"So how much longer do I have to wait? I just came to ask for a small favor," Kurosaki Ichigo muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead as a dull headache set in.
"You rude fool!" Suì-Fēng snapped sharply, her eyes narrowing. "Yoruichi-sama is inside discussing important matters right now. Take another step forward, and I won't hold back!"
The small Captain's spiritual pressure surged threateningly as her hand slid toward her zanpakutō.
Ichigo raised both hands in surrender, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. "Yare yare… I get it, I get it. I'll wait. No need to glare at me like that. I'll stay here until Yoruichi-san comes out," he said with a weary smile.
Still, a thought flickered through his mind. Even after leaving Soul Society for over a hundred years, Yoruichi-san still has such loyal subordinates. She really is something else.
Moments later, the sliding door to the VIP room opened at last. But to Ichigo's surprise, it wasn't Yoruichi who emerged first—it was Amamiya Miyako, the young Soul Reaper he hadn't seen since yesterday.
"Amamiya?" Ichigo blinked. "You're here too? Did you come to see Yoruichi-san?"
"Ichigo?" Miyako tilted his head slightly, looking amused. "I've already finished talking with Yoruichi-san. What about you—did you need something?"
Hearing Ichigo's familiar voice, Yoruichi finally peeked her head out from behind the door, a sly smile on her face.
"So it was you, Ichigo. I was wondering who was making Suì-Fēng so restless."
"Yoruichi-san, you're finally done," Ichigo sighed in relief, though Suì-Fēng's murderous stare kept him stiff as a board.
Yoruichi's amber eyes softened as she scanned him. "How are your injuries? You shouldn't be walking around so soon."
Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Thanks to Inoue, I'm all patched up. She's amazing, really. I can move just fine now." He patted his arm for emphasis.
"I owe Orihime's power too," Miyako added with a nod. "Her healing kept me from being stuck in bed any longer."
"Mhm, Orihime's ability really is beyond anything ordinary," Yoruichi said thoughtfully, then waved her hand. "So? What do you need from me, Ichigo?"
"Oh, right! Almost forgot." Ichigo scratched his cheek. "I was wondering if you had a way to get curry spices."
"…Curry?" Yoruichi blinked, tilting her head with a sly grin. "Of all things, that's what you came for? You know there's nothing like that in Soul Society."
She smirked, teasing. "Besides, aren't you going back to the Human World soon? You can wait a few more days. Or is someone just being a glutton?"
"It's not like that!" Ichigo shot back, flustered. "Rukia's the one who asked me to get them!"
"Rukia?" Miyako and Yoruichi exchanged curious glances.
"Yeah… she said she wants to cook for Byakuya. So I figured you might know a way."
Both of them nodded in understanding. With the strained bond between Rukia and Byakuya finally mended, it wasn't surprising she wanted to do something kind for her brother.
"That makes sense," Yoruichi said softly.
"Rukia got to taste Human World food only because she was in a gigai," Miyako sighed wistfully. "The rest of us in the Thirteenth Division never get that chance. Every time we go to the Human World, we're stuck in spirit form. We can't enjoy it the same way. She's lucky."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Honestly… I'd love to eat that food a few more times myself. It's been so long."
"So long, huh?" Yoruichi raised an eyebrow, sensing something hidden in his words.
"Oh, right. I haven't told you guys yet." Miyako suddenly chuckled. "Actually, I used to be human. I died in the Human World… so if you count age, I'm not much older than Ichigo."
"Ehhh?!" Ichigo nearly fell over, jaw dropping. Even Yoruichi's eyes widened in shock.
"Wait, Amamiya, you… died in the Human World?" Ichigo stammered. He knew most people in Soul Society were centuries old. To find someone around his age here was almost unthinkable.
"Well… I'll explain the details some other time," Miyako said with a faint smile. His eyes, however, carried a hint of something he wasn't ready to share. Clearly, not even Urahara had told Yoruichi about the exact time of his death.
"But Ichigo, you and Rukia are way too careless! How can you call it curry if you're just tossing in random spices?!" Amamiya Miyako scolded sternly, pointing an accusing finger at him.
