[32] King of Kitchen

Clang! Clatter! Munch! Crunch!

Slurp!

Almost in unison, a tiny hand and a skeletal arm shot toward Makoto. Two voices, one big, one small, rang out from the pair of bottomless pits seated before him.

"Another bowl!"

Makoto stared at the two gluttons with a face full of dark lines.

He wasn't sure why others became Shinigami, but these two? It had to be because they could eat themselves to death.

"Y-Yes, yes."

Resigned to the situation, Makoto reluctantly tipped the nearly empty rice bucket, scooping out the last remnants to fill their bowls. He piled the rice into little peaks, satisfying their insatiable appetites.

Senjumaru and Kirio, one towering, one tiny, locked eyes in a silent standoff, each glaring at the other's bowl with unblinking intensity.

The moment Makoto's ladle clattered down, it was as if a referee's whistle had blown. They dove back in, chopsticks clashing and bowls rattling as they shoveled food into their mouths with reckless abandon. Like Saiyans, they demolished their massive portions in a single breath.

In the end, Makoto could only watch helplessly as the table's spread was swept clean.

He hadn't even gotten a single bite!

"Slow down, no rush." His voice tinged with defeat as he handed them each a cup of water.

[Tch, what a pitiful old househusband!]

[So pathetic~!]

"Shut up"

Makoto snapped fiercely at the small, battered sword at his waist. The bracelet cord wrapped around its sheath flickered briefly, and the little thing fell silent.

"Unexpected..." Senjumaru remarked, cradling her slightly swollen belly as if she were a lady three or four months pregnant. Her bewitching eyes slid toward Makoto with a sidelong glance. "I'd assumed a brute like you, only good for hacking and slashing, wouldn't know a thing beyond killing."

"Hmph!"

Kirio puffed out her equally distended little tummy, letting out a loud burp before declaring, "Makoto-nii knows tons! His sushi, fried rice, sakuyaki, miso soup, yakitori… they're all amazing! And I'm the only one who's ever tasted them!"

Perhaps it was the time spent with Makoto that had given the little one a renewed sense of security, or maybe she'd grown accustomed to Genji School's environment. Whatever the reason, Kirio was starting to reclaim her old, fearless spark, the kind that dared to sass anyone.

"Kirio-chan." Makoto called softly, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Y-Yes~"

She grumbled reluctantly, pursing her lips like a little piglet as she let him tend to her.

At that, Senjumaru cast Makoto an astonished glance, swallowing unconsciously. In this era, the living world's culinary advancements were still in their infancy. Even in the relatively sophisticated Soul Society, such a variety of dishes was unheard of.

Seeing Kirio quiet down, Makoto turned to Senjumaru with an eager smile. "Senjumaru-san, Kirio-chan's doing well in her Kidō studies, right? Honestly, she's probably the most gifted person I know. Even at home, I often find myself asking her for pointers on Kidō."

At his praise, Kirio's little belly puffed up even higher.

Pride!

Senjumaru flicked a dismissive glance at the tiny figure, her tone nonchalant. "Her talent? Decent enough, I suppose."

"But at this rate, whether she'll live long enough to make use of it is another question entirely."

"Hm?"

Makoto blinked, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"You don't know?" Senjumaru's eyes narrowed slightly as if realizing something. "About the mass conscription across the divisions?"

"No, I haven't heard anything." Makoto's expression grew grave.

Senjumaru waved a hand casually as she explained. "Ever since that old man launched his purge half a year ago, the initial results were promising."

"But lately, our forces have been hemorrhaging members, constantly ambushed and assassinated by the Onmitsukido. Even the Captain of the 8th Division was cut down a few months back by the Head of the Shihoin, one of the five great noble houses. The replacement's some frail-looking, bespectacled woman with a big breast."

"Recently, even the students in my class have dwindled, from over a hundred to just thirty-odd. The rest? Conscripted and carted off."

"Wait."

Makoto's frown deepened as a realization dawned. He glanced at Kirio, barely eight or nine years old, and asked, "Are students her age being conscripted too?"

Senjumaru cradled her faux-pregnant belly, her gaze piercing as it fixed on him. "A Shinigami's strength lies in their reiatsu, not their age."

"Makoto."

The moment those words left her lips, Makoto's mind flashed to images from a distant future, Tōshirō Hitsugaya, the prodigious captain, and Momo Hinamori, the Soul Society's premier punching bag.

