The moment Ukitake-sensei began to unravel the chains binding her, Fujimiya Makoto sensed the shift. Speed, power, reaction, and swordsmanship—all were unleashed without restraint. In this instant, Makoto truly grasped the weight of 'Senkemaru'. Even with equal spiritual pressure, he held no advantage against her dual blades.
His body, enhanced by the extreme traits, was taut to its limit. Yet, he couldn't breach her deepest defenses. This indescribable pressure felt like a boiling fire in his heart. Simultaneously, his swordsmanship experience soared.
[Swordsmanship +2]
[Swordsmanship +3]
[Swordsmanship +5]
Each relentless strike brought rich experience, every blow under this extreme state honing his skills. But the pressure mounted faster than his growth. Then, in a sudden moment, Makoto felt an extreme danger!
"——Swastika! All done!"
As the words fell, Makoto's world was engulfed by black and red, transforming into a vast blood pool. The surging blood swallowed his vision, its intensified spiritual pressure devouring all his senses.
His once keen intuition now saw only endless crimson. He couldn't discern the blades' origin.
"Sizzle—"
Blood blades, like crescent moons, clung to the churning blood, slashing toward Makoto. Only when the sound hit did he awaken from his fear, hastily raising his blade to block.
Yet, as he sensed, the blood blades weren't just slashes; they retained the fluid's relentless tenacity. The moment he blocked, the blood scattered, each droplet like a needle, piercing his skin, corroding his clothes, leaving smoking wounds—a searing pain like acid. His skin seemed to rot.
Makoto knew this wasn't 'damage' but 'healing'.
The extreme vitality in the blood granted excessive regeneration, but it wasn't healthy. Like HeLa cells, unchecked proliferation meant bodily collapse. His tiny wounds were this 'collapse'.
Before he could react, Ukitake-sensei, fully immersed in battle's ecstasy, unleashed her long blade with full force. Her spiritual pressure, boiling in her Bankai, reached its peak.
The blade's roar was deafening.
"Clang—!"
Their blades clashed like thunder. Behind Makoto and Ukitake, two worlds seemed to collide. Gogyo no Asobi's [Secret Dojo] domain, under Bankai's pressure, barely held. It countered Ukitake's 'world' only because their spiritual pressures were forcibly equalized.
Yet, Bankai's power was five to ten times Shikai's. Makoto knew his script couldn't last under her full assault—twenty, maybe thirty seconds at most. He had to decide the battle within thirty seconds, or the script would shatter under the terrifying pressure.
A Shinigami's battle is a battle of spiritual pressure. Even unyielding rules are within this scope. If there's an issue, it's because the spiritual pressure isn't strong enough.
So…
Makoto's gaze at Ukitake shifted. His eyes reddened further, the whites nearly crimson.
[Bond Trait · Last Gleam of Hope]
[Last Gleam of Hope: When facing certain death, unleash unprecedented power, followed by extreme weakness.]
Clearly, Ukitake's Bankai + full power activated this trait.
"Clang!"
The blades skewed, Makoto's twisting under his wrist. Ukitake, bathed in crimson, instantly sensed his anomaly. Her eyes brightened with excitement.
This ecstasy could continue!
The moment she realized, her dual blades became fluid ribbons, crossing toward Makoto.
Makoto didn't engage directly. [Sigh's Wall] steadied his will, keeping his mind calm and rational.
—Two seconds.
He ducked, rolled, his feet splashing through blood. His great blade slashed toward Ukitake's legs.
"Sizzle!"
The blades crossed, Makoto retreating just enough. Under [Last Gleam of Hope], his brain, heart, muscles, bones, blood, and nerves were unprecedentedly stimulated—like the last warmth before freezing, or a strange fullness after extreme hunger.
All fueled an irresistible urge to fight!
[First Form · Modified · Aurora Strike]
The blade's arc tore through the blood sea, its concentrated spiritual pressure and will carving a path through Ukitake's omnipresent pressure.
But to Ukitake, this was trivial. Her short blade deflected the strike, her other blade cascading like a waterfall toward Makoto's waist.
