Chapter Text
The first time Sanemi really remembered it clicking, she was about eight years old. It was dumb, honestly. She didn’t know why it stuck with her so clearly, but her mother had said, “Genya, ask your big sister—shit, your big brother for help. Sorry, ‘Nemi. Mama’s tired today.”
It was just a simple slip of the tongue, and one Shizu would continue to make for years. It was to be expected with so many kids to keep track of, and with how much her mother had to do, everything she had to put up with. Sanemi spent most of her childhood getting called by the wrong name, Shizu working through the list of her siblings before finally landing on the right name with an exasperated sigh.
But that was the only time she said sister instead of brother in regards to her.
It stuck with Sanemi. At the time, she didn’t really know why, but it did.
Shizu told her she was a good boy, the best son she could ever ask for. Her siblings called her “brother.” Sanemi didn’t mind. She was their big brother. That was all she’d ever been, that was what made sense.
Until suddenly it didn’t.
It was right before Shizu became a demon that she figured it all out.
She’d wanted to tell her mother. After all, Shizu went on and on and on about how much she loved Sanemi, how much she meant to her. Surely it wouldn’t matter at all if Sanemi really didn’t… want to be her son.
She considered talking to Genya about it once beforehand, just as practice. Because Genya looked at her like she was the whole world, like she was everything, and surely her little brother wouldn’t care if she told him she’d prefer to be a girl.
As if she had a choice in the matter.
“What would you do if you had a big sister instead of a big brother?” she had ended up asking, not quite sure how else to phrase it without saying she wished she were a girl outright.
Genya had stared at her for a few seconds, his eyes wide and confused as he slowly tilted his head, before saying, “I wouldn’t want a big sister, because then I wouldn’t have you, ‘Nemi!” The smile that accompanied the words was blinding, despite the missing baby tooth that had yet to grow back and the dirt smudging his cheeks. He smiled like those were the nicest words he could have ever told Sanemi.
Ultimately, Sanemi decided she better just keep her damn mouth shut and never say shit about it.
How dumb was she? It wasn’t like she could be a girl, no matter how much she might wish she could. She was a boy. She looked like a boy, talked like a boy, acted like a boy. Sure, she might look the most like their mother out of all her siblings, but it was still in a boyish way. She’d never truly be comparable to Shizu. She’d never compare to any woman.
But… In the end, she had much, much worse things to deal with.
Shizu killed and ate her siblings, and everything else that had ever gone wrong in her short, miserable life paled in comparison to that.
She’d never forget those feral snarls ringing throughout the tiny shack they lived in, bouncing around the walls and leaving it impossible to tell where exactly they came from in the darkness. Her socked feet slipped in the blood, and she stumbled, her foot hooking on something heavy and warm and wet.
It wasn’t until later that she realized it’d been what was left of Teiko’s body.
Genya had fled. At some point, he’d run before he could be too horribly injured, making it out of the utter nightmare things had become with only a superficial wound across his face.
At least Genya was alive…
Sanemi hadn’t been good enough to save anyone else, but Genya was alive.
Genya’s alive, Sanemi told herself as she tackled her mother through the window. Genya’s alive, she told herself as Shizu’s claws raked across her face, tearing away thick globules of flesh, and grazing across her eyes, leaving her shrieking and blood to pool in her eyes, tinting her vision red. Genya’s alive, she told herself as she dug the knife into her mother’s torso.
Sanemi still didn’t know if she meant to do that or not. She wondered if she would ever know. Of course, she didn’t want to kill Shizu. She never wanted to kill her mother.
But in that moment, that thing wasn’t her mother anymore. Whatever it was… it was something wearing Shizu’s face in a poor imitation.
Even still… Sanemi didn’t know if she pushed the knife into Shizu’s chest of her own volition, if she’d chosen to stab and slice through rib cage and bone, or if the force of the fall, the awkward angle of it, was what led to the blade sinking into her mother.
It didn’t kill her. A single stab wound was nowhere near enough to kill a demon. But the sun was rising, and Shizu was disoriented enough that the wound didn’t heal instantaneously.
Later, Sanemi would learn it was due to her blood. A special type, marechi, it was called. Apparently it could intoxicate demons, to a certain degree. Especially the weak ones.
She didn’t care.
She just knew that her mother laid at her feet, a knife buried in her chest, her breath coming out in labored pants, marred by an animal-like snarl. Never ending blood pooled beneath Shizu’s body as the sun rose, and she began to crumble.
Sanemi stared at her body, unable to tear her eyes away.
It was Shizu. It was her mother, but that wasn’t right. The fangs, the slit pupils, the rumbling noises of pain coming from her mouth.
“Mom…” Sanemi reached down and yanked the knife from her chest. “Mom—”
“‘Nemi…?”
Sanemi whipped around.
Genya’s alive.
