When Ise Nanao returned to Matsumoto Rangiku's home, she found her passed out on the floor. That sight, surprisingly, settled much of her earlier emotional turmoil.
Maybe Ichimaru Gin was right—maybe once she sobered up, she'd be fine.
Nanao carefully carried Rangiku to her bed, tidied up the house again, and poured a glass of water, placing it by the bedside.
Only then did she leave.
But she didn't return to the Eighth Division. She went straight to the Tenth Division's barracks. The watch guard on duty, recognizing her as Eighth's vice-captain, let her through without question.
The corridors of the Tenth Division were strikingly quiet that afternoon. Sunlight slanted through the windows, carving bold geometric patterns across the polished wooden floor. Light and shadow formed clean, defined boundaries, and the air was so still it felt as though it had been poured like syrup. Only the faint echo of her steps broke the silence.
Nanao walked the familiar halls and stopped before the captain's office.
"Come in."
A calm voice answered after her knock.
Seated at his desk was the young Captain of the Tenth Division—Tachikawa Shin. His clean, composed face made Nanao silently question once more whether Rangiku's "scumbag" accusation could be true.
"Vice-Captain Ise?"
Shin was clearly surprised to see her but smiled with his usual easy warmth.
"Is something the matter?"
He set down his pen, leaning forward slightly with genuine attention. His posture was natural, unguarded.
Nothing about his demeanor suggested any moral failing. So what did happen…?
Nanao paused for a moment before speaking, voice calm and casual, "Sorry to bother you, Captain Tachikawa. I was looking for Rangiku—isn't she here?"
"You're looking for Matsumoto?" Shin replied offhandedly, showing no unusual emotion. "I gave her a few days off. She's either at home or out somewhere enjoying herself."
"…"
Nanao's mind stirred, but she let a polite smile rise to her face. "That's rare. You actually gave her leave? What excuse did she use this time? Aren't you worried she just made something up to slack off? Or was it something serious?"
Shin answered, "It's nothing. We had a fight. She seemed upset, so I told her to take a break."
Nanao froze slightly.
"You fought?" she echoed.
Shin nodded mildly. "Didn't she tell you? We argue all the time."
Nanao fell quiet. Rangiku had said something like that before—grudges and tensions between her and her Captain.
"You and Rangiku... was it just a fight?"
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
Sure enough, Shin's expression shifted subtly, surprise flickering in his eyes.
Silence fell in the room for a few seconds.
"How is she?" Shin finally asked.
The moment had arrived. There was no point in hiding anymore. Nanao drew in a slow breath.
"Captain Tachikawa, I didn't come here to dig or manipulate you. I'm here as her friend. I want to know what happened between you two."
"She didn't tell you?" Shin asked in return.
Nanao studied his handsome, composed face and responded with measured care, "She came to my Division earlier, but I wasn't there. When I got to her home, she'd already been drinking—heavily. She was in a terrible state… And she said some things about you."
"Not good things, I imagine," Shin said dryly.
Nanao didn't respond.
Shin leaned back in his chair, eyes on the elegant woman before him. "The rift between us this time was serious. But it's still between me and her."
The message was clear—stay out of it.
He was a Captain. Unless Nanao had irrefutable proof of wrongdoing against Matsumoto, she had no right to challenge him. Soul Society's laws bound the Shinigami strictly. Nanao didn't want to cause trouble for her own Captain either.
Her gaze flickered through several changes before settling into clarity. She bowed slightly.
"Understood. I'll take my leave."
After she left, silence settled once more.
Shin remained reclined, his gaze resting on the closed door as though it were transparent, as though he could see her walking away.
A moment later, he swung his legs up onto the wide desk, lounging deep into his chair, fingers idly drumming the armrest.
With Matsumoto and Hinamori both absent lately, the Tenth Division had felt... too quiet. Too sterile.
Sure, things still ran smoothly. But the flavor was gone.
Thankfully, Hinamori would be back soon.
He'd been monitoring her affection level through the system interface—it had dropped significantly after that incident, but surprisingly, it had begun to rise again.
It seemed she'd managed to convince herself of something.
Was he… someone who could act with impunity because he was favored?
As for Rangiku—her affection had plummeted after that day. It wouldn't rebound anytime soon.
The next morning.
Tachikawa Shin stepped into the Division barracks, the lingering coolness of morning dew still clinging to the air.
He made for his office directly. Matsumoto's absence meant all vice-captain paperwork and logistics had fallen onto his shoulders. For all her laziness, she had handled a mountain of mundane tasks. Without her, the load was palpable.
