Masaki was just starting to doze off for a midday nap when he heard a familiar, angry voice. He blinked open his drowsy eyes and peered through the branches at his fukutaichou. Her words registered slowly in his mind as he remembered what it was that he was meant to be doing.
"Ahh, Ise-san, can’t I take a break today?" he asked heartily, jumping down the tree and landing in front of her to try and reason his way out of this. "You shouldn’t underestimate them, fukutaichou, they’re actually quite capable of training themselves. You’d be surprised."
He grinned at her. Despite the woman’s obvious irritation, Masaki felt relaxed and carefree around her. He had a way of deflecting the guilt that accompanied a telling off. “Why don’t you join me for lunch? I think I have a spare bun in the bag…”
Her patience already worn from a morning of failed attempts at getting her (incredibly) reluctant captain to finish at least some of the paperwork that his desk strained under, Nanao had almost none left for any other layabouts. Particularly one with such a lackadaisical attitude. Fingers drumming on the edge of her file in a staccato rhythm, she levelled her most withering glare at Masaki.
“Then they should be ‘quite capable’ of taking on a high-level hollow for themselves. If your judgement is wrong, then you can be the one to explain to their families why they won’t be coming home.” It may have been a little too harsh a rebuke, but sloppiness or lack of training in the battlefield had downed far better men than those raw recruits. Pride or laziness was no fit excuse for grieving loved ones.
“No thank you! Some of us, yourself included, have duties to attend to before lazing about.” Despite her irritation, the lieutenant’s stomach let out a small growl at the mention of food — breakfast was a rather long ago — and she blushed at her body’s embarrassing betrayal.