For once, Fujimiya found himself agreeing with his annoying sword.
Hit-and-run. Strike, then retreat ten meters. Never engage head-on. Every slash aimed squarely at the centaur girl's rear.
Though each strike was blocked, every one felt just shy of landing.
[Swordsmanship +10]
[Swordsmanship +10]
[Swordsmanship +10]
The rapid-fire notifications burned through Fujimiya's nerves like gasoline poured on a bonfire.
It felt like one more strike would do it.
But Nelliel's frown deepened.
The sensation of someone constantly eyeing her hindquarters was… unpleasant. The irritation built with each passing second.
Until finally—
[Swordsmanship: Rank 11 ↑]
The instant his swordsmanship leveled up, Fujimiya's mind flashed with sudden clarity. His blade twisted mid-motion—
From slash to thrust.
Straight for the sheep buttocks.
Nelliel's eyes, hidden beneath her bone helmet, widened.
Her fluffy tail stood straight up in alarm!
At the same time, her lance abruptly accelerated, its conical tip wreathed in dark-green spiritual pressure.
What?!
In Fujimiya's [No-Injury Zone], Nelliel's lance seemed to jump from slow-motion to triple speed.
The sudden acceleration forced him to abandon his thrust, barely managing to shift into a defensive stance as he braced for impact.
But when that devastating strike landed—
"BOOM—!!!"
The force was like a mountain collapsing.
Fujimiya's body froze mid-air as if time itself had stopped.
The impact traveled from blade to shoulder, elbow, ribs—his entire left arm crumpled like paper, hanging limply as blood gushed from the shattered limb.
Like a baseball hit for a home run, his body was sent flying in a deafening explosion of force.
"CRASH—!!!"
He tumbled across the ground, bouncing like a skipped stone before finally rolling to a stop.
His black Shihakushō was torn to shreds, revealing a body covered in bloody gashes. His left arm dangled uselessly, barely attached.
Clearly broken.
"Guh—!"
Fujimiya spat a mouthful of blood, his eyes bloodshot, his vision swimming. Every breath felt like his ribs were stabbing into his lungs.
His body trembled uncontrollably, the pain so overwhelming that coherent thought was nearly impossible.
Only one realization cut through the agony:
She was toying with me this whole time.
A single strike.
That was all it took.
The gap between them was… hopeless.
"Hah… hahh…"
His ragged breathing was more like wet choking. He wasn't even sure if his ribs had punctured something vital.
But his right hand still clutched his sword.
Not just that.
The more his unyielding will burned, the sharper his mind became.
[Wall of Lamentation]
Just as the trait's description stated—The one who forges the strongest version of you is always the self that gets up one more time.
Once proven, forever proven.
Fujimiya slowly pushed himself up—from lying prone, to kneeling, to swaying unsteadily on his feet.
His blade pointed at the Vasto Lorde in the distance.
Nelliel's masked gaze remained fixed on him.
For someone who seems obsessed with attacking posteriors, he's… surprisingly tenacious.
She raised her lance, its tip aimed at him once more.
Fujimiya, despite his trembling arms, extended his Asauchi like a knight ready for a duel.
Battered, but unbowed.
A swirling vortex of dust passed between them, an unspoken boundary.
During his time in Soul Society, Fujimiya had grown accustomed to life-and-death battles.
From his first arrival in Zaraki District, to his duel with Teacher Unohana, to sparring with countless Shinigami after joining the Genji School—
He understood one truth deeply.
People die when they are killed.
And those who wield a sword without being prepared to kill—or be killed—have no right to hold one.
He knew all of this.
But…
If possible, winning was still preferable.
His slightly unfocused gaze locked onto Nelliel as he spoke to his annoying sword:
"Hey."
"At a time like this, shouldn't you be more useful?"
He didn't actually expect much.
From what he'd seen, countless Shinigami died without ever unlocking their Zanpakutō's true power.
But desperate times called for desperate measures.
To his surprise, the sword responded.
[Huh? What are you… talking about?]
[The one who refused to acknowledge yourself… was always you, Makoto.]
[If you'd just accept who you really are—]
[With your purity, you can do anything!]
Refused… to acknowledge?
A chill ran down Fujimiya's spine. Even his battle-hardened resolve wavered for a split second.
The sword's vulgar, shameless lines—weren't those just the kind of nonsense he'd spouted online in his past life? In forums, chat groups, gaming communities, certain websites?
Hadn't he always known?
Wasn't it just because the sword shouted them out loud that he refused to acknowledge them?
No. No more thinking.
I'd rather die than admit it!
Just recalling those memories felt like being mentally flayed alive.
His online persona was just venting. Just joking.
Did saying he wanted a harem mean he actually wanted one?!
You can't take internet nonsense seriously!
In real life, he was someone who kept his quirks perfectly hidden!
That wasn't the real him.
Or so he told himself.
But when he raised his head again—
His bloodshot eyes now shimmered with a faint pink, heart-shaped glow.
"Crack."
Deep in his heart, an incredibly thick wall developed a tiny fissure.
Not completely broken, but no longer unshakable.
[Yes! That's it!]
[Still not perfect, but good enough for now.]
As the voice faded, faint specks of radiant spiritual light began rising from Fujimiya's near-lifeless body.
He looked up.
Nelliel, meeting his gaze, froze.
And in her eyes, the same pink glow flickered to life.
A playful, slightly unhinged voice echoed in both their minds:
[First, let's make a pact.]
[Until my blade pierces your heart—neither of us is allowed to die.]