Zaraki and Ichigo glared at each other intensely with the result that a sort of spiritual disturbance was created between them—each of them trying to repel the other with his spiritual energy. When neither succeeded at inflicting so much as a scratch on the other, or even moving him by a fraction of an inch, and when Zaraki was starting to get impatient, both stopped exerting their spiritual pressure simultaneously, and both fell backward and landed on their bottom and lay on the ground, ostensibly in a state of paralysis.
Ichigo was the first to get up, proving the hitherto unproven theory that “the larger they are, the harder they fall.” He vigorously brushed his hair with his hands in an attempt to free it from the sand that had made residence in it when he fell on the ground. Why did all professional battlegrounds have to be sandy anyway?
He voiced his latest concern to Zaraki, who had only just managed to sit up.
With one hand massaging his aching head and another massaging his aching back, Zaraki replied through gritted teeth, “Imagine what would have happened to us if it were rock.”
“I’d rather not,” Ichigo said, wincing.
“And don’t you go insulting this battleground: I’m the one who got it made. Had them dig out this entire place and fill it up with sand. Took a hellishly long time for those trees along the edge to grow sufficiently tall. Battlers need privacy after all.”
“So. Do we go on?”
Zaraki let out a bark of a laugh. “Are you shitting me? Is that even a question?”
Ichigo resisted the urge of replying in the affirmative and tutoring Zaraki on how to distinguish questions from statements and other such things. Instead, he said, “No. I guess it wasn’t a question.”
“Well, of course it wasn’t!” Zaraki said. “Anyway, here I come!”
He charged toward Ichigo, spirit energy blazing around his being. Ichigo in turn charged toward Zaraki, sword held high, ready for a powerful swing.
With a reverberating clang, both swords struck each other—butcher’s knife against rusty, crooked kitchen-knife. Neither warrior relented to the strength of the other. It appeared as though they were an equal match. Until...
“So are you going to go all out or do I have to force you to?” Zaraki asked, grinning slyly.
“Already?”
“Quit wasting time, you useless piece of crap!” Zaraki yelled. “Fine, if you won’t go all out, then I will. Bankai!”
Ichigo reflexively jumped a dozen feet backward.
“Psyche!” Zaraki said, bursting into guffaws.
“That was a cheap trick, Kenpachi.” Ichigo said disapprovingly.
“You fell for it.” Zaraki said through his laughter.
“Fine then. Bankai!”
An eerie black spiritual aura enveloped Ichigo, and the shockwaves it sent out made the trees on the perimeter of the battleground sway dangerously. After the black aura died down, and Ichigo became visible once again as the picture of confidence, Zaraki, seeing Ichigo’s Bankai for the first time, expressed his opinion of it:
“So your Bankai enables you to change your clothes. Wonderful.”
“It’s not just my clothes that have changed, Kenpachi.” Ichigo said in what appeared to be a forcefully composed tone.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Zaraki said, grinning widely. The jagged edge of his blade seemed to vibrate with the excitement that Zaraki himself felt at finally getting a chance to beat his favorite opponent at his best and at the same time exact his revenge against him. He raised his sword and charged toward Ichigo once again, laughing maniacally.
Ichigo wasn’t in the least bit perturbed: he had seen too much of Zaraki’s insanity in their last battle to be surprised this time. Although, he conceded, he was glad it wasn’t his first time facing the captain of Squad 11. He deeply sympathized with everyone Zaraki considered a worthy opponent and made a mental note to warn the potentially worthy opponents against honing their skills any further.
Ichigo raised his sword, the sleek black blade looking even more impressive in the light-shadow combination that the tall trees occasioned. “It’s over Kenpachi.”
“I don’t think so!” Zaraki said, laughing as loudly as before.
Ichigo raised an eyebrow. Was it just an effect of his Bankai, or was Zaraki really taking an abnormally large amount of time to cover a particularly small amount of distance? He shrugged, and surmised that it must be an effect of the huge amounts of power that had surged into him (Ichigo) a while before. He vaguely remembered feeling the same way in his battle against Byakuya atop Sōkyoku Hill.
When Zaraki finally reached Ichigo and delivered his blow, Ichigo was ready for him. He professionally blocked the strike by hitting Zaraki’s sword perpendicularly.
Zaraki’s eyes were wide with animalistic excitement and anticipation so intense that Ichigo felt goose bumps run down his spine, and for a moment, his grip on his sword faltered slightly.
“Take that, you ten-ton pile of War!” Ichigo shouted, channeling a large amount of sinew into his arm and pushing Zaraki backward.
“I’ll take that as a compliment: it means I’m doing my job right.” Zaraki said, grinning widely. “You, on the other hand, are a half-ounce speck of Cowardice!”
