Makoto raised the wooden plaque in his hand.
The scene before him shifted with dizzying speed.
Soon, a palace emerged, perched on the edge of a cliff, its silhouette coiling into the cloud-strewn sky.
Makoto took it in stride.
Given the distinctions between the id and the ego, each version of his Zanpakuto seemed to favor its own distinct domain.
And following this sequence, what awaited him here could only be…
"The Superego."
His expression grew solemn.
From the prior two encounters, he'd pieced together fragments of the 'rules' tied to his Shikai.
The id-driven imp wielded the raw, beastly face of desire, her mind fixated solely on eating and indulgence. Beyond that, she was shameless, loose-tongued, prone to tantrums, and stubborn enough to mock him even after being shut down hard. In the heat of battle, she'd even vied for dominance, a mix of flaws and strengths.
That brat was a pure animal, embracing anything that felt good without hesitation.
The ego-driven blade, by contrast, possessed a measure of reason and intellect. She understood right from wrong and knew that if he, her host, perished in the coming war, she'd fare no better as his Zanpakutō.
So long as he met her threshold, she had no qualms yielding her power.
Then…
What trials would the Superego, the embodiment of rationality, morality, and conscience shaped by society and human bonds, impose upon him?
The mere thought stirred a flicker of guilt in Makoto's chest.
He wasn't exactly a saint, after all.
Still, thoughts aside, he strode boldly into the palace before him.
The structure sprawled vast and wide, carved entirely from stone, teetering on the cliff's brink.
Yet stepping inside revealed an uncanny emptiness. Beyond the stone-hewn frame, there was nothing, no adornments, no clutter. A pristine white expanse greeted his eyes, spotless and bare.
Sunlight streamed through gaps in the ceiling, dappling the long corridor with radiant streaks. Beyond the nearby cliff edge, clouds drifted in a flowing sea, the air thinning into a crisp purity.
Makoto pressed deeper into the palace's heart.
At its end loomed a pristine dais of cloud-white stone.
There, seated at the center, was a tall woman, sculpted as if from marble.
Her features mirrored those of the prior two, her snow-white hair cascading to her waist. She appeared perhaps twenty-odd years old, her figure lithe yet full, clad only in a loose yukata. Her eyes, deep and crystalline as a mirrored lake, gazed out over the rolling cloud-sea below.
Expressionless.
Only when the echo of footsteps reached her from behind did her timeless stillness ripple faintly.
She remained perched at the dais's edge, turning her head to regard Makoto as he approached.
But with a single glance, she spoke.
"Go back."
"Your Reiatsu isn't enough to bear my power."
Her voice was warm and melodic, laced with a mature, unintentional tenderness.
Yet even as she spoke, her tone held no inflection.
Makoto didn't buy it. He drew the blade at his waist with a slow, deliberate motion, "I won't know unless I try."
Seeing his resolve, the woman offered no protest. She rose calmly from the dais, turning to face him.
A bladeless sword materialized in her hand.
Makoto faltered for a moment.
The white-haired figure stepped toward him, her voice steady, "By Soul Society standards, the baseline to wield my power is Captain-Class Reiatsu."
"It's too potent for you, as you are now, it would become an unbearable burden."
"To be precise, it would cost you a piece of… your personality."
"Even so, would you still accept a power you cannot shoulder?"
Makoto's pupils constricted at her words.
Personality?
Was that something you could just lose?
"What… are you saying?"
She seemed unbothered by his skepticism, willing to elaborate.
"For instance..."
"Do you still recall the emotion that welled up the first time a girl you liked pinned you to a bed?"
The moment her words landed, even Makoto couldn't suppress a flush creeping up his face.
Something that private…
Did she have to bring it up here?!
"I…"
But as he opened his mouth to reply...
Her bladeless sword swept downward in a silent arc.
A fragment of his deepest memories dissolved into strange bubbles, vanishing abruptly from his being under that gentle stroke.
In an instant, the innocence and fluttering heartbeat of that moment slipped from his grasp.
The thread tying him to that hazy first love severed effortlessly with a single cut.
Her voice remained even, "Now."
"The you of your student days is a docile studious virgin."
Makoto instinctively dredged his memory for a second, then his eyes widened, his voice rising in a wail of despair.
"No way in hell!?"
At that moment, the gravity of it hit him hard.
