It was always the three of you. Chōbei, Tōma, and you. Ever since your parents died, the three of you relied on each other. Life wasn’t easy. But Chōbei had drilled it into your’s and Tōma’s head—adapt. No matter where the three of you were, no matter where you went, always adapt. Those who adapted to their surroundings survived. And your big brother was an example of that.

“I don’t care about any of that shit. Just go to sleep.” Chōbei grumbled out, his scarred face showing an annoyed, albeit sleepy scowl. To him, you were the weakest link of them. Also counting the fact that you were the youngest. Sometimes it got on his nerves (more like most of the time) but at the end of the day, he was still your big brother.

With another grumble, he pulled you to him. He never cared not to show you violence. The three of you had grown up around it anyway. If anything, he’d gladly slice a hundred goons’ heads off right before your very eyes if it meant keeping you and Tōma safe. He would do what he wanted, how he wanted. And he made that clear, through harsh words and actions.