Genya always looked at her like she was the whole world. Genya always looked at her like she was everything.
Now he looked at her like she’d taken that all away.
“What did you do, ‘Nemi?” Genya whimpered as he stumbled back. Blood still poured down his face. The wound tore beneath his eye, and Sanemi was just grateful his eyes had been spared, unlike hers. Her vision was growing more and more muted, the world was… graying. Gray, stained with blood.
The knife clattered to the ground, right next to Shizu’s crumbling body.
“Murderer,” Genya gasped. “You— You—” He wildly shook his head. “Murderer!”
Sanemi didn’t chase him when he fled.
She didn’t know if she wished she chased after him or not either.
She didn’t know a lot of what she felt about what happened that day. She had lost every bit of control of her life, lost every part of her life.
“‘N-Nemi…?”
Her eyes widened as she looked down at what little remained of Shizu’s quickly disintegrating body, crumbling faster and faster as the sunlight crawled over her.
“Mama… loves y—”
Sanemi kicked at her body before that thing could finish the sentence. Because it wasn’t Shizu. It couldn’t be. Her mother wouldn’t—she wouldn’t—
Whatever that was, it wasn’t Shizu.
No demon had a scrap of humanity left. Whoever they used to be, the second they turned, that person died.
Sanemi still didn’t know much about how she felt that day, what she might have done if she’d had the chance to think clearly, but she knew that was true.
And maybe…
Maybe she regretted not letting Shizu finish that sentence.
Hunting demons was simple. Hunting demons was all she had. Hunting demons meant not thinking about her family, and no one gave a shit if the scrappy kid running around with too many weapons to count and spent the night stringing up demons to let them burn in the sun was a girl or a boy. Fuck, most of the time she was probably so gross looking no one could tell anyways.
At least not until she talked, because her voice had only gotten deeper and huskier the older she got.
But whatever. Killing demons was more important anyway.
It was fine. Things were fine.
Sanemi. Was. Fine.
“How are you not dead?”
Sanemi bared her teeth. “Shut the fuck up.”
Masachika howled with laughter. He hunched over and clutched at his stomach. “Honestly, you’re something else! If you weren’t a marechi, you’d be dead! Hell, did you ever even go to a doctor after all of—” He gestured vaguely to her face. “This?”
“No,” she bit out. “What would be the damn point?”
“Those wounds hurt, don’t they?” he asked, the laughter finally dying away, fading to a genuine concern.
Sanemi shrugged. Of course they did. But they were finally starting to scar over, and though they tugged at the skin on her face in unpleasant ways, it could always be worse. The strangest part of it was how muted most colors had become after Shizu’s claws had ripped through her face. She supposed she shouldn’t complain. The eye damage causing color blindness was a hell of a lot better than actual blindness.
Masachika hummed. “Well, you can’t keep this up forever, you know. So either quit hunting down demons, or take me up on my offer.”
“I don’t need help,” she grumbled. She was better off alone. She liked being alone. Being alone meant questions wouldn’t get asked about her family, and it meant…
Well, it meant less people referring to her as a man, which she still fucking hated. But it wasn’t like she could blame anyone. How else were they supposed to see her?
“Come on!” Masachika encouraged. “You’ll fit right in with the Corps, trust me! And hell, even if you hate everyone else, we could partner up. What do you say?”
Sanemi grimaced, but she could admit, things would probably be easier if she were actually trained with a blade, and she supposed that Masachika was… somewhat tolerable.
What did she have to lose?
“Fine.”
For a while, the Corps was nice.
Sanemi picked up wind breathing with ease. Apparently she was something of a natural with a sword.
Of course she was good at something like wielding a sword. Of course she’d be good with something so violent. It was almost like she’d always been meant for this.
But so long as Genya never had to live this way. So long as her little brother was safe, wherever he might be.
It was also nice because she really only interacted with other slayers now. Slayers, who all wore the exact same uniform. Slayers, who were all so fucking gross and sweaty and bloody at all times that they all looked the same. Slayers, who had long or short hair depending on personal preference for keeping it out of the way during a fight, not any other reason. It… helped. Some.
Or at least she told herself that.
She didn’t change anything, she still never told anyone. She kept her hair short, bared her chest to the world because well… It wasn’t like she ever would be a woman, so why pretend? Maybe if she leaned into being a man, maybe if she sunk herself into it, she would start to like it. Or at least be okay with it.
It never worked, but maybe one day…
“Hey, Sanemi?” Masachika leaned forward to stoke the fire.
“Mm?”
“You’re like a brother to me, you know?”
Sanemi did her best not to sigh. There was no use in expecting anything else, wanting anything else. Especially not when Masachika was only trying to have some kind of weird heart to heart.
“So you’ll be careful during this, right?” Masachika continued, completely oblivious to her discomfort. “I hate that thing you do, where you cut yourself up to throw the demon off. You fight plenty damn good on your own. You don’t need to resort to that anymore, you know?”
