The great battle had ended, the smoke of war settling into silence.
Makoto lay sprawled across the training grounds, his body splayed out in a perfect "大" shape, limp against the earth.
His Shihakushō hung in tattered shreds, a swollen lump crowned his forehead, and a trickle of blood stained the corner of his mouth.
His mind echoed with the apocalyptic trinity of questions.
Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?
His gaze drifted, vacant and lost.
He looked like a toy on the verge of breaking.
Saitō... this girl was she really this strong?!
Yet Saitō stood before him, brimming with insatiable fervor, her voice a raucous bellow.
"You're holding back your real strength, huh?!"
"Get some fire in you! Some spirit!"
"That vibe you had when you fought that guy like you were going to devour him whole!"
"Right now, you're not even tempting me to crush you!"
"I… I can't fight anymore…"
At that moment, Makoto resembled nothing so much as a weary middle-aged man, drained after paying his dues, lost in the sage-like calm of utter detachment.
No wants, no needs, just surrender to fate.
He'd thought he could take the upper hand before the fight began. What hubris!
Who could've known, who could've known, that Saitō got this wild, this fierce when she threw down for real?
He'd activated his Flawless Circle, yet the moment he braced in defense, the petite Saitō shattered his guard with brute force, driving his Zanpakuto and his arm straight into his chest.
The bones he'd only just healed nearly snapped again.
"Completely no good!"
But as he tilted his head on the ground, Saitō's small foot landed with a splat atop his skull.
The flawless curve of her snowy arch rubbed against his cheek, her pearl-like toes flexing slightly, nearly slipping into his mouth as she rocked them back and forth, yanking his lips into a lopsided grimace.
"I'm talking to you, old hag!"
"Don't play dead on me!"
Saitō's youthful face twisted into a scowl, hands planted on her hips as she leaned forward, her toes pinching his skin outward, her voice rising in indignation.
Makoto couldn't take this provocation lying down. He swatted her foot away, rising with righteous fury to retort.
[A warrior can be slain but never drooled upon!]
[I'm warning you, Saitō-chan! Keep this up and I'll bite back!]
[You think you can test a veteran of the Genji School with that cute little popsicle foot? Huh?!]
[Which officer could withstand such a trial?!]
[Watch me slurp it right!]
He'd barely opened his mouth when his wretched Zanpakutō launched into its signature rapid-fire chant.
Its delivery was lightning-fast and razor-sharp, with ten retorts in the time a normal person could muster one!
Hearing the soul-deep roar from his blade, Makoto lost his composure, clamping down on its runaway mouth.
But as he looked up and caught Saitō's peculiar expression, he sheepishly sealed his own lips too.
'Zanpakutō-chan, my Soul Society mouthpiece.'
'Thanks a lot, you absolute menace.'
"You've got that kind of hobby, huh?" Saitō lifted her foot, inspecting it with a baffled frown, utterly unable to fathom what was so appealing about feet… or tabi socks.
Didn't they just get dirty easily?
She glanced at her foot, then at Makoto's innocent expression, weighing her options between fighting and foot-feeding.
At last, she decided.
A spark of excitement flickered in Saitō's lone eye as she clapped her hands with resolve.
"If you can beat me, I suppose letting you have a taste wouldn't hurt!"
"But this time, I'm breaking out my Shikai!"
"Otherwise, it's no fun at all!"
Makoto's eyes bulged.
"Who... who even suggested something that weird?!"
"Don't phrase it like I'm some foot-fetish pervert collecting girls' socks, alright?!"
For the sake of his dignity, Makoto cut in loudly.
"Getting greedy now, are you?" Saitō's brow furrowed, her single eye flashing with lethal intent.
Her peripheral vision darted awkwardly to his lower abdomen, her tone venomous. "I'll butcher you!"
Her small face brimmed with menace.
"What I meant was…" Makoto's voice faltered, tinged with embarrassment, "I haven't learned Shikai yet."
"How am I supposed to win?"
Saitō's expression froze, her face twisting in disbelief as if she'd heard the most absurd tale imaginable.
"…So, that's the gist of it."
Makoto let out a long sigh, sitting up properly to explain his troublesome blade's quirks.
It only piped up around dire threats or smelly-footed girls.
In crowds, it loved spouting outrageous hot takes.
But during Jinzen? Not a peep.
Forget asking its "name."
Saitō eyed him skeptically, arms crossed, one brow arched high.
When he finished, she leaned in, jabbing a finger into his forehead with a sharp question:
"Do I look that easy to fool?!"
"With your level of reiatsu, even brute-forcing it should drag your Zanpakutō's name out of it!"
She punctuated her rant with a kick to his blade, grumbling, "And what's this nonsense about a lewd sword that talks when it's stepped on or sees a pretty girl?!"
"Never heard of such a thing!"
"You just want me to step on you, huh?"
"Stop blaming everything on your Zanpakutō!"
But the moment her foot struck the hilt, a familiar voice rang out from the ground.
[I wanna nap between Saitō-chan's toes, yo!]
[S-Step on me again! Please!]
[Let me die between a girl's thighs, I beg you!]
Makoto released his grip, turning to Saitō with an innocent shrug, hands spread wide.
She glanced at his blade, then at him.
Her lone eye widened in sheer incredulity.
No way, this was real?!
A mutual silence fell between them.
But in that instant, Makoto's mind jolted, a massive spark of inspiration clawing its way out with a chaotic screech.
He eyed his still-chattering Zanpakutō, then Saitō's stunned face, and pitched a bold idea.
"…I think I've figured out how to talk to it!"
"But, uh, could you help me out?"
Saitō Furofushi tilted her head, puzzled:
Saitō knelt on the ground, her voice a shrill protest.
"This is all kinds of wrong!"
"Who enters Jinzen with a stunt this bizarre?!"
Makoto sat before her, his tone deadly serious, "Saitō, don't you want to see how strong I could get with Shikai?"
One sentence struck her weak spot dead-on.
For a warrior born to fight, clashing with a worthy foe was the dream of a lifetime.
And Makoto, someone who grew leaps and bounds mid-battle? He was the ideal, the perfect mold!
His only flaw was that he hadn't fully matured yet!
"But… this is too weird!"
She glanced down to find Makoto's Zanpakutō resting across her lap, occasionally emitting blissful [hummph hummph] and [guhehe] noises.
Makoto's expression remained grave, "If this drags on, who knows how long it'll take me to catch up to you!"
"Saitō, you don't want to keep sparring with a Shikai-less rookie forever, do you?"
His face was that of a man guilting his wife over a lost job, though his words painted a different picture.
And yet, somehow, Saitō actually fell for it!
At that moment, Makoto privately thought Kirinji's warnings might've been a tad conservative.
After a long hesitation, perhaps recalling the monotony of Genji School life, Saitō threw up her hands in defeat, exasperated.
"You sneaky bastard… if I find out you're tricking me, you're dead meat!"
"Thank you so much!" Makoto exhaled in relief.
After who-knows-how-many days, he finally had a shot at basic communication with his Zanpakutō!
Saitō grumbled irritably.
And with that, Makoto buried his face into her lap pillow.
Unconsciously, he let out a blissful hum eerily akin to his blade's.
"Hey! Hold on a sec…"
"That's not how lap pillows work, right?!"
But just as Saitō's protest rang out, she froze, her voice trailing off.
Her sharp senses caught it, the reishi fluctuations around Makoto were sinking, deepening, until finally…
They stilled into serene silence.
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