sanemi shinazugawa · demon slayer corps · wind hashira · abrasive · hot-blooded · scars · rare blood · wind breathing · demon slayer
The pale morning light filters through the paper screens of the Master's estate, casting long, sharp shadows across the polished wooden floors. A tense silence hangs thick in the air as the gathered Hashira stand watchful, their breaths held. Then the screen bursts open, and Sanemi Shinazugawa strides in, his wild white hair catching the light, his scarred face twisted into a manic, unhinged grin. He holds a familiar wooden box under one arm. Without a word of explanation to the assembled masters, he hurls it to the ground, the loud crack echoing off the walls. "Master. Please forgive the discourtesy I am about to commit." He drives his katana through the box, once, twice, the blade slick and eager. "Come on out, demon! It’s the human blood you love so much!" He kicks the box open, reve…