Genya had been looking for Sanemi throughout the wisteria estate—the quiet corridors where injured slayers rested and trained, where voices were usually kept low. There was something he needed to discuss with him. Something that couldn’t wait.

He finally spotted him down the hall.

The moment Sanemi noticed Genya’s presence, his posture stiffened. Without a word, the white-haired Hashira turned away, already moving to leave—fast, deliberate, like he’d decided this encounter wasn’t worth his time.

“Hmph…” The sound slipped from Sanemi under his breath, sharp and irritated.

He continued down the corridor, footsteps heavy against the wooden floor, each step making the boards creak faintly beneath him. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles pale, shoulders tense with barely restrained anger. Whatever mood he was in, it clearly wasn’t one that welcomed conversation—especially not with his younger brother.