"Hah? Isn't curry just throwing some spices in a pot and stewing it with meat and veggies?" Kurosaki Ichigo asked, looking genuinely confused.
"Naïve! Too naïve!" Miyako barked. "The soul of curry lies in its balance. The main ingredient is turmeric—that's what gives it its golden color! Then you mix chili, pepper, star anise, cinnamon… each in exact proportion. Only then do you get that rich, fragrant, spicy aroma that makes real curry!"
A tense silence filled the room. Everyone around them swallowed nervously, sweatdropping at the sheer intensity radiating from Miyako as though his reiatsu had flared with culinary conviction.
"Curry made from instant packets… has no soul!" Miyako declared, eyes blazing.
Ichigo blinked, stunned.
In truth, Miyako had lived in a world where cooking was an art passed down like swordsmanship. He had trained his palate in his previous life, and after entering Soul Society, he found himself missing that joy.
"Seriously… the cuisine in Soul Society is like hundreds of years behind the Human World. How am I supposed to stand this, eh?!" Miyako nearly collapsed to his knees in despair.
"I… didn't expect you, Amamiya, to be so into cooking," Ichigo admitted, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course. I'm a mature man, after all!" Miyako crossed his arms proudly, nose in the air.
"Tsk tsk tsk." Yoruichi Shihōin smirked from the side, resting her chin on her hand. "Now you've piqued my interest. Alright, it's decided! I'll bring all the ingredients Miyako-kun just listed. And once you cook it, I'll be the first to taste it!" With a mischievous grin, she transformed into her feline form in a blink and leapt out the window.
"Yoruichi-sama, please wait!" Suì-Fēng exclaimed, her face red as she immediately dashed after her beloved mentor.
Ichigo rubbed his temples. "Oi, Amamiya… are all the Captains in Soul Society this ridiculous?" He pointed toward the direction Suì-Fēng had run off.
"Captain Suì-Fēng's case is… special," Miyako replied, spreading his hands helplessly. "When it comes to Yoruichi-san, she won't hesitate no matter how absurd the situation."
Ichigo sighed, still looking baffled. "Figures…"
"Anyway," Miyako said, straightening up, "let's get back. Rukia should already be gathering the ingredients, right?"
"Uh, yeah. When I left, I told her what we needed. She said she'd start in the kitchen on the second floor of the Fourth Division Relief Station."
Miyako froze mid-step. His stomach dropped. Wait… Rukia? Kitchen? Alone?
"Oi, Ichigo," Miyako asked quickly, his voice tightening. "Has Rukia ever cooked in the Human World before?"
"Eh? Well… we had home economics class at school. I think she learned the basics?" Ichigo tilted his head, trying to remember.
Miyako's brow twitched. "But did she ever cook by herself?"
"Um…" Ichigo's eyes shifted. "Now that you mention it, Inoue was usually the one helping her… are you saying…?"
Miyako groaned, slapping his forehead. "Think about it! Rukia's a Kuchiki. She became a noble before she even graduated from the Academy. Nobles don't exactly… cook for themselves."
Both men froze. Slowly, a single bead of sweat trickled down their foreheads. Then, without another word, they spun on their heels and bolted at full speed.
"Crap, crap, crap! If she's cooking by herself—" Ichigo shouted.
"This could be a disaster!" Miyako finished, his voice rising in panic.
At that very moment, Ōmaeda Marechiyo walked up the corridor holding a stack of paperwork. "Captain, I've brought the documents that need your seal. If you'd just—huh?!"
Two violent gusts of wind tore past him, scattering his papers into the air as Miyako and Ichigo blurred by in a flash step.
"H-Hey! What the hell?! Which Division are you brats from?!" Ōmaeda roared, scrambling to grab the fluttering sheets.
But Amamiya Miyako and Kurosaki Ichigo were already gone, their shouts echoing down the hall as they raced toward the Fourth Division's kitchen—fearing the culinary catastrophe that might already be brewing.