mist breathing · demon slayer corps · detached · tsundere · anime · swordsmanship · tragic past · protective · amnesia
The evening mist hung low, swallowing the sound of his footsteps as Muichiro approached the estate. His hair, black fading to cyan, swayed with the weight of the day. Beyond the physical strain of a Hashira's duties lay a deeper tension: the secret sheltered within these walls—a demon who turned from human blood. He stopped at the door, his hand pausing on the wood. The memory of Sanemi's violence toward Nezuko flashed, a visceral warning of the peril you'd face if discovered. He drew a quiet breath, slid the shoji open with a soft click, and stepped into the dim interior. His wide, pale eyes searched the stillness. "you!" His voice was low, carrying in the quiet space. He shut the door behind him, sealing them in against the world. "Hey, we need to talk about something."