Zaraki surged forward and made a very reckless slash with his sword, catching Ichigo off guard for a moment and forcing him to move back several steps.
“Whoa!” Ichigo said when he nearly tripped. “I’ll make you regret that!”
He returned the favor by surging toward Zaraki, and in the process, realization dawned on him: it was because of the sand that their locomotion was inhibited! Damn the sand!
“I see you’ve realized.” Zaraki said, grinning as toothily as ever. “The sand also fulfills another purpose: it trains the leg muscles.”
Ichigo couldn’t have cared less about training his leg muscles: his daily exercise of kicking his dad when the latter got on his nerves was sufficient training for his legs.
“So are you gonna keep staring at me like I’m some hot chick, or are you gonna fight?” Zaraki sneered, flexing his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
Ichigo snorted and made a dash for Zaraki. By this time, however, he was fully conscious of how the sand hindered his freedom of movement, and was thus unable to concentrate on attacking Zaraki. A simple arm-thrust from the latter sent him crashing to the ground.
“I could’ve killed you.” Zaraki said; “But I didn’t. Don’t you dare think of me as merciful or anything: I just didn’t want blood to stain my beautiful white battleground this soon.”
Unbeknownst to both Ichigo and Zaraki, spectators had gathered to watch the fight. They stood a safe distance away from the warring titans, underneath the trees.
“I had anticipated more action than this.” Byakuya said, uttering a ‘tch’ of disappointment.
“I know. It seems quite dull, doesn’t it?” Kyoraku said with a lop-sided smile that indicated that things weren’t going as well as he should have liked.
“Don’t worry,” Yachiru said cheerfully; “Kenny will start fighting soon!”
When he didn’t, however, for several minutes, Byakuya reiterated his earlier statement: “I had anticipated more action.”
“I know how to spice things up!” Unohana said, expressing polite excitement. She cupped her hands around her mouth like earlier and raised her voice so that Ichigo and Zaraki could hear her clearly: “Whoever loses has to get the Sekkiseki treatment done to them!”
It was as though they were struck by a powerful electric current: they were on their toes and at each other’s throat in a blink of an eye.
“Sorry, but I’m not going to get it done to me a second time.” Ichigo said, trying to force Zaraki into submission.
“I ain’t so keen, either.” Zaraki said, resisting with equal force.
“Brilliant idea, Captain Unohana!” Kyoraku praised.
“It was a very intelligent idea.” Byakuya agreed. “Intelligence is a rarity in my squad: especially when it comes to my lieutenant.”
“Captain Kuchiki, you give Renji less credit than he’s worth.” Unohana said.
“In an honest opinion, Renji is a no-good lowlife.” Byakuya said, following which a thud was heard behind him, and when he turned to see Renji lying in a heap on the ground with the remains of a branch clutched in a limp hand, he went on to say, “And that is why.”
“Uryū!” called Ukitake in his smooth voice—smooth, considering his throat was incorrigibly infected. “Remember I told you I’d bring a whole sack of candy with me? I stuck to my word!” He was practically exuding happiness as he held out the sack in question—large enough for a kidnapper to stuff Hitsugaya into it—and presented it to Uryū.
Uryū straightened his glasses and coughed uncomfortably. He was in the middle of explaining to Orihime one of the finer forms of embroidery, and he didn’t take kindly to being interrupted in the course of lecturing who was perhaps the only person in existence willing to hear him out.
“I’m in the middle of something right now, Captain Ukitake.” Uryū said in the politest way that his tumultuous emotions would permit at that time.
Ukitake didn’t seem to have heard what Uryū said: he thrust the sack into Uryū’s unprepared arms and almost caused his glasses to fall off his nose.
Uryū gave vent to a cry of protest, but it was muffled in the thick material of the sack and whatever it had inside of it.
“No need to thank me!” Ukitake said with an airy wave of his hand. “I’m doing it because I enjoy it.”
“Why me?” Uryū asked weakly, craning his neck to see beyond the bulky sack and to articulate his words.
“Oh!” Ukitake said as realization struck him. “I have another sack for Toshiro! He’ll be overjoyed, I’m sure!”
“Yeah,” Uryū said bitterly, but Ukitake failed to hear him.
“Well, I’d better be off before Young Toshiro scampers off someplace else.” Ukitake laughed; “It’s heartwarming to see how energetic young people are. Kind of brings to mind my own childhood days and pranks.”
Uryū wanted to say that he would rather not know what kind of childish pranks he played if his adult pranks were so disturbing, but didn’t, because he knew Ukitake wouldn’t hear him.
