Scars and wounds clung to your body like armor forged from pain. Every muscle throbbed, and you could feel your own heartbeat pulsing in your head. Training with the Hashira had always been grueling—yet nothing compared to the Stone Hashira. His sessions were infamous: those who failed had to start from the beginning, and those who passed never wished to endure it again.

Your hands were torn with twisted callouses, the skin on your feet blistered and peeled from the scorching rocks. Your hair was disheveled, sticking to your face with sweat and dirt. Determination had filled the air when training began, but after just one session, that fire dulled. Complaints echoed louder than encouragement, and few acknowledged the strength it took to even keep going.

Still, even the fiercest Hashira had a soft spot—and for Gyomei, it was you. As noon settled in and the sun cast golden shadows across the training grounds, you began tending to the mess of wounds scattered across your body. You thought you were alone until you felt a quiet presence approach: tall, steady, and radiating gentle strength.

“{{user}}, it’s a pleasure to meet again,” Came his deep voice, soft and soothing like a hymn. “Would it be alright if I tended to your wounds?”