"Clang clang! Munch munch!"
"Slurp—"
Almost simultaneously, a small hand and a skeletal arm stretched out toward Fujimori Makoto. A large and a small rice bowl were raised in unison as two voices declared loudly:
"Seconds, please!"
Fujimori Makoto stared at the two gluttons before him with a face full of dark lines.
Why others became Shinigami, he wasn't entirely sure.
But these two?
They definitely became Shinigami because they could eat like their lives depended on it.
"...Yeah, yeah."
Resigned to the situation, Fujimori sighed and scraped the last remnants from the nearly empty rice bucket, carefully dividing the remaining grains between their bowls, piling them up into small, perfect mounds.
Senjumaru Shutara and Eishima Kourin—one tall, one tiny—locked eyes, their gazes fixed on each other's bowls.
The moment Fujimori's rice scoop left, it was as if a starting whistle had blown.
Clatter clatter! Gobble gobble!
Like Saiyans reincarnated, their massive bowls were emptied in one breath.
By the end, Fujimori could only watch helplessly as the table was swept clean.
He hadn't even gotten a single bite!
"Slow down, no need to rush."
"If you finish, I'll just make more."
With a sigh, Fujimori handed them cups of water.
[Tch. What a pitiful married man!]
[So tragic~! ♪]
"Shut up!"
Fujimori snapped at the shabby little sword at his waist.
The bracelet wrapped around the scabbard flashed.
The little thing immediately fell silent.
"Unexpected."
Senjumaru Shutara stroked her slightly bloated belly, like a lady three or four months pregnant, her alluring eyes flicking toward Fujimori.
"I thought a brute like you, who only knows how to slash and hack, wouldn't be good for anything but killing."
"Hmph!"
Ko-chan, not to be outdone, puffed out her own round little belly and let out a burp.
"Big Brother Makoto can do lots of things!"
"His ginger-glazed pork, shredded pork in sweet bean sauce, boiled fish, sweet and sour ribs, tenderloin... all super delicious!"
"And I'm the only one who's eaten them!"
Whether it was because her time with Fujimori had restored her sense of security or because she'd grown accustomed to the Genji Academy, Eishima Kourin was slowly reverting to her old, fearless self.
She'd argue with anyone!
"Ko-chan."
Fujimori called softly, wiping the corners of her mouth with a tissue.
"Yeees~"
Ko-chan reluctantly complied, pouting like a little piglet as she let him clean her up.
Hearing this, Senjumaru couldn't help but glance at Fujimori in surprise.
Her throat moved slightly.
In this era, the modern culinary boom hadn't yet begun. Even in the relatively advanced Soul Society, such a rich variety of dishes didn't exist—iron wares had only appeared in the Song Dynasty a few years prior.
Once Ko-chan quieted down, Fujimori turned to Senjumaru with an ingratiating smile.
"Lady Shutara, Ko-chan's Kidō results must be quite impressive, right?"
"Honestly, she's probably the most talented person I know."
"At home, even I have to ask her for advice on Kidō sometimes."
Hearing this, Ko-chan's little belly puffed out even further.
Pride!
Senjumaru shot a disdainful glance at the little thing and said dismissively, "Talent-wise, she's passable."
"But if things keep going like this, whether she'll live long enough for that talent to matter is another question."
"Hmm?"
Fujimori frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You don't know?" Senjumaru seemed to realize something from his reaction. "About the large-scale conscription happening in all divisions?"
"No, I haven't received any news." Fujimori's expression grew serious.
Senjumaru explained casually, "After that old man Genryūsai's purge began half a year ago, the initial results were decent."
"But recently, because our forces keep getting ambushed and surrounded by the Gotei 13's strike teams, we've suffered heavy losses."
"Even the captain of the Eighth Strike Division was killed by the head of the 'Shihōin' family—one of the Five Great Noble Houses—a few months ago. The one who replaced him is some meek-looking, big-chested woman with glasses."
"Lately, even the number of students in my class has dropped from over a hundred to just thirty-something... the rest were all conscripted."
"Wait."
Fujimori's frown deepened as he looked at the eight-or-nine-year-old Eishima Kourin beside him.
