Adult-FanFiction.org : Bleach

Changing of the Guard	By : c0p13r Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 81 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own BLEACH, nor do I make money off of this story

Chapter List
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            “Kurosaki!!”
            Ichigo hadn’t expected a welcoming like this when Orihime led him to the meeting room, if it could be called a welcoming at all! The lightning bolt was thrown at his head with all intent to fry it and his brain to charcoal. Godlike reflexes saved his life as he bent back, his jaw dropping, his pupils turned to pinpoints as he watched the green lightning demolish the wall behind him. Orihime was at his aid in an instant, calling out to him, asking if he was alright and uninjured.
            “Who-Who the hell are you?!” shouted Ichigo, coming back up, his arms cocked and angry, stomping a foot forward in challenge.
            The woman confronting him had on the attire of a Stern Ritter, but he couldn’t recall ever meeting one that was covered in brutal stitching. However… if he looked harder, past the injuries, he could vaguely recognize the lime-blonde hair, the charge of electricity in her hollowed fists, and the insane look in her eyes. “Don’t give me that shit! You know very well who I am!”
            Ichigo glowered, murmuring in his throat. He glowered. And he glowered silently some more.
            “You bastard! Did you actually forget what you did to me?!” she roared.
            Ichigo remained silent, and then threw out a hand, groaning as he grabbed his head. He looked to be agitated, and then said, “Hold on, it’s coming to me…! Probably!”
            Candice Catnipp, the Thunderbolt, snarled, her beauty cracking with vicious veins. “YOU BAST-!!!”
            “That’s enough.” A button was pressed on a cylindrical handheld device, and several in attendance were enveloped in a painful burst of electricity, except Candice, whose inhibitor was structured for flame since she could use electricity to her benefit. The five all screeched – in various ways, as one swooned and another acted like it was an annoyance than a painful charge – until the blazing display abated. “Really,” muttered Mayuri, his thumb still on the rubbery trigger. “I’ll have to craft a zombie obedience school next.”
            “Dammit!” A wispy black-haired boy that Ichigo truly did not recognize – but had the same stitch patterns on his body – shoved forward. “Can’t you just calm down?! That insane freak zaps all of us when you act out!” The woman next to him – also black-haired and stitched – agreed, yanking on the ends of her whip as if threatening to use it. The third person – a man Ichigo certainly remembered with no fondness – jumped up with a “Niño! It’s been a long time!” Dordoni Alessandro Del Socaccio landed in an outrageous pose, dipping deep with his left leg stretched out far and his hands following with his face turned the other direction.
            Ichigo was unimpressed despite Orihime’s awed gaze.
            “It seems our reunion was fated to be held at the pinnacle of existence, wouldn’t you say, chocolate niñOOH!!”
            Another blast of merciless electricity.
            “Must you all act like it’s a carnival here?” Mayuri complained, holding his thumb longer on the trigger while his Arrancar corpses wailed in hate and the Quincy screeched venom. Two others; an Arrancar man with a mane of thick hair and a tall woman of pink, the former treating the shocks like a joy and the other clenching against it like catching a harsh glare from the sun. Noticing this, the scientist said something about needing to recalibrate for muscle density for the pink-haired one.
            Meninas McAllon gave a sigh meant to sound agitated, but it was too airy to really seem like much of anything. She bounced her locks gently in her palms. “What an annoying man,” she observed before her eyes switched to Kurosaki Ichigo. For a protracted time, she stared without speaking, a finger pushing up against her natural-pouty bottom lip. “So he is awake.”
            “Mayuri-san,” laughed Urahara, placing a friendly hand on the Captain’s shoulder, to which Mayuri glared at with the greatest contempt. “Will you be joining our little meeting after all?”
            “Hmph! Hardly!” Mayuri shoved the hand off of him. “I merely needed to collect my things before the return journey.” He smiled a yellow smile, preening at the device that he had held out earlier, now bloated and its tongue hanging tiredly. “I’ve got so many samples up here that I wish to diagnose! The stingy Reio”—He cast a resentful glare to Ichigo—“can keep his fingernails and toenails… for now, I suppose. For the moment”—He snapped his fingers once above his head—“come! I’ve spent enough time here!”
