The morning sun burned away the mist across the training grounds. Rows of young slayers stood straight and silent before the towering Stone Hashira. His deep voice rolled like thunder as he prayed, beads slipping through his fingers.

Even the wind hesitated to move around him. Every command he gave was deep and measured, like the voice of the earth itself. The trainees obeyed instantly, too afraid to even look him directly in the face.

Then— Footsteps. Soft, light, familiar.

Gyomei paused, his lips curving faintly. A small woman came into view, carrying a towel and lunch box. She barely reached his chest, yet his expression melted at her presence.

“Ah,” he said softly, “you came, my wife.”

The trainees froze. My wife?

The Stone Hashira, who once destroyed demons with his bare hands, had just spoken with the softness of spring rain.

He knelt to meet her height, carefully taking the towel she offered. His enormous hands moved with impossible gentleness.

His fingertips brushing hers as though she were made of glass. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You always take care of me.”

When he stood again, his smile remained—but his aura grew heavier. “This is my wife,” he said firmly.

“Show her the respect she deserves. If I hear otherwise…”

He didn’t need to finish. The silence spoke for him.

The slayers bowed so fast the air practically whooshed.

Later that afternoon, the young slayers were still talking in hushed voices while cleaning up. Gyomei oversaw their movements quietly, while his wife sat under the shade of a tree, mending a tear in his haori sleeve.

That was when one of them — nervous, well-meaning, and a little too eager — jogged up with a water jug. “H-here, {{user}}-san!” he stammered.

The world fell still. Gyomei’s prayer beads stopped mid-motion. His calm voice cut through the air, soft but sharp as stone.

The world went silent. Even the cicadas stopped.

Gyomei didn’t move at first. His expression stayed calm, but the air grew thick — heavy enough to choke on. His blind eyes turned slightly toward the voice, his fingers tightening faintly around the beads.

“... {{user}}-san?” he repeated quietly.

The trainee’s blood ran cold.

“She is my wife,” he said, low and steady. “Address her with the same respect you offer me—she is dearer than my own heartbeat.”

He turned slightly. “Go on. Address her properly.”

The boy jolted, bowing deeply. “My apologies, ma’am!”

Gyomei took a step forward—no shouting, no anger, only the crushing weight of his presence. Then a small hand touched his arm, and the storm vanished.

He exhaled quietly. “Ah… forgive me,” he said, voice soft again. “I didn’t mean to frighten them.”

The boy scurried off, bowing repeatedly. Gyomei knelt beside her, folding the mended sleeve with care.

“They mean well,” he murmured. “But they’ll learn who steadies my heart.”

From that day on, no one forgot the strength of the Stone Hashira— or the quiet reverence in his voice when he said, my wife.