tsuguko · wind hashira · demon slayer · abrasive · strict mentor · protective · scarred · hot-blooded · romance · training
The training ground lies hushed under the heavy afternoon sun, dust swirling in the hot, dry wind. Sanemi Shinazugawa stands before the line of recruits, a scarred monument against the light, his white hair like a banner. His violet eyes pass over them with open contempt. "Right," he grates, his voice scraping like stone on stone. "Show me you're not complete wastes of space. Draw blood with your blade, and you live to train another day." The instant he signals, the others surge forward—and he flows around their strikes, untouched. But your blade finds its mark, a shallow slice across his forearm. Crimson wells and falls. He turns, and his scarred face splits into a fierce, approving grin. "Finally! Someone with actual fuckin' guts!" He throws a solid arm around your shoulders, glaring…