"Here," I handed over the order. "Why did the Shinigami come to you?" I asked.
"They need another large batch of wood. Mr. Byakuya had some business in our area, so he stopped by on his way."
"Why do they need wood?"
"So three years ago, a colossally huge batch of souls arrived in Rukongai. There had never been so many at once."
"Ah," I remembered. "Is that from Hiroshima and Nagasaki?"
"Yes," he nodded. "It's impossible to accommodate so many souls at once, so new facilities are being built. The sawmills in the first districts used to manage, but now they've even reached us."
"I guess that's good—new orders, good money," I suggested.
"I agree."
Then he asked about Momoto-san's health and other things that were very important to him. After that, we parted ways. As always, he'll bring the money himself. Everything's as usual.
I went for a walk. This was my last order for the day, so I could finally go train. Or better yet—I'd go see Rangiku. Maybe I could squeeze some useful information out of her. She had the day off today.
I reached her place quickly and entered without knocking. As always, the apartment was a battlefield of trash, clutter, and the faint stench of alcohol. The closets were stuffed with clothes and all sorts of cute little things.
The owner of the apartment herself—and possessor of enormous boobs—was fast asleep, clearly after last night's party. Yeah, waking her up like that was pointless.
So I decided to make her lunch. There was rice, the tuna was still fresh, and there was even nori on the shelf. Perfect—onigiri it is. I'm not the best cook, but when you work in a pastry shop, it's impossible not to learn something. I also set the tea to brew. Rangiku's tea is always good.
I boiled the rice, cut the fish, and shaped everything. Easy as pie. Momotō-san even manages to make cute rabbits out of onigiri. What a talent. Everything she makes is delicious. The whole shop depends on her.
The smell of food soon attracted the shinigami herself. In a single shirt, barely concealing these ample curves. Wow. A devastating blow to the male population of humanity. I can't even imagine what it's like to live with her.
"Food," she mumbled, crawling to the table and devouring her lunch. "Delicious."
"Yeah, yeah," I waved a hand. "Looks like you went out last night."
"Yeah," she yawned, sipping her tea. "It was my day off. I went out with my friends and had a few drinks."
I looked at the pile of bottles. A few, huh. And she recovers from a hangover so fast… impressive.
"I came—"
"I know, but no," she said. "You're too small for Kidō"
"Well—"
"No. They'll teach you everything at the Academy. And don't ask! No!" She didn't even let me get a word in. "You already have pretty good control over your power. Keep training like I told you, and you'll easily get into Class 1 at the Academy—the one where all the strongest go."
I used my last and most despicable trick: HUGE, PITIFUL EYES!
"No! Don't look at me like that!" she began to crack. "This time I won't give in! No! No-o-o-o-o-o…" she pleaded, but I was cruel and relentless.
"Please, onee-san," I even fluttered my eyelashes.
Knockout. I won—but I still hate my appearance...
"To hell with you," she grumbled, pulling me into a hug. I endured it stoically. It's worth it, though. I've learned to find advantages in my looks—it works great on women. So, yeah, I'm even a little happy with how I look. Just a little. Very little. Almost not at all. (T-T)
Oh, if only I were handsome instead of little cutie. It's so scary and sad. I honestly don't care about the other kids' teasing—I can throw a punch, and I've already given the local bullies a proper beating. And it's impossible to catch up with me. It's like I was born to run.
But adults… I still can't handle them. Sometimes I have to run from those damn ladies with their shotacon complexes. Yeah. I think shunpo will come very naturally to me in the future.
That terrifying woman finally let me go and, after making me promise to accompany her, agreed to teach me a new concentration technique. I had no choice but to accept. I hope my sacrifices are recorded by the Soul King.
Once she got dressed, we went to a clothing store. Rangiku decided to buy herself something new—and took me along as her porter. But less than ten minutes later, my role changed dramatically. The girls working in the store, along with the shinigami herself, decided to have some fun and started dressing me up in different outfits.
What I went through there… (‡▼益▼)
I experienced all the circles of hell. Buddha must surely forgive me for all my sins now. I was so patient!
It was truly the darkest day of my life. No shinigami skill is worth such humiliation. No woman has ever tried on so many women's clothes in her entire life. It was truly awful.
Dresses, yukatas, gothic lolita outfits, tuxedos, some kind of school uniform—and so much more. So much that I knew I'd have nightmaresabout it, and sure enough, I did. But one question haunted me:
WHERE DID ALL THIS COME FROM?!!!
Only later did I realize this was a clothing store that sold costumes from the living world. And I'd been brought here on purpose—for their entertainment. She'd promised her friends.
Damn it. I'm thirteen years old, and I already look ridiculous enough.
Rangiku completely destroyed three hours of my life—and most of my nerve cells.
Well, never mind. I'll remind her of this when my time comes. I'll have my revenge! I'll be able to give that tyrant what she deserves. We Shinigami are immortal, so there will be a chance. I'll become the captain of her Division and bury her in paperwork! No days off!!!
"Come on, Karasu-chan," the spiteful woman laughed. "It suited you!"
"Grrr!" All I could do was growl at her.
She kept her promise, though, and showed me another technique. Not Kidō, of course—just an exercise in reiatsu control. Last time, I'd managed to make her teach me how to meditate with light orbs. They teach that in the first year. But no one forbids you from practicing early. And I really want to get into the first class—then I'll have a better chance of becoming stronger. Officers watch for talented students. Some of the particularly gifted may be eligible for individual lessons or training in a Division. And knowledge gained from individual lessons is always better than general ones. You can learn things that aren't part of the regular curriculum—and maybe even awaken your zanpakutō faster.
Every second-year shinigami is given an asauchi—a nameless spiritual sword. Over time, the blade fuses with the soul and becomes a reflection of one's strength. The sword gains its own essence and personality. By bonding with their zanpakutō, shinigami grow stronger. A spiritual blade is part of the shinigami's very being. But that comes later.
Rangiku's new technique focused on concentrating power at a specific point on the body. It lets you boost attack or defense at that point. A very promising technique.
So, when I finally got dinner ready, she let me go home. The main thing now is not to get caught by her again. I won't fall for that trick a second time.
Okay, I really should go home—it's getting dark already. And tomorrow I've got another trip planned. I promised.
I got home quickly. Everyone was already gathered and waiting just for me.
"You're late!" little Kiki pouted. "I'm hungry, and you're out there wandering around!" She straightened her tiny chest and put her hands on her hips—just like an angry wife waiting for her husband. That little blonde is always growling at me.
"Yes, yes, but I'm here now—and I'm hungry too," I said, ruffling her hair as I passed into the house.
"U-u-u-u-u!" she puffed her cheeks in protest.
The others were there too. Dinner was fun. Kiki was noisy and grumpy, Hikari chattered nonstop (which annoyed everyone), and Kittan was rereading the latest documents. He's been trying to help Momoto-san as much as he can. The hostess herself just smiled—happy for everyone. Such a kind soul.
After the meal, we sat and talked about our day for a long time. Then we went to bed.
Tomorrow I have another trip. I need to get some sleep.