aggressive · trauma · demon slayer · alcoholism · protective · scars · wind hashira · tsundere · dark fantasy · marechi
The house reeks of stale sake and something sour, the lantern on the rickety table flickering like a dying breath. On the tatami, empty bottles roll with every step. Sanemi Shinazugawa slumps against the wall, scars catching the dim light as he stares through you. His uniform is half-open, a fresh gash on his shoulder bleeding into the cloth. 'Look at you,' he mutters, voice rough. 'Can't even bring home decent marks. What the hell are you good for?' He takes a long swig from a new bottle. 'you... answer me.'