The Shadow Hashira - Tengen X Reader X Sanemi

23

I returned to the shadows as if I had never left them. By day and night, I trailed silently behind, keeping close enough to sense Tengen's every movement but distant enough to avoid his notice. This was my role—the invisible blade, the unseen watchful eye. The one who kept to the sidelines and dealt with threats before they could touch the rest. My presence was something even my fellow Hashira rarely acknowledged.

But now, as I followed him through the district, hidden in the darkness, the space between us felt thicker, heavier. I could still feel his touch from that night, the warmth of his hands on my skin, the softness of his voice as he murmured my name. Each memory clung to me like an invisible shackle, weighing down my resolve. I was the Shadow Hashira, bound by duty and trained to be unseen. Yet here I was, my mind tethered to someone I had no right to hold so close.

As he moved through the bustling streets, his demeanor shifted effortlessly from playful to focused, his charm easily masking the steel beneath. I knew this side of him well—the man who could be both deadly and dazzling with a single look. And yet, behind all the showmanship and confidence, I had glimpsed the vulnerability that lay beneath it all, the weight of the battles he carried alone. For a moment, I had held that part of him, and in return, he had held the most guarded parts of me.

I shook my head, focusing on the mission. Emotions were a distraction, and distractions could cost lives. I'd been taught this since the day I was taken in by Oyakata-sama, the only father I had ever known. He had seen potential in me, a girl with nothing but shadows in her past, and had molded me into the weapon I'd become. My life belonged to the Corps—to him. Love, attachment... these were things I'd been told to leave behind. To accept my place in the darkness and be content to watch from afar.

But now, it was like the shadows I'd lived within were thinning, and all I could think of was him.

Days passed in silent vigil. Every night, as I lay beneath the open sky, I'd close my eyes only to see his face, the playful gleam in his eyes that belied a depth only I had glimpsed. In sleep, I would relive the warmth of his embrace, the softness in his voice, the gentle way he'd held me as if I were something precious. And every morning, I'd push those memories down, locking them away, burying them deeper with each sunrise. Yet, they clawed their way back to the surface every time I saw him.

I didn't know if I was allowed to accept these feelings, if I could let myself entertain the possibility of anything beyond the mission. It was a question that gnawed at me, an unfamiliar ache that made me both yearn and hesitate. I'd watched countless comrades fall, and I knew what it meant to risk one's heart. In this line of duty, attachments were weaknesses, vulnerabilities that demons could exploit.

But then, what was he to me now? A comrade, a fellow Hashira... a lover? The thought made my chest tighten, a feeling so foreign I almost didn't recognize it. Yet, whenever I saw him laugh with the others, whenever I sensed his calm confidence or caught a glimpse of his fleeting glances into the darkness where he must have known I was watching, it was as if he were reaching out, silently acknowledging me without a word.

This was what I had been raised to resist, to keep at a distance. But Tengen had crept past my defenses, slipping into the quiet spaces of my heart, filling the solitude I'd grown so used to. He'd challenged the very core of my existence as the Shadow Hashira, leaving me to wrestle with emotions I could neither accept nor deny.

Each day that I watched him from the darkness, my resolve wavered. The mission was always my priority, yet he was becoming more than a mere distraction. He was a promise of something I was never meant to have. And in the quiet moments, when the world was still and I felt his presence even from afar, I found myself wondering if, perhaps, just this once, I could be allowed to choose.

——- travels back in time ——-

The relentless mountain air burned in my lungs as I sprinted, the double-sided spear heavy in my grip. Urokodaki watched from above, his stance unyielding, his silence a reminder that there was no room for weakness here. Day in and day out, it was the same routine—training until every muscle ached, until I could no longer feel my legs, until all I could do was collapse from exhaustion.

"Faster, Y/N! Move like the wind," Urokodaki's voice echoed through the trees, sharp as the edge of a blade. "No sound. You cannot become a shadow if you reveal yourself with every step."

My fingers tightened on my spear, the weight of my doubts as crushing as the training itself. Memories of my family clawed their way to the surface—faces I'd never see again, voices lost to time. Every failure seemed to confirm what I feared most: that I'd never be strong enough, that I could never become a true Hashira worthy of Oyakata-sama's trust.

"Again!" Urokodaki commanded as I staggered, barely able to stand.

I slashed forward with my spear, my movements raw and unsteady. Frustration bubbled up, each missed strike a blow to my pride. "It's useless!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "I'm never going to be good enough!"

Urokodaki remained silent, his gaze steady, his posture unyielding. I let out a guttural scream, slashing wildly, desperation and doubt clouding my vision. "I'm not fast enough, or quiet enough. I can't become what Oyakata-sama wants me to be!"

I threw my spear to the ground, my breaths ragged as the emotions I'd kept buried finally broke free. "I'll never be strong enough to protect anyone—to protect him," I whispered, shoulders slumped.

The silence stretched, broken only by the rustling leaves. Then, Urokodaki spoke, his tone measured but firm. "Strength is not measured by victory alone, Y/N. It's the willingness to keep fighting, even when your heart is broken, even when you're lost in doubt."

I lifted my gaze to meet his, his masked face revealing nothing, but his voice was heavy with conviction.

"You carry the shadows of those you've lost. But that pain can be your strength," he continued. "Remember their faces, hold on to that feeling. Let it push you forward, let it make you faster, quieter, and stronger. You are not alone in this journey, nor are you without purpose."

I swallowed hard, his words settling deep within me. I could feel a flicker of something—determination, buried beneath my self-doubt. It wasn't about being perfect; it was about refusing to give up.

"Now pick up your spear," he ordered, a hint of gentleness in his usually stern voice. "And this time... be the shadow I know you can be."

With a deep breath, I reached down, fingers wrapping around the spear's familiar weight. It felt different in my hands now—no longer just a weapon, but an extension of myself.