Akira Ayakashi was not a normal child. Toshiko could tell that much. The Matron of the Orphanage in their small Village she met many different children throughout her long life, yet Akira stood out the most. It wasn't his looks; he was average for an eight-year-old. If anything, he was slightly smaller than most. However, Toshiko could write that off as merely due to malnutrition, a tragic thing she had come to accept as an unfortunate reality in their Orphanage. His Black hair was recently cut by her so as not to keep it too long, something which he wanted. No, if anything, his almost unnervingly intelligent eyes gave her the shivers.
She knew deep inside it was wrong to feel that way with him. Akira wasn't a bad kid. He kept to himself, looked after himself (or, at the very least, as much as an eight-year-old can do, which, admittedly, wasn't much), and his behaviour track record was spotless. Toshiko recalled that he was also very bright, remembering how he tried convincing her to teach him how to read, pointing at the book with a pleading look when he was younger, so, albeit reluctantly, she began teaching him with spectacular results. It was at that moment that she realised that Akira was exceptional. The boy was bright, and he was eager to learn.
He was... different from all the other children in the Orphanage, which was dangerous in their Village where poverty was widespread. He was already picking up tasks where he could, often venturing out with her to carry some food that she could afford to buy and even do some chores around the Orphanage, and that's not to mention the fact she even saw him doing light exercises in his spare time.
Toshiko closed her eyes as she stopped cooking, finishing what would be the Orphanage's dinner that night, and placed it on the table. She walked outside the kitchen, entering the main room... where she saw Akira surrounded by a few of the younger children in the Orphanage, in his hand a storybook. The Matron recalled that it was a story about a boy who meets a Samurai, being taken under his wing and becoming an extremely accomplished Swordsman. She remembered Akira not liking that one, which was a surprise as most other children all liked it, yet there he was, reading it to everyone who cared to listen.
His blue eyes looked up at hearing her footsteps before he closed the book as if sensing he was being watched. "Everyone, let's go eat. Obaa-san prepared the food." The children whined and complained, but in the end, they followed their fellow Orphan, and considering he was the eldest, probably their big brother figure, into the kitchen.
Toshiko smiled. Akira may be strangely intelligent, but he was kind. Exceptionally kind, as such, whether his intelligence was a blessing from above or just mere luck, considering the type of books the boy was already reading and the way he pestered the few villagers who listened to him to teach him, it didn't matter to her. She would defend him as long as possible and ensure he could grow to the best of his ability.
It was the very least she could do to protect these wonderful children, to atone for what she used to be a part of.
If I was sincere, I knew reincarnation could have gone way worse for me than it did, despite the complaints I used to throw around in my head.
It was most certainly true that I lived in extreme poverty, and it was also true that I had no parents to speak of. Despite that, though, I was... well, maybe not happy with how life was currently, but at the very least, for now, I could live with it. The Orphanage I called home wasn't receiving any proper funding. As such, we had to rely on the charity of the people in the Village we lived in, which was unfortunately relatively small as people either looked after themselves or, the more common one, they didn't care enough. As such, we had to go outside and scavenge berries, hunt small food and the like if they wished to survive. Sometimes, I had to go without food so the younger children in the Orphanage could eat (much to the dislike of Obaa-San), but it didn't matter.
I could take care of myself. The kids there deserved proper meals, so I will continue doing it even if I had to lower myself occasionally to scavenge around in the rubbish like a damned Racoon. Oh sure, Obaa-San, the Matron, always offered her food up to me, but... I could not accept the food from her or anyone else in the Orphanage.
I only know a little about Obaa-San, or rather, about Toshiko. From what little I could gather, she set up the Orphanage around the Village all by herself after simply wandering into the Village one day. People gave her a wide berth, but considering how poor our Village was, it was only a matter of time before someone had a child they didn't want and left them with her.
That one child became two.
That two children became three, and then so on, so forth.
I can't remember much of this early life or the early life of my previous one. The details were... unclear. I know I was named... Jonathan? John? Something similar at the very least. I think I died in a car crash, pretty young as well, not to mention it was on my birthday... or at the very least, I believe it was my birthday anyway. Still, it was not like it mattered much. Whether I was named Jonathan or John or if I kicked the bucket on my birthday or not... it did not matter.