One a captain, the other a lieutenant. Yet, judging by their outward appearances, they were barely fourteen or fifteen, perhaps even younger.

Sure, those born with exceptional spiritual pressure matured more slowly, but wasn't it also because they were, in truth, so young? Tōshirō barely topped four feet, after all!

So, when had they started fighting?

"…"

In an instant, Makoto's gaze toward Kirio grew layered with complexity.

Of course.

This was the Soul Society.

Lately, the number of Shinigami visible around the Genji School has dwindled noticeably. Even Unohana hadn't returned in quite some time. He'd been so engrossed in his Kidō practice that he hadn't paid it much mind.

Those stationed in the rear rarely felt the weight of the front lines.

Kirio, meanwhile, stood there blankly, her little head practically sprouting question marks.

"Senjumaru-san..." Makoto said suddenly as if struck by a thought. "As a research specialist, you don't often head to the front, right?"

"Hm?"

At that, Senjumaru's expression sharpened with a flicker of wariness.

"What are you scheming?!"

"If I get conscripted, could I ask you to look after Kirio-chan for me?" Makoto's tone was earnest, almost pleading. "You can do whatever you want with her, just keep her alive!"

"Eh?!"

Kirio jolted, nearly leaping from her chair. "N-No way! Makoto-nii!"

Makoto's resolve, however, remained unshaken.

Leaving this little one alone at the academy wouldn't kill her, starvation wasn't the issue, but any semblance of a routine would vanish.

"No way!"

"I'm not here to babysit for you."

Senjumaru's response was icy, her hand idly stroking her belly as she dismissed him with resolute indifference.

Kirio let out a sigh of relief.

Makoto's expression shifted subtly, softening as he offered, "In exchange, Senjumaru-san, you're welcome to join us for meals. I've barely shown you a fraction of my culinary skills."

"Mere gluttony? I'd hardly…" Senjumaru scoffed instinctively.

But then Makoto took a deep breath and launched into a rapid-fire chant, "Pizza, tom yum goong, peking duck, paella, biryani, kimchi, laksa, burger, massaman curry, ramen, goulash, ceviche, shawarma, poutine, samosa, gelato, pho, barbecue ribs, lasagna, spaghetti carbonara, enchiladas, kebab, rendang, churros, tiramisu, beef wellington, moussaka, escargot, bibimbap, steak, clam chowder, apple pie, chocolate mousse..."

The litany of dishes stunned them both, many of the names they didn't even understand and could imagine.

As his recitation ended, two audible gulps echoed in unison, reverberating through the cramped dorm room.

Makoto smiled at Senjumaru. Before she knew it, he'd risen and closed the distance, leaning slightly toward the elegant woman. With the tenderness one might use to pet a small animal, he extended a hand, gently brushing her rounded belly.

His voice dropped low, coaxing. "Senjumaru-san, you wouldn't want to miss out on these delicacies, would you?"

"I-I wouldn't…"

Senjumaru turned her head aside, struggling to deny it.

But her body, having tasted such delights for the first time, couldn't resist!

More! I want more!!

Her taste buds screamed at her brain, relentless in their demand.

Silence stretched through the small room, heavy and prolonged.

At last, the refined beauty tilted her face away from the youth, her voice a faint murmur. "…Maybe just once in a while."

"Waaah!!"

Kirio burst into tears.

In that moment of reluctant shame, hearing the girl's indignant wails sparked a flicker of amusement in Senjumaru's chest.

Suddenly, the arrangement didn't seem so unbearable.

…

Just as the trio settled into their 'harmonious' little scene, a knock rattled Makoto's door.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Makoto paused, stepping over to open it.

There stood a shinigami, a Patrol badge dangling from his shoulder. With a slight bow, he extended a scroll toward Makoto with both hands.

"Makoto-sama, your orders."

"You've been conscripted!"

Makoto froze in the doorway, turning to glance back at the two behind him, a wry, helpless look crossing his face.

Senjumaru's eyes widened.

What was this, foresight incarnate?

***

Bonus Chapter:

100 Power Stones = 1 BC

300 Power Stones = 2 BC

500 Power Stones = 3 BC

700 Power Stones = 4 BC

1000 Power Stones = 5 BC

***

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