While Fujimiya battled the three sword maidens, another fight unfolded nearby—far simpler in nature.
Unohana Yachiru stood quietly, watching her opponent.
In the era of her birth, Ōetsu Nimaiya's legend was still fresh. Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni was a rising star. As the creator of all Asauchi, the "God of Blades" had, in a sense, bestowed immense favor upon all Shinigami.
But to Unohana, none of that mattered.
She cared only about one thing:
Whether this legendary smith was as skilled at killing as he was at forging.
"You won't strike first?" Unohana's smile was faint. "If you don't, I will."
"Less 'won't,' more 'can't.'"
Ōetsu removed his sunglasses, tying his wild hair back. But his attention wasn't on Unohana—
It was fixed on her sword.
His playful demeanor was gone, replaced by quiet focus.
"Every blade I've forged, I recognize."
"Yours... if I recall, should awaken a life-type ability, no?"
Ōetsu lacked Ichibē Hyōsube's power to discern names at a glance. But as a veteran predating the Asauchi era, he had his own quirks.
A side effect of his Shin'uchi.
Sensing Unohana's first-class spiritual pressure, Ōetsu's wariness grew.
Frankly—
This blade carried a stench so thick it unsettled even him.
Blood.
"But."
"Doesn't matter."
Ōetsu stepped forward, his tone light but his stance lethal. "As long as I take your head, it's enough."
"Oh, right—introductions."
He smirked, twirling his blade. "This is one of my failed creations."
"Sayafushi."
"So sharp it cuts high-density reishi. No sheath can contain it."
"Even your blade would—"
"—snap in one clash."
Unohana's gaze sharpened.
Then—
Ōetsu vanished.
His blade split air, dust, sound—everything—without a whisper.
"SHINK!"
Unohana parried, striking Sayafushi's flat.
But Ōetsu merely twisted his wrist. The impossibly sharp edge sliced through her Asauchi like butter.
Unohana's eyes narrowed. She angled her blade and retreated—
Yet even so, a hair-thin nick now marred her sword, nearly severing it.
As sharp as claimed.
"Dodged, huh?" Ōetsu grinned, wagging Sayafushi playfully. "But see how it wobbles? Couldn't even find a proper hilt for it."
"So—"
His voice dropped. "Show me your Shin'uchi—no, 'Bankai,' right?"
"I'm dying to see what this blade became."
Unohana studied him, then her near-broken Asauchi, and sighed.
"So the 'God of Blades' is just this?"
"You don't understand the joy of slaughter at all."
"What?"
Ōetsu frowned.
"No matter."
Unohana raised her blade. "This is getting tedious."
"Bankai."
"Minazuki."
Ōetsu's instincts screamed.
Unohana drew her sword sideways, as if unfurling a ribbon. The blade stretched, warping into a viscous, blood-red streak.
She spread her arms like a corpse on a cross, her voice a hollow chant:
"Bankai—"
"Minazuki."
For an instant, everyone present felt it—
A spiritual pressure so vast it crushed the lungs.
Then, just as quickly, it condensed around Unohana, coalescing into her blade.
Ōetsu's eyes bulged.
Blood—endless blood—dripped from her sword, pooling at their feet. Within seconds, a lake of crimson spanned dozens of meters.
Unohana's spiritual pressure saturated it, forming a domain of slaughter.
This wasn't what I expected.
Life-type Zanpakutō were supposed to heal.
Unohana discarded her broken Asauchi. A new blade, forged from blood, congealed in her grip.
Ōetsu's stomach dropped.
With infinite blades at her disposal, Sayafushi's advantage was nullified.
Mistake. Shouldn't have underestimated her.
He lunged, aiming to end it swiftly.
Unohana's lips curled into a bloody smile.
"Fear. Urgency."
"That's more like it."
She moved.
A crimson arc split the air.
"SHINK—!"
Ōetsu barely blocked—
Only for the blood-blade to phase through Sayafushi, splashing harmlessly before reforming.
Unohana didn't even glance at Sayafushi's counterstrike.
Ōetsu leapt back, but Unohana was already upon him—dual-wielding a long blood-katana and a short dagger, her strikes accelerating into a blinding flurry.
"Too slow—"
"Lift your blade!"
Her onslaught was relentless. Despite Sayafushi's edge, Ōetsu was forced purely on the defensive.
How?!
My blade's sharper!
Hers breaks on contact!
Yet Unohana outclassed him entirely.
She was a dancer finally unchained, reveling in a long-denied performance.
The blood-lake was her stage. Ōetsu—a mere prop.
His crude swordsmanship paled against her refined carnage.
Without Sayafushi, the "God of Blades" would've fallen in moments.
Their spiritual pressures clashed—only for Unohana's to rip through his, feral and unstoppable.
This woman's insane!
A monster!
"Waterfowl Blade."
Unohana's casual call preceded a barrage of blood-slashes.
Ōetsu tried to dodge—
But the blood-lake gripped his ankles.
Not just the blades—
The entire domain is her Bankai!
A single crimson slash grazed his shoulder.
"Heh."
Unohana's grin was predatory.
Shit!
Ōetsu barely blocked the next strike—
Only for a blood-blade to pierce his abdomen through Sayafushi, just as Sayafushi had cut her Asauchi.
He clutched the wound, realizing—
I need to escape this Bankai.
His swordsmanship was trash compared to hers.
Their spiritual pressure was comparable, but her skill eclipsed his.
His only advantage—nullified.
I'll die at this rate.
Need a better blade!
He turned to flee.
"Running?"
Unohana raised her sword.
"SPLASH—!"
A curtain of blood rose before Ōetsu.
Behind it—a reflection of Unohana.
"You still don't understand, Ōetsu."
Her voice was a whisper. "This Bankai is me."
"Here, you don't choose."
"Only live."
"Or die."
Ōetsu stared at the churning blood, forcing a grin.
"You know... life-type Zanpakutō are meant to save lives, right?"
"I didn't forge that blade to drown the world in blood."
Unohana smiled.
"How it's forged is your business."
"How it's used is mine."
"Don't embarrass yourself, Ōetsu."
"As a legend—"
"Die with dignity."
"..."
Ōetsu's grin turned bitter.
"Damn you, Tsunayashiro..."
"Should've never taken this job."
Still, he raised Sayafushi.
Unohana swung.
---
"CLANG—!"
A pristine blade—as if freshly detached—spun through the air before embedding itself in the earth, leaving only the hilt in Ōetsu's grip.
The blood-curtain fell like rain.
At its center—
Unohana, standing.
Ōetsu, headless.
In his final moments, he'd managed to graze Unohana's arm, severing muscle and bone.
But the cost was his life.
Just as he'd said—
Sayafushi's hilt was poorly secured.
The moment Ōetsu fell, the remaining sword maidens screeched, charging toward the blood-lake—
Only to be cut down one by one.
Silence.
Unohana stood alone, expressionless.
"Thud."
Fujimiya appeared, three unconscious sword maidens slung over his shoulders.
Seeing his teacher unharmed, he smiled.
Good. That buys me more time to hide my tracks.
"Unohana-sensei."
He approached—only to find her unusually somber despite her victory.
At the sight of the three captives, her frosty demeanor thawed slightly.
She looked at him, her voice soft:
"Makoto."
"Yes?"
"Grow stronger. Quickly."
"..."
"Huh?"