The night had grown deep.
Humming a cheerful tune, Haru slipped onto the grounds of the Executive Militia barracks.
Thanks to his experiences over the past few years, he knew the layout like the back of his hand and was thoroughly familiar with the Militia’s patrol routes.
Easily evading the sentries and hidden lookouts, he arrived at Shaolin’s door.
He knocked lightly.
The room was dead silent.
Focusing his senses, he picked up the faint, steady rhythm of Shaolin’s breathing.
He didn’t think much of it—she had always been a stubborn tsundere.
He simply pushed the door open.
The moment it slid back, he saw Shaolin sitting perfectly straight on her tatami mats, her face flushed a deep red as she stared right at the entryway.
Haru was halfway into a warm smile when the alarm bells in his head began screaming.
Something was wrong!
He had been feeding and teasing this brat for years, and she had never once looked at him with that kind of expression.
That gaze of shy, reverent admiration…
there was only one person in the world who could pull that out of her.
That woman!
In the span of a single heartbeat, Haru’s mind raced through a dozen possibilities.
He hadn’t even closed the door behind him yet when he caught a blur of motion in his peripheral vision.
A fist was hurtling straight for his face.
It was a small, delicate fist, glowing with a healthy, dark-skinned vitality.
Haru didn’t panic.
He calmly prepared to block it, taking the opportunity to size up his attacker—his ex-fiancée.
But he severely underestimated Yoruichi’s current strength.
He had assumed that since she was still young, she wouldn’t be overwhelmingly powerful just yet.
What he didn’t realize was that Yoruichi had returned to the Seireitei specifically to officially take over as Captain of the Second Division.
Even though the Shihōin clan traditionally led the squad, Head Captain Yamamoto would never allow someone weak to take the seat.
The young Yoruichi already possessed Captain-class strength, and with Lieutenant Omaeda acting as her subordinate, her promotion was a sure thing.
Haru’s miscalculation meant that the delicate fist was inches from his cheek before he could properly react.
But as the attacker got a clear look at his face, she seemed to hesitate.
The clenched fist unfurled into an open palm, redirecting downward toward his chest.
Haru seized the opening.
He snapped his hand out, firmly grabbing her wrist.
There was no time to appreciate the soft skin; he ruthlessly yanked her arm downward to break her balance.
‘Deflecting my force?’ Yoruichi’s eyes narrowed.
In a flash, she vanished, reappearing on Haru’s right side to deliver a vicious knife-hand strike.
Her movements were as swift as the wind, the strike tearing through the air and aimed squarely at the side of his neck.
Haru’s reflexes were just as sharp.
He tilted his body, narrowly avoiding the lethal blow.
At the same moment, his right foot stepped back.
The second his heel touched the floor, he triggered Shunpo, reappearing directly behind her.
A flash of genuine annoyance crossed Yoruichi’s eyes.
Her figure blurred, seemingly dissolving into the air and leaving behind a trail of afterimages.
Leveraging her absolute mastery over the Flash Step, she bypassed him in a fraction of a second, appearing in the air behind his back to deliver a crushing elbow drop.
Haru deflected it again, and the skirmish instantly escalated into a flurry of high-speed Hakuda.
Whip kicks, elbow strikes, knee thrusts—every single part of their bodies became a deadly weapon.
Because their martial arts shared the exact same Shihōin roots, their close-quarters brawl looked almost like an intimate, ambiguous dance, hiding lethal intent behind beautiful, flowing footwork.
Yoruichi’s greatest pride, her Shunpo, was severely limited in the cramped room.
Furthermore, she noticed distinct traces of her own clan’s secret techniques in Haru’s movements, which only fueled her irritation.
Both of them were actively suppressing their Spiritual Pressure to the absolute limit, relying entirely on raw physical combat so they wouldn’t alert the entire compound.
But despite their restraint, the bedroom was still being thoroughly trashed.
Shaolin stood frozen in the corner, staring blankly at the two of them.
