"Safe travels, Captains! Please come visit again anytime!"
Shiki stood at the gates of the 9th Division, face plastered with a warm and enthusiastic smile, watching as Unohana and Kuryashiki turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
The moment they were gone, he spun around and stormed back into the courtyard, his voice rising uncontrollably.
"Captain! My dear, beloved Captain! What in the world was that?!"
He marched straight toward Muguruma Kensei, who was still standing outside the side hall, and began ticking off points on his fingers like a man presenting an airtight case:
"Let's think this through logically, shall we? The 9th Division is already swamped! We've got prison management, paperwork, interrogations, personnel scheduling—every single task depends on me!"
He paused dramatically, drawing out the final argument: "Are you really going to make the Vice-Captain handle all that?"
Kensei's brow twitched.
Where did this man get the audacity to say the words "indispensable" and "work ethic" with such righteous conviction?
Sure, he, Muguruma Kensei, admitted to occasionally being pulled away by Mashiro's chaos—but he could swear on his Zanpakutō that aside from his six daily hours of intense physical and spiritual training, every other moment was spent on squad responsibilities!
Shiki? Since the day he joined the 9th?
Not once could Kensei remember this guy sitting down and doing a full day of proper work.
He was either holed up writing who-knows-what, loitering around Junlin'an drinking sake, or taking suspiciously elaborate "research trips."
Not a single full workday. Ever.
Kensei crossed his arms, leaned slightly back, and stared sideways at Shiki.
Go ahead. Keep talking.
Realizing that the "I'm too vital" approach wasn't working, Shiki switched gears on the fly, tone turning heartfelt:
"Captain, think about it again—didn't I just bring in 100,000 Kan for the squad?"
He held up ten fingers and shook them for emphasis.
"If I weren't grinding day and night to write and publish my work, would we even have that expensive tea today to serve the visiting captains?"
Emboldened, he picked up steam:
"Now look at our Vice-Captain. With her… disposition, she leaves a trail of destruction wherever she goes! I wouldn't be surprised if our monthly repair costs are higher than the entire 11th Division's medical bills combined!"
"And who's been patching up that massive hole in our finances?"
He thumped his own chest dramatically. "Me. That's who—"
"HYAH!!"
A high-pitched battle cry echoed through the courtyard, cutting him off.
A flash of white blurred past his peripheral vision, followed by a soft thud as a small foot planted squarely into his lower back.
"WHUMP!"
Shiki was lifted clean off his feet, still mid-speech, and launched forward like a sack of rice. He arced through the air and slammed face-first into the garden wall with a dull smack, then slid down into a heap, trailing a cloud of dust.
Kuna Mashiro stood where she'd kicked him, arms akimbo, cheeks puffed, lips pouting aggressively.
"Little Mirai! How dare you talk bad about me behind my back!"
Shiki groaned and peeled himself off the wall, brushing dirt from his uniform and wincing as a wave of dull pain rippled across his spine. He turned a slow, accusatory stare toward his captain.
Captain… you knew she was nearby and said nothing?!
Kensei looked away, pretending to study the garden trees with sudden interest.
Shiki turned back to Mashiro, quickly switching to his most pitiful expression:
"You misunderstood, Vice-Captain! I didn't mean that at all. I was just… I was trying to explain that the captain wants to send me to the World of the Living! You've gotta save me!"
"The living world?" Mashiro tilted her head, momentarily distracted. "You're going to that boring place?"
"Yes!" Shiki nodded furiously, putting more misery into his voice.
"You don't know, but I heard at the tavern—people are calling it a war zone. Death everywhere. Rivers of blood. Corpses stacked to the sky!"
He clutched his chest, face pale.
"You know me, Vice-Captain. I've always been frail. I can't stand the sight of blood. I faint. Dizzy, weak, cold sweats—if I go there, it'll kill me!"
He staggered a bit, gripping his forehead with one hand, feigning a dramatic collapse.
Mashiro blinked, clearly taken in.
"Huh? You're blood-phobic?"
She furrowed her brows, thinking deeply. Then her eyes lit up.
"Wait right there!"
She dashed off, and moments later came bounding back holding a wooden box.
Rifling through it, she produced a pair of old, black, fingerless gloves.
"Here!" she said brightly, shoving them into his hands. "These are my old Mighty Gloves! When you wear them, you'll feel super strong and brave! You won't be scared at all!"
Shiki looked at the gloves—plain, worn, unimpressive.
Then back at Mashiro's beaming face.
He hesitated, but ultimately slipped them on.
The fit was surprisingly snug.
He flexed his fingers. The air felt a little sharper around his knuckles. Encouraged, he took a few steps back, turned toward the nearby courtyard wall, and shouted, "HAH!"
BOOM!
His fist connected with a solid thud. The wall didn't budge.
"YEEEOW!"
Shiki recoiled with a scream, grabbing his right hand as his entire arm shook with pain. He crouched down, furiously blowing on his knuckles, eyes watering.
"Vice-Captain… these are totally fake!"
"They are not!" Mashiro snapped, pumping her own fists confidently.
"I can punch through mountains wearing those!"
She puffed out her chest, utterly convinced.
Kensei finally couldn't take it anymore.
He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Mashiro. Go back to your room. I need to talk to Shiki about something important."
"Ehhh?" Mashiro pouted but saw the look in her captain's eyes and huffed, turning away.
"Fine. But take care of yourself, little Mirai!" she called over her shoulder, skipping back to her room.
As soon as her door shut, Kensei looked down at the crouching, whimpering Shiki and said flatly:
"Still hurts?"
Shiki gave a feeble nod.
Kensei raised an eyebrow.
"Have you considered… maybe it's not the gloves that punch through mountains?"
Shiki froze mid-rub.
He slowly looked at his bruised hand. Then at Kensei's unimpressed expression. Then back to his memory of Mashiro's absurd strength.
Hiss…
He sucked in a breath.
Okay. That tracked.
The gloves may have been a gimmick—she was the weapon.
Shiki kept kneeling, slowly looking up at Kensei with the most tragic, betrayed puppy-eyes he could muster.
"Captain~~ you're really just gonna toss me into the fire like this~~?"
Kensei rolled his eyes.
"Don't start with me. You're a grown man. A little field exposure will do you good."
His tone turned resolute.
"The living world might be chaotic, but you'll be under the 11th Division's protection. Just go, learn, and come back."
He paused, folding his arms.
"You've got two days. Finish your paperwork and prep. That's an order."
"Captain, please reconsider—I'll slow them down! I'll faint in battle! I—"
But Kensei had already turned around, waving him off.
Shiki's protests slowly petered out into a pitiful whimper.
He slumped to his feet, still holding his sore hand, and looked toward the empty gate.
There was no escape.
This "field research" trip to the World of the Living… was happening.
…