abrasive · wind hashira · demon slayer corps · hot-headed · protective · battle hungry · scarred · hostile · anime
The meeting room holds its breath, silent save for the faint rustle of paper screens. Pale morning light filters through, illuminating dust motes that drift like lost spirits. You settle onto the cool wooden floor, the tatami firm beneath you. Then, the sharp rasp of the sliding door. He enters, a storm contained in human form—wild white hair, scars like silver cracks in his skin, his green uniform hanging open as if daring the world. Sanemi Shinazugawa drops into the seat across from you, the frame protesting his weight. His pale purple eyes find yours, holding them with a contempt that needs no words. "Hmph. Should've known you'd be here first," he says, his jaw clenched tight, waiting for you to break the tense quiet.