"What is this...?"

His voice trembled as he stared at his pale, frail hands.

What had happened?

The answer was simple.

He had transmigrated.

But... how?

He had no clue.

"Okay... okay, calm down. Panicking won't help me now."

What did he know?

He remembered, vaguely, cooking dinner with his mother in her apartment, returning from school earlier that day. It had been just the two of them for as long as he could remember. His father had died in a car accident when he was a baby, leaving him with no memories of the man.

It had always been his mother who took care of him. She'd made sure he was fed, clothed, and happy, doing everything she could to raise him alone.

But... who was he?

The thought echoed in his mind.

He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember his name, his mother's face, or even his own face.

It was all gone—erased.

Instead, his mind was filled with memories. But they weren't his.

They belonged to someone else.

A boy.

A boy named Amakaze Shion.

Who was Amakaze Shion?

An orphan.

An orphan who, like his previous self, had lived with only his mother. His father had passed away, just like his original world—only this time, it had been an illness that claimed him.

Shion and his mother had lived on a small farm, managing as best they could.

But then... his mother had died.

How?

A demon.

Yes.

A demon had killed his mother when he was just eleven.

Shion was weak, unable to do anything as he stood frozen, paralyzed with fear, watching the demon devour her. His mother—his only family—had been torn apart before his eyes.

And after it was finished?

The demon left.

It didn't even spare him a second glance.

He wasn't worthy of even being food.

His mother was gone, and he was left alone, crying into the night.

The next morning, the villagers found what remained of her.

Shion had tried to explain what had happened, his voice desperate, his heart breaking, but no one believed him.

They brushed it off as an animal attack. The child was simply in shock, making up excuses.

After that, Shion had been forced to live on his own. He left the farm, wandering from town to town. The land was taken over by greedy men, eager to claim what little was left. A child couldn't manage it, after all.

He became a beggar.

Strangely, life as a beggar wasn't all that bad. He begged just enough to sleep in a different inn each night and have enough to eat—a loaf of bread, sometimes more. It wasn't glamorous, but it was survival.

That was the life of Amakaze Shion, the seventeen-year-old boy.

Exhaling slowly, Shion pushed himself up from the floor, his eyes flickering to the futon on the ground. The room was the cheapest the inn had to offer, but at least it was in a lively district, with bustling streets and people all around.

He glanced around the small room once more, his eyes drifting back to his hands. Another sigh escaped his lips as he muttered to himself.

"Have the gods decided to play some cruel joke on me?"

He knew the world he was in.

The demon had told him enough.

The memories of both lives had given him enough information.

He was in the world of Demon Slayer.

A hollow laugh escaped his lips.

"It could have been worse, I suppose..."

There were countless worse worlds he could have ended up in.

And, oddly enough, there was some small comfort in knowing the plot of this world. Thanks to his previous life's memories, he knew what to expect, what to avoid... and how to survive.

So, in a way, despite the danger, maybe he was a bit lucky.

Shion's gaze fell to his worn-out black kimono, made of cheap cotton. It clung to his thin frame, a stark reminder of just how far he'd fallen.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

He stared at the wooden door in front of him, his voice reluctant.

"Well... I could use some fresh air."

*****

The moment Shion stepped out of the inn, what greeted him froze his body in place.

Electric streetlights painted the night, their glow softening the darkness above, which was dotted with countless stars. Traditional wooden houses stood side by side with newer, concrete structures, and narrow streets hummed with the sounds of bustling markets.

As he took it all in, Shion clenched his jaw, struggling to suppress the urge to gape.

The difference between the era he had come from and this one was immense.

And it hit him again, hard.

He was truly Amakaze Shion—an unknown in the world of Demon Slayer.

Shaking his head slightly, Shion joined the throngs of people moving through the streets, making sure not to trip or be knocked about by the busy crowd. His eyes wandered, wide with wonder, as he took in everything around him. The infrastructure, the transport, the lack of modern technology, even the clothes—everything was so different from what he had known.

But eventually, the unfamiliar geta sandals on his feet became too much to bear. Their hard surface felt awkward beneath him, and he longed for the comfort of his old life, where he could walk without pain. He veered away from the crowd, finding a narrow, dark passageway to retreat into.

Releasing a breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned against the wall. He glanced back toward the bustling crowd.

"What now...?"

Now that he knew what world he was in—what does he do next?

His mind spun.

Does he continue as a beggar?

The thought twisted his face in disgust.

Shion closed his eyes.

"I guess I could become one of them..."

A Demon Slayer.

He had inherited the feelings of the previous Amakaze Shion—the anger, the hatred for that demon who had taken his mother. But...

Nothing had really changed.

He was still weak.

"What should I do? Can I even fight demons?" His mind wrestled with the possibilities. Should he find the protagonists from Demon Slayer and try to join their fight?

But...

"I want to meet them..."

There was a childlike excitement buried deep inside him.

He wanted to meet the Hashira, the ones who had the power to fight demons and protect others.

"...But I don't want them to die, either."

Shion felt lost. The weight of the choices before him was overwhelming. Should he get involved with the plot, risking death but also seeking revenge for his mother? Or should he try to live a safe, quiet life, using his knowledge of both worlds to become rich?

Or perhaps... could he have both?

His thoughts were interrupted by a scream.

A girl's scream.

His brow furrowed as his body stiffened. He snapped his head toward the dark alley to his left, where the scream had come from. 

Shion's face darkened.

'Well, shit...'

His heart pounded in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. A groan escaped his lips.

"I'm a damn idiot."

He cursed himself for instinctively walking toward the source of the sound.

What if it's dangerous?

It wasn't like he had anything left to lose.

The thought hit him like a stone to the gut.

He had nothing.

'I wonder if Mom is okay...'

He'd left her behind. She'd undoubtedly cry for him—she'd always cried when things got hard. And now, all that remained were the memories, nothing more. Not even a picture.

Shion shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He kept walking, moving deeper into the alley.

Finally, he stopped.

What lay before him froze him in place.

A young woman lay crumpled against the wall, blood splattered on the stone and pooling beneath her. Her kimono had been ripped open, exposing her pale skin, and her stomach had been torn open, spilling her innards onto the ground.

She was already dead.

And in front of her stood a man.

No—not a man.

Shion's breath caught in his throat.

The figure grinned at the gruesome sight before him. He was of average height, with pale, grayish-white skin. Cross-shaped scars cut into his cheeks, and his pointed ears—unnaturally sharp—reminded Shion of a being from some old folk tale. His eyes were wide, with sharp red irises that gleamed under the dim light.

It was a demon.

Shion stumbled forward, barely keeping his balance. His left hand slammed against the wall for support as his right shot up to cover his mouth. The stench hit him first—the smell of blood, of death, of something foul. His stomach churned.

"Blergh...!"

Shion vomited.

There was nothing but bile; his stomach had already emptied.

"Ah... I'm an idiot..." he muttered between gasps.

Panting heavily, he forced himself to look up again.

His blood ran cold.

The demon's eyes were fixed on him now, those red irises gleaming. A smile spread across his face, twisted and cruel.

"Heh~ How kind of you to bring more food to me."