            Luppi and Cirucci griped but complied, Charlotte Chuhlhourne moaned and ran his hands over his body – A fresh scar was stitched across his chest – Dordoni gave a wheezing protest to how he was not allowed to confront Ichigo. But the two new zombies…
            “Hm? How absurd. Do I need to refine my method of reconstructing Quincy bodies to obey better?” Mayuri looked at Candice and Meninas, who had not moved from either of their spots. He held up his trigger, though the Arrancar protested each. “Don’t they know who is their master now?” The head compressed under his thumb, but it was not set off as a burly hand covered his, stilling it at once. Again, the scientist was offended to be touched, and the heavy musk of the monk was offending, to say the least.
            “Now, Kurotsuchi Mayuri,” said Osho in a friendly tone, “I believe we had struck a deal! The Quincy were not to be treated unkindly and…”
            “Pah!” spat Mayuri, pulling his hand free but refraining from engaging the button. He instead rubbed the hand as if to polish and cleanse it. “A man of creation not being able to do as he wishes with his own things; Squad Zero is abundantly absurd!”
            “Creation? If you call animating these mummies again ‘creation’, the Bureau of Research and Development of Soul Society is certainly lacking,” mused Senjumaru, coming up to Osho’s side to confront the antagonizing Captain. “We’ve made our bargain already. Now run along and play with your toys below until we have need of you again, Kurotsuchi Mayuri.”
            “Why you-!” Mayuri thrust out his hand, shaking with rage as his thumb hovered above the trigger. Senjumaru lost none of her mirth, her smile daring him to go through with it. Behind her, Urahara was petitioning for peace.
            It was a tense standoff that only ended when Mayuri snorted and turned away, stuffing his device in his clothes. “I’ve a schedule that I must keep. Consider yourselves fortunate that I am a generous soul and will oblige our agreement.” His glance to his zombies was full of hatred, as was his command “Come!” He stomped ahead, the Arrancar trailing, Meninas following after them, and Candice taking the longest to obey; not before thrusting a gloved finger in Ichigo’s confused face and snarling, “This isn’t over, Kurosaki! You’ll pay for what you did!” And then she was off, storming off with squared shoulders and broad, outward steps.
            “You’ll get more wrinkles with a face like that,” Meninas said.
            “Shaddup! Like wrinkles are any worse than these damned scars anyway!”
            Ichigo wasn’t sure what to make of that confrontation, so he looked at Orihime and whispered, “What was that about?”
            “Candi-chan said that you put dirt in her hair,” Orihime answered informatively, and then wagged a finger of reproach at him. “That wasn’t a nice thing to do, Kurosaki-kun.”
            Abashed, Ichigo threw his hands upon his chest and gave her an imploring look. “I-I didn’t do anything like that! Maybe if we fought… but that sort of thing is bound to happen…!”
            “Kurosaki-san! Inoue-san! So glad you’re here now! Sorry for the interruption. Mayuri-san has always liked a theatrical exit, so please excuse him!” exclaimed the cheery Urahara.
            Like he’s one to talk about theatrics. Ichigo, regardless, heeded him and walked over with Orihime at his side. Undisturbed, he was now given a chance to really see the assembly gathered for him. Urahara said that Rukia and Renji would have liked to be in attendance, “But Reiokyu can’t be accessed so easily, even now!” Orihime was a special case, and Mayuri was an assistant (or better) to aid the Reio in recovery. So the meeting was composed and Ichigo and Orihime, Urahra, Osho, Senjumaru, Kyoraku Shunsui and Ise Nanao, and…
            “Ichigo-chan! You look absolutely peaked!” sang the heavyset woman brushing by Urahara with a full dish of steaming pork buns. Hikifune Kirio smiled, her creased eyes upon him above her full and spiraled cheeks. “How cruel of Kisuke not to let you eat first! You’ve been on an empty stomach all week, haven’t you? So eat and eat, Ichigo-chan, and recover your strength!”
