Super Double

It wasn't that Rangiku was overly cautious.

In the middle of the night, a man had suddenly popped up in front of her, sporting a delinquent hairstyle, with two ounces of flab jiggling on his face, a thick gold chain hanging around his neck, and a flask of sake in his hand. He was chuckling, "Heh-heh."

Any attractive woman would have been on guard, let alone someone as attractive as her.

At critical moments, Rangiku Matsumoto was the most reliable teammate anyone could ask for.

Of course, at less critical moments, Rangiku was the one teammate who couldn't be relied on.

Ōmaeda's face was flushed from drinking, and he swayed on his feet. "Sorry, sorry. I might have had too much to drink. I'll leave right away."

Rangiku Matsumoto studied him for a long while with her pale silver eyes, then asked uncertainly, "Is that Sangō Sake? The strongest sake in all of Soul Society?"

A small flask like that was worth ten thousand kan, and ordinary nobles didn't even have the right to buy it.

In the culinary wasteland that was Soul Society, it represented the height of luxury.

It wasn't that Rangiku thought this sake was really better than that brat Dōsan's plum wine. The main thing was, she'd never tried it.

Was there anything wrong with being a collector?

"Hm? Would you like a drink too, Miss Rangiku?" Swaying and pretending to be drunk, Ōmaeda took a flask filled to the brim from his waist and offered it to Rangiku.

"Really?"

Rangiku's eyes lit up. Though she posed it as a question, she snatched the flask and hugged it to her chest.

Sorry I doubted you earlier, Third Seat Ōmaeda. You really are a good person.

Rangiku didn't stand on ceremony. She took the flask and drank, but when the strong liquor hit her throat, its high alcohol content burned so badly that she coughed several times in a row.

Ōmaeda kept his wits about him. He had come with a plan.

After chatting idly for a while, Ōmaeda steered the conversation toward Dōsan Hanyū.

Rangiku was no match for the lure of fine sake. She drank until she was in a daze, though she didn't forget to say good things about Dōsan.

At last, Ōmaeda decided the time was ripe. Casually offering a toast, he ventured, "Does Dōsan Hanyū have any openings or weaknesses?"

They had already been talking about Dōsan for a while, so Rangiku didn't grow wary.

How bad could Ōmaeda be when he liked drinking and could hold so much liquor?

But Ōmaeda's question—an opening?

Rangiku shook the nearly empty flask and answered offhandedly, "Probably sake."

Ōmaeda had asked casually, and Rangiku answered just as casually. Once she'd said it, she didn't bring it up again.

That's it!

That's all I need!

As expected of me, Ōmaeda! With one little trick, I got such important information out of Rangiku Matsumoto.

How could sake count as an opening? Wasn't Rangiku demonstrating it herself?

Just one drink in, and she's spilling everything.

After leaving Rangiku, Ōmaeda reached out toward the sky.

His eye, his hand, and the moon lined up. In Ōmaeda's eyes, he looked as though he were holding the moon as he closed his hand around it.

"Dōsan-chan, you can't escape my cunning!"

The appointed time arrived the next day.

Dōsan was still a little nervous. He had thrown up all evening yesterday and had only dragged Ganju out to train for a little over six hours in the middle of the night.

What difference was there between training for a little over six hours a day and not training at all?

If he couldn't escape the misfortune of eating sushi today, he hoped he would only have to eat one serving.

Dōsan was dressed very differently from yesterday—extremely differently.

His old patched clothes had long since been thrown away, and Kūkaku and Ganju had originally prepared a light, simple outfit for him.

But when he told them he was going out today, the two insisted that he change into something else.

They seemed to be a noble's clothes, loose and baggy.

But they had one obvious advantage: when he ate until he was stuffed, he wouldn't have to loosen his belt, so Dōsan agreed.

Then Ganju wrapped a scarf around him, one that seemed to be called a Ginpakukazahana no Uzuginu.

It was the same tacky, ugly black scarf Aunt Rangiku had told him about, supposedly worth an entire street.

His wolf-tail braid had also been undone and bound with a hairpin-like Kenseikan, which seemed to be very expensive too.

In all his life, Dōsan had never felt so valuable. After all, even District 1 wasn't all that safe in Soul Society.

