CHAPTER 11

The drunken, slurred words came without any warning.

When the phrase "Great General of the Spirit King" left Kuroba's lips, everyone's expression stiffened. Even their facial muscles twitched involuntarily.

Especially the word "Grandpa" — as if everyone present had suddenly become his grandchildren.

As expected, once he had a drink, he stopped recognizing kings or captains.

"Captain Zaraki, please don't misunderstand. Kuroba is just… completely drunk," Rukia said quickly, her expression deeply troubled.

Still, for the sake of Ukitake Jūshirō — and to repay the debt owed to Shiba Kaien — she forced herself to intervene.

"Haha! Rukia, don't be so tense. This guy's hilarious," Zaraki Kenpachi laughed, his grin feral and amused.

"Drunk or not, that move earlier may have startled you, but he wasn't trying to kill anyone. No killing intent at all. Just testing."

Kenpachi's spiritual instincts had honed over countless battles. If there had been even a shred of lethal intent, he would have cut Kuroba down instantly. But instead…

"If there's no solid clue to follow, we'll just test him later," he added, sheathing his Zanpakutō. "You and Renji — get him to the Shin'ō Academy entrance exam. Don't waste time. If he's worth fighting, I don't want to miss the chance."

Hearing this, Abarai Renji's face twisted with disbelief.

Everyone in the 11th Division knew what it meant when Captain Zaraki took interest in someone — it was the highest acknowledgment. He never praised, never complimented, unless someone stirred his bloodlust.

Even Renji, a lieutenant and Bankai user, had never received such attention.

And now Zaraki was watching a drunken mess who hadn't even taken the academy entrance exam yet?

Am I... inferior to this drunkard?

"Understood, Captain Zaraki. I'll escort Kuroba to the exam. Once he sobers up, I'll have him apologize to you properly," Rukia said, helping the swaying Kuroba to his feet, as if she'd just received royal pardon.

Right now, all she wanted was to complete Ukitake's task — deliver Kuroba to the exam. Whether he passed was a problem for the future.

"Wife… you're still so beautiful... Bring me some more wine… and a basin for soaking my feet…" Kuroba mumbled drowsily as he leaned closer to her.

A thick wave of alcohol hit her nostrils.

The moment stunned Rukia.

Her cheeks turned crimson, and she sniffed involuntarily.

"…It smells… so good."

The soft words, barely audible and tinged with something like a moan, slipped out before she realized.

Everyone stared.

Did… Rukia just say the alcohol smelled good?

Isn't the stench of alcohol supposed to be foul? Why did she say it was fragrant?

"W-Wait! I'm not his wife!" Rukia blurted, face burning. "I just meant the wine… it smells… good. That's all!"

But her attempt to explain only worsened things. When she had leaned in, the scent rising from Kuroba's lips had triggered an inexplicable pleasure — as though her entire body had relaxed, her spirit particles resonating with the aroma.

Remembering how she instinctively leaned in closer, Rukia felt her cheeks go from red to crimson.

To Renji, however, the scene in front of him looked exactly like a shy wife caring for a drunk husband.

Especially when their cheeks had almost touched.

He snapped.

Renji surged forward, grabbing at Kuroba furiously.

No way. No way was he letting this wine-soaked lunatic steal Rukia — his childhood friend, his long-time crush — right in front of him.

"Oi! Don't touch me!" Kuroba dodged lazily, slurring, "I don't swing that way. You can't pick up my soap…"

He leaned back against Rukia, took another sip, and let out a long, contented burp.

"You pervert… bastard…!"

Renji's temple pulsed, and he stormed forward — only to freeze in place.

Sniff.

"…It smells so good," he muttered without thinking.

The words slipped out unconsciously, and the entire crowd went silent for a second time.

"Renji, we all heard that," Rukia said, flustered but quick to seize the moment.

"I–I wasn't blushing because of what he said about 'wife'! The wine just… really smells good! I–I felt my pores open, and it was relaxing and… my voice was a little… slurred…"

Even as she said it, she wanted to crawl into a hole.

She had absolutely heard herself — and now Renji was echoing her reaction.

"Is that true?" Madarame Ikkaku stepped forward, narrowing his eyes. As a proud member of the 11th Division, he wouldn't take such absurdity at face value.

He moved in close to sniff Kuroba's jug — and was visibly shocked.

He reached out and tried to lift the wine jug from Kuroba's grip.

His hand froze mid-air.

"…What the hell?"

"…I can't lift it?"

  Madarame Ikkaku stood frozen, disbelief flickering across his face.

  He wasn't just anyone in the 11th Division—he was the third seat, a warrior whose strength was acknowledged even by Kenpachi Zaraki himself. If anyone could be called the strongest after the captain, it was him.

  And yet… he couldn't even lift a wine jug from the hands of a drunken man.

  No—this wasn't just wine. Something was off.

  Still, the oddity didn't deter Ikkaku. His curiosity piqued, he leaned in and took a deep whiff of the jug.

  "Tch… that smells amazing," he muttered, unable to hide the surprise in his tone.

  The words seemed to echo around them strangely—familiar, involuntary, and sincere. As if drawn by a subconscious truth.

  For a moment, Kuroba didn't just hold the wine—he became the source of an intoxicating presence, like an ambient pressure that made one lower their guard. It wasn't just smell. It was spiritual.

  Rukia, who was helping support Kuroba by the arm, flinched slightly.

  That scent—she could sense it now, seeping into her skin, trickling through her spirit. Her pores tingled. Her reiryoku, which had been passive, suddenly became buoyant, flowing in sync with the aroma like spring water through a dried channel.

  Was this... enhancing her spiritual flow?

  She blinked, slightly dazed.

  "Rukia… are you… drunk?" Renji asked sharply, voice caught somewhere between suspicion and alarm.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  "Wha—of course not!" she said quickly, heat rushing to her face. "Don't misunderstand! It's just… Kuroba's body is… easy to support."

  Renji's eyebrow twitched.

  "No, I mean it!" Rukia blurted out. "There's… something soothing about it. Like being near him makes your spirit feel… comforted. Try it yourself if you don't believe me!"

  Even as she said it, Rukia wanted to take the words back. A female shinigami casually suggesting that hugging a man would make someone "feel better" was borderline career suicide—especially with so many 11th Division meatheads lurking around.

  But the words were out. She could only double down now, hoping that empirical proof would clear the air.

  "Go on, Renji," she said with an awkward cough. "See for yourself."

  Renji hesitated, fists clenched. Hugging him, of all people?

  But if it meant disproving this ridiculous "true fragrance law" and getting to the bottom of Kuroba's unusual state, he'd do it.

  "Tch. Fine. But only because I need answers," he muttered, stepping forward.