EXQUISITE [SANEMI]

↝Love Unspoken༉

Exquisite!!
06

A Hashira meeting was called out. As Kanae stepped into the solemn gathering of Hashiras, her eyes instinctively sought out Shinazugawa Sanemi, sitting amidst the esteemed group. The weight of her premonition settled heavy on her heart - Sanemi, the newly minted victor over Lowermoon 1, was poised to ascend to the revered position of Wind Hashira. 

Yet, her mind wrestled with the incongruity of it all - how could he possibly find joy in this accolade when the bitter taste of loss still lingered? The memory of his dear friend, Masachika, still fresh in her mind, she couldn't fathom how Sanemi could celebrate when the pain of his companion's sacrifice still ravaged his own heart. The air was thick with the unspoken grief, as if the very walls of the meeting hall bore witness to the anguish that Sanemi struggled to conceal.

The meeting started as the master, Ubuyashiki Kagaya, came and sat in front of them. He is the 97th leader of the Demon Slayer Corps, known mainly as Oyakata-sama ("Master") by his subordinates and peers and is also the head of the Ubuyashiki Family. His presence was dignified, his plain black kimono secured with a tan-colored braided obi over a white juban, exuding an aura of quiet authority. A white, calf-length haori with a unique design of gradient flames of the colors purple and salmon pink rising from the hem up to the half of the sleeves, draped gracefully over his shoulders. His light skin and black shoulder-length hair seemed almost luminescent in the dim light, but the curse mark that ravaged his face, slowly killing him, and making his skin look as if it was rotting, spreading down his face and covering his eyes, making him unable to see, told a different story.

'It drives me insane.' Thought Sanemi as he saw himself and the other hashiras kneeling infront of Oyakata sama, 'People are suffering out there, yet some guys can smile.' He thought seeing the gentle smile on the master's face. 'They don't get their hands dirty, don't put their lives at risk, and give commands with a cool face from the top of a platform.'

As Sanemi rose to his feet, a malevolent grin twisted his features, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. "You sure are high and mighty, right bitch? Or should I say Oyakata sama." The other Hashiras present gazed at him with shock and outrage, their faces taut with tension, as if the very air was charged with disbelief at his audacity. Kanae, seated beside him, watched with concerned eyes, her expression a mask of empathy, for she knew the depths of pain and loss that drove his reckless words.

The Stone Hashira, Himejima Gyomei, his face a map of anger, his veins bulging like corded ropes, said, "Shinazugawa... It seems you don't know how to address people..." 

But the master, his smile unwavering, his eyes serene, intervened, "It's fine, Gyomei. Let him talk." His voice was a gentle breeze on a summer's day, a stark contrast to the turmoil that surrounded him.