“I’ll be off then, Uryū! I have to hand over Toshiro’s sack to Lieutenant Matsumoto. It will surprise him for sure.” Ukitake said happily, waving as if he were bidding a three-year-old child see-you at playschool.
Uryū staggered over the corner of the cabin where he dumped the sack and its unfortunate contents.
“Phew,” he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “That felt like an anvil. So anyway, Orihime, we were talking—eh?!”
She was gone: nowhere to be seen.
“Orihime?” Uryū called, peering under the bed, half expecting her to pop out and say something like she was chasing blueberry gnomes. But she wasn’t under the bed. He peered behind the curtains, but she wasn’t there, either. He knocked on the bathroom door and opened it when there was no response, but she wasn’t there, either.
“Where could she have gone?” Uryū asked himself, scratching his head thoughtfully. Unable to come up with a satisfactory answer, he shrugged, and recommenced embroidering his handkerchief: he just had a few more stitches left to complete the blue Quincy’s Cross. If one didn’t know how much Uryū prided himself in being a Quincy, they’d start wondering if the Cross was the only piece of embroidery he knew.
He cast frequent and hungry side-glances at the sack in the corner of the cabin, and ultimately gave in to his deeper desires and resolutely opened the sack.
Meanwhile, behind Uryū’s cabin, Rangiku and Orhime were sitting on the grass, enjoying some of the latter’s terrible cooking, and at the same time, engaged in hearty conversation.
“You’re cooking’s as good as ever, Orihime!” Rangiku said with ardor. She was very close to shedding tears of joy after taking a bite out of Orhime’s special ‘Hotdog with Chocolate Syrup and Teriyaki Sauce’.
“Thank you so much, Rangiku!” Orhimie said. That was the first time someone had praised her cooking that passionately.
“These hotdogs are just... beautiful!”
Captain Komamura happened to be passing by just then on the way to Shūhei’s cabin to ask if the latter had another one of those dog brushes, since he’d broken the one he’d given him, when he overheard Rangiku and Orihime’s conversation.
“Hot dog? Where?” he asked, looking around eagerly. “It has been ages since I last saw one.”
“She doesn’t mean that, Captain Komamura.” Orihime said; “This is what she was talking about.” She held out her half-eaten hotdog to show him what she meant.
Komamura reeled in his tracks. “You... you... you are eating it!” he said, his voice heavy with pain. “You humans are utterly disgusting!”
Before Orihime could redeem herself in Komamura’s eyes, he had decided that he couldn’t take it anymore, and left the place in leaps and bounds.
“Poor Captain Komamura,” Rangiku said, sighing understandingly; “His love life has been a sensitive topic ever since Candy died.”
“Who was Candy?”
“A poodle from the World of the Living. It’s so hard to love someone when their lifespan is a hundred times less than yours.” Rangiku said, nodding somberly.
“That’s so sad!” Orihime said, choking back a sob and wiping a stray tear from the corner of an eye. “I was so mean to him!”
“It’s okay, Orihime. You didn’t know.”
Orihime couldn’t control herself any longer. “Now he’s going to think I ate Candy!” She slumped onto Rangiku’s lap, crying her eyes out.
Shūhei was not in his cabin at that time. He, along with Izuru and Iba, was furtively making his way to Rangiku’s cabin. Rangiku, he knew, was somewhere else.
“Shūhei, I’m not really sure about this.” Izuru said.
“Be a sport, Izuru!” Shūhei said.
“Yeah. And it’s for a good purpose, too.” Iba said.
“But it’s stealing.” Izuru said weakly.
“It’s not.” Shūhei said; “We’re just taking our fair share of Saké before we tell Rangiku. If we let her know later on, it’s all fine, isn’t it?”
“I’m still not very comfortable doing this.”
“You’ve always been Mr. Goody Two-shoes. I, on the other hand, am daring, outgoing and good-looking.” Shūhei said with a flash of his white teeth (and one hidden golden tooth) at nobody in particular. Self-exaltation was one of Shūhei’s favorite pastimes.
Izuru sighed lugubriously. “I guess I’ll have to steal after all.” And from what Shūhei said, he gathered that he wasn’t good-looking.
“Yup!” Iba said, thumping Izuru supportively on his back, causing him to fall forward.
“Izuru!” Shūhei said, helping him up to his feet. “Didn’t you eat breakfast today?”
“I did. And don’t worry about me: I’m always like this right before I do something bad, which in this case is drinking someone else’s saké without their permission.”
“Saké is saké, and it belongs to the Community, and not any one person.” Shūhei said with an air of one imparting wisdom to less gifted souls.
“And where are we going today?”
All three of them started as though they had touched an exposed electric wire or a hot chick’s boobs by accident.
