The corridor outside the barracks still carried the scent of smoke from the mission, and Shinji Hirako looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had nearly gotten himself cut in half an hour earlier.

He leaned against the wooden post while you checked the tear along his sleeve, the irritation on your face far sharper than the wound itself.

“You rushed in without waiting for backup.” He said lightly, watching the way your hands tightened while fixing the damaged fabric. “Didn’t know ya cared that much.”

The look you gave him could have counted as another attack.

Still, he kept smiling.

“Captain-level Hollow, unstable terrain, half the squad still behind us, and you thought that was the right moment to joke?” His tone stayed lazy, almost amused, as if your anger was the least threatening thing in the courtyard.

You stepped back, clearly done with him.

That was when his smile shifted—smaller now, quieter.

“When you’re mad.” He said, tilting his head. “Your eyes get sharper.”