Above the Royal Palace.
The monk led Soifon toward Senjumaru Shutara's palace island — but before they landed, he suddenly veered off mid-air and ca to a halt, declining to set foot on the island below.
"Soifon, I'll leave you here. Just call for when you're done with the fitting."
He gave her a casual wave, and his figure vanished into the sky above the Royal Palace.
Clank... clank...
The sound of chanical movent rose to Soifon's ears. Senjumaru Shutara glided forward — upper body perfectly steady, moving like a ghost — the lower half of her fra carried along by the silent workings of her chanical arms.
"Welco to my palace, Captain Soifon." Senjumaru looked Soifon over with shaless, appraising eyes. "I must say, you surprise . Flying through the skies of the Royal Palace like that..."
Aside from her own leader, Ichibē Hyōsube, Senjumaru genuinely couldn't think of anyone else who could ride Spirit Particles to levitate within the Royal Palace. For an ordinary Vice-Captain, simply managing to stand upright up here was considered remarkable.
Soifon followed her inside. A deep, rolling thrum reverberated through the air — and behind them, the great heavy doors sealed shut.
Colorful strips of fabric hung from the ceiling of the palace hall. Needles, thread, and looms were scattered throughout, each operating with quiet, thodical industry.
The lavish hall was empty of people. Senjumaru Shutara's palace echoed continuously with the chanical churn of gear-work looms, lit by a dim, slightly amber glow.
Snap—
Senjumaru's tal arms clicked their fingers, and from every side of the hall, wide strips of fabric in varying colors descended all at once, wrapping around both their figures layer by layer — until they were enclosed in a small, sealed room with no gaps.
With their powerful Spirit Bodies, both Soifon and Senjumaru could see perfectly in the dark. The absence of a light source was no obstacle for either of them.
They stood close together. A faint, distinct fragrance drifted from each of them into the other's senses.
Senjumaru circled Soifon once — drifting like a ghost — then propped her chin on one of her tal arms behind her back and let out a series of admiring clicks. "No wonder she was trained by that Yoruichi. The cut of it is practically identical to the Shihōin clan's style..."
As she spoke, several of the chanical arms at her back produced a asuring tape from sowhere. "Let state this upfront — before I can sew your Shihakushō, I'll need to take Captain Soifon's asurents first."
Only now did Soifon rember exactly what kind of price one paid before commissioning work from the Grand Weave Guard.
Soifon took a step back. "Is there really no room for negotiation?"
"None whatsoever..." Senjumaru said, tape asure in hand, her tone as matter-of-fact as if she were discussing the weather. "Not a single piece. Everything cos off."
A sigh.
Accompanied by Soifon's exhale and the soft rustle of fabric, her halter-neck backless Shihakushō slid down and pooled in a black circle at her feet.
"Good. I like cooperative subjects."
"This might be a little..."
Senjumaru cast a satisfied eye over Soifon's trim figure — not a gram of excess anywhere — and began moving the tape asure across her with practiced efficiency.
"Wait — even there...?"
"Are you questioning my professional expertise as the Grand Weave Guard, Soifon?!"
"That's not it, just — hold on a mont, hss—"
Soifon drew a sharp breath.
That one just now was definitely payback.
---
High above, outside the palace island.
The newly finished Shihakushō fit perfectly against her skin — and because it had been crafted using the Ōken as part of the material, its defensive power surpassed anything she'd worn before.
Soifon gave her head a quick shake, clearing away the ntal image of Senjumaru's hands being rather too thorough during the fitting process.
The mont she touched down at Gatonden, the complex, layered scent of food hit her — a fragrance so rich it stirred sothing primal in her Spirit Body. Almost without thinking, she pressed a hand to her flat stomach, as though so deep hunger had just been summoned awake.
She swallowed once, and walked toward the palace doors.
Creak—
The doors of Gatonden swung open, and the aroma of food rolled over her in a wave — so potent that even soone at Soifon's level was struck by a montary lapse of composure.
She had nearly — nearly — lost the battle with the urge to simply bolt toward the table.
At that mont, Kirio Hikifune, who was in the process of setting the last dish on the table, caught sight of Soifon and smiled, beckoning her over with a wave.
The Kirio Hikifune now standing before Soifon seed like an entirely different person from the full-figured woman she had t monts ago.
"So this is your true form after all, Miss Hikifune."
Soifon walked over, took a seat at her side, and studied Hikifune's beautiful face with unabashed admiration.
"~~Doesn't it surprise you, Captain Soifon?" Hikifune leaned her face close, the soft white of her décolletage trembling faintly with the motion. "I thought it would give you quite a shock..."
As she spoke, she speared a slice of grilled at glistening with juices and held it out to Soifon's lips. "Please, eat. Captain Soifon — I've been preparing this al just for you since the mont you arrived."
Only when that piece of at was held before her mouth did Soifon finally understand where this terrible, gnawing hunger had been coming from.
—It was a craving rooted in the instinct of her Spirit Body itself.
"Thank you, Miss Hikifune."
Soifon murmured her thanks and opened her mouth, biting down.
The perfectly seared at — crisp on the outside, tender within — burst with a flood of flavor the mont her teeth t it. The extraordinary texture, the soul-stealing taste, and the steady, comfortable rise of Spiritual Pressure building from within — it was a sensation unlike anything Soifon had ever experienced.
She took the knife and fork from Hikifune's hands. And then, all grace entirely forgotten, Soifon simply ate — her Spirit Body drinking it in like a bone-dry sponge finally given water, desperate and insatiable.
"Slow down — don't choke."
Kirio Hikifune patted her gently on the back.
Soifon let out a series of vague, inarticulate sounds in lieu of a response — she had no ti to offer thanks, having already transford into a rciless eating machine.
Hikifune propped her chin on her hand and watched Soifon eat with a fond smile, quietly wondering to herself just how many dishes this woman was going to put away.
Gradually, the smile faded.
After clearing an entire table's worth of food, the hunger in Soifon's Spirit Body had subsided sowhat. She was now able to maintain basic noble dining etiquette — eating elegantly and swiftly, working her way through what remained on the table.
Three hours later...
She was, after all, a warrior who had broken through the boundaries of the soul — and on top of that, the System had just granted her a massive Soul King Fragnt. Soifon's Spirit Body was brimming with boundless potential, a vessel that was hungry to be filled to its absolute limit.
Unlike the Sklaverei, which simply restored Spiritual Pressure, Kirio Hikifune's cooking could strengthen a person's Spirit Body across every dinsion.
The effect had its limits, of course — it varied depending on the individual.
Soifon swallowed the final piece, rubbed her flat stomach, reached for a napkin and dabbed her mouth, then rinsed with a cup of water.
By conservative estimate, the Spiritual Pressure within her had grown by thirty percent over her previous baseline.
"I'm full. Thank you for the al."
Soifon pressed her palms together and bowed her head with genuine reverence toward the towering mountain of empty plates and bowls before her.
"Don't ntion it..."
From behind that mountain of dishes, a voice — drained to its last thread of strength — answered her. Kirio Hikifune erged from the kitchen, gaunt almost beyond recognition, staggering out one tottering step at a ti.
"Even if you weren't quite full yet, there isn't a single dish I could produce today... Captain Soifon..."
The reserves of fatty Spiritual Pressure that Kirio Hikifune stored in her body — every last drop — had been consud completely by Soifon in a single sitting.
____
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