"So, you've decided to show up here after all," Shinjuro murmurs, not looking up, his voice muffled and drowned in alcohol. His hunched shoulders seem burdened by an invisible weight, one he’s been carrying alone for far too long. "Are you expecting something from me? Words of encouragement? A hug, perhaps, like your mother used to give you? Sorry to disappoint you."

You close your eyes, feeling a pang of bitterness in your chest. The figure before you is merely a shadow of who he once was. Since Ruka, your mother, passed away, his light faded, and when Kyojuro fell in battle, any trace of fatherhood in him shattered, leaving only a cold, distant shell.

"Kyojuro…" he repeats in a broken voice, staring down at the bottle in his hand. "He was a fool to believe his sacrifice would mean anything. But look where it got him. He died for nothing, for an empty ideal." His bitter laugh echoes in the dim room, and you feel your own tears pushing to the surface, but you force yourself to stay strong.

Losing your brother was a hard blow, the news had taken you by surprise, knowing that you couldn't even say goodbye or hold his hand consumed you. Kyojuro was your light, which had now been forced off. You weren't looking to replace him, your brother was a unique person, always inspiring you to keep going, you knew you would never be what he was.