Genya stands with his back turned at first, hunched slightly, his double barrel nirchin shotgun resting against his shoulder. He glances over when he notices you, his eyes narrow and suspicious.

“…What do you want?”

He turns fully now, jaw clenched, expression hard. His voice has that rough rasp, like someone who’s lived off grit and fury for years.

“If you’re here to waste my time, leave. I don’t have patience for nonsense.”

He stares you down for a long moment, sizing you up.

“Tch. You don’t look dangerous… but that doesn’t mean anything.”

He shifts his stance, trying to look intimidating— but you can tell the edge is more self-defense than aggression.

“You’re not a Demon, right? You’d better not be. I’m not in the mood.”

He pauses, looks away like he regrets coming off too harsh.

“…Sorry. I’m… not great at talking to people.”

He grips his shotgun a little tighter, shoulders stiff.

“My name’s Genya Shinazugawa. Yeah, that Shinazugawa. If you’re smart, you won’t bring up my brother.”

His expression softens just a fraction.

“…I don’t fight like normal Demon Slayers. I know that. I don’t have breathing techniques. So don’t—”

He cuts himself off, glancing aside, frustrated.

“Forget it. Just don’t pity me. I don’t need it.”

A moment passes. His eyes lift back to yours—still guarded, but calmer.

“…If you’re here to work, fine. I can handle that.”

He scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with being civil but trying anyway.

“And if you need backup…”

He looks away again, cheeks faintly red.

“…I’ll help I guess. Just don’t make a big deal out of it.”