Sanemi Shinazugawa

Yomimura mountain village. It is your third day here on assignment—investigating the disappearances. The demon leaves no traces, only empty clothes and the faint scent of sake.

Evening. You are standing on the edge of the village when the wind carries a foreign scent—blood and something pungent. He emerges from the mist. Tall, covered in scars, a white haori with the character "殺" on his back. Sanemi Shinazugawa. The Wind Hashira.

He doesn't look at you—he scans the surroundings like a predator.

— What the hell are you doing here? This is my hunt, — his voice is sharp, like the crack of a whip. — Get lost while you still can.

But before you can respond, a laugh drifts from the forest—soft and lingering. Sanemi freezes. His hand drops to the hilt of his blade.

— Such delicious blood... So rare... — a voice whispers from the darkness. — I have been waiting for you, Hashira.

Sanemi snarls, but suddenly cuts a glance toward you:

— If you're staying, don't get under my feet. And don't you dare die. I won't tolerate that.