A small courtyard, beneath a tree.
Unohana Yachiru (also known as Unohana Retsu) wore a simple, elegant yukata today, draped with a light blue overcoat. Her long, jet-black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, giving her an air of serene refinement.
With her slightly lowered eyelids, she exuded an indescribable, transcendent aura.
At this moment, she sat on the ground, a rough-woven mat spread beneath her knees. Beside her were two cups of tea, still steaming faintly.
Unohana lowered her head, her expression unexpectedly gentle.
"The sky... is round."
Fujimiya Makoto lay on Unohana-sensei's soft lap, gazing up at the half-shadowed blue sky above, a thought surfacing in his mind.
Is this the weight of a person's heart?
Truth be told, when he first heard that Unohana-sensei was going to help him with zazen (meditative sword communion), Fujimiya Makoto had been vehemently opposed.
It wasn't that his teacher's lap wasn't soft enough, nor was it that he didn't want to try communicating with his Zanpakutō again. It was purely because Unohana-sensei's temper was far too unpredictable.
If he wasn't careful, he could very well lose his life.
Even now, Fujimiya Makoto hadn't forgotten the scene of his first battle with Unohana-sensei.
Yet today, she had come to him of her own accord.
And...
Fujimiya adjusted the position of his head slightly, pressing the back of his skull against his teacher's flat, soft stomach. An involuntary, contented sigh escaped his nose.
Is this the warmth of a teacher's care?
It's too much.
How can anyone resist this?
As for the shabby sword tucked under his neck, it hadn't uttered a single complaint since earlier.
Just as he was fully immersing himself in this earthly bliss, he felt a small, slightly cold hand gently caress his cheek. The slender fingers were soft and smooth, resting against his face as if weightless.
Unohana-sensei's gentle voice drifted down from above:
"Haven't you entered zazen yet?"
"Makoto-kun."
That single utterance, though devoid of any threatening tone, sent a shiver down Fujimiya's spine. The fingers brushing his cheek suddenly felt as sharp as a blade, as if they could slice through his skin at any moment.
Then, the fingertips came to a rest against his neck.
Instantly, the hairs on his back stood on end.
Fujimiya Makoto snapped back to full alertness.
This was Unohana Yachiru.
The greatest villain in history.
A woman who had killed more people than he had eaten grains of rice.
"Makoto-kun?"
Unohana Yachiru's beautiful face remained as serene and refined as ever, her eyes devoid of any emotion.
"It's not working, sensei."
"I need to change positions." Fujimiya suddenly spoke up.
"Hm?"
A flicker of confusion had only just appeared in Unohana's eyes when—
Fujimiya abruptly sat up.
Then, face-down, he flopped back onto her lap.
The Mighty Tiger Plummets to Earth Stance!
Unohana Yachiru froze for a moment before looking down at this rebellious disciple who dared to defy his teacher.
Then, a trace of astonishment flickered in her eyes.
At this moment, the fluctuations in Fujimiya Makoto's spiritual pressure had completely stilled, as silent as death.
Clearly, he had entered zazen.
After a long silence, she let out a soft sigh and chuckled:
"As expected..."
"This is Makoto-kun's style."
Seeing his childishly peaceful sleeping face, Unohana Yachiru couldn't help but reach out and gently gather his long hair.
Her fingertips lightly pressed against his spine.
A faint pulse of spiritual pressure seeped in.
...
Unlike the violent transition last time, Fujimiya Makoto's descent into zazen this time was eerily smooth.
Like an astronaut bouncing high on the moon, he slowly descended along the faint pull of gravity.
By the time Fujimiya regained consciousness—
He opened his eyes.
What greeted him was a picturesque expanse of white sand.
The vast sea stretched to the horizon, merging with the beach in a winding line. The summer sun hung high in the sky, barely a cloud in sight.
However, at this moment, Fujimiya Makoto had no mind to appreciate the scenery that would normally captivate him.
Because something far more captivating stood before him.
"You're so slow, Makoto-kun."
"Today, you're the last one out of the changing room!"
A petite girl in a crimson swimsuit stood a short distance away, hugging a float, her face teasing. "As punishment, you're in charge of the post-workout BBQ later!"
Who is this?
Fujimiya Makoto instinctively wondered as he heard her words.
"That's right!"
Before he could react, another girl chimed in, pouting. "Makoto-kun is always like this—so clumsy!"
"Without me around, you can't do anything!"
Fujimiya's gaze shifted toward her, the same question surfacing in his mind.
Who's this now?
But before he could figure it out, he was suddenly enveloped in a soft embrace from behind.