I was Akira Ayakishi, a strangely intelligent eight-year-old as far as anyone was concerned. I got some raised eyebrows at how mature I was; apparently, many children Toshiko took in were not even half as mature as me, which I naturally took as a compliment. It was at the age of seven that I actively began helping out. It wasn't a lot. I more or less was a popular carrier boy. I helped people carry things around the Village from time to time (which was, admittedly, pretty hard most of the time and left me sore, but I continued it), or sometimes I just brought things to people around the Village if someone didn't want to get out of the house.
It didn't earn me a lot of money. As one can expect, people either ripped me off or didn't pay me straight up. It wasn't like I could do anything about it except glare at them and promptly refuse to help them next time. A few of the hypocrites tried to take their anger out on me a few times, but I was a fast kid, and it wasn't like they had nothing better to do. Farming was a massive thing in this Village, so if anyone saw them stop their work to chase me around, it would naturally invite quite a few stink eyes from more or less everyone in the Village.
However, if there was anyone in this Village who always gave me the correct amount, the only person in this Village apart from Obaa-san who I could happily say was a genuinely good person?
"Ahh, thanks for helping me carry all those items from the market, Ayakashi-San!"
In response, I merely bowed to the old man before me. "It was no problem, Hayashi-sama."
The person in front of me was... old. Now, Obaa-San was quite old as well. Her entire hair was white, and her face was wrinkled to a fantastic extent, but this man had no hair. His eyebrows were white; you could tell he went through a lot.
Despite that, though, he radiated such strength, such experience that unless you genuinely went out of your way to find someone with even the slightest bit of negative thing to say about him. He was always quick to laugh and always had a joke, usually bad ones admittedly, up his sleeve... he was a strange person, but ultimately, someone I can objectively say I liked.
"Gods, you should have seen me at my prime, Akira; I've done such amazing things. I know you don't mean anything by it, but it still feels weird that I must get a child to help me carry my food and the other trinkets I bought." He grumbled. I thought that was another thing he does frequently in private, as I brought the bags of food into the small, comfortable house. He likes to complain... about his age. I have not heard him complain about anyone else, but the moment his age gets brought up, he turns into a different person. Still, he was another person that I knew precious little about. Not a lot of people want to open up to an eight-year-old, which is entirely fair in all honesty. Still, I would lie if I said I wasn't intrigued.
"What did you do when you were younger, Hayashi-Sama?" I asked. In response, the old man let out a blinding grin as he closed his eyes.
"I was... a Demon Slayer!" He proclaimed proudly. I stared, unimpressed, even though the name... It made me think. I heard that before, but where? It was on the tip of my tongue... but either way, I shook that away; I probably just overheard it from some people trying to boast about themselves, people made the grandest lies about themselves to make themselves look good. Seeing my unimpressed look, he didn't look even slightly annoyed. If anything, he looked... relieved.
Why would he look relieved? Shouldn't he be annoyed I'm not believing him? I thought to myself, confused. It grew even more when he promptly patted my head. "You don't believe me... good." He said with a nod. "That means I've been doing my duties well, even at this age... I'm happy with that. Someone as young as you shouldn't be forced to confront such reality." He stated with a grin. I batted his hand away, causing him to chuckle. "You're just like Shinazugawa! Except you're far calmer than he was, though that is to be expected." He finished with a sad smile.
There it was again. I thought, annoyed. That name, Shinazugawa... I swear I know it from somewhere. "Are there any Shinazugawa's in the village?" I ask, getting an amused chuckle from my senior.
"No, the Shinazugawa I'm talking about is not in this Village. He is quite far away, after all." He said with a proud grin. I quirked my head. "Why, what is he doing?" I asked curiously. He grinned once again.
"Why, a Demon Slayer as well, of course! Even if he isn't a Hashira yet, he should be pretty damn close to it." He boasted, and honestly, even someone who was deaf could hear the pride in his voice, but I wasn't focused on that. If anything, I could actively feel a frown fighting its way across my face. Demon Slayers, Hashira... The name Shinazugawa...
Hayashi-Sama noticed my annoyance, and his face immediately turned neutral. "What's wrong, lad? If my rumblings bore you, then-"
"It's not that, Hayashi-Sama!" I interjected immediately as he took the bags from my hands and put them on the table. "It is merely those names... they're familiar for some reason, but I can't place my finger on them," I explained my frustration, causing a hum from the older man.