Makoto's contracted pupils and [Uninjured Circle] granted superhuman reaction. As Ukitake shifted, he sidestepped, his linear strike curving.
Barely, his blade grazed her sleeve, leaving a shallow cut. This slight pain, like a needle, ignited her nerves, fueling greater excitement.
Her next strike was faster, heavier!
The boiling blood behind her surged forward.
Their blades clashed, a dull thud resonating. Makoto's blade felt like a thousand weights, sinking uncontrollably. Before he could adjust, Ukitake's short blade struck her own blade's spine.
"Thud!"
The force pressed Makoto's blade into his shoulder. His knees buckled.
Ukitake instantly seized this opening, her kick sending Makoto flying like a spinning stone skipping across water.
—Five seconds.
Mid-spin, he plunged his blade into the blood pool to slow his momentum. The next moment, his weakened body erupted with new vitality.
Makoto's feet landed on the blood-covered dojo floor, his entire being like a compressed spring, charging toward Ukitake, carving a wave-splitting arc through the blood.
They clashed.
"Clang clang clang—"
The blur of their movements sparked fireworks and metallic clangs, nearly piercing eardrums.
Faster! Heavier! Sharper!
The broken sword's voice faded, leaving only experience prompts.
[Strike +3]
[Strike +4]
[Strike +2]
In this endless exchange, both master and disciple saw only each other, as if imprinting their souls.
But spiritual pressure's suppression couldn't be broken by courage or battle lust.
Makoto's fragile [Secret Dojo] script was devoured by darkness and blood, its architecture wobbling.
—Ten seconds!
Even with his traits, Makoto reached his limit. His brain, calm despite incredible will, knew his stamina, spiritual pressure, and Zanpakutō were being pushed to the brink.
Muscles tore under extreme strain; his irises were bloodshot; his ankles cracked from constant sidesteps; his blade-wielding fingers were taut, veins visible; his skin was scorched with black marks, every move agonizing…
Even his soul wavered under extreme pressure.
He had every reason to end this. Why push a teacher-student spar this far? To satisfy Ukitake's curiosity? Why fight her at full power with only third-class reiryoku?
Would his body or mind collapse first? What was the point?
Just to indulge in Ukitake's body?!
'Just step back… just step back…'
"Sizzle!"
Makoto's eyes widened, his blade striking before his thoughts.
In the dark red blood, he forced a glowing arc.
A fire raged within him.
"If I did…"
"I'd have no chance to indulge, would I?!"
Makoto roared, his subconscious motive slipping out, sounding absurd to outsiders.
But that was him—so base.
"Clang!"
Squeezing every ounce of strength, he deflected Ukitake's blade.
Makoto raised his head. His dojo, the bound figures, all were swallowed by darkness and blood, lost in endless fear.
—Twenty seconds!!
Yet, Makoto didn't stop. His estimated time was shorter than expected. But it didn't matter.
"Splat!"
His feet sank into the thick blood, his spiritual pressure insufficient for high-speed dashes. But he advanced toward Ukitake's ecstatic gaze.
In that moment, Makoto had one goal:
He might not stab her repeatedly, as in his dreams, but at least once!
His pupils flashed crimson, Gogyo no Asobi thrust forward, its tip glowing with concentrated will.
Ukitake's gaze was treasure-like, yet she attacked without reserve.
Their blades crossed—no metallic clang.
Ukitake looked stunned.
Makoto smiled.
His [Reverse Cause] struck her blade, then her neck.
Though his script was devoured, the last rule-bound power held.
With equal spiritual pressure, in Ukitake's stunned gaze, she barely deflected his blade with her short sword, saving her neck.
The next moment, their bodies overlapped.
Their blades pierced each other.
Ukitake's blade pierced Makoto's shoulder. His blade left a deep mark on her neck.
As he fell, he saw this.
His overstrained body collapsed, but he smiled.
"..."
The black and red blood slowly faded, leaving Ukitake cradling Makoto in her wide sleeves.
Her pale hand stroked his hair.
After an unknown silence, Ukitake murmured:
"Had I known, I'd have waited longer to fight you."
"After today, how can I bear it anymore?"
"Makoto."