If one-on-one combat is akin to a solitary dance between two partners at a ball, then one-against-many battles are like a chaotic free-for-all in the center of the dance floor. In the instant blades clash, the only way to survive the relentless onslaught of multiple attackers is to find a sliver of an opening and break through with pinpoint precision.
Fujimiya Makoto's speed was nothing to scoff at. After days of training and combat, his Shunpo and swordsmanship had both reached the level of the Twelfth Rank.
To put this into perspective compared to an ordinary Shinigami, it would be equivalent to the level a prodigy like Tōshirō Hitsugaya in later years might achieve after a century of relentless training. In terms of pure swordsmanship and Shunpo finesse, even the renowned Eleventh Division of the Genji Dojo had few who could match him.
However—
The enemies he faced were three powerful Zanpakutō, personally forged by Ōetsu Nimaiya.
BOOM!!!
Tsuchimuro Tsumiko swung her massive black hammer. The handle, forged entirely from her own teeth, bent like the most flexible waxwood or rubber as it carved a shrieking arc through the air before slamming down right in front of Fujimiya Makoto.
Even with his current level of spiritual pressure, Fujimiya couldn't hope to block such force head-on—he could only dodge.
"Too slow, little man!"
Hashihara Renge, her long golden hair flowing, laughed as she flicked her locks forward.
Her hair cascaded like a waterfall, strands twisting and surging toward Fujimiya. What seemed like loose, flowing hair effortlessly crushed flying debris the moment it wrapped around them. A few strands braided together formed the toughest, most vicious whips, lashing down with a howl that blotted out the sky.
Knowing he couldn't dodge, Fujimiya pressed his left index finger against the blade of his Zanpakutō and slid it down. A faint glow coated the edge like a thin film.
His eyes sharpened.
"First Form: Modified—Arc Strike!"
Speed surpassing sound merged with the dance of his blade as he spun. The slash tore through the air like a true beam of light, piercing through layers of hair with a brilliance that wove into a seamless ribbon. His figure flickered as he dodged and cut, severing the relentless strands midair.
[Swordsmanship +2]
[Hairplay and back control are fine and all, but if you accidentally get something on it, it's gonna be a pain to wash out later!]
Fujimiya ignored Kowareta's usual nonsense, pressing forward toward Hashihara Renge with his blade leading the charge, his body almost merging with the slashes.
The usually playful Hashihara Renge yelped as her hair was shredded to pieces.
"Mera! Tsumiko!"
"Help me out here!"
"I-I'm no good at close combat!"
But just as Fujimiya closed in, the panicked woman's expression suddenly shifted—into a bright, triumphant grin.
The next instant—
The petite Sumijima Mera lunged out from behind her.
"I've been waiting for this!"
Her bare feet kicked off the air as if stepping on solid reishi, propelling her straight toward Fujimiya. Flames erupted from her hands and feet, swirling into blazing chains as she spun midair.
"Flame Dance—!!"
Fujimiya's first instinct was to slash.
But in the next moment, he sensed a subtle shift in spiritual pressure—and his pupils constricted.
"Shun!"
His body vanished from the spot, reappearing over a dozen meters away.
Sumijima Mera, still mid-flip, blinked in surprise before snarling and slamming her fist into the ground.
"CRACK!"
A blazing white fireball erupted from the point of impact. Though the crater itself was small, the force traveled deep underground, triggering a series of crisp, shell-shattering explosions. Spiderweb cracks spread outward, and the earth itself seemed to tremble.
"BOOM—!!"
The ground around Sumijima bulged, translucent like molten glass, before pillars of fire erupted skyward with enough heat to sear skin and hair in an instant.
Fujimiya stood just outside the inferno's edge, watching calmly.
"Tch!"
"Just let me hit you already!"
The hot-tempered girl bared her fangs in frustration.
Fujimiya merely observed as the three women regrouped around him, a contemplative glint in his eyes.
His Shikai wasn't suited for crowded battles.
Because anyone who met his gaze would be dragged into the same script.
And given the absolute nature of its rules, even Fujimiya himself couldn't guarantee that allies caught in the effect wouldn't accidentally trigger multiple violations—only to be transformed into toys by the script's penalties.
At that point, winning wouldn't even matter.
Even if he succeeded, he'd never be able to live in the Soul Society as a Shinigami again.
A thousand years later, people might still whisper about the urban legend: "Meet his eyes, and you'll turn into a plaything."
In that case… he'd have to lure these sword girls away from the crowd.
Just as he considered this, he heard footsteps rushing toward the battlefield behind him.
"Fujimiya-sama!"
Kuruyashiki Ryūma charged forward—only for Fujimiya to raise a hand, stopping him.
Facing the three powerful Zanpakutō incarnations, Fujimiya glanced back with a confident smirk.
"Leave this to me."
"..."
For a moment, Kuruyashiki Ryūma felt something profound in that gaze.
Both of them knew.
To counter Zanpakutō of this caliber, they'd need to pave the way with dozens of lives!
Faced with such odds, even Fujimiya-sensei had no choice but to go all out.
The more of these blades he held off, the more lives he could save!
The thought stirred something in the young boy's heart.
But just as he was moved to tears—
A familiar voice shattered the moment.
Kowareta's childish roar echoed:
[Mine! All mine!]
[I'll take all three on by myself! Nobody better interfere!]
[Every last one of you's gonna become Fujimiya's cream puff!]
Instantly, Kuruyashiki Ryūma's emotions flatlined.
The mood was thoroughly ruined.
Now that he thought about it… these were beautiful women—technically married women, at that. Maybe this was exactly the kind of situation Fujimiya-sama would enjoy…?
Fujimiya stood silently.
Though he didn't turn back again, his silhouette carried an inexplicable air of tragic resolve.
Not a word was spoken.
The sword girls across from him, however, were all glaring.
Sumijima Mera, the most hot-tempered of them all, veins bulging on her forehead, snarled:
"Hey, hey—!"
"What's this about cream puffs?!"
"A brat like you wouldn't even graze my ○○○ in a thousand years!!"
[That's 'cause you don't even have any!]
Kowareta loved nothing more than bickering with other sword girls.
Truly, competition breeds contempt.
But the moment those words left its mouth, Tsuchimuro Tsumiko and Hashihara Renge both froze, eyes widening.
"Huh?!"
They turned to stare at Sumijima.
A second later, Sumijima Mera's face twisted into a grotesque, twitching snarl, veins popping in her eyes.
"Charcoal!"
"I'm gonna burn you into a lump of charcoal!"
"You shit-talking little—GYAAAH!"
Before she could finish, she was already barreling forward in a blind rage.
Perfect.
Fujimiya's eyes narrowed. Seizing the moment, he bolted toward the outskirts of the battlefield at full speed.
Sumijima Mera chased after him, howling.
"Mera! Mera!"
"Don't run off too far!"
Hashihara Renge followed.
Only the masked Tsuchimuro Tsumiko hesitated.
"Uh, Renge…"
"Are we really not walking into a trap here?"
"That guy's not weak, right?"
But by the time she finished speaking, Sumijima and Hashihara were already gone, nearly out of sight.
With a sigh, Tsuchimuro jogged after them.
Well.
Ōetsu had ordered them to capture the guy alive, after all.