"Instructor Saito, it's this way."
"A little further ahead."
Amid the howling winds, a voice called out.
The man held a newly developed spiritual pressure tracker from the Technical Department, scanning the area as he led the way.
But before he could finish speaking—
A petite figure shot past him like a gust of wind. Her Shunpo was so fast it surpassed a Hollow's Sonído, her twin dark-purple pigtails streaming behind her like straight lines.
Saito Furoufushi, sword at her waist, raced toward the lingering spiritual pressure, her usual battle-hungry grin absent. A rare seriousness darkened her single eye.
After Shiba Yozuru returned to the Genji School and reported Fujimiya and Chōjirō's encounter with Menos—how they'd stayed behind to cover their retreat—
(Chōjirō's fate didn't matter much.)
But Makoto…
In every sense, he was one of the Genji School's most important members.
When the news first spread, everyone had despaired upon hearing he'd faced a Vasto Lorde and an Adjuchas alone. Even an experienced instructor could die instantly against such odds—let alone a still-developing prodigy like Fujimiya.
Only a dazed Uozumi Kanshō and Saito herself had vehemently objected.
In the end, Unohana Retsu—now overseeing operations—had the final say:
"He should still be alive."
The woman's face had been as expressionless as ever.
But having dealt with her for so long, Saito sensed a faint trace of… anticipation in her tone.
"Damn it, isn't he your own student?!"
Saito cursed under her breath, unsure why she was even angry. Her pace quickened.
"SWISH—"
In an instant, she arrived at the center of the wasteland.
Her single eye scanned the area, zeroing in on the figure lying motionless amid the residual spiritual pressure.
In a flash, she was at his side, flipping him over.
Fujimiya Makoto.
Saito's lips pressed into a thin line, her eye unreadable—but not panicked. Her slender hand pressed against his chest, a wisp of spiritual pressure probing his Saketsu.
The moment she confirmed it, she exhaled in relief.
A smirk tugged at her lips.
Still breathing!
But then—
Her gaze swept across the devastated landscape.
The desert-like wasteland stood in stark contrast to the darker, vegetation-covered soil beyond.
"This kid's opponent… was no joke."
For once, excitement flickered in Saito's eye, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.
Then she noticed something else.
Kneeling, she examined the dark bloodstains on the ground.
From the enemy Fujimiya wounded?
Given her Zanpakutō's blood-related abilities, Saito instinctively reached out to touch the stains.
But the moment her finger brushed the sand—
The ground collapsed slightly.
Saito blinked.
The indentation… looked like a sword scar?
A thought struck her. She turned to Fujimiya, then waved her hand—
"WHOOSH—!"
A gust of wind blasted away the sand for hundreds of meters, revealing countless craters.
Saito stood silently, staring at the scar that stretched all the way to the horizon.
Her single eye widened slightly.
For a long time, she just stood there, lost in thought.
Then—
"THUD."
She suddenly stomped on Fujimiya's face, grinding her foot in as she yelled:
"You bastard!"
"You only swing a sword like that when your life's on the line?!"
"I'm so… pissed off!"
"I didn't even get to see it!"
Mid-rant, she whirled around, her pigtails flying as she roared:
"Hey—hurry up with the medics, baldy!"
The pink and white tabi socks tied to Fujimiya's scabbard swayed gently in the breeze before settling back into place.
Still securely fastened.
...
Meanwhile, Hueco Mundo.
Endless night.
The moon cast its pale glow over the white desert, where the landscape shifted endlessly with the wind. Only the occasional dead tree broke the monotony.
Up close, the "sand" revealed its true nature—countless tiny Hollows, formed from the souls of insects, bacteria, and other weak beings, accumulated over millennia.
Normally, they fought and devoured each other, striving to evolve. When sensing powerful spiritual pressure, they either played dead or were crushed outright.
And if they encountered a severely wounded, immobile Menos whose mask remained intact…
Well.
That was a feast.
But today was different.
"Tap."
A hoof pressed into the sand, leaving a small imprint.
Nelliel trudged forward, lance in one hand, the other dragging Bucha's half-destroyed body.
In this part of Hueco Mundo, no Menos stronger than a Gillian remained.
Most had already flooded the temporary "paradise" of Soul Society.
Ironically, Hueco Mundo itself had become safer.
A gaping wound still marred Nelliel's right chest, healing slowly.
She lacked High-Speed Regeneration, but her saliva had healing properties.
Coupled with a Vasto Lorde's absurd vitality, she'd survived long enough to return.
Exhausted, she finally found a wind-sheltered rock.
Dropping Bucha to recover, she curled up nearby, enduring the pain.
"I-I'm sorry, my lady."
Bucha's voice was weak with guilt. "This was all my fault."
"To have you drag my useless body back in this state…"
"I don't deserve to live!"
"Please… consume me!"
Nelliel didn't even open her eyes.
"I told you."
"Stop saying such things, Bucha."
"But your injuries—"
The Adjuchas tried to protest, but a single glance from Nelliel silenced him.
Grudgingly, he focused on healing.
"My lady."
After a while, unable to contain his curiosity, Bucha whispered: "What happened back there?"
"Why didn't you kill that Shinigami?"
"With his spiritual pressure, you could've recovered some strength!"
From his perspective, Nelliel had simply locked eyes with the Shinigami—
And in the next instant, the tides had turned.
As an outsider, he'd seen nothing of the [Script].
Even now, he was clueless.
Clearly—
Events within [Playlife] were invisible to bystanders.
"..."
Nelliel fell silent.
Memories of the colosseum flashed through her mind.
After so long, even the innocent Antelope Knight had realized something was off.
Yes.
How could a Shinigami with five times her spiritual pressure fight her evenly in close combat?
Even though most Menos relied on claws and brute strength rather than weapons, Nelliel could tell Fujimiya's swordsmanship far surpassed her self-taught lance skills.
If… if he'd gone all out, crushing her swiftly in the script…
Recalling Fujimiya chained and helpless, Nelliel imagined herself in his place—
—Her antelope body bound, limbs splayed, forced to kneel pathetically, spiritual pressure drained, unable to resist as the chains pulled her taut, her fluffy tail trembling uselessly, failing to cover her—
Just the mental image made her shudder.
Wouldn't he have had his way with me?
Had that happened, even victory would've left her traumatized.
Yet he hadn't.
Instead… he'd left the choice to her.
Nelliel's expression grew complicated.
Dignity or life—
Which mattered more?
"...Fujimiya Makoto."
The unfamiliar name was etched into her mind.
A perverted mind, yet unexpectedly principled actions?
The contradiction left her unsure how to judge him.
Though one thing was certain—she wouldn't be visiting Soul Society anytime soon.
"My lady?"
Bucha missed her conflicted gaze.
Nelliel's face flushed slightly as she turned away, her night-shaded eyes reflecting three faint pink hearts.
"Let's just say… I owed him a favor."
"Huh?"
...
As they spoke, both suddenly looked up.
On the distant horizon, a brilliant flame shot into the sky.