He'd barely settled behind his desk, fingertips brushing the first cold scroll, when the thick door burst open with a sudden crash!
A petite figure rushed in, breathless from running, sunlight bursting in around her like she was a deer leaping into a quiet forest.
"Captain! I'm back!"
Hinamori Momo beamed, her smile as radiant as if nothing had ever happened. Her eyes curled into crescents, cheeks flushed from exertion, her whole presence like a ripe, juicy peach gleaming with youthful light.
"Did you miss me while I was gone, Captain?" she asked playfully, hands behind her back, leaning forward, sunlight gilding her form.
"Maybe," Shin replied casually.
"Eh?" Her smile froze, then morphed into a pout. She puffed her cheeks in mock anger. "But I was thinking about you the whole time!"
"You were thinking about me while goofing off?"
"Hehe."
Clearly caught, she quickly shifted to a cheeky grin, skipping around the desk to his side. Standing close—too close—she reached out with cool fingers and gently grasped his wrist resting on the armrest.
"You know why I stayed away, don't you, Captain?" she murmured, coaxing.
Shin arched a brow, glancing sidelong at her.
She paused. As if sensing his displeasure, she didn't push further. Instead, she leaned in closer, almost into his lap, her breath warm, scent floral and bright.
"I was wrong, Captain..." Her voice softened, trembling ever so slightly with guilt, the curve of her lashes fluttering.
When he didn't respond, she bit her lip and leaned in to whisper at his ear:
"Then… will you punish me?"
She said it low, syrupy, sweet at the edges like honey curling over a blade. Her eyes sparkled, unafraid—burning with something else entirely.
Punish me.
The phrase rippled through Shin's mind like a stone dropped in still water.
He saw Rangiku's eyes, wide with humiliation and rage. Rukia's tear-choked sobs. And now—this girl, offering her throat like a fawn presenting itself to the hunter, trustful and fervent in her surrender.
Uncomfortable, Shin shifted in his seat, brow twitching. "You're saying ridiculous things. This isn't the time or place."
But Hinamori only smiled brighter.
Her grip on his hand tightened, and her other hand deftly flicked aside the hem of her shihakushō at the waist. She drew his hand downward—onto warm, bare skin, guiding it farther—
Suddenly, memories of Rangiku struggling in ropes blurred and vanished beneath the present's vivid reality: heat under his fingertips, soft resistance, the unmistakable tremble beneath her surface. Her body tensed, then melted.
She was here. She was his.
Shin sank without resistance.
"Captain…"
Hinamori's voice came again, soft and fragile, soaked with longing. Her breath shuddered as he roughly grasped her through the fabric, seizing his prize.
Her face scrunched in tension, but her eyes sparkled with dazed pleasure. She didn't say stop. She didn't plead. She welcomed this. This was her moment. Her punishment.
Noon.
Hitsugaya Tōshirō returned from his morning patrol, still dusted faintly with street grit. As he turned the corner, he saw a familiar figure walking toward him, arms full of files.
"You're back? Where've you been the past few days? I even checked Rukongai and didn't find you."
Hinamori paused, smiling brightly. "Captain gave me time off. I just wandered a bit, cleared my head." She adjusted her grip on the papers.
Hitsugaya sighed. "Don't abuse your closeness to the Captain. He spoils you too much—who just gets time off like that to wander around?"
"I am close to the Captain," she said, sticking out her tongue.
Hitsugaya folded his arms. "Don't get cocky. I am your superior officer too. Annoy me, and I'll make sure you get no vacation for months. This one's already an advance from future days off. I'm sure the Captain won't mind."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me."
She huffed and lifted her foot, aiming a playful kick—Hitsugaya dodged smoothly.
After the scuffle, he said, "Fine, I'll let it slide."
"Oh right," she asked suddenly, "I haven't seen Vice-Captain Matsumoto today. Did she skip work again?"
Hitsugaya looked resigned. "Strange, isn't it? You go on break, then she takes time off too—almost right after you left. Now I'm stuck doing all the paperwork. If the Captain had any sense, he'd just make me vice-captain already."
"She took leave too? Why?"
He shrugged. "No idea. The Captain didn't say, and she didn't explain when she left."
He scratched his chin. "If he approved it, it must've been important. Doesn't seem like just another excuse to slack."
In his mind, if Rangiku had tried to dodge work without cause, Captain Tachikawa wouldn't have agreed.
"Oh." Hinamori nodded, thoughtful.
Right after I left...
She quickly shook her head, pushing away absurd thoughts. She was being paranoid.
"I'm off to deliver these."