            “Oh, uh, thank you, Kirio-san,” Ichigo said apprehensively.
            Kirio nodded briskly. “Orihime-chan was with me for quite a while. Between you and me”—Which it wasn’t, with her lack of volume control—“she’s been busy making a special recipe for you. Even as Reio, you should feel very honored!”
            “Kiro-san!” exclaimed the bashful girl beside Ichigo, reaching and tugging at her hair, petting it anxiously, hand over fist.
            Ichigo didn’t have time to comment – enough, though, to pass her a grateful smile – when Urahara moved to the front of the room, calling out like a teacher, “If you’ll take your seats, please, we can begin~”
            “Where did these school desks come from?” murmured Ichigo, looking dubiously at the few desks right in front of Urahara, though he also noticed that no one else was sitting in them. His face twisted. No… He can’t mean…!
            “Kurosaki-san~♪” Urahara rapped on the desk with his cane. “If you’ll take a seat please, we can begin~”
            “What are you talking about? I don’t mind standing…!” Everyone else was standing! Why did he have to sit?!
            “Unless you sit,” Urahara replied, “the energies within you might erupt and cause a disruption to the three realms of reality. Why do you think Aizen was confined to a chair for our protection?”
            “Sit down, Reio-sama,” said Senjumaru. “We don’t want to wait all day.”
            “These desks are much too small!” bellowed Osho with a laugh while Kyoraku said he would swoon over Nanao sitting in a such a chair in a schoolgirl’s uniform; the remark earned him a fist to the jaw.
            “It’s alright, Kurosaki-kun.”
            Ichigo turned to Orihime when he felt her hand lightly brush over his; maybe on accident, he figured.
            “I’ll sit down with you.”
            Somehow, in her outfit, straight posture, shoulders up and back, head up, hands folded politely and both feet flat on the floor, Orihime resumed a real sense of poise and elegance; much like a teacher or teacher’s aide when teaching a student by example. But if she was the teacher’s aide, did that make Ichigo the student? He ducked his head a bit, feeling ashamed to have everyone else standing over him. And he could swear he heard Urahara lose a small chuckle.
            This chair wasn’t necessary at all, was it?!
            “Now, Pero! If you’ll run the reel!” Urahara’s cane swung up as a picture or video began to run on the wall behind him, projected from the eyes of a floating round abnormality that must have been one of his own designed creations; fluffy and cute to contrast the creepy and morose of Mayuri’s engineering.
            The video was of a bird’s eye account of the ending of Ichigo’s fight with Yhwach. The words and threats were thrown by the Quincy King; Ichigo remembered those, and forgot his sitting embarrassment to watch. Black reishi was ripping through the terrain, Yhwach’s final desperate throes to eliminate all who had thwarted him, stood against him, and even fought for him. Shinigami, human, Hollow, Quincy! All would be drawn into oblivion!
            “Because there is no Reio,” said Osho on the video, whom Ichigo could not recount by memory. “There is nothing to bind reality together anymore. The power is loose.”
            “Loose threads fall apart, and the fabric is torn asunder,” added Senjumaru by his side.
            Ichigo stood placidly against them as the destruction raged beneath his feet. Squad Zero were all together, staring at him, Tenjiro with his Kinpika leaning onto his shoulder in casual wait, Oh-Etsu grinning wide and saying that the spotlight shined brightest in the final act, Kirio said nothing but stared happily. Osho’s eyes sparkled with expectancy, as if he could look into Ichigo’s very soul.
            Slowly, Ichigo turned around, faced them fully. Even if he could not remember it now – not in detail, at least – it was evident what was taking place in that silence. Questions and warnings, a begging guard of royalty. For the good of everyone, friend and family and enemy…
            The hold of Zangetsu tightened for a moment, and then relaxed, and then strengthened again. He did not buckle and his eyes did not waver. “Take me there.”
