[61] Struggle

At this moment, Makoto's body had been freed from the sealing straps that bound him.

Though a dull ache still throbbed through his frame, it was merely the lingering aftershock of having his form flooded with an overwhelming surge of Reiatsu, hardly a true injury.

If he could endure this brief discomfort, it might even prove beneficial to his physique in the long run.

And naturally, with his formidable willpower propping him up, it barely registered as a hindrance.

More importantly, he was currently preoccupied with something far more pressing.

A gentle press, then another…

In his past life, Makoto had been a science student, woefully lacking in vocabulary. When faced with exquisite food, he often found himself at a loss for words, his mind a blank slate.

If forced to speak his true thoughts, he'd likely muster just one.

Edible!

Now, Saitō Furōfushi sat rather unwillingly on the recliner beside his bed. Her petite face was set in a stiff mask, her single eye drifting toward the empty far side of the dormitory, feigning complete disinterest.

Yet her peripheral vision betrayed her, stealing fleeting glances his way. A faint flush crept across her cheeks, her thin lips pressed tight as if wrestling with a buried shyness or perhaps convincing herself this was no big deal.

Her legs were bent slightly at the knees, clad in loose black trousers from the ankles up, leaving only her snow-white feet resting delicately on the edge of his bed.

Makoto wasn't a foot fetishist.

He simply appreciated beauty in its many forms.

Saitō's feet were like something sculpted from flawless snow pure and rounded. Perhaps because she was a spiritual being, they bore none of the imperfections of a human body subject to metabolism, no scent, no blemishes.

The pale skin of her arches revealed faint blue veins beneath, each toe a meticulously crafted masterpiece. Tiny, polished nails gleamed a healthy pink, their pads plump and soft.

Sensing his gaze, her toes twitched upward as if to retreat.

But when he cradled her foot in his hands, they gradually relaxed, the arch forming a gentle curve. Her toes, however, pressed subtly against his palm, flexing with quiet defiance as if refusing to yield entirely to this strange boy's grasp.

"Hey!"

Saitō had always been brash and unapologetic, never once considering her feet anything special.

But now, watching this guy fixate on them with the reverence of a pilgrim, she felt an uncontrollable surge of embarrassment and irritation. She snapped under her breath.

"Are you done yet?!"

"Didn't you say it was just a foot massage?"

"It's been almost an hour!"

Makoto's tone remained steady and calm, "Relax. Even outside, a proper foot massage takes time. I'm a young apprentice, give me a bit to get it right!"

In truth, a flicker of urgency gnawed at him.

His eyes darted repeatedly to the panel hovering in his field of vision.

If he kept this up, wouldn't people actually start thinking he was some foot-obsessed weirdo?!

Hurry up already, my ultimate talent!!

[Name: Makoto Fujimiya

[Reiatsu: Tier-4 Mid (Vice-Captain)

[Four Arts:

- Zanjutsu: Tier-11 (68/100) — [Secret Technique (3)]

- Hakuda: Tier-8 (89/100) — [Ikkotsu]

- Kidō: Tier-6(16/100)

- Hohō: Tier-10 (76/100) [Talent Capped]

[Zanpakutō: Unreleased

[Talent Points: 2

[Bond Traits: Swordsmanship Prodigy (Yachiru Unohana Level 1), Art of Footcraft (Saitō Fukofushi Level 1), Wall of Sighs (Chōjirō Sasakibe Level 1), There's Always a Master (Batsu'unsai Katori Level 1), Flawless Circle (Yorita Shiba Level 1), Final Dawn (Tsunayashiro Shōgo Level 1) Teetering on the Edge (Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck has increased Level 1)

[Romance Traits: None]

Though it had been a while since he last checked his system panel, Makoto made a habit of reviewing it every night, taking stock of his modest advantages.

After nearly two years at the Genji School, even someone like Makoto had come to grasp the immense value of Talent Points.

The higher you climbed, the rarer they became!

It was common knowledge that Shinigami had their limits.

Thus, the higher one's rank, the more daunting the obstacles to breakthroughs became.

In such a scenario, the Art of Footcraf trait which allowed him to bypass Talent Point restrictions and elevate his Shunpo ceiling through the Path of Footcraft was nothing short of priceless.

For this, Makoto resolved to spare no effort.

But this so-called Art of Footcraft trait… didn't it also require fetish from the other party?

How could a one-sided passion possibly last?

With that in mind, he ventured cautiously, "If I kept doing this for you in the future, Saitō… would you like it?"

Her head snapped toward him at the sound of his voice, her single eye catching his reflection as he leaned against the bed.

His face, still pale from lingering injuries, retained its delicate handsomeness. His long, deft hands knuckles sharply defined held her foot as though it were a priceless treasure, kneading it with careful precision, his touch alternating between firm and gentle. His gaze was utterly absorbed.

When he asked his quiet question, his head dipped slightly, as if too timid to meet her eye, focusing instead on her foot.

At that sight, even the self-proclaimed immortal Saitō Furōfushi felt an odd flutter stir in her chest.

Something warm pulsed within her.

But she quickly caught herself, grinding her teeth in defiance:

"L-Like or dislike, what's that supposed to mean…?"

"If you didn't insist on these weird conditions even in a fight, I—I'd have bolted ages ago! Who'd indulge your pointless hobbies?!"

