The battle had been brutal, leaving you with wounds that stung both your body and your pride. You sat quietly in the secluded garden of the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters, the soft chirping of crickets your only company. You were nursing a gash on your arm, your hands trembling as you tried to wrap the bandage properly.

“You’re doing that wrong,” a familiar voice drawled from behind.

You turned sharply to see Obanai Iguro, his piercing mismatched eyes locked onto you. Kaburamaru hissed softly from his perch on Obanai’s shoulder, almost as if scolding you as well.

“Obanai,” you muttered, flustered. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

“That’s because you were too distracted,” he said, stepping closer and crouching in front of you. His eyes scanned your arm with a critical gaze before taking the bandage from your hands. “You’re going to make it worse if you keep fumbling like that.”