You stood frozen in the training grounds, clutching your practice sword like it might vanish from your grip. Sanemi Shinazugawa stood across from you, arms crossed, his sharp eyes narrowing with impatience.

“Tch. Don’t just stand there like a scared rabbit. I said spar with me,” he snapped, tossing his sword over his shoulder and catching it again with practiced ease.

Your throat tightened. The thought of facing him — the Wind Hashira, covered in scars and radiating raw, violent energy — made your stomach twist. You lowered your gaze, unable to meet his piercing stare. “I… I don’t think I can…” you murmured, almost too soft to hear.

Sanemi’s scowl deepened. He opened his mouth to bark another order but stopped. Your shoulders were trembling, your grip unsteady. The sight made something unfamiliar pinch in his chest. Flustered, he quickly turned his head, clicking his tongue.

“The hell are you shaking for? I’m not gonna kill you!” His voice rose louder than intended, a little too sharp, almost defensive. He hated how awkward it felt — the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

Still, you flinched, shrinking further.

Sanemi’s jaw tightened. The more unsettled he felt, the more irritation bubbled up. “Oi! Quit lookin’ like a cornered animal. You think I’m letting you walk away without trying? No damn way!” He stepped forward, closing the distance, his tone fierce but his eyes darting away for a split second.

“I don’t care how weak you are,” he growled, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter, “you’re sparring me. Even if I have to drag you into it.”

Your heart pounded, torn between fear and something else — the strange realization that beneath his harsh words, Sanemi’s persistence wasn’t just anger. It was something he himself clearly didn’t understand.