            To Reiokyu, where the Wahrwelt was crumbling, fading back to the palace it once was. “Ichigo!” Nel was there, waiting with a wounded Urahara and Grimmjow. Ichigo could only look at her in passing; he was rushing with all haste with the members of Squad Zero behind him. Nel did not pursue.
            Outside, watching, Ichigo was relieved to see that Nel was alright.
            The camera creature struggled to keep pace. Soon, it was evident that the recordings were from numerous devices, spread throughout the realm of the Soul King, or else the images would not ever be able to keep pace. “What are you doing?” Tenjiro shouted ahead to Ichigo. “You’re supposed to be following us!”
            Ichigo looked back fixedly. “I can sense them.”
            “Them?” Tenjiro’s teeth held his toothpick tight.
            Ichigo faced ahead. “They’ll die if they’re left there.”
            Never had such speed been recorded. Osho and the others – including the Speed Demon – fell back when Ichigo burst forward and full power, the total mastery of his Bankai propelling him to records that they just could not fathom. Urahara’s devices blipped from one area to another, but there was no keeping track. The bodies on the ground, in pools of blood, simply vanished, taken away and to safety. But there was one final image, one where he stopped.
            The captured Arrancar Empress.
            The defeated Espada lifted her head, her shackles rattling as the castle around her crumbled. Even if her chains came loose from these falling walls, she hadn’t the strength or even the will to escape. Her only hope now stood in front of her. “You’re…” Her voice was rasped and weak from disuse. Still, in her stellar green eyes was a flicker of recognition, like seeing a legend come to life before her.
            Ichigo’s own eyes regarded the chain holding her, and the bare hilt of Zangetsu was grasped tightly. The browns of his eyes blazed over with gold. “I’m here to save you,” he said to her, and then ruined all the chains holding her with two broad swipes, cleaving away the wretched powers that sought to hold her captive to the Quincy King’s dying breath.
            Halibel lurched forward, unable to catch herself, but she needn’t when Ichigo was there, smoothly gathering her up in his arms, tender and mindful of her bruised and beaten flesh.
            She was the last to need saving from the wreckage. With a sharp pivot, his torn clothes billowing majestically, he blasted off the plateau of her imprisonment just as the castle imploded in on itself. His passenger was already unconscious, her head leaning against his shoulder, the three long tassels of braided hair whipping around them. He pulled her tight against him, swerving and veering, and then the camera angle went dead – likely destroyed by the crumbling building – and changed to an outside perspective, gazing upward, catching the moment Ichigo erupted from the very marble wall of Yhwach’s palace, not a scratch on him save for his battle scars.
            “Not bad,” Tenjiro had to admit with a wry smirk.
            “Chan-Ichi’s got the stuff, for sho’!” howled Oh-Etsu.
            As the others appraised the oncoming teen, Osho looked down at the ones that had been rescued. “Arrancar, Shinigami, human, and Quincy,” he murmured in account of those lying about on the ground, to be treated once everything was settled. “He saved them all.”
            Halibel was set down to join the group, a crude cushion for her head made from Ichigo’s tattered robes. He looked down at them for only a moment, and then turned to Osho. “So what has to be done?”
            “Well, reality needs its lynchpin” was the reply. Osho’s arms unfolded and a thick finger was pointed directly at Ichigo, and Ichigo did not react or seem surprised. “And you could be that lynchpin, Kurosaki Ichigo! Of human, Shinigami, Hollow, and Quincy! Who else could fill the role?!”
            Ichigo seemed undeterred when he asked after a pensive silence, “What will happen to me?”
            “To be honest, we don’t know. A transference of such magnitude has never been done before. Were you as before, before coming to terms with your powers…”
            And Oh-Etsu cockily adjusted his shades that that wide-toothed grin.
            “… it would have surely killed you to assume to role!”
            Ichigo glanced at the Reiokyu, in the ruined state it had been before Yhwach’s redesign. And the out-of-control power would only worsen it. “And now?”
            “You may survive,” said Senjumaru in place of Osho, who simply returned his hands into his sleeves and awaited Ichigo’s choice.
