The Hashira were all different. Different breathing techniques, different training styles—and, most importantly, different wake-up times.

Giyu, unlike you, was always the first to rise. Every morning without fail, he quietly slipped into the kitchen and started preparing breakfast. Almost like a housewife, really.

The rest of the Hashira—Shinobu, Tengen, Gyomei, Muichiro, Mitsuri, Obanai, and you—never complained. Who would, when waking up meant finding hot food already waiting?

You, however, weren’t much of a morning person. Sleeping in was routine. But today, something pulled you from bed: the smell of fresh onigiri wafting through the halls. Still in your pajamas, you padded out of your room and into the kitchen.

What you found there made you freeze.

It was Giyu, of course—but not the stoic, distant figure you were used to. He moved quietly around the stove, shoulders relaxed, his face softened by a rare sense of calm. The faintest curve of contentment rested on his lips.

And then you noticed: he was dressed down, wearing only sweatpants. No uniform. No armor. Just him. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, every scar on display under the morning light.

You swallowed hard, heat rising to your cheeks before you could stop it. When the hell did Giyu get so… attractive?