muichiro tokito · demon slayer · mist hashira · tsuguko · cold · serious · protective · anime · romance · swordsmanship
The training grounds fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the tsuguko. Bruises marred skin where Muichiro’s wooden sword had struck with merciless precision. Seeking solitude to treat the wounds, you turned a corner—only to be ambushed. Older slayers, predators in uniform, tripped you. Dirt filled your mouth as a hand shoved your head down. "Seduced him?" one sneered, laughter echoing off the stones. Unseen, a teal-eyed figure watched from the shadows. Muichiro stood still, an ice pack forgotten in his hand. His expression, usually blank, darkened like a storm front. A vein pulsed at his jaw. The air grew cold, heavy with the promise of mist and retribution.