After returning to the villa, Yakumo Kadori personally brewed a cup of hot tea for Arata.
Amid the swirling steam, she gently asked, "The technique Mr. Arata used just now was quite special. That purple-black crescent, is that the power of your Zanpakutō?"
Arata held the cup, feeling the warmth in his palm.
"You could say that. My Zanpakutō is an offensive type, so I specialize in these kinds of slashing techniques."
Fuma perked up as soon as she heard that, to the point that she didn't even swallow the meatball in her mouth.
"Interesting! Once the war is over, you have to fight me."
Kadori took a sip of tea, and the eyes behind her glasses sparkled thoughtfully.
"By the way, Mr. Arata seems quite familiar with the Quincy fighting style?"
"I've learned a bit about the Quincy from my comrades, and I enjoy simulation training, so I've become rather practiced in fighting them."
Arata continued to speak half-truths, calmly enjoying tea from the Soul Society a thousand years in the past.
Well… tea cultivation techniques in this era were still a bit underdeveloped, the taste was quite bitter.
————
"So, you're stationed here by Captain Yamamoto's orders?" Arata put down the cup, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the crack along the rim.
This rough earthenware cup from a thousand years ago seemed much cruder than later craftsmanship.
Yakumo Kadori tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the glass of her spectacles catching the warm yellow candlelight.
"To be precise, it's part of a rotation. The Sixth Division is responsible for the line from the Western 3rd to the Western 5th district. Our Eighth Division was originally stationed in the north, but after the clash last week…"
She suddenly went silent and lightly pressed her ribs with her fingertips.
Arata noticed the faint outline of a bandage beneath the upper part of her shihakushō. No wonder her movements in the previous fight were somewhat restricted.
If the injury is in that spot, especially on a woman, it takes a long time to fully heal.
"Hey! Why are you asking so many questions?" Saito Fuma suddenly slammed the table and stood up, the floor creaking beneath her white-socked feet.
With half a meatball still in her mouth, she mumbled unclearly, "Maybe he's a spy sent by the Quincy?"
"Fuma-chan." Yakumo Kadori helplessly tugged at the end of the twin-tailed loli's haori. "If Mr. Arata were really an enemy, he wouldn't have just saved my life."
Electric lighting wasn't yet in widespread use in the Soul Society at this time. With the flickering of candles, the heavy footsteps of patrolling Shinigami were clearly heard from outside.
The houses still burning in the distance cast a flickering orange-red light on the paper doors, and the painful groans of the wounded carried into the courtyard on the night wind.
"Lord Genryūsai is under immense pressure lately," Yakumo Kadori said quietly. A soft spiritual glow gathered on her fingertips, drawing a simple map of Seireitei on the table.
"Wandenreich launched a surprise attack on the 11th Division's outpost in Rukongai last week. Yachiru-neesan was almost…"
"Yachiru?" Arata's heart skipped a beat. That name reminded him of the pink-haired girl who clung to Zaraki Kenpachi's shoulder.
But he quickly composed himself. The "Yachiru" of this era couldn't possibly be her, but…
"Unohana Yachiru."
"That woman is obviously no less beautiful than me, and when she's not drawing her sword, she's actually a proper beauty, but when she starts slicing people up, she's a hundred times crazier than I am!"
"A brute like her will never get married, guaranteed!" Saito Fuma rolled her eyes and tossed the empty skewers out the window.
"Fuma-chan, gossiping behind Yachiru-neesan's back is a bad habit."
"So what! I'm sure she talks badly about me too when I'm not around!"
What followed were sentences too chaotic to catch clearly.
Something like "you're just making excuses," "a woman who's only female on the outside isn't a real woman," "if you've got guts, draw your sword and fight" and soon the whole villa was filled with a cheerful atmosphere.
Arata unconsciously scratched his nose. In a way, going back a thousand years was quite interesting. At least he could hear all sorts of gossip from people of that time about those who later became dear to him.
But sensei can definitely get married, yes, that's right.
Of course, that was just a joke to comfort himself. No matter what, Arata had to find a way to return to his original time and space. There were many important people waiting for him there.
"Dong, dong, dong——"
The sudden knock on the door cut off Fuma's babbling monologue.
Yakumo Kadori slightly twitched her ear, and her eyes suddenly lit up. "This spiritual tremor belongs to Yachiru-neesan!"
As she suddenly stood, her full figure beneath the shihakushō outlined a captivating silhouette.
Due to the sudden movement, the edge of the bandage on her chest faintly showed through the open neckline. With her rapid breathing, her proud, soft breasts swayed back and forth in the candlelight, creating a dizzying sight.
"Tsk, what does that brute want here?" Saito Fuma scoffed disdainfully, but her purple twin tails fluttered with genuine excitement. She didn't even have time to put on her geta sandals, and ran to open the door in her socks.
A cold wind, smelling of blood, rushed into the room, and standing at the threshold was a woman in a white haori.
Her long black hair fell down her back like a waterfall, the ends stained with still-wet blood, and a faint scent of iron wafted around her.
The Zanpakutō sheath at her hip was full of tiny cracks, clearly showing she had just come from a fierce battle.
"Yachiru-neesan!" Yakumo Kadori exclaimed in surprise, her eyes behind the glasses curving into a crescent shape.
"A messenger told me there was a disturbance at the defense line in the Western 3rd district. I came to check on you."
"Fortunately, Isane just woke up, or I wouldn't have had a chance to step out."
Unohana Yachiru's gaze swept over the two of them and stopped directly on Arata, who was calmly sitting in the room.
Her thin brows lifted ever so slightly, and her right hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of her sword.
"Who is this?"
Arata's breath hitched for a moment.
Although her face looked much younger than it did a thousand years later, that characteristic gentle smile and the sharpness hidden in her eyes clearly told him that before him stood his teacher – Unohana Retsu!
"Ah, this is Mr. Arata." Yakumo Kadori stepped aside to clear the way. "Thanks to his help in today's battle, otherwise I might have…"
"Yes, yes, some wandering Shinigami who suddenly appeared, but he's got pretty solid strength," Saito Fuma added discontentedly.
"Wandering Shinigami?" Unohana Yachiru slowly stepped into the room, the hem of her haori brushing over the threshold.
With each of her steps, Arata could feel the familiar spiritual pressure rising like a tide. "How interesting. Just yesterday I personally executed a Quincy spy who also called himself a wandering Shinigami."
Saito Fuma suddenly jumped between them, her purple twin-tails nearly brushing against Unohana's face.
"Hey, hey, brute, don't scare my guest! This guy is better at Kaidō than those quack doctors in your Fourth Division!"
"Yachiru-neesan, Fuma-chan is right. Mr. Arata helped stabilize my injuries as well."
"Oh?" Unohana Yachiru chuckled softly and removed her hand from her sword's hilt.
Then she calmly approached the cushion opposite Arata and sat down, her haori slipping slightly to reveal a nasty wound at her side – a blade had slashed diagonally through her flank, and the edges of the wound were still tinged with bluish spiritual remnants characteristic of the Quincy.
"Since you're so skilled in medicine, why don't you take a look at this too?" she knelt gracefully and pulled the bloody haori off her shoulder.
The black shihakushō, soaked in blood, clung tightly to her alluring curves.
Arata's Adam's apple moved slightly.
The sensei he knew a thousand years later would never casually expose her injuries like this, let alone look at a stranger with such a provocative expression.
What else could be said except – true to her title as the most dangerous female Shinigami, the first Kenpachi, Unohana Yachiru was truly something else.