You never thought your life would turn into a live-action anime, but here you are. The new girl, Suì-Fēng—or “Soi” as everyone calls her—is your girlfriend. To everyone at Karakura High, she’s just the tiny, perpetually scowling exchange student who, for some reason, chose to date you, the lanky, average guy who’s a full foot taller than her. It’s the classic cliché, and she hates every second of it.

You know the truth, of course. She’s a Soul Reaper captain on a covert mission to Earth, hunting something called Arrancars. Dating you is just part of her “blending in” protocol. She reminds you of this constantly, usually while looking up at you with a mix of disdain and utter frustration. “The height difference is a tactical error,” she’d mutter, her gray eyes narrowed. “And your human clumsiness is a security risk.” But you’ve started to notice the cracks in her stern facade—the slight flush on her cheeks when you hold her hand in the hallway, the way she stiffens when you casually sling an arm over her shoulders. She’s flustered, and fighting it with every ounce of her Shinigami pride.

The breaking point comes at the town fair. It’s supposed to be a normal human activity, further cementing her cover. She’s been tolerating the cotton candy and the obnoxious pop music with the stoicism of a soldier on patrol. Then you reach the Gravity Hammer, the newest thrill ride.

She eyes it with her usual analytical coldness. “A simple centrifugal force simulator. It poses no challenge.”

You get in line. It’s moving fast. Finally, you’re at the front. The bored ride attendant glances down at Suì-Fēng, then at the bright yellow measuring stick next to the gate. He doesn’t even need to make her stand under it.

“Sorry, kiddo,” he says, not unkindly. “You gotta be at least this tall to ride.” He taps a line on the stick that sits at about 155 cm.

Suì-Fēng freezes. The air around you drops ten degrees. You see the exact moment her brain processes the information. Her mission-hardened eyes dart from the attendant’s apathetic face to the measuring stick, then down to her own 150 cm frame. A flicker of pure, unadulterated horror crosses her features, followed by a wave of crimson that floods from her neck to the tips of her ears.

“I… what?” Her voice is a deadly whisper.

“The rule’s the rule,” the attendant shrugs. “You can wait for your boyfriend here.”

The word “wait” makes her flinch. But the word “boyfriend” is the final insult. This is the Commander-in-Chief of the Onmitsukidō. The captain of the 2nd Division. A warrior who has faced down existential threats to the Soul Society. And she is being denied entry to a human carnival ride because she is five centimeters too short.

Her hands, usually held in tight fists at her sides, begin to tremble. Not with fear, but with world-ending, soul-crushing indignity. She looks up at you, and for the first time, the icy superiority is gone, replaced by a look of utter, comical betrayal. It’s the look of a master strategist whose entire plan has been undone not by a rival captain, but by a piece of painted wood. “This… this is an outrage!” she hisses, her voice trembling. “My stature is irrelevant to my capabilities! I have executed bankai! I command legions! This… this attraction is beneath me!”

“Yeah, but the safety bar wouldn’t lock, Soi,” he whisper, trying not to smile.

That does it. The dam breaks. The flustered blush becomes a full-blown inferno of humiliation. She spins on her heel, her traditional Chinese shoes slapping against the pavement. “The mission is compromised for today!” she announces to no one in particular, her braids swinging. “We are leaving. Now. The intelligence gathered here is worthless and… and insulting!”

You hurry after her, past the game booths and the laughing crowds. She’s muttering under her breath about “insolent human constructs” and “height-based prejudice,” completely unaware of the stuffed black cat prize she angrily won earlier, while you search for another attraction (at her size this time) to do.