Bleach: Love and Bonds Make Me Stronger!

The three days promised to Yamamoto passed in a flash.

In that fleeting time, Makoto gradually mastered his surging power, regaining the delicate control he once wielded, no longer swinging wildly as he had during his bout with Katori.

He also took advantage of this rare 'break' to sleep in for a few days.

"Makoto-nii! Makoto-nii!"

"Time to get up!"

"I've already made breakfast, you know."

Kirio stood by the bed, ladle in hand, hands on her tiny hips, puffing her cheeks with an exasperated 'what am I gonna do with you' look.

Makoto sprawled carelessly across the bed, only stirring after a couple of kicks, groggily dragging himself upright.

Sunlight streamed through the window, dazzling his eyes. He yawned widely, mumbling a lazy "Yeah, yeah," as his large hand ruffled Kirio's slightly overgrown pink hair, earning a pout from the little one.

Ever since Kirio was whisked away by Senjumaru for 'personal tutoring,' she rarely returned to Makoto's dorm. Usually, she stayed at the Research and Development Institute, used as free labor for Kidō, child labor, no less.

But after Senjumaru somehow heard about Makoto's bold proposal to intercept Yhwach, she sent Kirio back home, likely wanting her to spend a few days with him.

Life at the institute wasn't kind to little Kirio. Or perhaps Senjumaru's habits were just that awful, serving nothing but bland dishes, that a child barely decades old, who needed a stool to reach the stove, had honed her cooking skills to an impressive level.

And so, Makoto shamelessly passed on his culinary knowledge, along with a heap of household chores.

Having a loli mom sure feels great!

Makoto savored his egg fried rice, grinning to himself.

"Makoto-nii, is it okay to get up this late today?"

As he enjoyed Kirio's service, she tiptoed to hang her oversized apron on a wall hook, turning with a puzzled look.

"Hm?"

Makoto glanced back, confused.

Kirio pointed at the wall clock. "The meeting's at nine, right?"

"Don't all officers above tenth seat have to attend?"

He followed her gaze, and the clock's hour hand was creeping toward eleven.

Five minutes to go.

Makoto's eyes widened.

"Crap!"

No time to finish his meal, he grabbed the Shihakushō slung over a chair, frantically pulling it on as he bolted out the door.

The porcelain bowl spun twice on the table before coming to a stop.

The room was already empty of Makoto.

"Sigh~"

Kirio crossed her arms, staring at the door, shaking her head like a little adult.

"Makoto-nii, honestly."

"Always making people worry!"

...

Makoto's speed was unmatched. With Shunpo and half-dressed flailing, he reached the First Division headquarters in no time.

Two minutes remained until the meeting began.

Familiar figures began to gather around him.

But as they sensed his reiatsu, they froze momentarily, then stepped aside with respectful expressions, clearing a path.

The way was unobstructed.

"Makoto-kun."

"Makoto-sama!"

Not only that, but the senior officers nodded to him, their tones deferential.

Makoto glanced at those parting the way, mildly surprised at first but quickly composing himself, striding forward calmly.

Deep down, though, he was smirking like mad.

So this... this is the result of my strength and achievements being recognized!

This is power!

Makoto instinctively tilted his chin up, chest puffed out.

No matter how the world slandered him, they couldn't erase his battlefield feats.

Especially since he'd taken down a Quincy so formidable they'd caused a captain-level Shinigami to fall.

Surely, even these dimwits could finally grasp his greatness?

With that thought, Makoto felt a weight lift from his chest.

After countless tarnishings by his Zanpakutō, he could finally hold his head high!

It wasn't just on the way.

Even in the open-air meeting hall for all senior officers, heads turned as he entered, their expressions a mix of awe and respect.

Though nominally the fifth seat of the Eighth Division, everyone knew his true standing. A spot was reserved for him in the front row.

From a distance, hushed whispers began to spread about his heroic deeds.

"That's him, right? The one from the rumors... Makoto-sama?"

"He looks so young."

"And quite handsome!"

"Unohana-sama's disciple, no less."

"To think someone so young could pull off that, truly, the young are to be feared!"

Though their voices were low, to a powerhouse like Makoto, now firmly at tier-2reiatsu, they might as well have been whispering in his ear.

Still, he pretended not to hear, standing quietly at the front.

Only his ears perked up subtly.

A middle-aged officer glanced his way, sighing with admiration. "Who'd have thought such an outstanding young man could stand before the Quincy leader and declare he'd violate every female Quincy?"

"Truly astonishing."

Choke!

Makoto nearly choked, his face flushing red.

"Wait, no, that's not right."

A female officer nearby muttered softly.

Makoto's heart eased. Finally, someone who knows the truth.

"I heard he stood before Captain Katori and Senjumaru-sama, swinging his thing like a spinning fan."

The female officer lowered her voice confidently. "And he nearly had Captain Katori right there."

Makoto's body trembled, eyes bloodshot, struggling not to turn around.

Who's spreading these filthy rumors about me?!

"No way, really?"

A younger officer at the back sounded skeptical. "That's Captain Katori we're talking about... you've seen her in action, right?"

Makoto exhaled slightly.

Good. Someone with sense. Rumors die with the wise.

The young officer corrected indignantly, "No, it's Captain Saitō and Captain Katori who were both deceived by him. They fought over who gets Makoto-sama in Senjumaru-sama's underground arena... you didn't see, but half the Research Institute's grounds were blown apart!"

