Over the next several days, Kurotsuki Renya found himself constantly surrounded by the concern of his closest friends. Abarame Itsuki, Kuchiki Rukia, Jirō Takehara, and Hinamori Momo all made it their mission to ensure he was cared for properly. Thanks to their help — and the skill of Captain Unohana's Fourth Division — his injuries healed completely. Within a week, the dull ache in his shoulder had faded, replaced by the familiar ease of movement.
Seven days after the incident, Renya sought out Kotetsu Isane, who was supervising the Fourth Division's medical training that day. She carefully removed the supportive bindings and examined his shoulder with practiced precision.
"It's mended cleanly," Isane said with a gentle smile. "You can resume training, even with a zanpakutō. Just don't overexert yourself for the next few days."
In Soul Society, every aspect of a Shinigami's body — from skin and muscle to bones and blood — was formed entirely of reishi. With sufficient reishi replenishment and proper medical care, wounds that would cripple a human could heal astonishingly quickly. And for those who mastered certain kidō arts or possessed specific zanpakutō abilities, even limbs lost in battle could sometimes be restored.
To celebrate both Renya's recovery and his own first month's wages from working evenings in the Seireitei, Itsuki announced that he would treat his friends to dinner. His pay wasn't much, but enough to get him through the winter in the poorer Rukongai districts — and enough to host a modest celebration.
He invited Renya, Rukia, Jirō, and, after some consideration, Momo as well. Though he had initially been displeased with her for accidentally injuring Renya, her week of sincere assistance had softened his feelings.
By late afternoon, Renya, Itsuki, and Jirō waited outside the Shin'ō Academy gates. Rukia arrived shortly after, scarf trailing in the cool air. Momo, however, was late.
When she finally arrived, slightly out of breath, Itsuki frowned. "You're late. What kept you?"
Momo gave an apologetic bow. "I had calligraphy class, and Aizen-taichō asked me to help tidy up afterward. I lost track of time."
Renya's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. Even now, the thought of Momo being in Aizen's presence stirred an uneasy feeling.
"You're learning calligraphy from Aizen-taichō?" Rukia asked, curious.
"Yes," Momo said with a shy smile. "I joined two weeks ago. So far, I've just been practicing basic strokes and kanji structure."
Rukia opened her mouth to ask more, but Itsuki waved a hand. "Enough chatter — let's eat."
Their destination lay in the northern Seireitei, in one of the busier districts. The narrow streets here bustled with life: tea houses, snack stalls, small restaurants, and specialty shops. They passed one well-known establishment — the famed eyeglass shop run by ex-Sixth Division fukutaichō Kuroda Ginshirō — before turning into a side street lined with eateries.
"This is the place," Itsuki announced as they stopped before a cozy izakaya. "I work here in the evenings."
It was still early, so the dining area was quiet. The shopkeeper, a broad-shouldered man with a warm smile, greeted them. "Not working tonight, Itsuki? What brings you in?"
"I'm here to treat my friends. Can we get a private tatami room?"
The staff quickly set two low tables together to seat the six of them. Menus were passed around, revealing a variety of dishes — skewers, grilled fish, oden, sushi, and rice bowls.
"Let's keep it simple," Jirō suggested. "Oden and chicken skewers are cheap."
"We can get some risotto too," Rukia added.
But Itsuki shook his head, grinning. "Don't worry about the cost. Tonight, we eat properly."
He ordered generously — assorted skewers, grilled squid, eggplant, mushrooms, sushi, rice bowls, and both sake and fruit juice.
Rukia eyed the order. "Itsuki, this must have cost—"
"Relax," he said. "I'm not spending my whole paycheck."
The food arrived in waves, filling the room with rich aromas. Itsuki and Jirō poured beer for themselves and Kondo, but when Renya reached for a cup, Itsuki blocked his hand.
"You're too young. Juice for you."
Renya sighed but accepted the orange-colored drink. At twelve, even in Soul Society, it wasn't appropriate to drink sake or anything with high spiritual potency.
The skewers were different from the ones Renya remembered from Rukongai street stalls — neat squares of chicken, thicker lamb balls, perfectly grilled. Sushi, rice, and oden followed, filling the mouth with warmth and flavor. The others drank beer between bites; Renya sipped his juice, savoring the taste all the same.
They talked, laughed, and traded stories. Jirō and Kondo were surprised to learn about how Renya, Itsuki, and Rukia had supported each other back in the harsher Rukongai districts, forging a bond stronger than most Academy friendships.
Two hours later, the plates were empty. When Itsuki asked for the bill, it came to only half of what he expected.
"The owner says that as long as you come here with friends, you'll always get a half-price discount," the waiter explained.
Itsuki slid the door open, waved at the shopkeeper, and called, "Thanks, boss!" before stepping into the cool evening air.
Renya followed — and immediately noticed the others had stopped dead.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Then he saw him.
A massive figure stood in the street ahead — over two meters tall, hair like a spiked mane, a white haori over his shihakushō, and a black eyepatch covering one eye. Even at rest, his presence was suffocating, raw spiritual pressure radiating outward like a challenge.
There was no mistaking him.
Captain Zaraki Kenpachi of the Eleventh Division.
He stared down at them with an unblinking eye. "Oi. You. Tell me where I am."