Chapter 10 (4,317 words)

I

Shūhei had proven his adroitness in the kitchen by improvising a most delicious-looking dinner, mixing together fresh vegetables of all sorts, spices of every grade, and other things, for which he might have found use, in different combinations. The result was that everyone who passed by the buffet table never failed to get the old salivary glands working at the sight of the food. Shūhei had successfully satisfied the aesthetic standard of Food.

However, he hadn’t been so successful when it came to the matter of taste, which was the main thing. Shūhei’s cooking failed to find favor with anyone’s taste buds.

“Shūhei, I feel insulted,” Captain Komamura said effusively; “Here I was thinking I would get something good to eat, and what do I get? The same old dog food, for fear of which I rarely go down to the World of the Living. I never thought you, of all people, would mock me because of my appearance. I’m deeply hurt.”

Shūhei tried in vain to make up for the misimpression of him that his favorite captain (ever since Tousen fled like a coward) had gotten, and the latter kept cutting him off in the course of his apology by making more allegations against him, to refute which Shūhei had to get his brain working harder than he ever had to before. In the end, the rate at which Captain Komamura made allegations exceeded Shūhei’s ability to refute them, and the Squad 9 Lieutenant eventually gave up and slipped away, leaving his favorite captain to continue making allegations against him in sadistic abandon.

The rest of the diners, who had never had the opportunity of tasting dog food, and thus didn’t know what it tasted like, hunted Shūhei down and imperiously questioned him about the edibility of what they were served. Since the food found favor with neither their tongues nor their stomachs—Ikkaku had retired hastily to the washroom after gulping down his first spoonful of the stew, stating that he was going to be sick—they were predisposed to believe that Shūhei had attempted to poison them.

Even Captain Unohana’s manner was austere when she spoke to Shūhei, and the latter’s feeling of being ostracized became more and more pronounced as the feedback came in. It appeared as though, with the exception of Orihime, who had in fact given Shūhei the recipes of the evening, everyone hated the food.

When Kenpachi Zaraki advanced toward a retreating Shūhei with a steely look in his eyes that only those on whom the Squad 11 Captain didn’t want to waste much time fighting were familiar with, Shūhei knew that his fate was sealed. There was just no way he could outrun Zaraki when he was in one of his more violent moods, and even if he approached the other captains, he doubted that any of them would be willing to help him after the dinner they had just had.

“What’s this, boy?” Zaraki asked, fixing Shūhei with a glare. “Trying to stab me behind my back, were you? So that you could run back to your little friends and tell then you’d beaten the Captain of Squad 11, Kenpachi Zaraki, huh? And what would they say if they found out you used cheap means like poisoning his dinner? And what if Kenpachi Zaraki didn’t die and accepted your challenge? What would you do then, huh?”

All the questions were making Shūhei reel. Why couldn’t Zaraki just get to the point and behead him with a single swing of his mighty sword? Why did he have to beat around the bush all the time? It made Shuhei so goddamn nervous!

“No answer?” Zaraki said, smirking. “Well, then you’d better start running. I’m giving you a lead of ten seconds. It’s no fun if the cat catches the mouse before the damn rodent realizes what the hell was happening to it.”

Shūhei swallowed mechanically. He had the distinct recollection of being defeated by the fifth-seat officer of the squad of which the man standing before him, ready to kill him, was Captain. The thought only demoralized Shūhei further and made him realize how painful his end was going to be.

Calm down, Shūhei, he said to himself lamely. Now is the time to think, not panic.

A thought struck Shūhei when the back of his thighs came in contact with the salad counter in the course of his backing away from Zaraki.

“Have an apple!” he said affably, groping behind him and producing before Zaraki the brightest and reddest apple he would have ever seen. Or maybe that was just the optimistic side of Shūhei’s mind playing tricks on him like it did whenever he told himself that his captain would return, or when he believed that the hiding place for his saké was a good one.

“Not interested,” Zaraki said, slapping the apple away from Shūhei’s outstretched arm, nearly sending his hand with it.

That was like a sucker punch to the gonads for Shūhei. That was the first time he had seen someone not succumbing to the sweet temptations that the Apple provided. The Apple... the profoundest fruit in the Soul Society. After all, an apple a day kept Unohana away. Shūhei wondered why Zaraki didn’t see things that way. He surmised that the haughty captain of Squad 11 was unfamiliar with the saying.

“Haven’t you heard, Captain Zaraki?”

“What?”

“The old saying about the Apple?”

