Flying Boots and the Golden Touch

'Wait!'

'What was that just now?'

Seidritz's single eye widened as he stared at Fujimiya Makoto, disbelief flashing across his face.

If he hadn't mistaken what he saw in that split second...

That young man had just thrown—

A punch?

Amidst the settling dust, Orado shook her head dazedly, struggling to pull herself free from the crater in the rockface. One massive hand clutched at her abdomen, where a fist-sized dent had been punched clean through her reinforced Quincy armor.

All traces of her earlier arrogance had vanished. Blood trickled from her lips as she stared at Makoto, her expression twisting into something between shock and manic glee.

"I see now."

Her voice was a wet rasp.

"You must be what they call a 'master instructor'."

"No wonder you hit like a collapsing building."

She spat out a mouthful of blood, then grinned.

"But—!"

"Only prey like you is worth tearing apart!"

Turning her head, she bellowed:

"Oi! Seidritz!"

"I'm taking them off!"

The elderly Quincy gave a slow nod, his gaze never leaving Makoto.

If this was indeed one of the Genryū's elite instructors...

Then measuring his strength was necessary.

"Permission granted."

Orado threw back her head and laughed—a sound like grinding boulders—as she ripped away the blue-white gloves covering her hands.

The Quincy's forbidden artifact:

The Sanrei Glove.

Its removal granted temporary power beyond human limits—at the cost of permanently severing one's Quincy abilities.

But in this era, under His Majesty's reign...

That was no loss at all.

BOOM!

A maelstrom of spiritual pressure erupted from Orado's body, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. The ground beneath her feet cratered instantly.

"I'll... GRIND YOUR BONES TO DUST!"

Makoto merely stood his ground, watching calmly.

"Don't waste breath on empty threats."

His voice carried an unfamiliar weight.

"It only reveals your weakness."

Both Senjumaru and Ōmaeda whipped their heads toward him in perfect sync.

Coming from the man notorious for outrageous proclamations, this sudden solemnity was... jarring.

Since when did he sound like a sage from those old scrolls?

Yet Makoto could feel it—the way his reishi flowed smoother, his body lighter. His eyes gleamed with realization.

So this is the power of [Edging]...

To Orado, however, his words were gasoline on a wildfire.

"RAAAAAAAAAGH—!!"

Her body swelled further, veins bulging like cables beneath skin now crisscrossed with glowing blue reishi patterns. The spiritual pressure concentrated around her fists formed twin blade-like projections, their edges humming with lethal energy.

Her eyes burned crimson.

From her shoulders erupted wing-like jets of condensed reishi, lifting her into an eerily angelic stance—

The Quincy: Letzt Stil.

Senjumaru's breath caught.

"Makoto! Behind y—"

WHOOSH!

Orado vanished.

Makoto's senses screamed. Through [Edging]'s perfect awareness, he felt the attack coming from the right before it materialized. His zanpakutō flashed upward to meet the descending reishi blades.

SCREEEECH—!

The clash sent sparks flying, the metallic shriek piercing enough to make teeth vibrate.

Ōmaeda reacted instantly, fingers slashing downward:

"Bakudō 61: Rikujōkōrō!"

Six golden beams lanced toward Orado—a binding even without incantation. Yet the Quincy merely snorted. The reishi comprising the Kidō dissolved midair, absorbed into her own reserves.

[Sklaverei]

The ability to reduce spirit particles to their base form and claim them.

"Using reishi techniques against a Quincy?!"

"DON'T INSULT ME, WORM!"

Her triumphant roar cut off as Makoto's left fist—wreathed in flame-like spiritual pressure—slammed into her gut.

"IKKOTSU!"

The point-blank strike lifted Orado's massive frame clean off the ground. Internal organs liquefied under the shockwave; muscle fibers tore like wet paper.

"Guh—?!"

As she reeled, Makoto's blade flickered.

A razor-thin glow sheathed the steel.

"First Form: Steel-Sundering Strike."

The slash left afterimages—

SCHLICK!

—and Orado's right arm spun through the air, severed cleanly despite her reishi armor.

No hesitation. No pause.

Makoto stepped through the arterial spray, his blade's glow intensifying.

"First Form - Modified: Chain Sundering!"

A web of lethal cuts unfolded—

Orado's survival instincts overrode rage. She kicked empty air with Hirenkyaku, her remaining hand hurling the reishi blade like a javelin:

"Titan's Fist!"

The projectile shrank mid-flight to fingernail size, its glow nearly imperceptible...

Yet Makoto's every nerve screamed.

He channeled every ounce of reishi into his legs—

FWOOM!

—as the micro-blade threaded through where he'd stood, its path marked by a ghostly line in the atmosphere.

Silence.

Then—

KABOOOOOM!

The shockwave hit first, rattling bones. The sound followed—a thunderclap audible for miles.

When Makoto turned, the landscape behind him had been erased. A perfectly smooth, fist-shaped abyss gaped in the earth, its edges glassy from heat. Clouds above swirled violently, displaced by the blast.

"Impressive firepower."

Senjumaru and Ōmaeda now stood between Makoto and Seidritz. The former examined the devastation with arched brows.

"Had your actual bodies matched those toys' strength..."

"...we might be the ones fleeing."

Seidritz studied his left shoulder—where a thin cut marred his pristine uniform. Blood welled, then vanished as he wiped it with a reishi-conjured handkerchief. The fabric knit itself back together.

"My epithet is [I]."

He tapped his now-winged boots against the ground. A short rod materialized in his grip.

"Inventor."

"If this is what shocks you..."

FWOOSH!

—he vanished—

—reappeared behind Senjumaru—

—and tapped her spine with the rod.

CLINK.

Golden sheen raced across her body. In an instant, Shutara Senjumaru stood frozen—a gilded statue.

Ōmaeda's pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Seidritz adjusted his cuffs, utterly unruffled.

"...then I can rest easy."

"After all."

The rod twirled lazily.

"I outclass her significantly."