For a fleeting moment, Makoto's voice dipped into something achingly forlorn, his head bowing further as he murmured with palpable regret:

"Is that so?"

"So Saitō doesn't like it after all."

For reasons she couldn't name, that single sentence ignited a fierce urge in Saitō Furōfushi to protest.

She wanted to cut him off, to insist she didn't dislike it, to clarify that she didn't mind this boy who might one day grow impossibly strong, to admit that this shy, awkward intimacy she wasn't used to wasn't entirely unwelcome.

Saitō didn't want to see this idiot looking so crestfallen.

But a thousand years of slaughter had taught her little of human subtleties or the art of words, let alone how to express herself.

When it truly mattered, the girl's throat seemed to clog with stone. Words faltered, caught in a clumsy stammer, as she struggled in vain to speak.

A creature raised to kill or march toward killing—how could anyone expect her to understand something as tender as liking?

It was only after a long silence that she muttered, barely audible.

"Still."

"If you'd just be honest and let me see your full strength…"

"Touching my feet now and then… wouldn't be out of the question."

"Really?!"

Makoto's expression froze, then lit up as he snapped his head toward her.

The sheer joy radiating from his face nearly blinded Saitō, her cheeks flushing uncontrollably with a heat she couldn't quell.

She caught herself slipping and erupted in flustered indignation:

"D-Damn it!"

"If you drag this out any longer, I'm done fighting you…"

Yet her raised voice carried an unmistakable tremor of guilt as if she were desperate to flee something.

"Huh?!"

Makoto's own urgency flared at her words.

He wavered, half-tempted to escalate perhaps even offer a full footbath treatment when...

The door slammed open with a resounding bang!

Saitō, already on edge, yanked her foot from Makoto's grasp with a sharp hiss. She bolted upright on the recliner, curling her legs against her chest. Her face blazed red as she glared toward the door, steam practically rising from her head.

Makoto's hands grasped at the air, the 'fun' slipping away.

A tangled wave of regret, melancholy, and longing crashed through him in that instant.

[Path of Footcraft: Current Limit Breakthrough Achieved: Tier-12 ↑]

His eyes sparked back to life.

Whoever you are, your timing's perfect!

"Who?! Who's there?!"

Saitōi's petite frame shrank like a quail, but her voice boomed with fierce bravado as she snarled.

"Don't you know to knock before barging into someone's room?!"

She spoke as if the space were her own.

"Saitō-senpai?!"

Batsu'unsai Katori, the habitual door-crasher, froze at the sight before her. A subtle gleam flickered behind her glasses, her wide eyes brimming with astonishment.

"So you and Makoto have that kind of rela-"

Saitō cut in, startled by the familiar face.

"Wait, no it's not what you think!"

In a flash, she snatched her socks and shoes, bolted for the window, and vanished with a thud gone without a trace.

She couldn't bear to let anyone see her face!

Even from a distance, the glowing red of her ears betrayed her as she fled.

That damned big-boobs glasses girl!

"You're a lifesaver, Katori." Makoto sighed, his gratitude utterly sincere.

If that hadn't worked, he'd nearly been ready to throw caution to the wind…

Katori blinked, then seemed to piece something together. She exhaled a resigned breath: "I came to check if Makoto-kun had written any new drafts… Oh well, too bad."

One look at him, and it was clear he hadn't touched a pen.

"Sorry, sorry!" Makoto scrambled to respond, memories of those terrifying "little black room" deadlines flooding back. He promised in a panicm "I'll catch up! I'll get it all done!"

"That's a relief, then."

Only after her sigh did Katori recall her actual purpose, "Oh, right, Captain Unohana had something else…"

"You could've led with that!"

…

Some time later, Makoto's body had recovered to a decent degree about seventy or eighty percent.

During his coma and convalescence, word reached him that the Technology Development Department had successfully retrieved the missing Yamamoto and brought him back to headquarters.

With Yamamoto's return, the Genji School found its backbone.

The pace and intensity of Hollow purges across the regions surged.

Most notably, to expedite progress, Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto himself frequently took to the field, wiping out Hollow swarms with his own hands.

In just the past few days, rumor had it he'd nearly suppressed all the dimensional rifts plaguing the land.

That was the weight of Yamamoto's presence.

Yet beyond the major battlefronts, Senjumaru's operatives uncovered something else, amid the chaos of Hollow rampages, certain areas reported unusual clusters of Hollows and widespread, unexplained mass vanishings of souls.

With manpower stretched thin, the Genji School couldn't spare anyone for the time being.

And besides, it was likely that ordinary agents sent there wouldn't be equipped to handle whatever was happening.

"I get the reasoning, but…"

Makoto turned to Senjumaru walking beside him, then glanced at Okikiba on his other side, brow furrowing in confusion, "At a time like this, with how vital you two are, is it really okay for you not to stay at headquarters under protection?"

"Makoto, why do you think that woman Unohana sent you out here?" Senjumaru shot him a sidelong glance, her tone as cool and measured as ever. "Besides, given the scale of this incident, if I don't handle it myself, no one else will figure it out."

"Hm?"

Makoto's gaze darkened slightly at her words.

"More experts?"

"Not quite." Senjumaru waved a dismissive hand, elaborating.

"It's just…"

"Humans from the living world have slipped in."

Makoto froze.

A chill of foreboding crept up his spine.

***

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

***

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