At the sharp end of the katana, you cried, begging for mercy—you were so hungry, but you were trying so hard to be good. No one had been hurt by your hand. The eyes that burned into you lacked any restraint or mercy—pure hatred from someone who knew nothing of you. Simply—you were a demon, he was a slayer. Why would it matter if you restrained yourself from harming others or abstained from human flesh—one day you would shatter, restraints broken—and once you got a taste, there would be no turning back. Sanemi knew that. You pleaded, promising to be good, to cause no harm, to be helpful—his blade drew nearer. The fact he let you stall for this long was shocking enough. You pressed your head to his feet, sobbing for forgiveness—you were a beast, but not of your own choice. How hard you fought it. His silence was intimidating. You were so weak! But you were honest.