“Oh, it’s only you, Ikkaku.” Iba said; “Join us if you want to. We’re going to get ourselves some saké from Rangiku’s cabin.”
“Saké is a good idea.” Ikkaku said; “After my morning exercise, I need to cool off.” His morning exercise at the Meadows involved picking some of the most remotely located flowers for Yachiru so that the latter could trash them and order him to pick them all over again, and so forth until she decided that she was bored of playing the game. Ikkaku didn’t mind, because it was the only mode of exercise for him: Captain Zaraki had been hogging the training ground ever since they got there: it’s the same every year.
“We’re here,” declared Shūhei jubilantly. “Hopefully, she’s left the door unlocked.”
Iba grinned. “We’ll get in through the window if it’s locked; or even the wall, if it comes to that. Nothing can keep us from getting our hands on that saké. Right, boys?”
A collective ‘Right!’ was heard from everyone but Izuru, who mumbled something about morals and righteousness that would have doubtless been ignored by the other three even if they’d heard him.
“We’re in luck: the door’s been left unlocked.” Shūhei said.
“Rangiku’s very kind.” Iba said.
“It’s as though she was expecting us.” Ikkaku said with a laugh.
The four of them entered, with Izuru being forcibly dragged along by Shūhei.
“There it is!” Ikkaku said with the glee of a pirate that had stumbled across a ton of buried gold when he noticed the sack peeking out from underneath the bed.
“Beautiful.” Iba said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and sniffling.
“Men,” said Shūhei dramatically; “We have come this far. Now we must part ways. But after drinking to our good health.”
He reached out for the sack and undid the knot slowly.
“I’ll go first.” he said once he had untied the sack completely. He closed his eyes, thrust his hand into the sack, and pulled back out as though it were a lion’s mouth and not a sack he was reaching into.
Ikkaku, Iba and even Izuru gasped.
“I know,” Shūhei said. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” He opened his eyes and nearly dropped the object he was holding.
“What the fuck?” he exclaimed in indignation. “Jelly-filled chocolate tarts?!”
“Rangiku has betrayed the Cause!” Iba declared.
“We must punish her!” Ikkaku said.
“I hear footsteps. Quick—out the window!” Shūhei said in a low voice, and the four of them squeezed out through the window at the back one by one.
No sooner did Izuru manage to jump out than Hitsugaya walked into the cabin.
“The door is open. How strange.” he mused aloud to himself. He scanned the room with his eyes. His gaze fell on the sack. “There it is!”
He opened the sack, expecting to find the saké bottles that he was sure Rangiku had smuggled in. In their place, however, he found candy of all sorts: fruit candy, sugar candy, Belgian chocolate, whisky-filled chocolate, an abomination called ‘Gummy Bears’, chocolate tarts, butter chocolate—practically everything that he would suspect Ukitake of giving him.
“What’s this? A card?” he said, noticing a small card between the fourteenth box of Belgian chocolate and seventeenth pack of Gummy Bears.
“Dear Shiro-chan,”—he read—“Remember I had promised to bring you a sack of candy? I stuck to my word. Yours truly, Shiro-chan.”
To the untrained eye, it would appear as though Hitsugaya had taken self-obsession to a new level—nobody would suspect Ukitake of things like that.
“Well, so I guess Rangiku didn’t bring any saké to the Meadows after all.” Hitsugaya concluded with a wry smile.
“Welcome to the Summer Session of the Soul Reaper Women’s Association.” Nanao said.
“Rangiku isn’t here.” Isane observed.
“Yeah, it’s about her.” Nanao said, straightening her glasses as she took out a piece of paper from her pocket and read it. “Rangiku has entrusted us with this,”—she pointed at the large sack that was placed on the table—“because her captain suspects her and is likely to search her cabin, too.”
“What is it?” Yachiru asked; “Shiro-chan’s candy?”
“No, it appears to be full of saké bottles.” Nanao said, touching one of the bulges on the sack. “Knowing Rangiku, it has to be saké bottles.”
“So what do we have to do?” Kiyone asked.
“Rangiku entrusted us with it, and it’s the job of the Women’s Association to assist its members.” Nanao said. She straightened her glasses again. “So who wants to keep the saké?”
“I can’t,” Isane said; “Captain Unohana detests such things.”
“If I keep it with me, Omaede is surely going to drink it all.” Soifon said with disgust.
“True.” Nanao said; “And I have my own captain to worry about.”
“Captain Ukitake doesn’t drink!” Kiyone said, cringing as though someone had accused her beloved captain of becoming drunk and then strip dancing.
“Nemu could keep it with her, couldn’t you, Nemu?” Isane said.
“My body is immune to alcohol and the Great Mayuri takes no interest in it. I will protect the saké with my life until Lieutenant Matsumoto decides otherwise.” Nemu said in her usual monotone.
