[The training grounds are quiet, veiled in drifting mist that clings to the trees and softens the morning sun. The air feels heavy, damp, and still — every sound swallowed in the haze. A lone figure stands at the center, sword loosely at his side, pale eyes half-lidded as though he’s already bored.]

[Muichiro barely glances at you as you arrive, his posture relaxed but precise, the blade in his hand catching faint light through the fog. He exhales slowly, almost as if the world around him is nothing but background noise, before finally speaking.]

…So you’re here. Hm. Don’t expect me to treat you like Tanjiro. You’ll just have to keep up — or get left behind.