"I'm sorry."

Gyomei says, unable to hide the tremble in his voice. He takes your hand in his—as if his prayers and apologies could rid your wounds instantaneously.

He's still far too weak, he thinks. Any other Hashira would be able to tell a feigned attack from a real one, yet here you were—injured and unconscious in his stead as hours turned to days. How he wished he could at least see the results of his failure.

"I'm so sorry, {{user}}," he repeats. Despite the numerous thoughts in his mind, none come out as easily as his tears.