“Er, right.” Nanao said; “So Nemu, the Women’s Association officially appoints you guardian of this saké.”
Ichigo was the first to get up, proving the hitherto unproven theory that “the larger they are, the harder they fall.” He vigorously brushed his hair with his hands in an attempt to free it from the sand that had made residence in it when he fell on the ground. Why did all professional battlegrounds have to be sandy anyway?
He voiced his latest concern to Zaraki, who had only just managed to sit up.
With one hand massaging his aching head and another massaging his aching back, Zaraki replied through gritted teeth, “Imagine what would have happened to us if it were rock.”
“I’d rather not,” Ichigo said, wincing.
“And don’t you go insulting this battleground: I’m the one who got it made. Had them dig out this entire place and fill it up with sand. Took a hellishly long time for those trees along the edge to grow sufficiently tall. Battlers need privacy after all.”
“So. Do we go on?”
Zaraki let out a bark of a laugh. “Are you shitting me? Is that even a question?”
Ichigo resisted the urge of replying in the affirmative and tutoring Zaraki on how to distinguish questions from statements and other such things. Instead, he said, “No. I guess it wasn’t a question.”
“Well, of course it wasn’t!” Zaraki said. “Anyway, here I come!”
He charged toward Ichigo, spirit energy blazing around his being. Ichigo in turn charged toward Zaraki, sword held high, ready for a powerful swing.
With a reverberating clang, both swords struck each other—butcher’s knife against rusty, crooked kitchen-knife. Neither warrior relented to the strength of the other. It appeared as though they were an equal match. Until...
“So are you going to go all out or do I have to force you to?” Zaraki asked, grinning slyly.
“Already?”
“Quit wasting time, you useless piece of crap!” Zaraki yelled. “Fine, if you won’t go all out, then I will. Bankai!”
Ichigo reflexively jumped a dozen feet backward.
“Psyche!” Zaraki said, bursting into guffaws.
“That was a cheap trick, Kenpachi.” Ichigo said disapprovingly.
“You fell for it.” Zaraki said through his laughter.
“Fine then. Bankai!”
An eerie black spiritual aura enveloped Ichigo, and the shockwaves it sent out made the trees on the perimeter of the battleground sway dangerously. After the black aura died down, and Ichigo became visible once again as the picture of confidence, Zaraki, seeing Ichigo’s Bankai for the first time, expressed his opinion of it:
“So your Bankai enables you to change your clothes. Wonderful.”
“It’s not just my clothes that have changed, Kenpachi.” Ichigo said in what appeared to be a forcefully composed tone.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Zaraki said, grinning widely. The jagged edge of his blade seemed to vibrate with the excitement that Zaraki himself felt at finally getting a chance to beat his favorite opponent at his best and at the same time exact his revenge against him. He raised his sword and charged toward Ichigo once again, laughing maniacally.
Ichigo wasn’t in the least bit perturbed: he had seen too much of Zaraki’s insanity in their last battle to be surprised this time. Although, he conceded, he was glad it wasn’t his first time facing the captain of Squad 11. He deeply sympathized with everyone Zaraki considered a worthy opponent and made a mental note to warn the potentially worthy opponents against honing their skills any further.
Ichigo raised his sword, the sleek black blade looking even more impressive in the light-shadow combination that the tall trees occasioned. “It’s over Kenpachi.”
“I don’t think so!” Zaraki said, laughing as loudly as before.
Ichigo raised an eyebrow. Was it just an effect of his Bankai, or was Zaraki really taking an abnormally large amount of time to cover a particularly small amount of distance? He shrugged, and surmised that it must be an effect of the huge amounts of power that had surged into him (Ichigo) a while before. He vaguely remembered feeling the same way in his battle against Byakuya atop Sōkyoku Hill.
When Zaraki finally reached Ichigo and delivered his blow, Ichigo was ready for him. He professionally blocked the strike by hitting Zaraki’s sword perpendicularly.
Zaraki’s eyes were wide with animalistic excitement and anticipation so intense that Ichigo felt goose bumps run down his spine, and for a moment, his grip on his sword faltered slightly.
“Take that, you ten-ton pile of War!” Ichigo shouted, channeling a large amount of sinew into his arm and pushing Zaraki backward.
“I’ll take that as a compliment: it means I’m doing my job right.” Zaraki said, grinning widely. “You, on the other hand, are a half-ounce speck of Cowardice!”
Zaraki surged forward and made a very reckless slash with his sword, catching Ichigo off guard for a moment and forcing him to move back several steps.
“Whoa!” Ichigo said when he nearly tripped. “I’ll make you regret that!”
