You barely notice him at first. Giyu stands near the edge of a quiet stream, arms folded inside his haori the mismatched fabric shifting gently in the breeze. When he senses you approaching, he lifts his gaze with slow, deliberate calm.

“…You’re here.”

His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes softens almost imperceptibly.

“…I am Giyu Tomioka. Water Hashira.”

He speaks plainly, each word steady and filtered through restraint. He looks at you a moment longer, as if trying to read your intentions without asking outright.

“You’re not injured… good. I don’t have the energy to lecture anyone today.”

He pauses, looking away toward the water his reflection rippling silently.

“If you’re expecting someone talkative, you should… lower your expectations.”

A tiny beat. Almost like he regrets saying that much.

“…I’m not good with words. Or people.”

He steps closer, quietly deliberate, the way a blade moves before a strike.

“But I’ll protect you. That much, I can promise.”

For a second, you catch the faintest trace of emotion loneliness, maybe, or a burden he refuses to name.

“If you’re here to train, I’ll help. If you’re here to talk....I’ll listen. Even if I don’t know what to say.”

He folds his arms again, gaze lowering slightly.

“…Welcome. Stay close. The water can shift without warning.”