Chương 10: A Miraculous Event
A rare Early Chapter from me 🫡
The book is clearly bugged since i even added a chapter for word count and it still shows unranked Its crazy but webnovel do be lile that.
My last nivel was also randomly shadow banned and viewership dropped by 60% within a single day hope this one doesn't gets bombed like that.
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Arima walked silently through the Seireitei with Yoruichi by his side.
The Shihōin compound ahead, its regal walls seemingly untouched by the recent turmoil.
Yoruichi followed quietly, her usual defiance replaced with a subdued demeanor.
Despite her disheveled state, she glanced up at Arima, searching for something in his stoic face—but there was none.
Arriving at the gates of the Shihōin estate, Arima stopped.
Two guards flanked the entrance, their expressions wavering between confusion and surprise at the sight of their former head.
Arima spoke, his voice sharp and curt.
"Take her inside. Ensure she rests. She is to resume her duties as head of the Shihōin clan."
The guards hesitated for a moment before bowing deeply.
Yoruichi, looking up at Arima with wide eyes, opened her mouth as if to speak—but no words came.
Arima turned without another word, leaving her there.
---
As he walked toward the 4th Division barracks, Arima's usually controlled thoughts churned with silent fury.
How dare they? he thought coldly, his gaze sharp as his footsteps cracked the ground ever so slightly.
The audacity of those noble stand-ins to question his decisions—to presume they held authority over him—was a direct insult to his pride.
He had made a deal with Ichibei Hyōsube, the Grand Monk himself, to protect the Seireitei, a duty far beyond the petty games of the noble clans.
And yet, these fools dared treat him like a servant, ignorant of his role.
"Uneducated ingrates," Arima muttered under his breath, his tone venomous, though his face remained stoic.
---
Reaching the 4th Division, Arima stepped through its gates without announcing himself.
The usual calm atmosphere was disturbed as the faint sound of his footsteps brought every unseated member to a halt, their eyes widening at the sight of him.
He ignored them, his focus solely on one person.
Inside her office, Unohana was seated calmly, finishing a stack of paperwork.
Her vice-captain, Isane Kotetsu, stood beside her, relaying a report.
Before either of them noticed, Arima had already stepped into the room.
"Unohana," he said, his voice calm but commanding.
Unohana looked up, her serene expression only flickering momentarily in surprise before she smiled softly. "Arima.—"
Before she could finish, Arima crossed the space between them in an instant.
Without a word, he bent down, scooped Unohana into his arms in a flawless princess carry, and stood back up.
"Wha—?!" Unohana gasped, completely caught off guard, her calm façade shattered.
Her cheeks flushed lightly, a rare sight. "A-Arima! What are you doing?"
Isane froze, her clipboard clattering to the ground as her jaw dropped. "C-Captain?! A-Arima-dono?!"
Unohana weakly protested, her voice lacking her usual authority as she flailed slightly.
"This is… highly improper… Put me down... this instant!"
Arima ignored her protests entirely, his face as impassive as ever, though his movements were decisive. "I need you to calm me down," he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"C-Calm you—?!" Unohana stammered, looking like a flustered girl rather than the legendary captain she was.
Isane could only stare slack-jawed, unable to comprehend the scene in front of her.
Arima turned on his heel and walked out of the room with Unohana still in his arms, leaving Isane frozen in stunned silence.
The stunned whispers of the 4th Division members followed him as he strode through the barracks, utterly unbothered by the attention.
As he carried Unohana, her protests gradually died down, replaced with a defeated sigh. "You truly are impossible…" she muttered, though the faintest of smiles tugged at her lips.
"Perhaps," Arima replied flatly. "But I require your presence Immediately. Your company is… soothing."
Her cheeks flushed again, but she said nothing more, resigning herself to the situation as Arima carried her away, his anger slowly beginning to settle.
---
As Arima streaked through the air with blinding speed, the world blurred around them.
His hybrid movement technique—faster than anything most could perceive—ensured they reached their destination in mere moments.
Before long, they were within the confines of their shared home, the quiet hum of the world outside replaced by the stillness of the room.
The door slid shut behind them with a faint thud, and before Unohana could regain her composure, Arima was upon her.
With a fervor he rarely showed, he captured her lips in a searing kiss.
His hands wrapped around her back, pulling her flush against him as if trying to erase the space between them.
His fingers moved tenderly , tracing the soft contours of her body beneath her robes.
Unohana's brief surprise gave way to acceptance as she melted into his embrace.
Her hands, steady and practiced like the healer she was, moved up to his chest.
With a deft touch, she began unbuttoning his coat, the fabric parting to reveal the strength he kept hidden beneath his stoic exterior.
Each button undone brought her closer, and her own lips began to match his fervent rhythm.
Arima's movements grew more deliberate, his kiss deepening as his hand slid upward, his palm grazing her bare skin with a gentleness that contrasted the strength he held.
Despite the frenzy of his emotions, there was a reverence to how he touched her—controlled yet desperate.
Her breathing hitched slightly as she finally pushed his coat off his shoulders, the heavy garment falling to the floor with a muted sound.
Arima paused only for a moment, his piercing gaze locking onto hers.
There was no need for words—his eyes said everything.