He returned the favor by surging toward Zaraki, and in the process, realization dawned on him: it was because of the sand that their locomotion was inhibited! Damn the sand!
“I see you’ve realized.” Zaraki said, grinning as toothily as ever. “The sand also fulfills another purpose: it trains the leg muscles.”
Ichigo couldn’t have cared less about training his leg muscles: his daily exercise of kicking his dad when the latter got on his nerves was sufficient training for his legs.
“So are you gonna keep staring at me like I’m some hot chick, or are you gonna fight?” Zaraki sneered, flexing his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
Ichigo snorted and made a dash for Zaraki. By this time, however, he was fully conscious of how the sand hindered his freedom of movement, and was thus unable to concentrate on attacking Zaraki. A simple arm-thrust from the latter sent him crashing to the ground.
“I could’ve killed you.” Zaraki said; “But I didn’t. Don’t you dare think of me as merciful or anything: I just didn’t want blood to stain my beautiful white battleground this soon.”
Unbeknownst to both Ichigo and Zaraki, spectators had gathered to watch the fight. They stood a safe distance away from the warring titans, underneath the trees.
“I had anticipated more action than this.” Byakuya said, uttering a ‘tch’ of disappointment.
“I know. It seems quite dull, doesn’t it?” Kyoraku said with a lop-sided smile that indicated that things weren’t going as well as he should have liked.
“Don’t worry,” Yachiru said cheerfully; “Kenny will start fighting soon!”
When he didn’t, however, for several minutes, Byakuya reiterated his earlier statement: “I had anticipated more action.”
“I know how to spice things up!” Unohana said, expressing polite excitement. She cupped her hands around her mouth like earlier and raised her voice so that Ichigo and Zaraki could hear her clearly: “Whoever loses has to get the Sekkiseki treatment done to them!”
It was as though they were struck by a powerful electric current: they were on their toes and at each other’s throat in a blink of an eye.
“Sorry, but I’m not going to get it done to me a second time.” Ichigo said, trying to force Zaraki into submission.
“I ain’t so keen, either.” Zaraki said, resisting with equal force.
“Brilliant idea, Captain Unohana!” Kyoraku praised.
“It was a very intelligent idea.” Byakuya agreed. “Intelligence is a rarity in my squad: especially when it comes to my lieutenant.”
“Captain Kuchiki, you give Renji less credit than he’s worth.” Unohana said.
“In an honest opinion, Renji is a no-good lowlife.” Byakuya said, following which a thud was heard behind him, and when he turned to see Renji lying in a heap on the ground with the remains of a branch clutched in a limp hand, he went on to say, “And that is why.”
* * * * *
“Uryū!” called Ukitake in his smooth voice—smooth, considering his throat was incorrigibly infected. “Remember I told you I’d bring a whole sack of candy with me? I stuck to my word!” He was practically exuding happiness as he held out the sack in question—large enough for a kidnapper to stuff Hitsugaya into it—and presented it to Uryū.
Uryū straightened his glasses and coughed uncomfortably. He was in the middle of explaining to Orihime one of the finer forms of embroidery, and he didn’t take kindly to being interrupted in the course of lecturing who was perhaps the only person in existence willing to hear him out.
“I’m in the middle of something right now, Captain Ukitake.” Uryū said in the politest way that his tumultuous emotions would permit at that time.
Ukitake didn’t seem to have heard what Uryū said: he thrust the sack into Uryū’s unprepared arms and almost caused his glasses to fall off his nose.
Uryū gave vent to a cry of protest, but it was muffled in the thick material of the sack and whatever it had inside of it.
“No need to thank me!” Ukitake said with an airy wave of his hand. “I’m doing it because I enjoy it.”
“Why me?” Uryū asked weakly, craning his neck to see beyond the bulky sack and to articulate his words.
“Oh!” Ukitake said as realization struck him. “I have another sack for Toshiro! He’ll be overjoyed, I’m sure!”
“Yeah,” Uryū said bitterly, but Ukitake failed to hear him.
“Well, I’d better be off before Young Toshiro scampers off someplace else.” Ukitake laughed; “It’s heartwarming to see how energetic young people are. Kind of brings to mind my own childhood days and pranks.”
Uryū wanted to say that he would rather not know what kind of childish pranks he played if his adult pranks were so disturbing, but didn’t, because he knew Ukitake wouldn’t hear him.
“I’ll be off then, Uryū! I have to hand over Toshiro’s sack to Lieutenant Matsumoto. It will surprise him for sure.” Ukitake said happily, waving as if he were bidding a three-year-old child see-you at playschool.
Uryū staggered over the corner of the cabin where he dumped the sack and its unfortunate contents.
