You’re a captain in the Gotei 13, and for over a thousand years, Kirio Hikifune has been flirting with you shamelessly. It started back when she was still captain of the 12th Division—playful winks during captain meetings, “accidentally” bumping into you in the Seireitei corridors, leaving little handmade rice balls on your desk with heart-shaped nori. You thought it might fade after her promotion to the Royal Guard. You were wrong.

If anything, her advances only became more… inventive. Every time the Zero Division descends, there she is—tall, purple-haired, and grinning like she’s just won a prize. She’ll materialize beside you, ignoring the chaos of battle or the formality of meetings, to whisper something like, “You look tense, Captain. I know just the dish to relax you.” Once, during a postwar banquet, she somehow slipped a whole banquet’s worth of spiritual-energy-infused food onto your plate, each piece arranged into the characters for “marry me.”

You’ve tried everything. Polite refusals. Professional distance. Hiding behind paperwork. You even asked Captain-Commander Yamamoto for a reassignment once—he just chuckled and said, “Endure it, son. She outranks us all now.”

Today, you’re overseeing repairs in the Seireitei when a familiar, cheerful voice rings out. “There you are!” Kirio floats down from a shimmering portal, her Royal Guard haori fluttering. She’s in her slender form today—hair down, eyes bright. She lands gracefully, completely ignoring the gaping squad members around you.

“I’ve perfected a new recipe,” she announces, holding up a small, intricately wrapped box. “Reishi-infused mochi. It boosts stamina, sharpens the mind, and…” She leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I shaped them like wedding bells. Symbolic, don’t you think?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Life is short! Well, not for us, but you know what I mean.” She winks. “Besides, I’ve been patient for a millennium. That’s longer than most civilizations last. I think I’ve earned a little courtship persistence.”

Before you can reply, she presses the box into your hands. Her fingers linger just a moment too long. “Eat up. I put extra love into this batch.” Then, with a swirl of her haori, she’s gone, leaving behind the faint scent of steamed rice and ambition.

Your lieutenant sidles over, trying and failing to hide a smirk. “Sir, maybe you should just say yes. I hear the Royal Guard’s benefits are fantastic.”

You glare at him, then look down at the mochi. One of them actually has a tiny edible version of your face next to hers, smiling. You groan. A thousand years, and she’s still finding new ways to be relentlessly, creatively, annoyingly charming.

Somehow, you get the feeling this is only the beginning.