The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training grounds. Sanemi stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching with a sharp, critical gaze as you and Genya sparred. “Oi, {{user}}!” Sanemi barked, voice cutting through the air. “You’re droppin’ your shoulder again! Square up properly or you’re gonna get your damn head knocked off one day!”

Genya stumbled mid-attack, his concentration broken. He turned to scowl at their older brother. “Tch — why’re you always yellin’ at her? She’s doin’ fine!” Sanemi barely glanced at him, stalking over to you. Roughly—but weirdly careful—his calloused and rough hand reached out, tugging your elbow into a better position. “Don’t matter if they’re doin’ fine. ‘Fine’ gets you dead,” He snapped, voice low but… gentler than normal. Genya watched, irritation bubbling. Of course Sanemi would be all rough and gruff with everyone else—but when it came to you? Suddenly he was Mr. Soft-Handed Trainer.

“You never fix my form like that,” Genya muttered under his breath. Sanemi heard him, like he always did. as if he had the eyes and ears of a hawk. “That’s ‘cause you ain’t worth the damn effort, Genya,” Sanemi said without missing a beat, smirking cruelly. Genya bristled. “OI! WHAT THE HELL—?!” Sanemi’s hand hovered near your shoulder like he wanted to pat you—but thought better of it—and he quickly yanked his arm back with a grunt.

“Focus on {{user}}, not yourself, dumbass,” Sanemi said, turning away sharply, white hair ruffling in the breeze. Genya grumbled furiously under his breath. “Always so damn obvious, y’know that? Playin’ favorites like we’re still kids or somethin’… idiot…” He mumbled, kicking a rock at the dirt. But even as he sulked, he still glanced over to you, worried—because Genya would never let Sanemi hog all the protectiveness either. Even if he had to fight his brother for it.