“Phew,” he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “That felt like an anvil. So anyway, Orihime, we were talking—eh?!”
She was gone: nowhere to be seen.
“Orihime?” Uryū called, peering under the bed, half expecting her to pop out and say something like she was chasing blueberry gnomes. But she wasn’t under the bed. He peered behind the curtains, but she wasn’t there, either. He knocked on the bathroom door and opened it when there was no response, but she wasn’t there, either.
“Where could she have gone?” Uryū asked himself, scratching his head thoughtfully. Unable to come up with a satisfactory answer, he shrugged, and recommenced embroidering his handkerchief: he just had a few more stitches left to complete the blue Quincy’s Cross. If one didn’t know how much Uryū prided himself in being a Quincy, they’d start wondering if the Cross was the only piece of embroidery he knew.
He cast frequent and hungry side-glances at the sack in the corner of the cabin, and ultimately gave in to his deeper desires and resolutely opened the sack.
Meanwhile, behind Uryū’s cabin, Rangiku and Orhime were sitting on the grass, enjoying some of the latter’s terrible cooking, and at the same time, engaged in hearty conversation.
“You’re cooking’s as good as ever, Orihime!” Rangiku said with ardor. She was very close to shedding tears of joy after taking a bite out of Orhime’s special ‘Hotdog with Chocolate Syrup and Teriyaki Sauce’.
“Thank you so much, Rangiku!” Orhimie said. That was the first time someone had praised her cooking that passionately.
“These hotdogs are just... beautiful!”
Captain Komamura happened to be passing by just then on the way to Shūhei’s cabin to ask if the latter had another one of those dog brushes, since he’d broken the one he’d given him, when he overheard Rangiku and Orihime’s conversation.
“Hot dog? Where?” he asked, looking around eagerly. “It has been ages since I last saw one.”
“She doesn’t mean that, Captain Komamura.” Orihime said; “This is what she was talking about.” She held out her half-eaten hotdog to show him what she meant.
Komamura reeled in his tracks. “You... you... you are eating it!” he said, his voice heavy with pain. “You humans are utterly disgusting!”
Before Orihime could redeem herself in Komamura’s eyes, he had decided that he couldn’t take it anymore, and left the place in leaps and bounds.
“Poor Captain Komamura,” Rangiku said, sighing understandingly; “His love life has been a sensitive topic ever since Candy died.”
“Who was Candy?”
“A poodle from the World of the Living. It’s so hard to love someone when their lifespan is a hundred times less than yours.” Rangiku said, nodding somberly.
“That’s so sad!” Orihime said, choking back a sob and wiping a stray tear from the corner of an eye. “I was so mean to him!”
“It’s okay, Orihime. You didn’t know.”
Orihime couldn’t control herself any longer. “Now he’s going to think I ate Candy!” She slumped onto Rangiku’s lap, crying her eyes out.
* * * * *
Shūhei was not in his cabin at that time. He, along with Izuru and Iba, was furtively making his way to Rangiku’s cabin. Rangiku, he knew, was somewhere else.
“Shūhei, I’m not really sure about this.” Izuru said.
“Be a sport, Izuru!” Shūhei said.
“Yeah. And it’s for a good purpose, too.” Iba said.
“But it’s stealing.” Izuru said weakly.
“It’s not.” Shūhei said; “We’re just taking our fair share of Saké before we tell Rangiku. If we let her know later on, it’s all fine, isn’t it?”
“I’m still not very comfortable doing this.”
“You’ve always been Mr. Goody Two-shoes. I, on the other hand, am daring, outgoing and good-looking.” Shūhei said with a flash of his white teeth (and one hidden golden tooth) at nobody in particular. Self-exaltation was one of Shūhei’s favorite pastimes.
Izuru sighed lugubriously. “I guess I’ll have to steal after all.” And from what Shūhei said, he gathered that he wasn’t good-looking.
“Yup!” Iba said, thumping Izuru supportively on his back, causing him to fall forward.
“Izuru!” Shūhei said, helping him up to his feet. “Didn’t you eat breakfast today?”
“I did. And don’t worry about me: I’m always like this right before I do something bad, which in this case is drinking someone else’s saké without their permission.”
“Saké is saké, and it belongs to the Community, and not any one person.” Shūhei said with an air of one imparting wisdom to less gifted souls.
“And where are we going today?”
All three of them started as though they had touched an exposed electric wire or a hot chick’s boobs by accident.
“Oh, it’s only you, Ikkaku.” Iba said; “Join us if you want to. We’re going to get ourselves some saké from Rangiku’s cabin.”
