Chapter 110: For as long as I live

Makoto shifted his attention back to the bouquet of white lily flowers before him, his mind recalling all he knew about these blossoms.

The Spiraea flower was known for its densely clustered blooms, pure white like freshly fallen snow. When in full bloom, it exuded an understated elegance.

This flower had become Makoto's favorite material over the past six months of studying ikebana. It resonated deeply with his inner world, reflecting his state of mind like no other.

Risa wasn't wrong, of course. From the perspective of traditional flower arrangement, using only a single type of flower, such as the Soushu, was overly simplistic.

But to Makoto, this simplicity was precisely the point. In his composition, a single bouquet of Spiraea flowers was more than enough. He had no affection for elaborate embellishments.

If simplicity required a companion, then perhaps...

As his thoughts turned, Makoto slowly released the power of his Zanpakuto, Shinro Bansho. A patch of grass extended outward from his feet, forming a lush green field about a meter in diameter.

Several blades of grass sprouted and began to grow, stretching toward the porcelain vase holding the Spiraea flowers.

This unusual display caught the attention of Unohana, who had been conversing with other captains in her usual gentle and composed tone. Her words faltered, and her gaze shifted towards Makoto.

As one of the foremost ikebana masters in the Seireitei, Unohana was well-versed in the characteristics of the Spiraea flower, including its symbolic meanings and alternative name.

Though Makoto's work was still in its early stages, Unohana could already sense the purity and fervor of the sentiment he sought to convey.

"Makoto… you're not…"

Her voice trailed off as she watched, a rare hint of vulnerability flickering in her otherwise meticulously controlled demeanor.

The other captains, less familiar with ikebana, watched the scene unfold with mild curiosity.

"Ah, so that's the ability of Senju Makoto's Zanpakuto? I've heard it can generate wood for both healing and combat," one mused.

"It does seem rather similar to the abilities of former Twelfth Division Captain Kirio Hikifune," another remarked.

"Still, using it for ikebana? That's… unique," someone chuckled.

Meanwhile, Kyoraku Shunsui and Hirako Shinji, true to their easygoing reputations, paid little attention to the artistic display, instead whispering about the female members of the Fourth Division.

"So many adorable young ladies here, wouldn't you agree, Captain Kyoraku?" Hirako nudged.

"Ah, Captain Hirako, I do, but you might want to rein it in before Captain Unohana notices," Kyoraku replied with a playful cough.

Makoto, however, had long tuned out the distractions. Immersed in his creative process, he carefully guided the grass toward the vase.

The grass wove around the Spiraea flowers, their slender blades climbing gently along the stems. Each blade varied in length, its movements calibrated with precision. The connection was seamless, as if the grass and flowers were one.

Finally, the grass reached the base of the bouquet and fused with it through the spiritual energy of Makoto's Zanpakuto.

In an instant, the Spiraea flowers, which had begun to show faint signs of wilting after being cut, regained their vitality. They now radiated a fresh and vibrant beauty, as though newly plucked.

"Success…"

Makoto couldn't help but smile, a pure and unguarded expression of satisfaction.

Although he had practiced extensively in secret, achieving such flawless results on the first attempt was a source of genuine joy.

Now for the finishing touches.

With a thought, Makoto directed the grass to grow upward in unique patterns that would be impossible with traditional methods. The intricate shapes surrounded and cradled the Spiraea flowers, accentuating their elegance.

"It's finished," he murmured, withdrawing the release of Shinro Bansho.

He gazed at his creation with quiet pride. Though he had left the flowers unaltered—natural imperfections and all—Makoto considered this simplicity its greatest virtue. To him, the untouched Spiraea flowers were the ideal medium for expressing his inner world.

Satisfied, he lifted the vase and placed it gently before Unohana.

"Sensei," he said with quiet reverence, "I have little to offer, so I present this ikebana arrangement as my gift to you."

"A gift?"

Unohana's voice was soft as she regarded the arrangement. "Makoto, does it have a name?"

After a moment's contemplation, he replied, "Sensei, how about The Forest and Spiraea?"

Unohana cradled the vase with the utmost care, as though it were a priceless treasure. As her fingers traced its details, a shadow of melancholy crossed her face.

"Makoto," she murmured, "no matter how perfect a work of ikebana may be, it will eventually fade, just like life itself…"

"It won't," Makoto interrupted gently, his tone uncharacteristically firm.

He explained, "Sensei, much of The Forest and Spiraea is sustained by my Zanpakuto's abilities. Its connection to the flowers' roots ensures that as long as I live, this arrangement will remain unchanged."

Unohana's eyes trembled, as though a long-buried emotion had been stirred.

Ikebana was an art form meant to reflect the heart's innermost feelings. In this seemingly simple composition, Unohana sensed an overwhelming depth of sentiment.

Though Makoto had spoken no direct words of affection or devotion, the message carried by The Forest and Spiraea reached her with piercing clarity.

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