This woman's power exceeded his wildest imaginings!
The moment her blade fell, it was as if a shallow slice had been carved from his life, leaving an inexplicable void.
Makoto's feet erupted with a fierce surge of Reiatsu, his form flashing toward her.
"First Form - Severing Strike!"
A shimmering ribbon of white trailed his strike as he unleashed the refined technique pilfered from the little imp, honed to perfection.
Yet the woman before him neither dodged nor flinched, merely asking:
"Why do you raise your blade against me?"
In sync with her words, her bladeless sword descended.
For a fleeting instant, Makoto's movements hitched.
The 'thread' binding him to this woman bore a subtle, horizontal nick, snapped silently in two.
The urge to cut her down, the drive to seize his Shikai, abruptly faded from his core.
The white-haired woman tilted aside, effortlessly evading his sluggish strike.
"What fueled your resolve to wield a blade?"
At that moment, countless figures flashed through Makoto's mind, those he'd slain, those who'd bested him.
A dense web of connections, spanning two years of his life.
Yet as her blade fell once more...
Every tie to those souls was severed soundlessly.
Makoto froze, a glimmer of bewilderment and emptiness seeping into his gaze.
The blood-forged courage that had shaped him from a novice into a decisive swordsman over years of relentless combat ebbed away in an instant.
A person is but an accumulation of experiences and outcomes.
Strip that away, and what remains is merely a useless…
Husk.
The woman watched him quietly as if awaiting something.
Clang.
Makoto's sword slipped from his grasp, striking the floor with a crisp ring.
His steps faltered, unsteady, yet he staggered toward her.
She merely raised her bladeless sword, leveling it at him.
Her calm inquiry persisted, "Even after losing so much, do you still seek this power you cannot bear?"
Makoto lifted his eyes to the white-haired figure.
Her demeanor remained cold and composed, unshaken from start to finish, like a machine fulfilling its task, silently awaiting his response.
"Don't forget your true heart, okay?"
"Makoto-kun."
For reasons unknown, the ego's voice surged from recent memory, unbidden.
It pierced deep into his mind.
His true heart.
A realization dawned, and a strained smile tugged at Makoto's lips.
He raised his foot, hesitant at first, uncertain, then planted it firmly, his strides widening as he charged straight at the woman brandishing her blade.
She asked again, unruffled, "The you of now, just what…"
Makoto cut her off with a fierce shout, "Enough!"
Sidestepping her bladeless edge, he lunged recklessly bare-handed and fearless grabbing her collar with a feral grin and swinging his fist.
A solid thud landed square on her face.
Makoto bellowed as if baring his rawest truest self, "Who needs a reason?!"
"Even if it's just to flip you over, I've got to land this punch!"
"Where's my damn sword?!"
Yet, despite his brazen assault, a faint smile crept onto the face of the woman who'd taken the blow.
"You weren't blinded by the 'causality' of your memories, hm?"
"Not bad."
"But still, it's not enough."
At her murmured words, Makoto paused.
In the next breath, she reached out, her form materializing before him in a blink, her finger pressing to the center of his forehead.
A sudden ripple of Reiatsu fanned outward in all directions.
Makoto's vision plunged into darkness.
Until, at the last, a gentle voice lingered in his ears.
"When you reach the threshold you can withstand..."
"Come claim my power then."
Her words faded, and the world before him wavered like mist, dissolving into nothing.
When Makoto opened his eyes again...
A soft, warm sensation brushed his cheek.
A slender hand descended, tenderly stroking his long hair.
His vision remained a sea of black.
A faint, delicate scent of yarrow lingered in the air.
Fresh from Jinzen, his mind still hazy, Makoto instinctively reached out, arms circling the slender waist atop those thighs, craving to sink deeper into that warmth, to surrender to it.
But then, a familiar voice sounded in his ear.
"Awake already, Makoto-kun?"
That voice, warm and nurturing, seemed to carry the gentle smile he could almost hear in its cadence.
Yet...
In an instant, a primal dread akin to facing mortal peril surged within him.
He jolted upright, snapping free from that comforting lap pillow.
Unohana sat with a teacup in hand, her long hair unbound. Sensing his gaze, she turned to him with quiet poise.
Cold sweat beaded on Makoto's forehead.
Damn it.
He'd nearly forgotten it was Unohana-sensei!
***
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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