“I don’t give a shit about your old sayings. If you want an apple so badly, I’ll pull yours out.” Zaraki sneered. He was alluding, of course, to Shūhei’s Adam’s apple. He was aware that the part had an ‘apple’ in its name, but wasn’t sure of what else there was in it.

“Couldn’t we just talk this over?”

“Sorry, kid, but I don’t like talking.”

Shūhei swallowed mechanically as Zaraki took another step forward.

“I don’t wanna die...” he whispered softly to himself.

“What was that?” Zaraki bellowed. He had uncanny hearing, considering that a dozen or so bells jingled around his head every time he took a step. “You don’t wanna die? That takes all the fun away.” He sheathed his sword, much to Shūhei’s incredulity. “Next time, kid.”

Even after Zaraki strode off toward the place where the rest of civilization was, Shūhei remained paralyzed. His mind had been paralyzed with shock, and he failed to comprehend what had just happened. Had Kenpachi Zaraki, the bloodthirsty warmonger—who would put Jack the Ripper to shame when it came to the matter of bloodlust—just shown him mercy?

Shūhei shook his head.

No. That was unlikely. It was probably his optimistic mind again that was making him hallucinate and believe that Zaraki had left, when in reality he had already disemboweled Shūhei.

And so Shūhei stood there, flat against the wall of a cabin, his arms spread as if he’d been crucified, awaiting his end.

II

Shūhei had lost track of time as he continued standing, completely immobile, against the wall of the cabin—whoever it belonged to. His mind seemed to be exploring the mystery behind why he was still alive and standing after what seemed to be hours since he’d been killed by Zaraki, but in vain. It was beyond Shūhei’s comprehension. One moment Zaraki was there, and the next, he was gone. Vanished. He could have tripped and fallen over at a point beyond Shūhei’s vision, but for a person of Zaraki’s build, pulling off something like that without detection would require the ability to teleport, which Zaraki, or any other Soul Reaper for that matter, lacked.

Shūhei continued to imitate the stance of the Vitruvian Man, contemplating the infinite, until Rangiku just so happened to pass by.

“Shūhei,” she said, jabbing him in the chest.

One musn’t be mistaken: Rangiku didn’t jab Shūhei in the chest out of concern for his health, witnessing his immobile state and strange posture. Her manner toward him was still austere, for, in addition to his messing up Orihime’s beautiful recipe—which was a fortunate happening, actually, since the real thing would have caused Zaraki to skip all the small talk and decapitate Shūhei directly—she blamed Shūhei for switching the candy sack in her captain’s room with the one containing her saké. The latter accusation would seem unfair on Rangiku’s part, but she found it a lot easier to blame someone who was already guilty of a big crime.

It seemed as though it would take a lot more than a light jab to the chest to snap Shūhei out of whatever it was that he needed to be snapped out of.

And thus, Rangiku, acting upon impulse, kicked Shūhei in the groin. One musn’t be under the false impression that Rangiku’s kicks were like the that of the average woman, who couldn’t hurt a fly if they had to. No. Rangiku’s kicks were so powerful that, if she hadn’t been the lieutenant of a different squad, Zaraki might have considered fighting hand-to-hand and leg-to-leg with her regularly.

The results of Rangiku’s kick were accentuated by the fact that she had chosen a most sensitive region to hit Shūhei. He doubled over in pain, resembling the Vitruvian Man when he has had his nuts kicked, and fell to the ground disgracefully, writing in pain.

Rangiku nodded in satisfaction. Now that she had exacted his revenge against Shūhei for cooking a terrible meal and stealing her saké, even though he never actually committed the latter crime, Rangiku’s manner toward Shūhei returned to normal.

Shūhei’s condition, however, was anything but normal. Pain had driven him insane. He bit at the tufts of grass on the ground, oblivious of the mud, in a vain attempt to assuage the pain in his nether region. Rare tears filled his eyes up and squeezed out of the corners. But the pain in his groin... Hell, the entire region seemed to throb like one’s head when a hundred jackhammers are being operated in the vicinity.

Rangiku bent down.

“Shūhei, are you hurt?”

“Fuck off, bitch,” Shūhei said raspingly.

Rangiku’s eyes narrowed.

Standing up with the dignity of a lady who’s just creamed a strong-looking guy effortlessly, Rangiku planted a foot on Shūhei’s backside, since his groin was now unreachable to her—(Shuhei was lying on his front)—and marched off, leaving Shūhei to write harder.