“Saké is a good idea.” Ikkaku said; “After my morning exercise, I need to cool off.” His morning exercise at the Meadows involved picking some of the most remotely located flowers for Yachiru so that the latter could trash them and order him to pick them all over again, and so forth until she decided that she was bored of playing the game. Ikkaku didn’t mind, because it was the only mode of exercise for him: Captain Zaraki had been hogging the training ground ever since they got there: it’s the same every year.
“We’re here,” declared Shūhei jubilantly. “Hopefully, she’s left the door unlocked.”
Iba grinned. “We’ll get in through the window if it’s locked; or even the wall, if it comes to that. Nothing can keep us from getting our hands on that saké. Right, boys?”
A collective ‘Right!’ was heard from everyone but Izuru, who mumbled something about morals and righteousness that would have doubtless been ignored by the other three even if they’d heard him.
“We’re in luck: the door’s been left unlocked.” Shūhei said.
“Rangiku’s very kind.” Iba said.
“It’s as though she was expecting us.” Ikkaku said with a laugh.
The four of them entered, with Izuru being forcibly dragged along by Shūhei.
“There it is!” Ikkaku said with the glee of a pirate that had stumbled across a ton of buried gold when he noticed the sack peeking out from underneath the bed.
“Beautiful.” Iba said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and sniffling.
“Men,” said Shūhei dramatically; “We have come this far. Now we must part ways. But after drinking to our good health.”
He reached out for the sack and undid the knot slowly.
“I’ll go first.” he said once he had untied the sack completely. He closed his eyes, thrust his hand into the sack, and pulled back out as though it were a lion’s mouth and not a sack he was reaching into.
Ikkaku, Iba and even Izuru gasped.
“I know,” Shūhei said. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” He opened his eyes and nearly dropped the object he was holding.
“What the fuck?” he exclaimed in indignation. “Jelly-filled chocolate tarts?!”
“Rangiku has betrayed the Cause!” Iba declared.
“We must punish her!” Ikkaku said.
“I hear footsteps. Quick—out the window!” Shūhei said in a low voice, and the four of them squeezed out through the window at the back one by one.
No sooner did Izuru manage to jump out than Hitsugaya walked into the cabin.
“The door is open. How strange.” he mused aloud to himself. He scanned the room with his eyes. His gaze fell on the sack. “There it is!”
He opened the sack, expecting to find the saké bottles that he was sure Rangiku had smuggled in. In their place, however, he found candy of all sorts: fruit candy, sugar candy, Belgian chocolate, whisky-filled chocolate, an abomination called ‘Gummy Bears’, chocolate tarts, butter chocolate—practically everything that he would suspect Ukitake of giving him.
“What’s this? A card?” he said, noticing a small card between the fourteenth box of Belgian chocolate and seventeenth pack of Gummy Bears.
“Dear Shiro-chan,”—he read—“Remember I had promised to bring you a sack of candy? I stuck to my word. Yours truly, Shiro-chan.”
To the untrained eye, it would appear as though Hitsugaya had taken self-obsession to a new level—nobody would suspect Ukitake of things like that.
“Well, so I guess Rangiku didn’t bring any saké to the Meadows after all.” Hitsugaya concluded with a wry smile.
* * * * *
“Welcome to the Summer Session of the Soul Reaper Women’s Association.” Nanao said.
“Rangiku isn’t here.” Isane observed.
“Yeah, it’s about her.” Nanao said, straightening her glasses as she took out a piece of paper from her pocket and read it. “Rangiku has entrusted us with this,”—she pointed at the large sack that was placed on the table—“because her captain suspects her and is likely to search her cabin, too.”
“What is it?” Yachiru asked; “Shiro-chan’s candy?”
“No, it appears to be full of saké bottles.” Nanao said, touching one of the bulges on the sack. “Knowing Rangiku, it has to be saké bottles.”
“So what do we have to do?” Kiyone asked.
“Rangiku entrusted us with it, and it’s the job of the Women’s Association to assist its members.” Nanao said. She straightened her glasses again. “So who wants to keep the saké?”
“I can’t,” Isane said; “Captain Unohana detests such things.”
“If I keep it with me, Omaede is surely going to drink it all.” Soifon said with disgust.
“True.” Nanao said; “And I have my own captain to worry about.”
“Captain Ukitake doesn’t drink!” Kiyone said, cringing as though someone had accused her beloved captain of becoming drunk and then strip dancing.
“Nemu could keep it with her, couldn’t you, Nemu?” Isane said.
“My body is immune to alcohol and the Great Mayuri takes no interest in it. I will protect the saké with my life until Lieutenant Matsumoto decides otherwise.” Nemu said in her usual monotone.
“Er, right.” Nanao said; “So Nemu, the Women’s Association officially appoints you guardian of this saké.”
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