Sanemi grunted, and one of her hands drifted towards her wrist. A myriad of scars littered both her arms, and unlike the ones on her face and chest, a lot were self inflicted.
Masachika was right. Most of the time, utilizing her blood wasn’t a necessity. She didn’t know why, exactly, she kept doing it.
Maybe because it felt like that was all she could do at times.
“Do me a favor.” Masachika leaned back from the fire with a small smile on his face. “When we manage to kill this Lower Moon, you’ll stop fighting that way, hm? You’ll stop cutting yourself up and doing the demons’ jobs for them?”
Sanemi grunted, crossed her arms, and leaned back against a tree. “Sure. Whatever, I guess. If it means that damn much to you.”
“It does!” Masachika’s smile widened. “Because I don’t want to see you hurt unnecessarily. You mean a lot to me.”
“Yeah…” Sanemi turned her head away, almost afraid to say her next words. Because when she got close with someone, it only meant it hurt more when they were gone. “You mean a lot to me too.”
Masachika gasped. “Was that something nice? Are you having feelings, Sanemi?” he teased.
“Shut the hell up, fuck-face,” she snarled. “Before I take it back.”
“You won’t,” Masachika said, so damn sure of himself. “You’re too earnest and straight-forward a man to say anything you didn’t mean.”
Earnest and straight forward. Sanemi nearly scoffed, because she really didn’t think she was.
After all, she couldn’t even tell her best friend that any kind of man was the last thing she wanted to be.
She never got the chance to either.
“Fuck you!” Sanemi spit. “Fuck you, and this entire goddamn organization!” She slammed her hands on the table, causing the cups to rattle and tea to slosh over the sides of them. “I don’t want your stupid fucking promotion! No one gives a shit that he died! You don’t give a shit that anyone dies! You’re just sending us off on all these damn missions with next to no information and you don’t give a fuck if we come back alive or not! You sit here barking your orders and—”
“Sanemi.”
Sanemi’s mouth snapped shut, more from surprise than anything else. Why the hell was Ubuyashiki’s tone so calm? So soft, and understanding? Shouldn’t he be yelling back? Threatening her with punishment for her insubordination? The Corps basically functioned as a military, did it not?
“I am sorry about the loss of Masachika. He was a good man.” Ubuyashiki took a deep breath, and his eyes slipped closed. “I never realized how close you two were, and for that I am sorry as well. You shouldn’t have had to watch him die in such a way.”
Sanemi’s body slumped, and she furiously blinked back the tears gathering in her eyes. “You know his name…?” She’d assumed Ubuyashiki couldn’t give less of a shit about the lower ranked, run of the mill slayers like her and Masachika. Anyone who wasn’t a Hashira was easily replaceable, so why bother with them?
“He put his life on the line to protect others. To pursue our goal of making the world a better place without Kibutsuji and demons,” Ubuyashiki murmured. “Of course I know his name.” Delicately, he picked up his tea cup. “And you do not have to accept the position of Hashira. But you meet the requirements, so if you would like the position, it is yours. I know you would make a wonderful Wind Hashira.”
“Masachika was supposed to be here with me,” she growled. “I never—It wasn’t supposed to fucking be this way!”
How could she have lost someone else? The first fucking person she let herself care about since her family, and she’d been too goddamn pathetic to keep him safe either!
“No,” Ubuyashiki agreed. “But things seldom work out the way we think they will, and there is little we can do about it, other than to keep going forward.”
In the end, Sanemi accepted the position, because it would be like a spit in Masachika’s face to deny it now, after he’d sacrificed everything for Sanemi to be able to get this rank.
She just wished he could be here with her…
Sanemi decided she wasn’t going to let a single slayer befriend her ever again. Some of the stubborn fuckers tried, namely that Tomioka bastard and that Kanae girl, but they were met with barbed words and threats for their efforts.
She just wasn’t going to go through that miserable fucking grief ever again if she could help it.
Unfortunately, Mitsuri goddamn Kanroji never really gave her much of a choice.
Sanemi didn’t like her. She was so damn… pretty. She pranced around after Kyojuro, in her stupid fucking skirt and her tits about to pop out of her uniform and she never shut the fuck up. Her sweet voice, long pink hair, and the most beautiful face—
And maybe Sanemi just thought she hated her because she was everything she wouldn’t be. Not just physically, but she was kind, and understanding and likable, and shit, she was really just proof that Sanemi would be alone and miserable her entire damn life.
“I could ask my tailor to make a uniform to match mine!” Mitsuri chirped after their first Hashira meeting together. “Would you like that?”
Sanemi blinked, and it took her a solid minute to process the words that had just come out of the other woman’s mouth. “The fuck did you just say!?”