It was courtesy of Newton and his goddamn Third Law that Shūhei’s pain was intensified. While Rangiku’s last kick didn’t hurt his bottom too much, it pressed his injured part down against the hard, dry ground.

Shūhei was almost blinded with pain. Everything was white—as if he were staring straight at a powerful floodlight. Until, of course, he saw a familiar silhouette emerge from the whiteness like an angel from the Gates of Heaven. He could almost hear church bells jingling in the distance.

But the angel was Captain Unohana, as Shūhei realized after a while, and the jingling sound proceeded from the corked vial of Sekkiseki that she held in her hand.

Shūhei stared blankly at Unohana, all pain forgotten.

III

It was decided that, due to a shortage in the number of cabins that owed itself to the fact that Ichigo and their friends hadn’t been accounted for when they’d first constructed the Meadows, some of the Soul Reapers would have to make room for Ichigo and his friends.

After much deliberation and remonstration, it was decided that Ichigo would be spending the night in Byakuya’s cabin—much to the chagrin of both of them—since Rukia conveniently turned down Byakuya’s request, asking her to stay with him, in favor of Renji’s, which was made before.

“It’s only fair,” Rukia had said. “Renji asked me first.”

“But—”

“Ichigo shall be more than happy to spend the night with you, Brother.”

And so, upon the Head Captain’s insistence (for Rukia had suggested the idea to him, too), Byakuya had reluctantly told Ichigo that he was to sleep in his cabin, and that he wasn’t so crazy about it either, but it was an order that had to be followed, and if Ichigo attempted to do anything funny, or acted obstreperously at any point, he would find his body in a million pieces before he could say, “Senbonzakura.”

Ichigo, on his part, had stated his own conditions: that Byakuya was to treat him as an equal and not some insubordinate bondman.

Byakuya to this had replied that Ichigo had better not behave like a bondman if he didn’t want to be recognized as one, and that if he had the slightest bit of self-respect, he’d not talk unless absolutely necessary.

Uryū, meanwhile, was to spend the night in Ukitake’s cabin. Ukitake had requested the Quincy to stay at his cabin, since he had a first aid box with him, which would be useful if Ukitake experienced another of his coughing fits at night. He went so far as to bribe Uryū with candy when the latter hinted at being desirous of staying up somewhere else.

Rangiku and Kyoraku had volunteered to accommodate Orihime and Chad respectively, and so, everyone had been accounted for.

*

“Ichigo,” Byakuya said, “you are not to stir from that room.”

He pointed at the small room adjacent to the main bedroom, which was originally used as a storeroom for Byakuya’s trunk and other things. Presently, it had been emptied, and a futon had somehow been stuffed into it.

Ichigo stared at his bedding arrangements with the air of one whose expectations hadn’t been met.

“You kidding me? Why would I sleep in the closet?”

Byakuya cringed.

“It’s not a closet. Although if it were, I’d be happier. Closets are smaller.”

“What kind of a host are you?”

“I was ordered to have you in my cabin.”

Ichigo snorted.

“You sleep in the closet. I’ll take the bedroom.”

Ichigo kicked off his sandals and tabi, and was about to dive onto Byakuya’s futon, when the astute Captain Kuchiki cast Bakudo 1 on him, followed by another spell.

Ichigo fell to the ground, just short of the futon, with his arms tied behind his back by an invisible force and his legs immobilized.

“Just what the fuck are you doing to me?”

Byakuya’s eyes narrowed.

“And another thing, Ichigo Kurosaki. You are not to use such vulgar language in my presence, especially when you’re in my cabin. It pollutes the air.”

Ichigo snorted.

“Fuck off, bastard!”

Byakuya’s eyes narrowed.

“You leave me no choice.”

Producing from the depths of his robes a long, elegant-looking feather, Byakuya strode forward to Ichigo’s prostrate form and began tickling him under the feet with it.

And yes, he said, if Ichigo still insisted on taking the larger bedroom, he had many more feathers in his trunk.

*

Captain Ukitake, unlike Captain Kuchiki, showed a more compromising attitude toward his guest. For one thing, he gave Uryū as much personal space as he took for himself, and for another, unlike the Captain of Squad 6, he was extremely hospitable, and treated his guest he like he should be treated.

“I’m sorry that a bigger place could not have been arranged for. I’m afraid this is all you can have,” Ukitake said as though he had wronged Uryū greatly: like killing his parents and then stripping him of his Quincy powers.

