BLEACH: UNOHANA RETSU IS MY WIFE

"Captain Araki, Captain Unohana! I've been waiting for you both! Please follow me at once—Captain-Commander Yamamoto and the other captains are already assembled in the meeting hall!"

As Araki and Unohana Retsu reached the gates of the 1st Division, a shinigami dressed in a black Shinigami uniform quickly approached them with urgency in his steps.

"Looks like we're the last ones to arrive," Araki commented with a laid-back smile toward Unohana.

"Then hurry up and get moving," Unohana replied, her tone flat but sharp. "Or else you'll be the one getting scolded by Captain Yamamoto."

"Haha, you say that like it's not going to be both of us," Araki laughed lightly. "But come on, old man Yamamoto's lectures can put even hollows to sleep—without even a lullaby!"

Unohana rolled her eyes at his nonchalance. "Then you'd better not yawn during it~"

The poor 1st Division shinigami escorting them began to sweat. Profusely. Araki's casual tone, the irreverent joke at Yamamoto's expense—in front of the meeting room—was more terrifying than a Menos Grande.

In the entire Gotei 13, there might only be one soul bold (or foolish) enough to talk about Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni like that—and that was Araki, the "Genryū" Menkyo Kaiden, Yamamoto's direct disciple and rumored successor.

"Retsu, you know," Araki continued casually, completely unaware (or unconcerned) about the shinigami's panic, "Old man Yama's stern act? That's just for show. You should've seen him back at the academy—one time he fell asleep during his own lecture!"

By now, the shinigami's nerves were fried. With sheer survival instinct kicking in, he sped up dramatically, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"We've arrived," the shinigami said hastily. "Captain-Commander Yamamoto and the rest are behind this door. I'm sure Captain Unohana remembers the way. I'll... take my leave now!" Without waiting for a response, he vanished in a blur of Shunpo, disappearing like a man fleeing from the jaws of death.

Only the smartest survived long in Squad 1—and that shinigami had just proven his IQ.

After all, there were things Araki could say about Yamamoto. But if someone like him overheard it and lived to repeat it? He might be sentenced to death just for breathing suspiciously in the squad barracks the next day.

"Geez, why'd he run off like that? I'm not a monster," Araki said, shrugging. "I was just telling a cute story about Old Man Yama in his youth…"

"Let's go in, Rie~" he added, turning to Unohana and casually pushing open the doors bearing the emblem of the 1st Division.

Ziiiiing...

With a low creak, the heavy meeting doors slid open—revealing the full assembly of Gotei 13 captains, seated in their respective places, their gazes turning toward the newcomers.

"Yo! Did we keep everyone waiting?" Araki greeted with a wide grin, strolling into the room like he was hosting the meeting himself.

His eyes swept across the room, mentally evaluating the captains one by one.

"Man... The original generation of the Gotei 13... Not a single one looks normal! Where did all these monsters crawl out from?"

On his left—Yamamoto's right—were the captains of the even-numbered squads: 2nd, 4th, 6th, 8th, 10th, and 12th.

Compared to the odd-numbered side, these ones looked... somewhat more human. Araki didn't even bother glancing at the other side. He couldn't take the visual damage twice.

The 2nd Division's Captain, Chihiro Shihouin, stood out—handsome, dark-skinned, and effortlessly cool. The Shihouin clan's genes had always been elite. Sure, they were a bit darker due to historical reasons, but every boy and girl born to the family was basically a magazine model.

The 4th Division's Captain, Shijima, was the polar opposite. Pale, weary, sunken eyes. He looked like he was running on two hours of sleep and herbal tea. His hair was dry and gray, like a plum tree in winter. One strong breeze and he'd probably faint.

"He looks like he needs a vacation... or some serious kidney tonic."

As for the 6th Division Captain—well, Araki didn't even need to explain. Those who knew, knew.

But when Araki's eyes landed on the 8th Division's captain, his expression lit up.

"A woman who can't see her toes when she looks down is the pinnacle of beauty," he thought with gleeful admiration. "The ancients never lied!"

Takeunsai Kanoko, Captain of the 8th Division, wasn't just toe-obscured—she was a walking storm cloud. Araki didn't even know what else was down there. All he saw was a pair of white, pendulous... curtains.

"What waves. What surging tides..."

Araki found himself at a loss for words. He didn't know how to describe the breathtaking scene before him. All he could say was—it was so stunning, so magnificent, that it was beyond anything of this world!

"Araki, what are you staring at?!"

Just as Araki was mesmerized by Kanoko Takesunaii's unparalleled artistic display, Saito, who stood beside Kanoko, couldn't bear to watch any longer. She stepped in front of Kanoko, blocking Araki's view completely.

"Could you please move aside? I can't see anything with you standing there…"

The moment Saito popped into view, the artistic flames burning in Araki's heart were instantly extinguished—like someone had pelted his soul with copies of Boruto.

What? Boruto wants to set your soul ablaze? It can't even light a match!

If Kanoko's artistry was on the level of Shippuden, then Saito's was the equivalent of early Boruto. That was Araki's honest evaluation of the "difference in scale" between the two.

"Huh?! What else do you want to see?!"

Saito's eyelid twitched. Was size really that important?

Sure, she could train hard and become stronger—but there were some things in life that were just determined at birth! And when it came to those things, she really had no say in the matter!

"Damn you, Araki!"

Flustered and furious, Saito stormed up to Araki and reached for his collar.

But Araki didn't even flinch. He stood perfectly still, eyelids barely lifted.

Pah~

With a soft sound, Saito's hand was slapped away by none other than Unohana Retsu, who had been quietly standing behind Araki the whole time.

"Don't be rude to my captain," Unohana said calmly, her voice like silk laced with steel.

As she spoke, she subtly straightened her already-impressive chest in front of Saito Furobushi—adding visual injury to emotional insult.

"I... I lost?!"

Saito Furobushi stared at Unohana's proud figure, struck as if by the thunderous brilliance of Chōjirō Sasakibe's Bankai—Kōkō Gonryō Rikyū.

"Wait... something's not right!"

"Unohana! This is the Gotei 13 captains' meeting! You're no longer the Captain of Squad 11! Why are you even here?!"

Just then, before Unohana could reply, a hoarse voice cut through the room from the front of the gathering.

"I invited her."

"Captain Yamamoto?!"

Saito's eyes widened in disbelief. The voice had come from none other than the head of the Gotei 13—Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto himself, who stood with his eyes closed, his hands resting on his Zanpakutō.

"That's enough. This farce ends here."

"Araki, have Unohana take you to your position."

"The rest of the captains—return to yours. The meeting is about to begin."

Yamamoto's voice was low, stern, and absolute—shutting down the tension in the room with the weight of a thousand years of command.

"Yes, Captain!"

With that, all the captains of the Gotei 13 returned to their places. Even the usually unrestrained Saito Furobushi obeyed silently, stepping into the 6th Division's spot with uncharacteristic discipline.

Under Unohana's guidance, Araki walked to his designated spot—situated right between the Captain of the 13th Division and the Captain of the 9th Division.

"…I'd like to file a complaint," Araki muttered. "At the very least, I'd prefer the captains standing next to me to resemble actual human beings."

He glanced to his left: the Captain of the 13th Division—an emaciated, gloomy elder who looked like he'd just crawled out of Hueco Mundo's recycling bin.

Then to his right: the Captain of the 9th Division—an eight-foot-tall beast of a man, gold teeth glinting around his mouth, glasses perched absurdly on his wide nose.

"…I'm surrounded," Araki sighed, feeling all the weariness of Soul Society press down on him at once.