            There wasn’t much time left for deliberating. He could feel that hesitation would leave even lasting scars, in this world and the others. And it was pointless. To save everyone, even if it meant to die simply as a martyr of a name, he was prepared. “I’m ready,” he said strongly. “Do it!”
            Osho gave an approving nod, and there were small commentaries by Oh-Etsu and Kirio praising his choice. Ichigo was in the center of their circle, Tenjiro was at the east, Kirio at the south, Oh-Etsu west, and Senjumaru was north, while Osho approached from the front. “This is a mighty sacrifice, Kurosaki Ichigo,” he said gravely, losing the humor he normally bore in casual conversation. He smacked his palms loudly together. “We honor you! And pray you survive the experience!”
            At that, the video blinked out, and Urahara stepped forward once again, cheer on his face despite Ichigo’s intense confusion and disappointment not to see the resolution of his decision. Though sitting there himself, he at least knew the process hadn’t killed him.
            “As you just saw, Kurosaki-san, you have taken the place of the slain Reio. It was a shock to us”—It wasn’t—“that you’d take up the mantle, but we are eternally grateful”—The hat came off and Urahara bowed his head—“for this choice you’ve made.”
            Ichigo could do without the gratitude. Not because he himself was bitter, but because it was unnecessary. He was glad just to know everyone was safe, whether or not it was because of him.
            He pointed dumbly at the blank wall. “I-Is that it? Isn’t there more to the video?”
            “Nothing at all,” Urahara said, hat returned to his head. “The ritual of Squad Zero took place to contain, weave, and seep the unbound powers of Reio into you. It’s much to brilliant for common eyes to bear witness to.”
            “Really?” Ichigo said with some real intrigue. Well, he had survived, and that was something. But his memory… He touched his head and remembered his remembering! “Ah! Why can’t I remember all that?! It seemed so important! I just remember defeating Yhwach, and then…”
            “It’s understandable.” Osho took point for this question. “Your human senses are still catching up to your new sense of omnipotence. There will be no telling how long it will take, but your mind is pulling in knowledge of the entirety of existence! It is well beyond the scope of what an awake mind can comprehend.”
            “Really,” Ichigo repeated, cupping his chin as he processed the explanation. Glancing over, he reacted shocked to see Orihime writing down notes like they were actually attending a class!
            “But rest assured, Kurosaki Ichigo!” boomed Osho. “You needn’t worry! Perhaps you will feel a heightened sense of things from time to time, but you will live the normal life of Reio! You will train, you will eat, you will sleep, you will love and you will scorn! Your duty is to exist now and become the history of Soul Society and the whole of existence itself!”
            Ichigo stared perplexedly at him for a while, matching the enthusiasm with dumbfounded skepticism. “Is that it?”
            Osho’s head lifted slightly. “Hm?”
            “If all I need to do is stay alive,” continued Ichigo, sitting up with a stronger acceptance of things, “then there wasn’t really any need for the big spectacle, was there?” He smirked, holding up a fist. “All I need to do is control my reiatsu, and I can go back home and…”
            “There is no ‘going home’ for you.” Senjumaru floated like a wraith. “Unless ‘home’ is what you call Reiokyu.”
            “It is a bit of a pinch,” observed Osho, eyes upward as he began to pull thoughtfully at his beard now that Ichigo was returned to concern. “We would not have asked if it could be helped. We could have used some sort of replacement in the meantime. Trapping you away from your friends and family, from the life you’ve always known, it was a terrible thing to do.”
            To the side, Kyoraku tipped the brim of his hat, burying his somber face in shadowed shame. He’d done what he could to alleviate this outcome, but Soul Tickets were a poor recompence.
            “Are you saying I’m stuck here?!” blurted Ichigo, the desk jumbling as he halfway jumped.
            “Osho-san!” exclaimed Orihime, this being the first she’d heard of this confinement. “That-That’s not true, is it?”