“Oh, no, it’s more than I could have hoped for,” Uryū said. “I really appreciate you accommodating me in the first place.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Ukitake said. “Just remember that, if you need anything at night, don’t hesitate to wake me up.”

“Thank you, but I promise I won’t be much trouble to you. I’ll try to stay out of the way as much as I can.”

Ukitake laughed.

“You don’t have to worry about getting in the way. You could only get in the way if I were doing something important, and because of my health, I’m not really useful enough to be given anything important to do.”

“That’s not true!” Uryū said forcefully. “You are one of the most important people in the Soul Society. It wouldn’t run at all if it weren’t for all that you do.”

Ukitake laughed again.

“You really are a nice boy. But at any rate, we’re on vacation right now, so there’s no reason for you to think that you are getting in the way.”

Uryū bowed.

“Thank you,” he said respectfully.

After Ukitake handed Uryū the promised box of chocolates, the latter on his part, gave Ukitake the first aid kit, and they both went to bed peacefully.

And thus, Ukitake’s cabin was quiet and peaceful, unlike Byakuya’s.

*

Rangiku lay down on her futon and stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

Lying down on the futon next to hers was Orihime, who was also staring up at the ceiling, searching desperately with her eyes for that which Rangiku could see, but she couldn’t. After she had scanned the ceiling at least a dozen times and found nothing interesting, she turned to her side and regarded the lieutenant of Squad 10, frowning slightly.

“Rangiku, why are you so quiet today?” she said solicitously.

It was unlike the vivacious lieutenant to not assume the role of the raconteur whenever she was in someone else’s company. And Orihime and she were friends, too. So what on earth could be troubling Rangiku? Why wasn’t she her usual bubbly and jocular self? Orihime intended to find out.

“Is something wrong?”

Rangiku, aware of someone talking to her, turned her head to regard the speaker.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Orihime. I kinda spaced out just now, didn’t I?”

Orihime nodded, and said, Yes, after a while, when she realized that there was nothing a nod could convey to the other party when they were both shrouded in complete darkness.

Rangiku sighed.

Orihime tensed. When Rangiku sighs, it means she’s about to relate a painful tale of the past. She braced herself for the tale—whatever it was—that she was going to relate at that point, since she tended to become sentimental when she heard anything that so much as hinted at somebody’s sorrow. And since Rangiku was her friend, her sorrows would touch Orihime much deeper than that of some nameless protagonist of some pointless fairy tale.

Rangiku began laughing. She burst into loud guffaws with the force of a tornado, completely catching Orihime off guard.

Orihime blinked. Rangiku was going into hysterics, she observed.

When her laughter finally died enough to allow her to breathe again, Rangiku said, “Sorry, Orihime. I just couldn’t control myself. It was the funniest thing ever!”

Orihime stared at where Rangiku was with confusion in her eye.

“Funny? So... you’re not troubled by anything?”

Rangiku shook her head, and, just like Orihime did earlier, she realized that the darkness disabled a person’s ability to perceive a shake of the head.

“No,” she said. “I’m absolutely fine. Shūhei isn’t, though.”

Orihime gasped.

“Shūhei? Why? What’s wrong with him?”

Rangiku sighed once again.

“I feel kinda sorry for him now.”

“What happened?”

“I kicked him in the nuts.”

Orihime gasped again.

“You did?”

“Twice.”

“But I don’t understand. Why would you kick Shūhei... there? I thought he was really nice.”

“I was just pissed off at him today. For one thing, he didn’t follow your recipe correctly, and totally ruined everyone’s dinner.”

Orihime frowned.

“I told Shūhei to follow the recipe carefully. If he’d let me cook, everyone would have loved the food.”

“I agree,” Rangiku said dreamily; “Your cooking’s the best I’ve ever tasted in my whole life.”

“Thank you so much, Rangiku! Now, what did Shūhei do after you kicked him?”

“Well,” Rangiku said, pausing awhile to recall all that had happened that evening, “he kinda doubled over and fell to the ground. He squirmed around a lot, and bit at the mud,”—she grimaced—“and he looked like he was in terrible pain.”

Orihime nodded, but her nod went wasted again.

“I’m sure he was in terrible pain. Once at school, I accidentally pushed my chair backward while getting up, and I hit Ichigo there.”

Rangiku inhaled sharply in sadistic ecstasy.

“What did he do?”

“He went stiff and fell down to the ground while clutching that part.”

Rangiku started giggling. She’d just been seized with a brilliant idea that could revolutionize her life at work.

