Shinigami: Medicine Can't Save The Soul Reaper Society

As the officers prepared to leave, Ise Nanao, usually composed and distant around Makoto, stepped decisively to his side, wordlessly signaling her decision to accompany him.

Iba Tetsuzaemon and Shiba Kaien exchanged a resigned glance. It seemed they'd have to find their own way.

But before the meeting could formally conclude, Makoto suddenly stood and bowed respectfully to the three captains present.

Tōsen accepted the gesture with satisfaction, his chin lifting slightly in self-importance. Aizen and Gin, however, instinctively shifted as though to avoid the bow, only to catch themselves and remain still.

"Makoto-kun," Aizen asked, his tone smooth but curious, "do you have objections?"

"Not objections, Captain Aizen," Makoto replied humbly. "The safety of Soul Society is at stake, and your plan seems the only viable course of action. However…"

He hesitated, then continued, "As you all know, I'm only a Vice-Captain of the Fourth Division. My strengths lie in healing and medical arts. My combat abilities are… limited."

Limited?

The captains and Vice-Captains exchanged incredulous glances.

Limited? The same Makoto who had defeated Kuchiki Byakuya's Shikai with his own decades ago? The same man who recently subdued Gin Ichimaru and Soi Fon simultaneously and practically turned the First Division training grounds into a crater?

Seeing their skepticism, Makoto quickly added, "I mean… I rely heavily on my Bankai, and compared to your refined and efficient Bankai abilities, mine is cumbersome and slow. If we were ambushed by an Adjuchas swarm, I wouldn't be able to disengage easily."

He lowered his gaze with an expression of regret.

"So, I'd like to propose that I remain at the camp in Vice-Captain Sasakibe's place. I'll hold the line here and defend the Garganta at all costs while awaiting everyone's safe return."

Makoto pressed his palms against the table, meeting their gazes with steely resolve.

"I promise to stand my ground to the very end."

The simplicity of his declaration carried more weight than Tōsen's grandiose speech about justice. His humility, followed by that unyielding commitment, resonated with the officers.

Nanao's fingers lightly adjusted her glasses, her eyes reflecting his image as though he were the only person in the room.

Aizen studied Makoto with a faint smile. "You're certain about this?"

"Absolutely," Makoto affirmed.

Aizen's eyes narrowed slightly, doubt flickering across his features.

Why? he wondered.

With this opportunity to leave the base, you could easily slip into the shadows and challenge me from a position of freedom. Why willingly lock yourself in place?

He turned to Chojiro. "Vice-Captain Sasakibe, what do you think?"

Chōjirō considered the suggestion carefully. "Vice-Captain Senju makes a valid point. His Bankai is indeed more suited for defense than offense. He would defend the base more effectively than I."

"Very well," Aizen agreed, his curiosity well-hidden behind a pleasant expression. "Makoto-kun, I leave the camp in your care."

Makoto responded with a polite nod. "I appreciate your trust, Captain Aizen. Though truthfully… you're the ones bearing the real burden."

Aizen's lips curved into a matching smile.

---

The meeting concluded.

Aizen, Tōsen, and Gin departed the camp with their respective teams, accompanied by the Vice-Captains who had paired up for the search.

Now, command of the nearly one thousand Shinigami remaining at the base fell to Makoto.

The workload was staggering. Administrative tasks, logistical concerns, barrier maintenance, and Hollow monitoring all funneled to his desk.

Every move he made was subtly scrutinized by the officers around him, wary of potential surprises.

Yet Makoto handled the pressure with practiced ease. His five decades as a Vice-Captain under Unohana had honed his management skills. He kept operations running like clockwork, his daily routine becoming so predictable that the others began to let their guard down.

---

Inside his tent, however, the reality was far less serene.

Makoto stood in front of an identical copy of himself.

"No, no, no!" he snapped. "Walk slower! Keep your chin down. That posture should convey warmth and humility!"

"Yeah, yeah…" the other Makoto mumbled, shifting awkwardly.

"And stop swinging your arms like that. It's too exaggerated," Makoto continued, his frustration mounting.

"Ugh." The doppelgänger sighed dramatically. "This is so hard, Master! I can't learn this stuff!"

Makoto pinched the bridge of his nose.

The "other Makoto" collapsed onto the floor with exaggerated defeat, flopping onto his back with arms sprawled out.

"Boss, it's too complicated. Why do I have to act like you, anyway? Can't I just… be me?" the figure whined.

Makoto crossed his arms and fixed the clone with a glare. "Are you sure about that? Because if you can't handle it… I might have to lock you away. Forever. In the inner world. Like a little ghost nobody talks to."

The prone figure bolted upright, waving its hands frantically.

"NOOOO! Don't do that, boss! If you lock me up, I'll never get to sneak into the Women's Shinigami Association meetings for the konpeitō, honey, and sweet dumplings! And no more sneaking off to play pranks in Rukongai!"

Makoto groaned.

What a disgrace, he thought.

The entity before him wasn't just an illusion; it was Shinro Bansho, his Zanpakutō spirit.

Shinro Bansho's current form was an exact replica of Makoto—visually indistinguishable. But while Makoto's personality balanced sharp intellect with an unwavering sense of duty, Shinro Bansho radiated childish mischief and an almost pathological laziness.

"Look," Makoto said, tone firm, "we need this to work. The 'spiritual body laywap' technique is derived from the power of Muramasa, the Zanpakutō that once materialized other spirits. I've adapted it to create a second body entirely made of spiritual particles."

He pointed at the duplicate. "That second body—you—can move independently of me. Which means I can stay in the tent while you maintain my public routine."

Shinro Bansho blinked, lips pouting. "So… I have to pretend to be boring?"

"Yes. Just long enough for me to move around unnoticed."

Shinro Bansho flopped back down again. "Why not let me go run around and have fun? I could totally charm those female Shinigami if you let me loosen up."

Makoto rubbed his temples.

The technique of spiritual body overlap stemmed from the same principles Muramasa had used to manifest Zanpakutō spirits during his rebellion. For most Shinigami, controlling two bodies at once was impossible.

But Makoto's ability to manipulate spiritual particles allowed him to create this second form, physically identical but devoid of individuality—unless animated by Shinro Bansho.

It would work, he thought, if only his spirit partner could stop pouting.

"Enough whining," Makoto said. "Just get it together. I didn't go through all this trouble just to watch you act like a child."

"Fine," Shinro Bansho grumbled. "But you owe me sweets later."

Makoto sighed and turned toward the tent's exit.

Outside, the desert of Hueco Mundo stretched endlessly beneath its crescent moon. The oppressive silence pressed in on him like a physical weight.

All right, he thought. Let the game begin.

The real Makoto stepped into the shadows, while his clone stood, stretched, and stepped out of the tent to greet the patrol officers with a perfectly measured, humble nod.

The hunt for answers had begun.

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