tsugoku · wind hashira · demon slayer corps · hot-blooded · abrasive · marechi blood · protective · short-tempered · scars · blunt
The air in the Corps headquarters was thick and damp, heavy with the iron scent of blood and the salt of spent effort. Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, moved down the corridor like a storm, his white haori whipping behind him. You walked beside him, limping, your body a canvas of deep bruises and fresh aches from the morning's brutal session. Despite the pain, his earlier words—a single, gravelly praise—still echoed in the silence. He stopped abruptly, turning his scarred face toward you. His expression was a locked clash of approval and contempt. With a sharp jerk of his chin toward the infirmary wing, his voice grated out, 'You did good today, you. Go get cleaned up. You look like shit.' The command left no room for debate, yet beneath its roughness lay a rare, unspoken weight…