"Makoto-sama was there, stripped bare, and they couldn't even stop him!"

He shook his head, as if in awe.

"What, a scumbag?!"

"That's just wrong. Both captains are beauties..."

The surrounding officers chimed in, their tones a mix of condemnation and envy.

Makoto couldn't take it anymore. He spun around, furious.

And there, in the crowd, was Kuruyashiki Ryōma, whispering away.

Noticing Makoto's glare, he froze, staring at the ground, feigning innocence.

You little punk?!

Makoto's mental grudge notebook: +1.

But before he could stalk over with a vengeful grin, the meeting hall fell silent.

Thud.

A familiar heavy sound echoed from the front.

Yamamoto stepped forward, flanked by the captains.

Once the hall quieted, Sasakibe took over, speaking for the old man.

The meeting's agenda was straightforward: to honor the Gotei 13's meritorious officers with rewards, promotions, and accolades.

Normally, nothing unexpected would happen.

But when things seem routine, trouble tends to stir.

"Eighth Division, Fifth Seat Makoto."

Makoto, half-dozing in the front row, snapped to attention at Yamamoto's gravelly voice.

He looked up instantly.

Yamamoto stood firm, his tone flat. "The military pledge from three days ago, you haven't forgotten, have you?"

Though phrased as a question, the words carried the weight of a statement.

"Yes."

Makoto's expression grew solemn.

Still, Makoto's mind churned with uncertainty.

With Yamamoto's keen insight, he must have seen through the extent of Makoto's power surge three days ago.

Why, then, this unnecessary display today?

Unfortunately, Yamamoto was never one to waste words before acting.

He merely stepped forward from the podium, casually planting his Zanpakutō into the ground, slowly shedding the upper half of his Shihakushō.

His chiseled muscles and the countless scars crisscrossing his body lay bare under the crowd's gaze.

The surrounding officers froze in awe.

Sasakibe stepped forward, his voice sharp. "All non-essential personnel, disperse!"

In an instant, the senior officers in the open-air hall scattered, retreating hundreds of meters away.

Yamamoto stood bare-chested, his expression impassive, his voice calm as still water.

When he spoke, his words carried far, echoing in the ears of every senior officer, making Makoto flinch.

"Three days ago, Fifth Seat Makoto made a request before the assembly of captains."

"He vowed to face the Quincy leader, Yhwach, alone in the next war."

As Yamamoto's voice fell, a wave of shock rippled through the gathered officers.

He advanced slowly toward Makoto.

Drawing his Asauchi, section by section, he continued:

"To earn this chance, Fifth Seat Makoto signed a military pledge three days ago."

"If he can withstand three of my strikes in full view, he may undertake the mission."

The moment his words settled, Yamamoto fully unsheathed his blade, pointing its tip at Makoto, his voice cold. "Is that not so?"

Makoto snapped to attention.

Though the terms differed from the original pledge, he responded with calm resolve:

"It is."

With that, Makoto raised his head, drawing his own Asauchi, meeting Yamamoto's gaze.

Anyone with eyes could see it.

Yamamoto stepping into the role of 'challenger' was not only to cement Makoto's reputation but also to establish his authority.

Three strikes sounded simple.

But when had a man like Yamamoto ever held back?

If Makoto's status as a 'candidate for the next Captain-Commander' had previously been a hushed rumor among a few captains, after today, it would spread throughout the Gotei 13.

Provided...

He survived Yhwach.

The senior officers erupted in an even louder uproar than before.

More than Makoto himself, they knew the true might of their Captain-Commander.

To put it plainly, in the eyes of every officer, Yamamoto embodied the pinnacle of what it meant to be a Shinigami.

For the older ones, who had witnessed Yamamoto in action, those 'three strikes' were an impossible feat.

Kuruyashiki Ryōma, standing in the crowd, froze.

He stared at Makoto facing the Captain-Commander, instinctively pushing through the crowd to get closer.

No matter how much he griped about Makoto's laziness or 'work coordination,' the man's kindness and guidance were indelible to Ryōma.

He couldn't fathom why Makoto would make such a pledge.

But before he could reach the front, his collar was yanked back.

The middle-aged officer from earlier, face stern, pulled him back, shouting to the others:

"Fall back further!"

"It's still too close!"

He wasn't alone, other officers echoed similar warnings.

The middle-aged man gazed solemnly at Makoto, standing before Yamamoto.

Sure, the young man was a lecherous, flirtatious pervert with a penchant for stripping.

But the courage to face Yamamoto alone was enough to earn his respect.

He had seen Yamamoto fight.

Ryōma, at first, seemed confused.

Until the next moment.

Buzz!

A low, muffled hum exploded through the air, radiating from Yamamoto and Makoto, spreading ceaselessly outward.

In an instant, Ryōma and the middle-aged officer beside him wore strained expressions.

Their gazes toward the battlefield were near-terror.

Even from hundreds of meters away, the shockwave of their reiatsu felt suffocating, dragging their bodies down under crushing pressure, their vision flickering and distorting in the haze.

They were like frail infants, unable to even breathe freely.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone floor.

The clashing reiatsu surged against each other.

Makoto's gaze grew heavy.

A glint of approval flickered in Yamamoto's eyes, but his voice remained cold and severe:

"Makoto."

"Have you steeled your resolve?"

"If you can't withstand this..."

"You'll die."

***

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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