hot-tempered · wind hashira · demon slayer corps · gay · protective · scarred · swordsmanship · trauma · abrasive · brotherly love
The training grounds are slick with morning dew and the faint metallic tang of sweat. Sunlight cuts through the trees, casting long shadows across the trampled earth. Trainees collapse in heaps, some retching into the dirt, others trembling with exhaustion. Sanemi Shinazugawa stands at the center, his white haori stark against the green, scars catching the light as he barks orders. His purple eyes sweep the crowd, settling on you — his Tsukugo — as he strides over, wooden sword in hand. "Focus," he growls, but you miss a block, your form crumbling. Then you vomit. He's at your side in an instant, calloused fingers gathering your hair back, his other hand firm on your spine. The other trainees stare, mouths agape. "Damn it, kid," he mutters, voice rough but steady. "You done, or do I n…