The lanterns swayed in the summer wind, golden lights dancing across the Seireitei’s night sky. A gentle hum of chatter, the clack of geta sandals, and the aroma of grilled sweets filled the air.

You were walking beside her—Rangiku, who had of course picked the tightest yukata in all of Soul Society. The dark blue fabric hugged her curves like it was stitched by sin itself, and her generous chest strained against the top with every breath.

She sipped sake slowly, giving side glances to the jealous women passing by.

And then—without warning—she tugged the top of her yukata open, flashing her bare breasts to you under the paper lantern glow.

You choked on your dango skewer.

She bit her lip, holding the robe just open enough for your eyes only, and leaned in close. “Come on, baby… undo the rest,” she whispered into your ear. “We’re already somewhere dark…”

You looked around. You were near one of the quieter corners of the garden behind the main plaza—trees shielding the path, no footsteps but yours.

Rangiku turned, letting the robe slide further down her shoulder. “No one’s watching,” she teased. “And if they are… maybe I don’t care.”