"Young Master, Young Master, it's time to wake up."
A crisp female voice rang in his ears, piercing his groggy head like a needle. Hiroki jerked violently, his eyelids lifting as if they were filled with lead. A hangover headache throbbed like he'd been struck by a blunt instrument, his temples pulsed, and his throat was as dry as a desert—where had those fair-weather friends dumped him this time?
He forced himself halfway up, looking around in confusion. The entire room was ridiculously large, decorated entirely in a Japanese style: light filtered through paper sliding doors, Ukiyo-e prints hung on the walls, and he was actually sleeping on a futon on a tatami floor, the thin quilt carrying a faint scent of camphor. "Which club is this? Or is it just Japanese-themed?" he muttered to himself, his gaze sweeping over the lacquer low table and the flower arrangement in the corner as a sense of unreality washed over him.
"Are you awake, Young Master? Let's wash up first."
A beautiful young girl approached carrying a basin of water, her eyes curving like crescent moons. Steam rose from the basin; it was freshly drawn hot water. "Oh, okay," Hiroki responded subconsciously, taking the towel handed to him and rubbing it haphazardly over his face, his movements mechanical like a post-drunken instinct. When the towel was tossed back into the basin, the splash wet his sleeve. He felt his head buzzing, his thoughts a tangled mess.
"Honestly, the Young Master is already married, yet he still acts like a child." The girl teased playfully, picking up the towel to wring it out again. Her slender fingers gently wiped his forehead and cheeks, the warm touch clearing his head slightly.
"Service this thorough? And what does she mean by married?" Alarm bells rang in Hiroki's mind. "I drank so much last night I blacked out. Did I really sign a marriage certificate with someone?"
The next second, a flood of unfamiliar memories surged into his mind—there was no intense pain, no dizziness, it was just like being forced to watch a fast-forwarded TV series. Images came in quick succession: Kuroki Hiroki, the son-in-law of the Shihōin Clan, the original host's reputation for being mature beyond his years, the potential spotted by the head of the house, Seigen Shihoin... the digestion of information was instantaneous and smooth.
"Crap! I've transmigrated, and I'm a son-in-law!" Hiroki nearly jumped. The original host came from the lower-class noble Kuroki Clan and had married into the Shihōin Clan based on his false reputation for being "mature and stable." Spiritual Pressure potential at the Lieutenant-level? That old man Kiyone's judgment is really something else!
—In the Thirteen Court Guard Squads, there were only about a dozen Captain-level figures on the surface. This Lieutenant-level potential was indeed enough for the nobility to take notice.
Even more ridiculous was that the original host had an excellent reputation in the Seireitei! The Kuchiki Clan had also wanted him to marry in, but they were intercepted by Kiyone, who instead took in Kuchiki Kōga from the Rukongai.
For the Kuchiki Clan, one of the Four Great Noble Clans, they didn't lack Captain-level combat power; what they lacked was someone to serve as the face of the nobility.
"Kiyone, you old bastard, do you even know what your daughter is like?" Hiroki roared inwardly. "In a few decades, Shihōin Yoruichi is going to elope with Urahara! Where am I supposed to hide my face then?"
It would have been better to marry into the Kuchiki Clan—Seigen Shihoin, you old bastard, you have no idea how outrageous your own daughter is!
Although that eldest miss of the Kuchiki Clan never showed her face in the original story, as one of the Four Great Noble Clans of the Seireitei, they were always known for their rigid and strict upbringing. If it were the Kuchiki Clan, the daughter would surely be dignified and elegant in her conduct. How could she be like Shihōin Yoruichi—wild, untamable, and absurd in her actions!
Fantasies churned uncontrollably in Hiroki's mind: if he had really married into the Kuchiki Clan, how peaceful would life be? Facing a well-educated lady of a great house every day, at least he wouldn't be left aside as a decoration on his wedding night like he was now. But as it happened, his "potential," which had been so highly regarded, had turned him into a pawn for that old man Kiyone to suppress Yoruichi.
The more Hiroki thought about it, the more aggrieved he felt. His chest felt as if a giant boulder were pressing down on it, and he couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh through his teeth: "Sigh."
"What's wrong, Young Master? Haven't you sobered up yet? Do you need some hangover soup?" Tamaki Chizuru's voice rang out softly, like a fine needle piercing through Hiroki's chaotic thoughts. She was leaning over, looking worriedly at Hiroki's face, which was slightly pale from the hangover and frustration, her watery eyes full of concern.
As a dowry maid from the Kuroki Clan, Tamaki Chizuru's background was quite simple—born in the Kuroki Clan's territory in the Rukongai, she was taken in by the Kuroki Clan because she was born with Spiritual Power, becoming Hiroki's personal servant from a young age.
Tamaki Chizuru was only a few years older than him. Having spent nearly twenty years together day and night, she had long since developed the habit of observing his every expression, and she was currently carefully trying to gauge the Young Master's state.
Although she had a weak Spiritual Pressure, enough to survive in the high-concentration spiritual environment of the Seireitei, her strength was ultimately ordinary. This level of power was almost negligible in noble circles.
However, this wasn't a surprise to Hiroki at all: in the vast Seireitei, the air was filled with Spiritual Power. Without a basic level of Spiritual Pressure, an ordinary 'Plus' wouldn't even be able to stand steadily, let alone survive here.
Hiroki suppressed the turmoil in his heart and, mimicking the original host's mature manner, spoke calmly: "No need." His voice was steady, deliberately masking the noise of hangover pain and transmigratory unease.
But his brow still furrowed involuntarily, as if trying to squeeze the absurd memories of last night out of his head. "By the way, what's the schedule for today?" he asked, trying to change the subject and avoid the maid's inquisitive gaze. If the original host were really here, he would have likely finished grooming himself and started his day of noble life by now.
"There isn't one, Young Master," Tamaki Chizuru responded submissively, a slight smile on her lips. "Lord Kiyone gave instructions that for the next three days, you can have a good rest, recover your health, and by the way—" She paused, her tone full of goodwill, "—get along well with Lady Yoruichi."
Get along my ass! A thunderstorm instantly erupted in the depths of Hiroki's heart. At the mention of "Lady Yoruichi," he wanted to punch through the tatami. At yesterday's wedding, that so-called wife was like a ghost: as soon as the wedding rituals ended, she vanished without a trace, leaving him to foolishly accompany the guests in drinking.
What bride? What getting along as a couple? Yoruichi didn't take this marriage seriously at all. He felt like a lonely drunkard, acting as a mere decoration amidst the luxury of the Shihōin Clan.
"I see. You may leave now." Hiroki struggled to maintain the original host's unflappable exterior, waving her away, his voice tinged with exhaustion and irritation. "I want to be alone for a while." He just wanted to be by himself to sort out the mess after his transmigration.
"Yes, Young Master," Tamaki Chizuru answered obediently and quietly withdrew. The sound of the paper sliding door was exceptionally clear in the silent room.