            “Now, I wouldn’t say you’re stuck here,” Osho explained, though his tone did not sound like he had a solution. “After all, a King is meant to stay in his palace. In truth, we might have acted hopeful for the sake of Inoue Orihime”—He briefly regarded her, but his serious gaze went back to Ichigo soon enough—“we had little belief that you’d actually wake up after the ceremony. For eons, Reio-sama has been silent. Yours are the first words to come from your new station.”
            The cords of Ichigo’s neck flexed, his eyes wide and a sweat breaking out over his brow. He knew that this knowledge, had it been given before, would not have changed his decision, but to grasp it now…
            “Don’t despair!” Osho’s hands were thrown out wide. “There is much to learn and to do in Reiokyu! And though there have been rules against it, we will make arrangements that you will not bear this rule in solitude! As you can see, your friends”—He smacked a meaty hand down on Urahara’s shoulder while Urahara gave the peace sign—“are welcome to this platform! It may take some time to really process this system, but you will not be lonely!”
            It was some good news at least, but Ichigo was still overcome by his fate.
            “The first matter of business is clearly to…!”
            Osho was cut off by Kirio, who ambled in, hands placed upon her wide waist, glowering at all in attendance. “How awful you’re all being to Ichigo-chan! It ruins health to fill someone with knowledge while their belly remains empty!” She stretched a hand out to Ichigo, beckoning him to stand with a smile. “You’ll feel much better about all of this when you eat.”
            Ichigo doubted that, but he couldn’t – and wouldn’t – refuse her. Solemnly, as there was little else he wanted to learn at the moment about his predicament, he agreed and got to his feet.
            He didn’t realize how hungry he was until after he took the first bite, nor how good Kirio’s food was when on an empty stomach! She was right! He was feeling loads better as he began to stuff his face! He never thought he’d eat like Goku from those DRAGONBALL manga Tatsuki let him borrow, but here he was, shoveling rice down his gullet like there was a vacuum in his stomach!
            “Yes! Eat! Eat!” Kirio encouraged while her helper – Orihime – loaded the table with a bowl of fried shrimp that Ichigo partook in greedily. “A boy your age is ravenous on his own, but with the appetite of Reio-sama, you can engorge more!”
            “Kirio-san! It’s amazing!” praised Ichigo, ravenous and almost crazed by his eating frenzy.
            With a haughty laugh and a waving hand, Kirio said, “Now, now! It’s my pleasure to serve at your behest! And besides!” She stooped somewhat and patted Orihime affectionately on the head; Orihime laughed nervously but appreciatively. “Orihime-chan here has been a big help! Don’t thank me any more than you do her!”
            Orihime’s heart fluttered and face heated when Ichigo’s eyes fell upon her. Not at his most flattering with cheeks packed and mouth chewing noisily, she was nevertheless humbled by his notice and hastily declined that her culinary practice was anywhere near Kirio-san’s tier. And of course, Kirio laughed some more, clapped her fondly on the back, and ushered her back to the blazing stoves in the kitchen. “Come! Let’s make a meal to warm the very soul of Reio-sama!”
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            Back in the room where the congregation had begun, Osho, Kyoraku, and Urahara had matters to discuss themselves.
            “I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m intruding or overstaying my welcome,” jeered Urahara. “But Kurosaki-san deserves all the help we can afford him. We’ve crafted that limiter in a week, but I wouldn’t say it’s enough for him. Reio’s power is beyond that and would likely carve it away after prolonged use. It’s more of a buffer now, finely-layered reishi that his reiatsu peels away to escape.”
            Osho grunted jovially in agreement, but couldn’t give a solution; nothing more than Urahara had already stipulated before.
            “Well,” grunted the Captain Commander, keeping his eyes shielded. “I suppose these are matters left in the most capable hands of all. Captain Kurotsuchi will likely be in touch and is, of course, at your full disposal.”
            “Hey now, I’m certain he wouldn’t like to hear you use that language about him,” Urahara jested as if Mayuri were still in earshot – which was a probability.
