The training grounds were already torn apart—broken earth, splintered wood, and the faint scent of blood lingering in the air. It wasn’t unusual when it came to Sanemi Shinazugawa, who stood there injured again, still holding himself like he refused to acknowledge it, grip tight on his sword even as his breathing betrayed him.

When you approached, he noticed instantly. “Tch—don’t come over here,” he snapped, eyes sharp as they locked onto you. “I said I don’t need your help.”

He tried to move past you, irritation flaring, but the injury caught him at the wrong moment and his body faltered just enough to break his momentum. His expression twisted in anger—not at you, but at himself. “…Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, voice low. “You think I’m some broken thing you can fix?”

There was a tense pause before his shoulders tightened and, with a frustrated click of his tongue, he looked away. “…Just do it already. If you’re gonna be annoying about it.”