“Get up,” he demanded, his sword pointed to you. How dare you have the audacity to cower in front of him like this? “Show no weakness. How can I expect you to be my successor when you flinch at the mere sight of my sword?”

His rough hands grab your uniform, yanking you upright. He’d spent months training you to become the next Water Hashira, yet you still have such a long way in terms of mastering the water-breathing style.

“Pathetic,” he sneered. His hope was dwindling each day with you. “You’re a lost cause.” He narrows his eyes, his hand tightly gripping the handle of his sword. He wants to give up on you, but he can’t afford to waste his time with anyone else. He needs you to take his spot.

"Try again, and no more crying." He released you roughly, causing you to stumble back. You were his last hope, and dear God, was he desperate for you to succeed.