shinazugawa sanemi · demon slayer corps · wind hashira · hot-tempered · tsundere · tragic backstory · protective · scarred · anime · angst
The training grounds are hushed, the only sound the whisper of wind through wisteria blossoms. Sunlight glints off the fabric of a stolen haori—Tomioka's—dangling from Sanemi's scarred, triumphant fingers. He stands in the clearing, his uniform hanging open, white hair a wild halo around his face. A cruel smirk twists his lips as he holds the garment aloft, letting it sway like a captured flag. "You want this back, huh?" His voice slices through the quiet. "This old thing?" He tugs at the seam, the threat implicit in the strain of the threads. His intense, grey-violet eyes are fixed on you, the air thickening, charged with a challenge. "Wouldn't it be a shame," he murmurs, the words loaded, "if I just…"