"I see... that is indeed quite strange." He said, rubbing his chin with an odd look in his eyes as he scrutinised me. He was blinded in one eye, but if anything, that only added to his intimidation factor. But, it was then he merely smiled. "In that case, maybe you just heard those names around somewhere. It happens from time to time." He wrote it off. I shrugged; that was my first thought, but again, it still didn't disappear...
It will annoy me the whole night. I can already feel it...
Shaking that off, I instead continued speaking. "What was it like to be a Demon Slayer?" I asked, curious. To my surprise, that... gave him a pause. There was a momentary pause before he started taking out the food from the bags, not answering my question for a while. When he finally finished taking out the food from the bags, he sat on the chair, gesturing for me to sit in front of him, which I complied with.
"It was... terrifying, at first. It was a tragic accident that made me become a Demon Slayer. A Demon murdered my family, you see. I would have been next and most certainly perished had the Demon not been so arrogant. He even gave me this." He explained, pointing to his blind eye where a scar was running down. I didn't flinch, for it was clear the wound was quite old, but the fact remained that it must have been excruciating. "However, I've been saved before I could meet my end by a Hashira, who quickly dispatched the Demon. It was terrific, no, stunning even; I thought about his strength. I begged him to teach me, to take me under his wing, only for him to rebuff me quite severely. He pointed at my blind eye, telling me I'd only get myself killed if I tried to become one..." He trailed off before smiling. "Naturally, I didn't listen, and I trained myself to the point my body cracked, pushing myself beyond my limits. It was a hard thing, but eventually, after a long time, I made it." He crossed his arms, chuckling. "Made it quite far in the ranks, too."
I couldn't help but stare. Even if it was just the old man making things up, the way he explained it, the sadness when he described his parents' death, the awe in his voice when he spoke about the Hashira that saved him. Still, there was one thing I was curious about.
"Which rank did you eventually reach?" I asked, now enthralled by the tale. He merely smiled at me.
"I was a Hashira, my dear boy. The Wind Hashira, and though I am now retired, I still go out and protect this Village." He proclaimed proudly.
I had to admit, even if I still wasn't sure if I believed him or not... "That's pretty amazing," I stated honestly before I asked another question. "Was it scary fighting the Demons?"
"Truthfully, it wasn't the Demons I used to be afraid of long ago. It was the responsibility. I would have happily died if it meant I could take down at least one Demon with me. However, when civilians were involved..." His expression turned slightly downcast. "I wasn't perfect, not for a long while, at the very least. To my shame, there were moments when I could not save someone or even multiple people. That was my fear for the longest time. However! You cannot let your fear hold you back. You have to rise against it, and I have done my very best to ensure such things do not occur!"
As I grew up in this small, impoverished Village, there were precious little people I could say I genuinely respected. However, after this conversation, I could not deny that Hayashi-Sama, at the very least, did protect us from something, even if they weren't Demons. At his age, which I am almost certain is bordering over 90... He is someone whom I can proudly say I respect.
"Obaa-San, do Demons exist?" I asked my caretaker once I got home. I got home pretty late, listening to stories from Hayashi-Sama. I expected some exaggerated tales; while some sounded exaggerated, they were still exceptional. Most of them were ones with happy endings, where he successfully managed to slay the Demon that was causing trouble. He purposefully left some vague, though if I had to guess, those weren't filled with such happy endings. During the first of those stories, I realised that he was beginning to treat me more like someone older than someone my age.
My maturity was starting to become more prevalent, it seems. The only annoying thing was that the buzz in my head trying to remind me of something did not disappear. It was beginning to cause an outright migraine for me at this point.
Since it's feudal Japan, even if there were medicine here for it, it most certainly wouldn't be cheap, so all I could do was suffer in silence with it. My question seemed to startle the person caring for us. Everyone else was asleep and in bed, but I couldn't help but ask. Still, she gave a slight, if confused, smile at me.
"Evil people exist, Akira, unfortunately." She told me sadly. "Some people who cause suffering just for their amusement... are unfortunate creatures who can be seen as Demons."
If I had been an average eight-year-old, I would have accepted that.
I was not an average eight-year-old, so I could smell the deflection from a mile away... not literally, but the way her eyes moved around told me all I needed to know, and it confused me. I merely nodded, however. I could have easily pestered the Matron, but I was too tired for that night.