“W-Well!” Mitsuri’s cheeks colored bright red as she ducked her head and clasped her hands behind her back. “I—Well—You keep looking at me, but it’s not the way other guys look at me! I know I… dress kind of skimpy, and I know it invites a certain type of attention, so I know what that looks and feels like, but that’s not what it’s like when you look at me.” She shook her head. “And you looked… a little sad when you looked at me, and I realized it was my clothes you were looking at more than me. So I just thought maybe you—maybe you liked them! I could ask my tailor to make you a uniform with a skirt, if you’d like that more?”
Sanemi’s mouth fell open, because how the fresh fucking hell was she supposed to respond to that? Not a single person she’d ever known, not her family, not Masachika, no one, had ever figured any of this out. How the hell had this ditsy girl—?
“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping!” Mitsuri hurried to add. “But I just wanted to be nice, and Kyojuro mentioned you didn’t really have any friends, and I could be totally wrong, but I just—”
“I can’t wear a uniform like that,” she finally forced out. “I’m a—I’m a man.”
Mitsuri tilted her head. “You don’t sound very happy about that… And well, what’s that matter anyways? Shinobu wears the same clothes as all the men here, so why couldn’t you wear something supposedly meant for women?”
“I—It’s not the same!” How the hell had she ended up stuck in this conversation? Fuck, for the first time in her life, Sanemi well and truly felt like she wanted to bolt. Mitsuri was too damn close to the source of the problem, and if either one of them said it out loud, like fuck she was going to be able to hide from it anymore.
“It could be!” Mitsuri said with a bright smile. “I think it would look good on you! If you don’t want to, that’s fine! But if you do, I think you should!”
“I can’t!” Sanemi shouted. “It’s not gonna help!” If anything, it would just cause her more damn problems. What if she did like it as much as she thought she would? Not to mention the questions it would invite from everyone else if she suddenly started parading around in a fucking skirt. No. No way in hell!
“Help what?” Mitsuri leaned closer. “You really seem like you kind of want to, but…” She trailed off as her eyes narrowed. “You—”
“Can you piss off?” Sanemi snarled, falling back on her usual defense of being so fucking offensive and mean that no one wanted to be around her. “I’m tired of looking at you.”
Mitsuri crossed her arms and raised her chin. “No! Because you seem really unhappy about something, and no one else is helping you, so I want to! You being all mean and scary isn’t going to get rid of me so easily! You know, one of my little sisters would do the exact same thing when she got upset and—”
“Gods, shut up!” she shouted as she threw her arms up. “Nothing you fucking do is gonna fix this!”
“So there is a problem!” Mitsuri exclaimed with a triumphant grin. “You are unhappy with something! The uniform? Because I really could—”
“Are you that fucking stupid?” Sanemi sneered as she loomed over Mitsuri. “You think it’s something as goddamn simple as the fucking—Even if you put me if a dumbass fucking skirt I’d still be a man!”
“What do you mean, you’d still be a—” Mitsuri cut herself off as her eyes widened.
Oh shit.
Sanemi swore she could feel the blood draining from her face as she stumbled back a step. “Don’t—I didn’t mean—” she attempted to backpedal, as she really wished Mitsuri was as dumb as she’d originally thought.
Unfortunately, the new Love Hashira was plenty clever.
“You know… If you’d rather be a girl—”
“Stop it!” Sanemi hissed. “Please.”
The sheer desperation must have been obvious, because Mitsuri shut her mouth, and slowly nodded. “Okay. Okay. I won’t say anything else. I’m sorry I… got so pushy. My mother always said I could be too nosy for my own good at times! But… if you’d ever like to talk about it—”
“I don’t,” she snapped. “I really, really fucking don’t, and for the love of god, do not tell anyone else!”
“I won’t!” Mitsuri hurried to assure as she held her hands up. “Promise! But my offer still stands. If you ever want to talk about it, or take me up on my offer with the tailor, I’d be more than happy to help you. I… know I can’t really understand, but I—I do know what it feels like when you’re worried you’re not feminine enough, that you’re not a good enough woman, so—so if you—” She sighed and shook her head. “I’d be happy to help, okay?”
Sanemi grunted and shoved her way past her, just wanting as far away from this conversation and what had just gotten pushed out into the open as quickly as humanly possible.
All because she’d spent too long staring at Mitsuri’s stupid fucking skirt…
Why couldn’t she have just thought she was checking out her ass? It’d have made her life a hell of a lot easier.
It wasn’t until she was alone that Sanemi fully processed someone found out.
Someone found out, and she… didn’t care.
She wanted to help.
She found she felt a little lighter after that, even if she didn’t take Mitsuri up on any of her offers.
But maybe…
Maybe one day, Sanemi would figure this all out. And maybe one day, she really could be anything other than Shizu’s son, Genya and Masachika’s brother, a man.
Maybe she wouldn’t have to hide it forever.