively in her tabi socks. Every muscle locked rigid as she froze.
Then, just as abruptly, her form vanished.
A pair of soggy, pint-sized pink tabi drifted lazily through the air.
From dozens of meters away came Saitō's stammering shout.
"I-I'll wait for you at the training grounds!"
"Consider those a down payment!"
"And… and put some clothes on before you show up!!"
Makoto, mildly puzzled, glanced at himself and muttered, "A centuries-old relic like her, blushing over something like this?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
Tenjirō strolled over, rapping Makoto's head with a wooden ladle. "Even if she's lived a thousand years through a kid's eyes, she won't get what she hasn't experienced!"
"Besides, a battle-obsessed meathead like Saitō probably has a brain simpler than a kid."
"Don't you dare take advantage of her dim wits to pull anything shady!"
"She'll kill you and it'll be ugly!"
"Huh?!"
Makoto gaped at this wild tirade.
"And another thing!" Tenjirō doused him with a ladleful of hot water, barking, "You're healed, so get out! Stop loitering here flirting with girls!"
"Harsh as ever, you jerk."
Then he was unceremoniously dumped out, barrel and all.
Still, thanks to Tenjirō's care over these past days, the deficits Makoto had accrued from overtaxing his spiritual form were largely restored better than before, even, with a newfound robustness.
Moreover, the Wall of Sighs let him sense it, after his deathmatch with Chika Shihōin, his willpower had soared leaps and bounds beyond its prior limits. His spirit felt unmistakably full.
Be it Silent Stream or Severing Strike, their potency would surely outstrip what they'd been before.
Pondering this, Makoto swiftly changed in the dressing room, hooking Saitō's pink tabi onto his scabbard's cord. He cast a furtive glance outside.
While Tenjirō busied himself repairing the roof, Unohana seized the chance to peel open a comatose patient's wound, studying the traces of Kaido restoration within before sealing it back up.
Once satisfied with the repair, she moved on to the next hapless soul.
"Truly a criminal among criminals."
"That's just evil."
Muttering under his breath at the sight, Makoto veered off, taking the long way around to slip silently toward the training grounds.
If she spotted him now, he'd end up as her next honored anatomy lesson.
---
When he arrived, Saitō stood barefoot, hands brazenly on her hips, radiating boldness.
She'd have pulled it off better if her face weren't still flaming red.
"W-What's there to stare at?!"
Catching Makoto's gaze lingering on her flushed cheeks, she bristled like a cornered animal, shouting in flustered outrage.
Makoto nearly quipped back instinctively, but Tenjirō's earlier words flashed through his mind.
A method to communicate with a simple kid, huh?
He mulled it over, softening his tone and offering a warm smile.
"Because… Saitō's actually a really cute kid?"
"Huh?!"
This flattery landed squarely in the wrong spot.
Saitō's fists clenched tight, knuckles popping as a feral grin split her face:
"Makoto!!"
"Just because that thing down there's a little big, you dare mock me?!"
"Hey!"
"Get ready to die by my hand!!"
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