Mirai's mouth twitched.
He didn't know why, but every time Captain Kensei Muguruma said, It won't take much time, with that hard, unreadable face, Mirai's brain betrayed him.
Without fail, he'd picture the captain dropping like a sack of bricks, foam at the mouth, done.
"My bad… my bad," Mirai muttered, shaking his head as if he could physically dislodge the thought.
To be fair, he respected Kensei. After years under him, it was impossible not to. The captain had that old-guard hero vibe—strict, steady, and annoyingly dependable. He looked after every member of Squad 9, even the ones who made his life harder.
Even Mirai—professional slacker—only got a few sharp words when he pushed it too far. Kensei didn't really punish him. He just made disappointment feel like a disciplinary measure.
Mirai put on his most cooperative smile and walked over.
"Captain, you looking for me? If Lieutenant Mashiro Kuna sent you to squeeze me for more chapters…"
He spread his hands, helpless.
"You know writers gotta eat too. That book, Hell Girl? It has zero readers. It's not selling. If I keep forcing it, I won't even afford basic food."
At the word Lieutenant, Kensei's expression shifted—just barely. Not anger. Not irritation. Something closer to exhausted resignation.
He shook his head. "It's not only that. But… yes. It's related to her."
Then his eyes sharpened.
"You know tomorrow is selection day. Shin'ō Academy graduates choose their squads. Usually, I go myself."
He paused, as if he already knew the next sentence would sound ridiculous the moment it left his mouth.
"But Lieutenant Mashiro Kuna decided we're having a picnic in West Rukongai tomorrow. And she insisted I go with her."
"Oh."
He narrowed his eyes at his captain, saying absolutely nothing—because he didn't need to.
So a picnic mattered more than recruitment.
And even if the lieutenant wanted a picnic, weren't there Third and Fourth Seats? Why was this landing on him—the Fifth Seat?
Also… Captain Hirako from Squad 5 had "warned" him not to show up at the academy. If they ran into each other tomorrow, that would be painful in a way Mirai didn't have energy for.
Naturally, he didn't say any of that out loud.
He just let it sit in his stare
Kensei, calm as ever, accepted it like background noise.
Then he offered Mirai an alternative, casual as a guillotine.
"If you don't want to go," he said, "fine. There's plenty of squad work waiting in the office."
He pointed toward the document room at the corner of the barracks, still lit despite the late hour—dim light, stacked shelves, and the unmistakable feeling of a paper graveyard.
"Go finish the handover with the Third Seat tonight. Starting tomorrow, you'll be in full charge of squad business."
Mirai's face changed instantly.
His smile brightened like a lantern.
"No, Captain. Absolutely not." He hit his chest with conviction. "The Third Seat is… loyal, but he's about as persuasive as a block of wood. He won't recruit anyone. This is an important task for Squad 9's future. It should be me."
He leaned forward, voice suddenly earnest.
"I'll bring back the best candidates we can get. I swear."
Squad business meant a mountain of paperwork every single day. Even if he didn't read it—just stamping and sorting until his hand cramped—he'd still lose years off his life.
Compared to that, facing Hirako's stare was manageable.
"We don't need 'the best,'" Kensei said, looking at him with open disdain.
"If we get a few more 'prodigies' like Mashiro and you, Squad 9 is going to fall apart."
Mirai pretended not to hear that last part. He turned and bolted for his room.
"Then it's a deal, Captain! I'll handle recruitment tomorrow!"
He moved fast. Very fast. Sleep first. Consequences later.
Bang.
He shut the door behind him and exhaled like he'd escaped a battlefield.
"Pulled it off," he muttered, tugging at his uniform straps.
Then his eyes swept across the room.
And he stopped.
In an instant, his posture straightened.
His left hand brushed at his sleeve like he was calmly dusting himself off.
His right hand slid to the hilt of his zanpakutō.
He turned slowly toward the darkest corner of the room.
Step by step, he edged his feet back toward the door.
Clang—!
His blade cleared the sheath in a cold flash.
Moonlight caught the edge, drawing a sharp line through the darkness as he leveled it at the corner.
"Who's there?" Mirai's voice dropped. "Sneaking into Squad 9 barracks takes nerve."
He pressed his back to the door—thin security, but better than nothing.
"Captain Kensei is right outside. You want to die?"
He nudged the door with his heel, easing it open a fraction.
"Come out now. We can talk. But if you make noise and I wake the Captain, you'll be spending days in a cell."
Click.
The door opened a little wider.
Moonlight slipped in, spilling across the floor—just enough to outline a shape in the corner.
A small black cat sat there, perfectly still.
"Meow~?"
Golden eyes blinked up at him, innocent and bright. The cat lifted a paw and licked it slowly, unbothered.
Mirai stared.
For a heartbeat, his shoulders loosened.
"…A stray?"
He slid his zanpakutō back into its sheath.
But he didn't close the door.
Instead, he pushed it wide open.
And shouted into the yard with the force of a man choosing survival.
"LIEUTENANT MASHIRO KUNA! COME QUICK! THERE'S A SUPER CUTE BLACK CAT IN MY ROOM!!!"
Because no.
That wasn't a stray.
That was trouble with fur.
How did Shihōin Yoruichi end up in my room?!
The cat froze mid-lick.
Its eyes widened—confusion flipping into sheer terror.
"Meow!!!"
It shrieked and launched from the corner like black lightning, moving like it owned the night.
For a split second, it looked almost too fast to grab.
Almost.
A blur cut through the air faster.
A small figure appeared mid-jump and snatched the cat clean out of the air.
"Yaaay! It's adorable!" Lieutenant Mashiro Kuna squealed, hugging it tight. "Where did you come from, little baby? Are you lost? Come here~"
She was in her loose uniform, hair a mess like she'd sprinted over without fully waking up. She rubbed her cheek against the cat's head like it was a plush toy.
The cat thrashed.
It kicked. It twisted. It tried to slip free with every ounce of dignity it had left.
Mashiro ignored all of it, smiling brighter.
The cat's golden eyes snapped toward Mirai, and it screamed again—tragic, accusing:
"Meow—!"
Mirai! You absolute traitor!!
"Oh, you hungry?" Mashiro said. "Don't be scared. I've got snacks in my room."
Still hugging the struggling "cat," she started walking toward her room.
After a few steps, she stopped, remembered something, and looked back with a grin that made Mirai go stiff.
"Mirai. When I get back from the picnic tomorrow, I want two chapters of Hell Girl."
"Otherwise…" She giggled. "Hehe."
"Yes, Lieutenant!" Mirai snapped into a crisp salute. "Understood. Have a good walk."
He watched her carry the screaming black cat away like it was hers now.
Only when her door closed with a quiet click did Mirai finally breathe again.
He clasped his hands and bowed toward Mashiro's door.
"…Good luck."
Because Mirai knew one thing:
Anything "loved" by Lieutenant Mashiro didn't come back fine.
Even if that "cat" was Shihōin Yoruichi.
Mirai hurried back into his room, shut the door, and shoved a heavy wardrobe against it.
Only then did he lie down.
As sleep took him, he thought he heard a cat screaming somewhere down the hall.
Mirai rolled over, smiled, and went out cold.