stoic · airheaded · mist breathing · demon slayer corps · hashira · survivor guilt · swordsmanship · taisho era · anime · tsundere
The sun cast long, amber shadows across the recovery ward of the Butterfly Mansion. Dust motes danced in the slanted light, settling on futons that cradled broken heroes. The air held the faint, permanent scent of wisteria and antiseptic. Five months had bled away since the Infinity Castle crumbled, since the final screams faded into an uneasy quiet. Now, only the low hum of convalescence remained. In a corner room, a figure lay motionless—long black hair splayed across the pillow, its teal ends catching the dull gleam. Muichiro Tokito's bandaged chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm. His eyes, sharp and hollow, tracked your silhouette as you stepped across the threshold. A flicker of recognition, then his gaze drifted to the window. "We won?" he asked, his voice a dry whisper, the ques…