She nodded faintly, a soft smile tugging at her lips before he leaned in again, claiming her once more.
---
As they stumbled their way to the room, the remnants of their clothing lay scattered, forgotten along the path.
Their bodies were tangled in a frenzied, wordless dance of passion and longing.
When they finally parted for a fleeting moment, Arima straightened, his crimson eyes burning with quiet intensity as he took her in.
Unohana stood before him, her body illuminated faintly by the ambient light filtering into the room.
To him, it was as if she were sculpted by divine hands—flawless and breathtaking in every sense.
But his gaze inevitably fell to the scar etched upon her abdomen, a single imperfection that made her, in his eyes, even more extraordinary.
It was a scar he had given her—the mark of a battle that forced him to draw his true Zanpakutō.
Not IXA nor Narukami, but his actual blade.
That moment, etched in his memory, was one where she transcended the limits of a shinigami, becoming one of the few whose sword could not be severed by IXA, the Lance of Boundary.
In that small, elite group were beings like Ichibei Hyōsube and Ōetsu Nimaiya, and Unohana had earned her place among them.
A testament to her strength, to her unwavering resolve.
When he'd offered to heal the scar, she had refused, instead choosing to bear it as a commemorative mark—an eternal symbol of her triumph over her own limits.
Arima's hand reached out, his fingers brushing delicately over the scar.
His movements were uncharacteristically tender, reverent almost, as he traced the raised skin with his touch.
Unohana shuddered under his fingertips, her breath catching as a soft tremor ran through her body.
Her face was a canvas of pleasure and vulnerability, her lips parted slightly, and her cheeks dusted with a faint flush.
For a moment, Arima paused, his gaze lingering on her.
He spoke no words, but the silence between them carried everything: respect, admiration.
His hand continued its journey, moving gently along her scar and then upward cupping her breasts, his touch igniting every nerve along the way.
Unohana's eyes fluttered shut, her head tilting back as she let herself surrender to the moment, to him.
Arima leaned closer once again, his lips kissing her neck as he pulled her back into his arms, their bodies fitting together as naturally as the forces that brought them together.
Arima gently lowered Unohana onto the bed, the softness of the sheets cradling her as he loomed above her.
His form was imposing, a stark contrast to the quiet tenderness with which he held her.
Their eyes met locking into each other.
He reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, his palm pressed firmly against hers.
It was instinctive, a gesture he'd never given much thought to, yet at this moment it felt significant—as if anchoring them together.
His eyes, ever so subtly, began to glow with a deep crimson light, a manifestation of something primal within him that even he did not consciously summon.
Even though they had shared nights like this countless times before, tonight felt inexplicably different.
Something clicked into place, as though an unseen barrier had shattered, and their souls were now in perfect harmony.
Unohana's breath hitched as she felt it—a resonance, an intertwining of their very beings.
It wasn't simply their bodies moving together but something far deeper, a convergence of their spiritual energies.
As Arima reached his end, a surge of that energy pulsed through both of them.
His crimson eyes flared brilliantly, their light reflecting in hers.
A shiver ran down her spine as she gasped softly, her own energy answering his in perfect synchrony, creating a ripple that spread through the room, unseen but deeply felt.
Arima stilled above her, his breathing slow and steady, though his gaze remained locked on hers.
For a long moment, they said nothing—there was no need for words.
It was as though, in this single act, a deeper bond had been forged, something beyond comprehension or explanation.
"…Yachiru," Arima murmured softly.
Unohana looked up at him, her expression equally calm, though there was something new behind her gaze—a silent understanding of what had just occurred.
It was instinctual, a truth they both understood without words—a miraculous occurrence that had defied time, a realisation of something they had desired for centuries.
The resonance they felt moments ago was not just a convergence of their energies—it was the spark of new life.
A child, born of their combined souls and immense spiritual power, had been conceived.
Unohana's eyes widened, shimmering with tears as the realization washed over her.
A hand trembled against Arima's as she whispered, almost in disbelief, "Arima..."
Arima's stoic expression broke for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
His crimson eyes softened, tears gathering at their corners as the moment settled upon him.
He looked at her, mirroring her emotions—a raw, unguarded happiness neither of them had ever allowed themselves to dream of.
Without hesitation, he gathered her into his arms, holding her close as though she might vanish if he let go.
Unohana buried her face into his chest, her tears flowing freely now—tears of joy, relief, and overwhelming love.
"We did it..." she whispered shakily, her voice cracking under the weight of the moment.
"After all these centuries... we did it."
Arima rested his chin on her head, his arms tightening protectively around her.
For a man who had faced countless battles and unending trials, this was a moment of pure peace—a miracle he had never thought possible.
"Yachiru..," he murmured softly, his voice uncharacteristically tender, "this life... I will protect it. No matter the cost."
Their embrace deepened, the room around them still crackling faintly with the lingering energy of their resonance.
For the first time in centuries, their hardened exteriors fell away completely, leaving only two souls connected by love, hope, and the promise of a future they had long thought unattainable.
In this fragile, precious moment, the White Reaper and the Healing Demon knew nothing of war, duty, or power—only the miracle they now held between them, a life forged of their bond.
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