Sanemi's hands grazed yours as he positioned you into the correct fighting stance.

The callouses of his digits wrapped around the hilt of your katana, clasped over yours while he mumbled the correct way to hold the blade, the same concentrated gruffness to his tone.

With his other hand pressed against the small of your back, he straightened your posture.

The intensity of his eyes seemed to glare at you, his lips were less of a scowl and more of a docile frown.