A girl with long, deep purple hair rested her chin on his shoulder, her eyes gleaming with a hint of something unsettling as she whispered:
"What took you so long?"
"Makoto-kun, were you sneaking around with someone in the changing room?"
Almost as soon as she spoke, more and more feminine voices rose around him.
"Makoto-kun!"
"Makoto-kun?"
"Makoto."
The chorus of calls made Fujimiya's heart sink deeper, as if he wanted to lose himself in their embraces.
But the last shred of his rationality abruptly jolted him awake.
"I'll be completely drained!"
The moment this thought surfaced, Fujimiya forcefully broke free from the encircling arms and voices, leaping out of the crowd and landing on the white sand. He frantically scanned his surroundings.
Something's wrong!
What kind of place is this?!
As if sensing his confusion, a familiar, childish voice rang out nearby.
But today, the voice of his shabby sword carried an unusual note of exasperation, as if annoyed:
"We're already inside the [Script], you know."
Fujimiya whipped his head toward the sound.
There, the smallest incarnation of his shabby sword lay on a beach towel, clad in a pink child's swimsuit, a parasol overhead and a cold drink in hand, sipping lazily.
When she noticed Fujimiya's gaze, she reluctantly stood up, dusting the sand off her bottom with a disgruntled huff.
"You're such a nuisance, you know that?"
"I was just starting to enjoy myself!"
"Did you really have to barge in now?"
Fujimiya blinked. "You were... enjoying yourself inside the [Script]?"
"Well, duh!"
"Why do you think I made all those [Scripts] hidden in the 'Study Files'?"
As she spoke, the shabby sword picked up the parasol beside her.
With a flick of her wrist, it transformed into an unfamiliar-looking blade.
She snorted. "Today's side dish was supposed to be this place."
"Now you've ruined everything!"
At that moment, Fujimiya suddenly recalled something the other girl had told him during his last visit:
"—Because it's a reflection of your own heart, the scenarios are all things you'd love. Stuff like Fire Dragon Paradise, Christina Hypnosis Academy, Monte ○ Hot Spring Festival Town, Impar Star Rail… there's actually quite a lot around here."
The moment this thought crossed his mind, Fujimiya's "film radar" started beeping wildly, and the surroundings suddenly grew more and more familiar.
"You can tell, right?"
"This is... [The 100 Girlfriends Who Really, Really, Really, Really, Really Love You (Uncensored)]."
Before Fujimiya could even ask, the shabby sword blurted out the [Script]'s true nature.
The little brat smirked at him, her expression brimming with glee.
Fujimiya's Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled to keep his eyes from wandering toward the girls around him.
If he let his guard down even slightly, his resolve would crumble.
"Wait!"
"Then why are you drawing your sword?!" Fujimiya demanded.
"Isn't it obvious?" The shabby sword's adorable face twisted into a manic grin as she pressed a hand to her cheek. "Think about it—if you were in the middle of enjoying a World Adjustment Mode session, and someone with equal authority suddenly barged in, your first instinct would be to kill them, right?!"
"Besides."
"After going through all that trouble to get here, what's the point?"
"You already know the answer, don't you?"
"Fujimiya Fujimiya!"
Hearing this, Fujimiya could suddenly empathize.
In that case, a fight was unavoidable!
The shabby sword raised her blade, pointing it at Fujimiya as she cheerfully declared:
"Anyway, come defeat me!"
"If you can beat me, Fujimiya Fujimiya—"
"Power, scripts, rules, cute onee-sans!"
"This one-third that belongs to me, I'll hand it all over!"
The moment her words fell, the hundred young girls who had been surrounding Fujimiya earlier had somehow formed a distinctive boundary line around the two.
Fujimiya's expression grew serious as he reached into the air.
An identical blade slowly materialized in his grip.
In the end, it all came down to strength, didn't it?
"Oh, right."
As if remembering something, the shabby sword suddenly giggled and added:
"The loser has to be completely drained by everyone here before they can pass out, okay?"
Fujimiya's grip on his sword faltered, his lips twitching as he fought to keep his gaze steady.
Deep inside, he let out a furious roar—Are you trying to make me lose or win here?!
Their eyes met.
The next instant, the two who shared the same mind shouted the same [Pact] in unison.
Fujimiya and the shabby sword's lips moved in perfect sync:
"First, let's make a promise."
"The first one to be struck in a vital spot loses!"
The moment the words left their mouths, a familiar nursery rhyme chimed in their minds.
The symbol for [Three] appeared above both their heads.
Draw!