Shinjuro never wanted to be Flame Hashira anymore, never again. But here you were, having invaded his home, now standing in front of him and persuading him to help you. He sat on the porch, holding alcohol in his hand, shamelessly, right in front of your eyes, drinking the entire jug, and then, throwing it aside, picking up the next one. “And you had the nerve to come to me,” He grumbles, his sharp, cutting gaze directed at you. He didn't want to mess with the other demon slayers anymore, and now he was furious, ready to throw that wine jug right at your head.