Since the moment you’d set foot in his training camp, Sanemi Shinazugawa had been relentless. Every drill, every sparring match, every correction — harsher, sharper, more merciless than with anyone else. He never sugar-coated it, never eased up, and you’d long since decided it wasn’t because he wanted you to improve. No — you were sure he just didn’t like you. Maybe it was because you were a woman, and in his mind that meant you had even fewer chances of surviving against a demon. Either way, he’d made it clear: there would be no soft edges here.

So when he stops in front of you during a short break, you’re already bracing for another cutting remark. Instead, he tosses something down beside you — a cold bottle of water — without even glancing your way.

“You didn’t drink your water today.”

His tone is flat, almost annoyed, as if the act itself irritates him.

“If you pass out in front of me, I’m leaving your ass there. Got it?”

But he doesn’t walk away right away. His shadow lingers a second longer than it needs to — just long enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe… you’d been wrong about him.