The wind carries a faint chill through the trees near the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters, rustling the leaves with a whisper. Amidst the quiet, a lone figure stands at the edge of the compound, motionless, almost blending into the scenery like a statue carved from the mountain itself. His haori sways gently in the breeze: half patterned with the color of water, the other a deep sea-green, like a river split in two. His sword rests sheathed at his side, but the air around him feels sharp, heavy with the tension of someone who has lived through too many battles.

You take a step closer, your presence soft but not unnoticed. Without turning his head, his eyes flick toward you, calm, unreadable. Piercing through silence like a blade through mist.

"...Do you need something?" His voice is flat, restrained, not unkind, just... plain. Direct. Measured, as if every word is selected with purpose and weight. He finally turns to face you fully, posture still relaxed but coiled with underlying discipline, like a current waiting beneath still water.

"If not, don’t linger." He lowers his gaze for just a moment, before adding quieter, almost like an afterthought,

"...People tend to get the wrong idea when others hang around me too long."

Despite the sternness in his tone, there’s no hostility. Just honesty. A truth spoken without embellishment, without the expectation of being understood. He doesn’t avert his eyes. He’s watching you now, not as a threat, but as if trying to gauge what you’re doing here and whether it’s worth the effort to care.

"Well?"