“What’s so funny, Rangiku?” Orihime said.

Rangiku continued giggling.

“I’ve just realized something I hadn’t before: I have a huge advantage over my captain.”

*

Captain Kyoraku sat on an armchair in his cabin with his eyes shut in dreamy satisfaction. The saké that Hitsugaya had so cordially presented him earlier that day was among the best he had ever tasted. The better the saké, the more satisfied Man is. Kyoraku respected that philosophy immensely. And what could be better after a good drink than some good rest?

Kyoraku opened an eyelid and glanced idly at Chad, who was sitting on his futon in the other part of the room, reading what appeared to be a book of some sort, comparable in terms of size to the one that Nanao always carried around with her.

“You sure missed some good saké today, Sado,” Kyoraku said in an attempt to play around with Chad’s inner desires. After all, if a man wasn’t interested in saké, at least somewhere deep inside, then he wasn’t really a man.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” Chad said lackadaisically.

Chad’s manner would appear lackadaisical to a stranger. But Kyoraku knew him well enough to have gathered by then that not even a strong pinch to the butt, or an electric shock could elicit so much as a grunt from him.

He sighed.

“You say the same thing all the time,” Kyoraku said. “Don’t you think that you’ve grown up by now? You’ve gotta be a little more daring. Drink the saké. Tell yourself, I’m a grownup, and I can drink saké now.”

“Sorry,” Chad said, “but in my world, you’re not a grownup until you’re eighteen.”

Kyoraku raised an eyebrow.

“So when you said minor, you meant people under eighteen years of age?” The notion was a shocking one.

Chad nodded.

“But... but...” Kyoraku said incredulously. “You’re a good two inches taller than me. How much more do they want you to grow before they let you drink this stuff?”

“Until I’m eighteen.”

Kyoraku sighed. The World of the Living was so strange and harrowing.

“I’ve been drinking saké since I was three years old,” Kyoraku said proudly, “and nobody’s ever stopped me.”

“It’s different in our world. You could go to jail for underage drinking.”

“At the age of three? Come on! Not even humans could do something that bad.”

“The parents would be sent to jail, then.”

Kyoraku rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Now, why wasn’t I born in the World of the Living?”

Chad paid no attention to him, and proceeded to read his book. He had reached a particularly interesting part in it. The mute detective was communicating with the deaf and blind witness of a murder. The author was a genius to be able to describe how the detective asked the witness questions, and how the witness even witnessed the murder with two of his most important senses missing. Apparently, the witness’s foot had come in contact with a dead body while he was in the course of his evening walk—One should never let a handicapped man go on evening walks, Chad said to himself with immense conviction—and had bent down to inspect. The clothes of the victim were wet, and to make sure that it was blood on them, the witness ran his tongue over the victim’s entire body, only to discover that he had been shot in three different places. Chad wondered why the less sensually impaired people of the crowded park didn’t notice a dead body lying in the middle of the walkway, and was about to remark within himself that the author was careless in that regard, when he came across a sentence that made him discard all his doubts. So the witness had strayed off the path intuitively and walked into the wood outside the park in the hope of coming across the victim of murder that might have been hidden there. Pure genius...

Kyoraku, noting that Chad wasn’t exactly inclined to talk much that night—or any night, for that matter—decided to tempt him into conversing with him.

“So Chad,” Kyoraku said, “would you like to hear a joke?”

“Not now, sir,” Chad said respectfully. Not that the quality of being soft-spoken that was very much in him, or his characteristic reticence would ever permit anything that he said to sound disrespectful.

“Aw, come on!” Kyoraku said; “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’, and all. You can just call me Shunsui.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t disrespect you like that, sir,” Chad said.

“It’s not disrespectful at all. I insist that you call me Shunsui.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have the time. I have to finish at least another chapter tonight and go to bed. You can drink your saké if you like, but I won’t join you. I have better things to do.”

Kyoraku blinked.

Apparently the bit about it being impossible for Chad to say something disrespectful was miserably wrong. Whoever had made that observation about the boy definitely lacked all five of his senses, and should be hanged to death for it.

“You know what?” Kyoraku said. “I’d rather you did call me ‘sir’.” And with that, he corked the saké bottle from which he had been drinking, lay down on his futon, and became still.

But Chad continued reading, of course, quite unmindfully, because the effects of the saké he had tasted in large amounts out of curiosity when Kyoraku wasn’t looking had still not worn off.