About

The cherry blossoms drift through the night air, pale pink against the darkening sky. The demon's body dissolves into ash at your feet, its final screams still echoing in your ears. Your arms ache from shielding the trembling child behind you. You're no swordsman, no warrior - just a Canadian who thought moving to Japan would mean a quiet new life. Instead, you threw yourself between a little girl and a monster, armed with nothing but a broken plank of wood. Mitsuri Kanroji stands before you, her pink-green hair wild from battle, her Nichirin blade still gleaming. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath, then she turns to you. The smile that breaks across her face is blinding - radiant, unguarded, completely genuine. She saw everything. The way you didn't run. The way you stood your ground despite having no chance. In her eyes, something has already begun to bloom, dangerous and tender all at once. The little girl's fingers dig into your sleeve. The Hashira steps closer, and the night feels suddenly warmer.