A moment later, watched by Makoto Senju, Seinosuke Yamada left the courtyard with a slightly green face.
*’Captain Unohana…
I have followed you for centuries…’* *’I was the one who joined Squad 4 first.
Why…
why choose a brat who just graduated like Makoto Senju as your disciple?’* Initially, Seinosuke hadn’t been this angry.
But thinking of that bastard Makoto’s seemingly innocent, pure face, coupled with the patronizing words of comfort he kept throwing his way, Seinosuke found himself growing increasingly vexed…
Still, Seinosuke could confirm at least one thing: Makoto Senju was absolutely not as gentle and harmless as he appeared on the surface.
Behind that facade lay a thoroughly black-hearted brat!
Watching Seinosuke’s somewhat disheveled, retreating figure, Makoto didn’t forget to wave goodbye, his face wearing a gentle, reluctant expression.
Afterward, Makoto tidied up his room and changed into the Shihakusho and squad division badge that Seinosuke had someone deliver.
Brewing himself a pot of green tea, Makoto sat on the veranda, breathing in the curling fragrance as he gazed up at the night sky of the Soul Society, reflecting on the gains and losses of the day.
Despite a few twists and turns, he had ultimately succeeded in joining Squad 4.
Now, as a member of Squad 4, he would have plenty of excuses to come into contact with the wounded, giving him opportunities to plant the “Forest Seed”.
Furthermore, it kept him away from the battlefield to a certain extent, preventing him from exposing unnecessary secrets during combat.
The only unexpected development was being taken in as a disciple by Retsu Unohana.
Doing so under the status of Retsu Unohana’s disciple undoubtedly conflicted with his previous policy of keeping a low profile.
It would inevitably draw some attention from the upper echelons of the Seireitei, and might even provoke a reaction from Sosuke Aizen, the man he dreaded most.
However, under those circumstances, given the persona Makoto had cultivated, he had absolutely no grounds to refuse Unohana.
*’But perhaps this is for the best.
With Teacher Unohana’s protection, I might actually be safer.
Besides, I can study more profound Kaido and medical arts…’* Makoto murmured silently to himself, a different light flashing across his usually gentle and pure eyes.
In one aspect, Makoto had not deceived Retsu Unohana: he truly held a massive interest in Kaido and medicine.
Unlike physical bodies in the Living World, the bodies formed after souls arrived in the Soul Society were, in Makoto’s eyes, incredibly unique.
Although the fundamental element of souls in the Soul Society was Reishi, these bodies possessed actual flesh and blood, and even had specialized spiritual nodes and pathways akin to the Saketsu, Hakusui, and Tamashii-matoi.
As for the essence of Kaido, it was a spiritual replenishment technique for soul bodies.
The medical arts of the Soul Society were also unlike the Western medicine of Makoto’s memories.
Instead, they resembled Traditional Chinese Medicine, utilizing herbal decoctions and the stimulation of spiritual pathways to treat various ailments.
It had to be said that compared to the crude and violent nature of Shinigami battles, Kaido and medicine were the true arts in Makoto’s eyes—a brand new and fascinating art form.
Lost in thought, Makoto unfastened his Zanpakuto, Shinra Bansho, from his waist.
Placing it across his crossed legs, he slowly closed his eyes and entered a state of Jinzen.
The next moment, as his vision went dark, a momentary daze transported him into an incredibly bright world.
A blue sky as clear as a lake, a vast expanse of lush green grass, and not far from where Makoto stood, a small patch of freshly planted saplings alongside a towering, ancient tree.
Makoto scanned the area as if looking for something, then called out, “Stop hiding.
Come out.” No sooner had he spoken than the green grass at his feet rapidly grew like climbing vines, wrapping around his legs, winding up his back, and finally stopping at his shoulder.
In the next instant, a flash of green light flickered, and the tip of a blade of grass spat out a tiny creature that landed right in front of his eyes.
A dainty, delicate body, butterfly-like wings, and fair, tender skin partially concealed by a few strategically placed green leaves.
Her round, doe-like eyes stared at Makoto, and her face wore a bright, innocent smile—just like a fairy from legend.
“Tsk.” Yet, every time Makoto saw this palm-sized Zanpakuto spirit, he couldn’t help but avert his eyes and let out a sigh of dissatisfaction.
“Waaah!
Master, what is that supposed to mean?” Shinra Bansho placed her tiny hands on her hips, her wings fluttering as she zipped directly in front of Makoto’s eyes, asking with a pout.
“Sigh…” But Makoto only responded with another long sigh.
Once upon a time, Makoto had fantasized about having a Zanpakuto spirit like Sode no Shirayuki, Benihime, or Katen Kyokotsu.
If that were the case, he could hold his Zanpakuto by day, and his Zanpakuto could hold him by night.
Such mutual reliance would be quite heartwarming, allowing him to feel a dependable warmth in this cold Soul Society.
However, a Zanpakuto was supposed to be forged with the Shinigami’s own soul as a prototype, meaning the spirit’s appearance should be closely related to the reflection of the Shinigami’s own mind and desires.
For example, the Zanpakuto spirits of sketchy uncles like Kisuke Urahara and Shunsui Kyoraku—Benihime and Katen Kyokotsu—were absolute top-tier mature beauties.
Rukia Kuchiki’s Sode no Shirayuki was related to her desire to become cold and dignified like her brother.
So why did his own spirit, reflecting his true nature, turn out to be a palm-sized little thing?
Could it be a projection of the “Thumbelina” that had accompanied him for half of his past life?
Thinking of this, Makoto subconsciously glanced at his right hand.
“Waaah!” Sensing his thoughts, Shinra Bansho somehow realized what he was thinking.
Her tiny body charged forward, slamming hard against Makoto’s forehead.
“Despicable, shameless, vulgar Master!
Stop thinking about such rude things!” *Bang!* A loud explosion sent a shockwave blasting off Makoto’s forehead.
He was sent flying backward, rolling over a dozen times on the grass before finally coming to a stop.
Only then did a sharp pain travel from his forehead to his nerves.
“Ow, ow, ow!
You jerk, Shinra Bansho!
What kind of decent Zanpakuto spirit launches a sneak attack without even warning their master?!” “Master was the one being rude first, so this is your deserved punishment!” Shinra Bansho said, her face flushed red as she stood right on Makoto’s forehead.
“What did I even do?
You literally knocked me down for no reason and made me roll a dozen times…” As he spoke, Makoto’s gaze grew slightly blank.
Looking up from below, he stared at Shinra Bansho standing on his forehead, surrounded by a soft green glow…