            Kyoraku flashed him a grin, but slid on the issue. He’d be much more mindful in the scientist’s presence. “I’ll head back below now to deliver the news. There’s one thing the Captain Commander can do in times of peace, and that’s bring people good news. They’ll want to hear that Ichigo-san is awake. There are more than a few that have been anxious about his recovery.”
            “That would be good,” said Osho, his head bowing. Then he brought up a finger. “And if you would pass along a message, to all the realms, Kyoraku no Jiro Sakuranosuke Shunsui.”
            Kyoraku looked somewhat puzzled, and even Nanao tensed like there was to be an attack when Osho leaned inward.
            “Tell them all,” Osho began, “that Reio-sama seeks recruits for his Squad Zero.”
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            “Kirio-san’s kitchen has all the ingredients I needed!” Orihime was sitting aside Ichigo now, the portions coming out slower than before as the Soul King’s appetite began to subside. Now Ichigo was eating merely on habit than out of hunger, trying this and that and able to stop and reflect on the look of some questionable dishes. Like the plate Orihime was holding up to him now, covered in full pickles dressed up with mustards, bean sauce, some jelly, basically trimmed with everything to make it seem less appealing. “It’s my specialty,” Orihime happily explained, and then added with some disillusion, “but Tatsuki-chan and the others are always too full to try it.”
            And Ichigo had just proven that his belly had more than enough room to at least take a sample bite. He dreaded it as it was held up to him, the cute face of macaroni staring at him no match for the hopeful gleam in Orihime’s eyes behind. He wanted to be honest and say that by eating such a thing, he’d probably empty his stomach afterwards. But… Dammit! Those eyes of hers! He’d been too busy and distraught and frustrated to really account how hot and cold and refreshed and exhausted they made him all at once. He…!
            To his astonishment, he plucked up a pickle, and it gave with colorful slop from its condiment bed. Fried pickle in peanut oil, slathered with creams and sauces that he couldn’t recognize…
            He couldn’t resist her!
            Unable to even smile for her, he brought the smiling face to his grimacing mouth, teeth coming apart like on a rusty, mechanical jaw. His tongue pulled back, but his stomach gave a lurch. After the bite, he needed a plan to escape the room with a plausible and discrete excuse, and hurl somewhere out of Orihime’s sight.
            Chomp.
            The pickle was crispy, but the coating was smooth and the pasta pliant. The sour reacted with the sweetness when it touched its tongue, and yet the flavor was not combative; more complementing, like there was an enraptured dialogue in his mouth, an exchange of ideas. To his disgust… he loved it!!
            The grimace vanished at once, his eyebrows lifted and his eyes dropped to the morsel still pinched in between his fingers. He chewed, swallowed, and gushed. “It’s…!” He stopped, like he could not think of the words despite his self-proclaimed eloquence. “It’s amazing! I didn’t think, because of the way it looked, but…!” He couldn’t help himself and bit a bigger piece off and chewed it in one cheek. “It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted!”
            Disregarding his comment on its appearance, Orihime’s face brightened as well with a healthy glow of pink. “Really?!”
            “Mhm!” Ichigo swallowed again, leaning toward her with his arm on the table between them. “Did Kirio-san help make it? It must be her special cooking, right?!” After all, Kirio-san’s food had questionable dishes, but there was no denying the abundance of flavor.
            Orihime twiddled her fingers again, unsure how she should take the assumption. It-It was probably good to be mistaken for the best chef in all Soul Society and possibly the three worlds together. “Um, no, it-it was made by me.” It was, but would Kurosaki-kun believe her?
            “No way,” Ichigo said in utter amazement. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling. “I always saw you bringing a lot of weird—uh!” He caught himself and revised the statement with a nervous laugh, “You always bring out so many things in your bento. I didn’t know you had such good taste.”
