A groan escaped Shion's lips as his consciousness stirred.
"Oh my, it looks like he's waking up."
"Tch. Took him long enough. I was starting to regret dragging him here," came another voice, gruff and irritated.
The words reached his ears, pulling his thoughts into sharper focus. Shion furrowed his brows and cracked his eyes open slightly.
Every movement felt agonizing, like his body was scraping against sandpaper.
His blurry vision gradually sharpened, revealing a wooden ceiling above him. Turning his head, he spotted two figures seated on tatami mats, sipping tea at a small table.
One was an elderly woman with kind eyes, her face lined with deep wrinkles. She wore a traditional purple yukata, her gray hair neatly tied back. A serene smile played on her lips.
The other figure...
A tall man. Broad and muscular, with spiky, long white hair cascading down his back. His large, almond-shaped eyes, framed by long lashes, gleamed with an unnatural intensity. Swirls danced within his purple irises, adding an almost hypnotic depth to his gaze.
Dark patches beneath his eyes gave him a perpetually restless look, and his face and body bore countless scars.
That man's eyes locked onto Shion, glaring with thinly veiled annoyance.
Shion's breath hitched. His eyes widened.
'The Wind Hashira!'
He clenched his jaw, a storm of shock and disbelief washing over him.
Sanemi Shinazugawa. Renowned as one of the strongest Hashiras. One of the few to survive the battle against Muzan Kibutsuji during the final confrontation.
The gruff man's voice broke through Shion's spiraling thoughts.
"Old hag, he's awake now. You don't need me hanging around, do you? I'm out."
The elderly woman chuckled softly, setting her teacup down.
"Very well. With this, the debt I owe you is settled, I suppose."
Sanemi rose, his movements impatient. He waved a dismissive hand, not sparing her another glance.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry—I won't darken your doorstep again, you senile hag."
Her laughter followed him, unfazed by his biting words.
Sanemi's presence as he moved closer to Shion was suffocating.
He stopped beside Shion, who had managed to sit up, forcing himself to suppress the roiling emotions in his chest.
Sanemi's gaze fell on him—sharp, piercing. Yet, it was neither warm nor cold. It was... indifferent.
"Forget everything that happened and move on," Sanemi said.
"The only reason you're alive is that it underestimated you. I buried the bodies of the dead and patched you up. Don't make me regret dragging you here."
Shion blinked, his eyes dropping to the thin blanket draped over him.
As Sanemi began to walk away, Shion's voice cut through the air.
"You're one of them, aren't you? One of the Demon Slayers."
The words were deliberate, Shion's gaze fixed on the sword at Sanemi's waist.
Sanemi's steps halted. He turned his head slightly, his narrowed eyes glinting with irritation.
"So what if I am?"
Shion's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't look away.
This was his chance—his only chance.
'What do I have to lose?'
Shion clenched the blanket tightly. His thoughts swirled.
'I want to be stronger. I want a life worth living. I want to change their fates.'
He bowed his head deeply, his voice firm despite the tremor in his chest.
"Please. Allow me to train under you. Let me become a Demon Slayer."
The room fell into a heavy silence. The elderly woman gasped softly, her teacup trembling in her hands.
But Shion didn't lift his head. The silence dragged on, suffocating, until Sanemi's voice shattered it.
"Do you want to die...?"
Shion raised his head, meeting Sanemi's glare. Veins bulged along the Hashira's temple, his expression a mixture of fury and disbelief.
"Why the hell would I train someone as worthless as you? What makes you think you're even remotely fit to join the Demon Slayer Corps? You're nothing but dead weight!"
Shion met his gaze head-on.
"Enough worth for you to drag me all the way here and stay until I woke up."
Sanemi's eyes widened, the veins on his forehead pulsing harder.
"You...!"
Before Sanemi could explode, Shion spoke again.
"I've seen Muzan Kibutsuji."
"...!"
The moment Shion spoke, he felt his body hoisted into the air.
Sanemi was already in front of him, gripping his shoulders with an iron-like hold, lifting him effortlessly. His eyes burned with intensity as he bellowed,
"What did you just say!? You saw him!? Kid, if you're lying, I swear I'll rip your arms off!"
"Brat! Don't treat an injured boy like that!"
"Argh!"
A sharp smack echoed in the room as the old woman appeared behind Sanemi, slapping the back of his head. He yelped and dropped Shion, who collapsed, coughing violently.
Sanemi clutched his head, spinning to glare at her.
"Old hag, do you want to die!?"
She scoffed, entirely unfazed by his outburst.
"Save your empty threats, little boy."
Sanemi gritted his teeth, growling under his breath as he turned away from her. His sharp gaze snapped back to Shion, who was sitting up, his annoyance now mirroring Sanemi's.
"If you're messing with me," Sanemi warned, his voice low and dangerous, "I'll seriously beat you to a pulp."
Shion furrowed his brows, matching the Hashira's intensity.
"I'm not lying. I can identify Muzan Kibutsuji."
Sanemi's hands curled into fists, his knuckles turning white. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. The tension in the room was palpable.
"How?"
It was a simple question.
Shion's expression shifted. His lips tugged into a sad smile.
"When I was eleven, that demon killed my mother. I was the only one left alive."
The room fell into silence.
Sanemi froze, his posture stiffening, while the old woman gasped, her hands covering her mouth. Her face turned pale.
Sanemi's eyes wavered for a moment, betraying a flicker of emotion, before hardening again. His voice was steady.
"We need to get you to the Master. But it's going to take time—especially with your wounds."
'Oh, right. I'm injured...'
Shion's attention drifted to a wall-mounted mirror in the corner of the room. Catching his reflection, his eyes widened.
His forehead and the back of his head were wrapped in bandages. His shoulder, torso, and abdomen were also tightly bound in strips of cloth.
But none of that was what caught his attention.
No.
What drew his gaze was his hair—black as obsidian—and his striking eyes, shimmering like polished amethysts.
It felt... strange.
'This is the first time I've really seen myself since I got my memories back.'
Because of that, it felt like he was seeing his face for the first time.
And...
He sighed inwardly, a quiet wave of relief washing over him.
'At least I'm not ugly.'
It would have sucked if he was.
His musings were cut short by Sanemi's gruff voice.
"Old hag, can I carry him?"
The woman furrowed her brows, her tone sharp as she scolded him.
"No. If you're taking him, you can't risk his wounds opening again. It'll take at least a month for them to heal fully."
Sanemi clicked his tongue in annoyance, his expression souring again. He muttered something under his breath but didn't argue further.
Sanemi turned, his sharp gaze falling on Shion.
"Get up. We're leaving. Now."
Shion's lips twitched as he tried to suppress a small smile.
Without waiting for a response, Sanemi strode toward the door. Shion hurriedly pushed himself to his feet, bowing deeply to the old woman.
"Thank you for taking care of my wounds. I don't know how I can repay you for saving my life."
The old woman chuckled softly, her wrinkled face warm with kindness.
"You can repay me by staying alive. Best of luck, young man."
Shion straightened, offering her a grateful smile.
"I'll do my best."
With that, he turned and followed Sanemi, moving carefully to avoid aggravating his injuries. Each step sent a dull ache through his body.
Ahead of him, Sanemi walked at a much faster pace, showing no concern for whether Shion could keep up.
Shion narrowed his eyes.
'I will make you train me...'