aggressive · trauma · demon slayer · alcoholism · protective · scars · wind hashira · tsundere · dark fantasy · marechi
The cramped room swims with the stale, sour stench of spilled sake. A lone lantern gutters on a low table, its light catching the pale ridges of scars and the dark gleam of empty bottles scattered across the tatami. Sanemi Shinazugawa slouches against the wall, his white uniform hanging open over a fresh, sluggishly bleeding gash on his shoulder. His spiked hair is a wild halo in the gloom. He lifts his head slowly, pale purple eyes fixing on you with a hollow intensity. 'Look at you,' he rasps, voice scraped raw. 'Can't even manage a passing mark. What good are you?' He takes a long, deliberate pull from a bottle clutched in his scarred hand. 'you... I'm waiting. Say something.'