Shinigami: Medicine Can't Save The Soul Reaper Society

"The Most Beautiful?"

Unohana tilted her head slightly, as if she'd just heard an amusing phrase, and asked with a faint smile.

"Of course, Unohana-sensei is undoubtedly the most beautiful female Shinigami in all of Soul Society. It's only because the Seireitei hasn't established a beauty ranking that you're not officially crowned at the top..."

Makoto answered earnestly, his expression sincere. Then, as if struck by inspiration, he added:

"It's precisely because of this that whenever I try to design uniforms for the Fourth Division's medical team, I can't help but imagine them on you, Sensei."

Unohana's smile deepened, taking on an ambiguous edge. "So… you're blaming me for this?"

"No, no, not at all! How could I possibly blame you, Sensei? Your elegance and beauty are simply beyond control—it's inevitable!" Makoto spoke as if in perfect understanding, his tone full of innocent admiration.

At this, even Unohana couldn't help but feel a flicker of exasperation.

Was this man coated in Teflon or something?

He'd not only used her as the muse for his "creative" designs but had even conjured up strange poses and movements based on her image—yet somehow, by the end, it was all supposed to be her fault?

If this had been before her birthday banquet, she might have seriously considered whether she needed to "train" a new disciple.

However, Makoto had become someone important to her—someone she'd genuinely accepted into her heart.

Meanwhile, Makoto, who was meticulously observing her subtle changes in expression, noticed something curious: Sensei didn't seem nearly as upset as he'd feared.

In that instant, a bold idea began to sprout in his mind.

Could this be… a golden opportunity?

Clearing his throat, Makoto cautiously ventured, "Sensei, these poses and designs are actually inspired by artistic concepts from the human world…"

Unohana raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Explain."

"For instance," Makoto continued, flipping open a sketchbook, "this pose is called the 'duck sit.' I noticed that Sensei often kneels for extended periods, which, though elegant, isn't great for your knees or ankles. The 'duck sit' distributes weight more evenly, making it a healthier alternative. You could try it in the privacy of your courtyard—there's no need to worry about decorum."

Unohana glanced at the sketch, which depicted a stylized version of herself in a short white medical coat, sitting in the so-called "duck sit." The pose was both charming and subtly alluring, leaving little to the imagination regarding how it was drawn.

After examining the sketch, Unohana's tone was laced with amusement. "So, you're saying all of this is an expression of your filial piety?"

"Absolutely! My devotion is as clear as the sun in the sky!" Makoto declared without hesitation.

With that, Unohana flipped to the next page, where another "pose" awaited. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she asked, "And what about this inappropriate posture?"

Makoto's gaze followed hers, landing on an illustration of her standing with arms crossed under her chest, hands clasped lightly at her stomach. It was a seemingly normal gesture, but in Makoto's realistic style, her exaggerated figure turned it into something entirely different.

"Uh, well…" Makoto stammered, his eyes darting about as he scrambled for an explanation. "That was to test the practicality of the uniform. I considered how bending forward for medical treatment might affect mobility or… create obstacles…"

"There's no need to worry," Unohana interrupted calmly. "I would never treat patients in such a position."

"Why not?" Makoto blurted out reflexively.

"Because it would obstruct my line of sight," she replied matter-of-factly.

Makoto froze, his mind racing as he processed the implications.

Unohana, meanwhile, chuckled softly. "Still, Makoto, it seems you've studied my figure in great detail. The proportions are spot-on."

Naturally, Makoto dared not confirm or deny this outright. But as a skilled medical practitioner well-versed in anatomy, he had indeed spent considerable time familiarizing himself with her—purely for professional purposes, of course.

It was like an experienced electrician who could tell whether a wire was live just by touch; it came with the territory.

Unohana proceeded to point out several other poses in the sketchbook, each more daring than the last. Makoto, wielding his unshakable composure and "pure" intentions, managed to rationalize them all with various medical and artistic justifications.

"So, in the end, it seems Makoto is truly acting out of loyalty and devotion," Unohana remarked, her tone neutral but her words leaving no room for interruption. "Surely you've also prepared some uniforms to go along with these designs?"

Makoto's heart skipped a beat.

Sensei… had actually been convinced this easily?

Could it be that, in certain ways, she was surprisingly gullible?

Feigning calmness, Makoto retrieved several prototype uniforms, designed more for private experimentation than for practical use in the Fourth Division.

However, instead of trying them on, Unohana leisurely poured herself a cup of tea. She gestured towards the uniforms and said, "Well, Makoto, what are you waiting for? Try them on."

"…Eh?!"

Makoto's brain short-circuited. Pointing to himself, he asked hesitantly, "Sensei… you mean me?"

"Who else?"

Unohana's gentle gaze brimmed with amusement. "As captain, I must ensure these uniforms are suitable for all members of the division, including male Shinigami. You're the perfect candidate to test them."

Makoto stood frozen, his mind reeling.

"Oh, and Makoto…" Unohana added, holding up the sketchbook. "I still don't quite understand these poses. Why don't you demonstrate them for me? Surely, someone as devoted as you wouldn't refuse a simple request from their Sensei, would you?"

(;OдO)!!!

Makoto internally screamed: "Sensei, I admit I was tempted by your beauty! Can I still beg for forgiveness?!"

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