Chapter 133: Joyful Carnage

Within the confines of Minazuki's domain, chaos reigned.

Countless colossal wooden fists rained down upon Unohana like an overwhelming tidal wave, threatening to drown everything in their wake. Centered around her, buildings collapsed, and even her once pristine courtyard was now a shattered ruin. A massive crater, forged by the relentless pounding of the wooden strikes, began to form.

There was no doubt that Makoto's replication of a certain memory-born ability, enhanced through his Spirit Particle Manipulation, had unleashed a terrifying force.

Yet, amidst this onslaught, Unohana stood unscathed. Through the gaps between the countless wooden fists, Makoto could see her figure at the epicenter, serene and unharmed. With her Zanpakutō – Minazuki in one hand and a concealed black blade in the other, Unohana's Unparalleled mastery of swordsmanship effortlessly deflected every attack. She even managed to slice through over five thousand of the massive wooden hands.

"You truly are a monster, my dear master..." Makoto murmured, a grin splitting his face as he slowly removed the white glove from his left hand.

Previously, Makoto had only achieved "Perfect Spirit Body" transformation on a single finger. But now, after nearly a year of refinement, his entire left hand had undergone the transformation. Once hailed as the world's perfect surgeon's hand, his current left hand now outshone even that.

A cursory glance was enough to see the perfection of this hand—flawless and divine. The only imperfection was a missing sliver of the pinky nail.

Without hesitation, Makoto pressed his left hand against the wooden colossus, fusing it entirely into the construct. In an instant, through his direct control, the "Perfect Spirit Body" began to integrate into the wooden fists. The hands morphed, transforming into tightly clenched fists with only the index fingers extended.

Then, like an unstoppable barrage of spears, the countless pointed fingers drove towards Unohana with devastating precision and intent to pierce her entirely.

"Makoto, this kind of flashy nonsense…" Unohana's calm voice resonated as her Zanpakutō met one of the giant wooden fingers.

But she paused.

It was different.

Earlier, the wooden fists posed no real threat to her, their strength akin to paper in the face of her overwhelming skill in swordsmanship and spiritual pressure. But now, the sharpness at the tip of these massive fingers was a different matter altogether. They were unnaturally durable, defying her expectations.

Boom!

Unohana's usual method of dissipating force through refined swordsmanship—breaking the attacking object while redirecting its energy—failed. This time, she had no choice but to take the brunt of the attack head-on. Her ethereal figure faltered slightly, dipping under the sheer pressure.

And that was just the first finger.

As Unohana raised her gaze, countless incoming wooden fingers filled her field of vision, blotting out all else.

---

Makoto poured every ounce of his will into controlling the disassembled 'Perfect Spirit Body' from his left hand. Each spiritual particle fragment obeyed his command with pinpoint precision, directing their destructive force. Unlike ordinary spiritual particles, the Perfect Spirit Body was permanently tethered to his soul and irreplaceable. Once detached, it could not regenerate without retrieval.

This gamble, embedding pieces of his soul into the wooden construct, meant Makoto was staking his very essence on this battle.

And still, the clash continued.

But Unohana, with her impossibly sharp instincts, quickly discerned the core of the threat. Only the very tips of the massive fingers carried the unique, impervious property; the rest of their structure was ordinary and easily severed.

---

Makoto gasped as a sharp pain stabbed through his throat. Opening his eyes, he found the all-too-familiar sight: Unohana's Zanpakutō had pierced his throat once again. The precision, the angle, the posture—it was all the same.

She had cut through the storm of wooden fingers, cleaving her way across dozens of meters to impale him with her unparalleled swordsmanship. It was like a blade slicing cleanly through raindrops in a storm—utterly unreasonable, yet flawless in execution.

The only difference this time was the faint trace of disarray on her body, marked by small cuts and a few streaks of blood.

"Makoto, you truly anger me..." Unohana spoke, her tone growing ever more menacing as she licked her lips. "Were you holding back from the start? Is this all you've been hiding? If so, you're finally starting to amuse me. Do you have more?"

"Of course..." Makoto grinned, ignoring the blood gushing from his throat. "If this is enough to satisfy you, then I'm the one who should feel disappointed!"

"What an arrogant statement, Makoto..."

"And you, Sensei, shouldn't be so conceited," he retorted, a crazed smile lighting up his face. "One day, I'll repay this lesson in full—by impaling your throat, with your blood spilling beneath my feet!"

"I eagerly await that day…"

With a swift motion, Unohana withdrew her blade, allowing Makoto's blood to drench her body. To her, this was no humiliation; it was recognition—a reward of sorts. She reveled in the moment, standing amidst the gore of her chosen opponent.

For the first time, a genuine smile of pleasure crossed Unohana's face.

---

Outside the Minazuki domain, following Yamamoto's orders to evacuate all Shinigami from the Fourth Division barracks, a towering figure arrived, exuding raw battle lust.

"Unohana Retsu… Is today finally the day we'll clash in earnest?" Zaraki Kenpachi's fiery gaze burned, his body taut like a predator ready to pounce. Yet, as he approached the already-formed Minazuki space, his expression turned to one of confusion.

"Wait… I'm not even inside yet. Why…?"

For a fleeting moment, Zaraki felt something entirely unfamiliar—a sense of being left out. It was as though the destined duel he had awaited for centuries had been stolen from him.

It felt like receiving a key to a long-anticipated meeting, only to find the door locked… and someone else already inside.

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