"Are students Ko-chan's age also being conscripted?"
Senjumaru cradled her fake pregnant belly, her gaze profound.
"A Shinigami's strength is measured by spiritual pressure, not age."
"Fujimori Makoto."
The moment those words left her mouth, Fujimori's mind immediately flashed to the future Tōshirō Hitsugaya and Momo Hinamori—the former a captain, the latter a lieutenant.
Judging by appearance alone, they looked about fourteen or fifteen, maybe even younger.
While part of it was due to the slow growth rate of those with high innate Reiatsu, wasn't it also because they were genuinely young?
Hitsugaya was only 1.3 meters tall!
So... when had they started fighting?
"..."
For a moment, Fujimori's gaze toward Eishima Kourin grew complicated.
Right.
This was the Soul Society.
Lately, the number of Shinigami visible in the Genji Academy had been steadily decreasing. Even Unohana-sensei hadn't returned in a long time—he'd just been too absorbed in his Kidō training to notice.
Those in the rear couldn't easily feel the pressure of the front lines.
Ko-chan, meanwhile, just blinked in confusion.
Her little head was full of question marks.
"Lady Shutara."
As if struck by a thought, Fujimori suddenly said, "As a research-oriented talent, you don't often go to the front lines, right?"
"Hmm?"
Senjumaru's expression instantly turned wary.
"What are you scheming?!"
"If I get conscripted, could you take care of Ko-chan for me?" Fujimori's tone was unusually earnest. "Do whatever you want with her! Just keep her alive!"
"Ehh?!"
Ko-chan immediately panicked, nearly jumping out of her chair. "N-no! Big Brother Makoto!"
But Fujimori's expression was firm.
Leaving this little thing alone in the Genji Academy wouldn't starve her, but expecting her to live a disciplined life was impossible.
"No!"
"I have no interest in babysitting for you."
Senjumaru's refusal was ice-cold, her fingers idly stroking her belly as she dismissed the idea outright.
Ko-chan let out a sigh of relief.
But Fujimori's expression turned sly.
"In exchange, Lady Shutara can come eat with us too."
"I've barely shown one percent of my cooking skills."
"Such base desires are beneath—" Senjumaru scoffed instinctively.
Then, Fujimori took a deep breath and began rapid-fire recitation:
"Steamed lamb, steamed bear paw, steamed deer tail, roasted duck, roasted young chicken, roasted goose, marinated pork, marinated duck, soy-braised chicken, cured meat, preserved eggs, small sausages, dried meat, spiced sausages, assorted cold platters, smoked chicken with white tripe, steamed eight-treasure pork, glutinous rice-stuffed duck..."
For a moment, the two were stunned by the sheer variety of dishes listed.
By the time the recitation ended, two synchronized gulps echoed through the room.
In the cramped dormitory, the sound was unmistakable.
Fujimori smiled and approached the elegant beauty, bending down slightly as if petting a small animal. His hand gently stroked Senjumaru's rounded belly.
In a low voice, he murmured:
"Lady Senjumaru... you wouldn't want to miss out on these delicacies, would you?"
"I-I don't—"
Senjumaru instinctively turned her head away, struggling to deny it.
But her body—having tasted true cuisine for the first time—refused to comply.
More... I want more!
Her taste buds, still tingling from the meal, sent frantic signals to her brain.
Silence lingered in the small room for a long time.
Finally, the elegant beauty turned her face away, her voice barely a whisper:
"...Occasionally would be fine."
"Waaah—!!"
Ko-chan burst into tears.
Hearing the girl's distraught cries, Senjumaru felt a strange sense of satisfaction.
Maybe this arrangement wasn't so bad after all?
...
Just as the "family" was enjoying their "harmonious" moment, a knock sounded at Fujimori's door.
"Knock knock knock."
Fujimori blinked and went to open it.
Outside stood a Genryū Shinigami with a "Patrol" wooden tag on his shoulder, bowing slightly as he handed Fujimori a scroll.
"Lord Fujimori, your orders."
"You've been conscripted!"
Fujimori stood in the doorway, turning back to look at the two behind him with a helpless expression.
Senjumaru's eyes widened.
Now that's what you call foresight.