            Orihime giggled, fidgeting shyly at the compliment. “I learned it when Onii-chan would work and I’d be home alone. We didn’t have a lot to make big, fancy meals, but I wanted to do the best I could for him!” Pumping her fists at her bosom and giving a joyous smile, she said, “He always told me to do my best no matter what! If one recipe doesn’t work, then I just try again! And again! More and more, until I get it right! Until I have the courage to give it to someone special and say ‘I made this just for you!’ And so, that’s why I…!” She came up short, realizing how intently Ichigo was listening and how passionately she was speaking and the intimacy she was showing. She gave a yelp and turned away, facing her lap as her hands twisted in her dress. “Oh! I-I’m sorry, Kurosaki-kun! I didn’t mean to say too much and interrupt your meal!”
            Ichigo simply watched her, the meal forgotten. He’d felt the hearts of enemies when he crossed blades with them; the resentment, the dispassion, the despair, the euphoria, the longing, the envy, and the contempt. It was the first time, so clearly, that he resonated with… a friend.
            “Orihime-chan, I would have thought you to have known better!”
            Kirio was back, and it seemed the cooking was done now that she was trim and – while Ichigo tried not to acknowledge it – buxom and beautiful. The loose garb at her chest, meant to cover a broader girth, dared with her wobbly breasts as she strode across the room, careless with her ease of shoving a five-layered cake onto the table to end Ichigo’s first meal as Reio.
            “What do you mean?” asked Orihime intently.
            “Only that meals are not simply to end one’s hunger,” answered Kirio, leaning onto the table with a hand, the hills sloping to one side to make Ichigo sputter after taking a bite of the pickle again to distract himself from the lovely Grain King. “It is a chance to converse and express, to unload a full heart while filling an empty stomach! You can tell that special person what he or she means to you! And not just in words.” She leaned forward, impressing her smile upon her two guests. “Be honest! Be hardy! Eat well!” She rolled up her sleeve to her shoulder to flex her arm. “I am here to serve you!”
            Ichigo and Orihime exchanged a look – a very meaningful look, where they did not simply stare into each other’s eyes, but each other’s features, from eyes, nose, hairline, ears, lips – and then both turned to Kirio with an appreciative nod. Three slices of cake were laid out; Kirio took up a seat to join them, eating and talking merrily about the joy of living in Reiokyu. She might have been the youngest of the ranks, but these past hundred years had been nothing but resplendent! So long as Orihime stayed, she was welcome to the kitchen and its stores, to try out every ingredient available and serve whatever dish she’d like without worry.
            “Oh, how careless of me!” Kirio announced, her hand coming up over her mouth, her eyes wide in astonishment and self-admonishment. “How could I forget the milk to wash it down? In all the excitement, even the essentials can be forgotten! Excuse me, Orihime-chan, Reio-sama!”
            Orihime laughed to see the woman move briskly into the back. Such a kind soul, very motherlike, yet with ‘big sister’ qualities in this particular form. She was someone Orihime hoped to learn lots from, but…
            “Inoue…”
            His voice was soft and thoughtful at her side. It sent a shiver through her, though not the kind to make her stomach go cold or her heart ache. It was the kind that made her fearful to look at him, yet unable to do anything else. Anxiously, her hands went to her top, suddenly feeling open and exposed there. O why couldn’t Senjumaru-san have crafted something more conservative than a mimic of Urahara-san’s prank?
            But when she faced him, she saw that he as well could not easily look at her, his eyes bogged down to the table and his half-eaten cake. He was taking this chance of solitude between them, and it took strength to lift his gaze to hers. “It’s just,” he began haltingly, “I was wondering…”
            Orihime’s mouth pursed up nervously.
            “I know you’ve been… watching over me this whole time…”
            “N-No! It’s nothing like that!” she jabbered in hasty defense, waving her hands out in front of her chest. “I wasn’t watching you all the time! I mean, they gave me my own room, and I told you I was with Kirio-san and Senjumaru-san a lot! And…!”
            His gaze halted and eased her. He’d something to say that he wouldn’t say over her. Hard as it was, she stopped herself.
            “I was just wondering…”
            “Y-Yes, Kurosaki-kun?”
            He blushed harder. But hard as it was, he kept his gaze on her to express his sincerity. “Could you… make some time for me?”
            Orihime’s heart throbbed and stopped for a beat. “Huh?”
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Changing of the Guard