It was hard to tell who she was watching more.
Yoruichi was getting increasingly frustrated.
This fight wasn’t going anywhere, and if the Executive Militia caught their Commander brawling with a man in a bedroom in the middle of the night, it would be a PR disaster.
She was just about to wave her hand and call a truce when Haru capitalized on her momentary distraction.
Using an Executive Militia grappling technique, he seized her wrist.
‘I’m not letting this crazy woman off easy,’ Haru thought.
‘If I don’t submit her now, how will I ever establish my dominance as her husband?’
He ruthlessly twisted her arm behind her back, drove his knee into the back of her knee, and pinned her firmly to the tatami mats.
Their posture was undeniably intimate.
Their breathing was heavy, and the intense, high-speed exchange had left the small room feeling incredibly hot.
Pinned against the floor, Yoruichi suddenly grinned.
Engaging her core, her incredibly flexible waist snapped with a burst of power, allowing her to effortlessly slip right out of Haru’s lock.
‘Tch!
That waist is something else!’ Haru noted internally.
“I’m done, I’m done!” Yoruichi declared, quickly stepping back until she was standing next to Shaolin.
Shaolin immediately spread her arms wide, shielding Yoruichi like a protective mother hen.
“Y-You cannot hurt Lady Yoruichi!”
Haru almost coughed up blood.
‘I fed you for years, you ungrateful brat!
You throw me under the bus the second a pretty face shows up?!’
Shaolin’s pretty face turned beet red.
She stammered, desperately trying to justify her betrayal.
“I-It’s not like that!
I-I’m a member of the Executive Militia!
Protecting the Commander is my sacred duty!
I would gladly die for Lady Yoruichi!”
Haru was almost amused by her flustered shouting.
Behind her, Yoruichi was absolutely beaming.
She affectionately patted Shaolin’s head, then shot Haru a smug wink, her golden eyes gleaming with triumph.
‘This woman…
she is playing with fire!’ Haru glared at her.
‘Lady Yoruichi, I’m definitely reserving a special room just for you in my future Rukongai mansion!’
Haru had originally planned to pretend he didn’t recognize her, giving him an excuse to beat her up and test her limits.
But since the brutally honest Shaolin had completely blown her cover, he couldn’t exactly throw a punch now.
Highly annoyed, he offered a lazy, half-hearted bow as a greeting.
“Here,” Haru tossed a small jar over.
“The honey I brought you, you ungrateful little brat.”
Shaolin’s face instantly flushed.
She caught the jar.
“T-Thank you!”
Yoruichi’s eyes narrowed sharply.
She just realized that during their intense, close-quarters brawl, Haru had a fragile glass jar of honey hanging from his waist the entire time—and it was still perfectly intact!
Yoruichi knew her own limits.
She might be taking over as Captain, but she wasn’t at the absolute pinnacle of power yet.
However, she was incredibly confident in her Hakuda.
Even though she was just playing around and holding back, for this guy to match her so effortlessly while protecting a glass jar…
She felt a sudden twinge of competitive annoyance.
For the first time, she truly evaluated this “toad trying to eat swan meat” of an arranged fiancé.
…Wait.
The toad…
was actually pretty handsome?
Omaeda really hadn’t lied to her!
The moonlight spilled through the window, catching the young man’s silver hair and coating it in a faint, ethereal glow.
‘Alright, he passes the physical test,’ she admitted to herself.
“Come here,” Haru ordered.
Shaolin reluctantly shuffled over to him, her head barely reaching his chest.
Haru reached out and vigorously ruffled her twin buns, completely messing up her neat, blunt bangs.
Satisfied, Haru smiled warmly.
“Alright, I forgive you this time.”
Yoruichi watched their interaction quietly.
‘Hmm.
He has a really gentle smile too.’
But for some reason, seeing him look at Shaolin like that made her chest feel a tiny bit tight.
‘Tch!’