If he went out wearing valuables worth "several streets," wouldn't those souls from Rukongai rob him?

Before he left, Ganju patted Dōsan with a mournful look. "I admit it now. After me, you're the second most handsome man in West Rukongai. Good luck!"

And so, dressed in that outfit, Dōsan arrived at the sushi shop.

Dōsan was already good-looking, and clothes made the man. Even the commoners of West Rukongai, who had beaten gongs and drums for him when he broke the sushi record yesterday, stayed well away today for fear of offending a noble.

Soi Fon also arrived at the meeting place on time. She looked at Dōsan's noble attire and the Fallen Heaven Crumbling Whirlpool Crest on his haori, the emblem of the Shiba Clan's glory.

Soi Fon's face darkened instantly. What was this?

A show of force from the Shiba Clan?

She had only treated Dōsan to a filling meal yesterday, and today the Shiba Clan had already come with a show of force.

Did enslaving a genius give those nobles so much pleasure?

After tossing and turning all night, Dōsan had more on his mind too. He wondered if he should have a proper talk with the young captain.

You like watching people eat sushi, and I can understand that. Who doesn't have an odd hobby or two? But more than a thousand pieces is going too far.

Dōsan had finally worked up the courage, only for the frost on the young woman's face to scare it right out of him.

The young captain's normally cold face was even colder than before. At least she had spoken last time; this time, she led Dōsan into the shop without a word.

"Order."

How am I supposed to order? There's nothing but sushi.

Dōsan's hand trembled twice. Not daring to meet the young captain's eyes, he hid his face behind the menu and whispered to the elderly proprietress beside him, "One of everything on the menu."

What a good boy. He's willing to go hungry just to save me money.

Hesitation, uncertainty, and a sense of inferiority.

Wasn't he just like me when I faced that person back then?

That damned Shiba Clan.

Bang! Soi Fon tapped the tabletop with her little fist, sending the bowls and plates on it a finger's breadth into the air.

A faint, icy Spiritual Pressure swept across Dōsan's face.

What's going on?

Dōsan tilted his head and peeked around the side of the menu, his tongue cramping a little. Showing only one eye, he tried to see what had happened.

"Two of everything."

Hiss...

Don't hit the table. Whatever you say goes. At least eating it won't kill me.

"And bring a flask of sake."

You...

You're super doubling it too?

Does it have to be like this?

Dōsan rubbed his face hard a couple of times.

Across from him, Soi Fon's face was dark as she recalled Ōmaeda's plan. She was supposed to take things step by step, but she couldn't wait any longer.

Judging by the Shiba Clan's behavior, this meeting with Dōsan might put the boy in danger.

Drink together, and what's done is done.

But drinking with someone else...

At the thought, Soi Fon lowered her head involuntarily, her gaze no longer sharp.

The last time she had drunk was with that person.

Every time, that person would deliberately brush against her face while pouring her a drink.

Soi Fon couldn't hold her liquor well. And to protect that person, she only ever drank three cups, no matter the occasion. But after three cups, her whole body would sway in a drunken daze.

That person would take the opportunity to tease her.

It had been fifteen years, six months, and twelve days since then.

Across from her, Dōsan looked at the sushi that once again filled the room, and at the flask of sake on the table. He couldn't help swallowing. Before the young captain could react, he hurriedly filled a cup for her.

Soi Fon raised her head and stared at Dōsan for two seconds. Only after her stare made him lower his head in alarm did she understand.

I see.

Is the first cup a toast to thank me for the meal?

Was a casual gesture on my part like a clear breeze and a bright moon to him?

Good. He values kindness and loyalty.

Soi Fon raised her cup and drained it in one go. Her ringed, feathered snake braid hung loose, and her expression gradually softened.

"Cough, cough." The sake was a little cold, and Soi Fon had drunk too quickly. She coughed twice, then loosened her grip, letting the cup fall onto the table with a thud.

But before Soi Fon could raise her head again, Dōsan had already reached over and refilled her cup.

She raised her head again and looked directly at Dōsan's wandering gaze, drawing a sharp breath.

Ah, I see.

Dōsan's behavior left Soi Fon quite astonished.

No, more than astonished—she was somewhat shaken.