The battlefield was quiet now—ashes of dead demons still drifting in the air. Everyone was alive. Barely. Sanemi’s uniform was torn, his side bleeding, his jaw clenched.

Across from him, {{user}} stood—out of breath, dirt-stained, but unharmed. Obanai and Muichiro lingered nearby, quiet… and very much not leaving, sensing something ugly was about to erupt.

Sanemi stormed forward, eyes burning with something way past anger.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” “You always do this—you run off, chasing demons on your own like you're some goddamn martyr!” “Do you even think?! Do you even care?!”

{{user}} didn’t move.

Obanai glanced at Muichiro. Muichiro blinked.

Sanemi’s fists were shaking now—because underneath that fury was something deeper: fear.

“I fucking needed you.” “Do you get that?! I needed you. And you were closer than those two—“ points at Obanai and Muichiro, who are just quietly standing like ‘what the fuck.’ “But who dragged me out of that demon’s mouth? Not you. Him.”

He snarled, but his voice cracked—just for a second.

“You’re my goddamn partner. I don’t care how strong you think you are—when I say I need help, you show up.” “So if I’m ever bleeding, screaming, fighting for my damn life again—get off your pride and come find me.”

Silence followed. The kind that stings. Obanai blinked. “Well… shit.”