18 years later…
"Tsurumaru, get up! Quit moping around the house and get into the kitchen already. It's your turn to prepare tonight's dinner."
"Uunnnh" Tsurumaru groaned. "You do it, Ichigo."
"Hmm... Tonight's menu was supposed to be grilled fish and miso… Are you implying that you don't know how to make it?"
"Hah? Anyone could make such a simple dish!" Tsurumaru fought back.
"You know i'm never wrong, Tsuru." The tealette replied with a grin.
"Haha. Then this time i'll prove you wrong,"
"Are you suggesting a battle over this?" Ichigo smirked, knowing that this feat would be a simple task for himself to accomplish.
"Bring it on, Strawberry." Tsurumaru mocked, returning the smirk as he made his way to the kitchen.
'Just where exactly did he get his sharp tongue and confidence from?' Ichigo thought to himself, already knowing that this pointless battle was another win for him as he trailed the white haired Taichi into the kitchen.
It had been almost an hour since the two began their cook off. Their debate over who was better at the task had quieted down to a silence, till all that could be heard from within the kitchen were crackling of flames slowly eroding away firewood and the constant blowing of breaths through wooden bamboo tubes to keep the flames alight.
"How are you going, Tsurumaru?" The tealette asked, peering over Tsurumaru's shoulders, only to facepalm himself in exasperation at the outcomes of the others dish, even though both of them had performed the steps identically.
"How did a meal of grilled fish turn to that?"Ichigo inquired out of curiosity, pointing to the mess of charred, black, deformed fishes the latter had produced. The longer he stared at the dish, the more it seemed to emit a cloud of black smoke.
"...Well…" Tsurumaru started, but stopped when he realized he had no words to explain why his dish had turned out so horrendously, even though he had followed the exact same method as Ichigo.
"Just how many fish did you use?"
"Four."
"Hmm… glad you didn't waste much. Wait, what? Four?!" Ichigo exclaimed, "Just what exactly were you doing this entire hour?!"
And then Tsurumaru laughed, as though his burnt mess had never occurred.
"Hehe... you underestimate me too much, I-chii-go." He teased, "I made these!" Tsurumaru exclaimed, pulling out a tray of neatly shaped onigiri and rubbed his nose with a finger proudly.
Ichigo let out a long sigh, "At least you managed your time efficiently."
Tsurumaru gave a light hearted chuckle and started on his job of plating the food and setting them out in the dining room for each sword, while Ichigo washed the dishes.
"Hey, Ichigo, you usually eat with your siblings right? I barely see you in the dining room."
"Yea, it's become a habit I guess. Even though the Awataguchi house cease to exist now, we siblings stick together through thick and thin." Ichigo replied, taking a breath before questioning the white haired.
"But then I could say the same about you. You're usually with Mikazuki aren't you?"
"That's because we're both old esteemed blades of history." Tsurumaru began, his once cheerful expression faded to one of stilled emotionless. A facial he hadn't used since mikazuki 'taught' him how to use his expressions.
Ichigo's eyes widened with astonishment. "What?" he breathed, but before he could word out his question and ask the white haired sword what he meant by his response when he had only been forged a century and a half ago, Tsurumaru had already raised his forefinger against his lips. A gesture which indicated that he was not going to explain any more and ushered the tealette to not question him any further.
Turning to Ichigo, Tsurumaru smiled softly, almost as though he was trying to cover up the vague truth he had let the other into. "I'm going to take Mika-chan's tray to his room." Tsurumaru said, hurriedly excusing himself from the kitchen in case the lad would question him any further about his relationship with Mikazuki.