"I see... good night, Obaa-San." The elderly woman smiled and leaned in to kiss my forehead.
"Good night, Akira."
"...Chris, why is there an Anime Michael Jackson on the TV?"
"I WILL FOLLOW YOU TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL, AND MY BLADE WILL-"
Whatever the character was shouting was suddenly paused as my long-time friend looked at me, seemingly torn between laughing and staring at me, aghast.
"...Okay, first off, I am so happy you agree he looks like Michael Jackson. Second." He turned to me, his face confused. "Are you trying to tell me you haven't heard of this anime?" He asked, pointing to its name. I merely shook my head. "Demon Slayer? Kimetsu No Yaiba? Tanjiro, Nezuko...?"
I shrugged. "I mean, I heard of those characters, of course, but I did not know the villain looked like Michael Jackson... or at least I assume he's the Main Villain, but I don't know the plot or anything."
My friend didn't say a word and instead shook his head, pulling up Netflix and putting in the first episode. "Trust me, dude, you'll love this anime."
It was almost funny how quickly I binge-watched the Anime. It was also amusing how I hopped on Shonen Jump after I finished the Anime to read the Manga.
The Main characters and the Hashira, Demon Slayers.
The Upper Moons, the Main Villain's most powerful Demons.
Muzan Kibutsuji and his plan to conquer the Sun.
My eyes snapped open, my entire body drenched with sweat. My mind actively raced to come to terms with the reality of the situation, and a Migraine did not even come close to describing the painful pain coming from my head.
Hayashi-Sama was not exaggerating in his stories. Obaa-San was hiding this.
Demons exist...
I was reborn into a world full of actual Demons, where my life could be snuffed out at any unlucky moment, even as an adult.
I lay there on the bed, attempting to get myself together. I glanced outside the bedroom window, showing that the Sun was beginning to come up.
The Sun is the weakness of all Demons, apart from one particular Demon.
Demons exist. At night, I could die at any moment. Even if I barricade myself into a house, who says a Demon can't just break in? I remember that even the weaker Demons could overpower and quickly devour a normal Human.
I did not want to die. But most importantly...
I did not want to live in fear until that day. I know that the story ends as it did, but... according to Hayashi-Sama, Demons are approaching this Village from time to time. What if he dies? There are no other Demon Slayers here, at least not as far as I know. We are a small Orphanage, a delicious snack for a particularly evil Demon.
I stood up from my bed, slowly beginning to get dressed. My plan may not be the best, it may not be the smartest, but in the end...
I want to do my best to protect people, not just from this Village but also from others. That is precisely why...
"Hayashi-Sama! I have to ask a special favour!"
Something interesting about Hayashi was, apart from the fact I genuinely didn't know his other name, that he lived... not precisely away from the rest of the Village, but certainly not close either, more like somewhere in between. The Old Man looked at me, intrigued if not amused.
"Ah, what can I do for you today?" He asked kindly. I ran from the Orphanage to his home, which admittedly made me feel slightly out of breath, but I didn't mind it.
"You mentioned you were a Demon Slayer and taught people. Is that correct, Hayashi-Sama?" I asked. The Old Man frowned but gave a slow nod. I bowed my head. "Hayashi-Sama... I am sorry if this is rude, but please... train me!"
"No."
The blunt response made me recoil. "But, Hayashi-Sama-"
"I do not know what made you suddenly ask me this," Hayashi admitted, staring at me with one good eye, borrowing its way into my soul. "Maybe it was my stories, but Ayakashi-San... I thought you were mature and smart enough to pick up the hints. Many Demon Slayers don't last long. You should be helping out your Matron instead. You are a smart kid. I'll deal with the Demons. You just grow up." He explained before turning. I was...
I got where he was coming from. The memories from my previous life were precious little, and the last dream was one of my longest ones, so I'm still sorting through all of them, but I got the memo more or less.
Demon Slayers die early and young... period. You'd have to be either immensely lucky, talented or, in most cases, a mixture of both to survive till your eighteenth birthday and beyond.
"Hayashi-Sama, I hope you know I do not mean any disrespect, but... what happens when you die?" I asked, and that gave him a pause before continuing. "It's not only that but... I do not wish to live in fear, having to tremble every night over whether I'll die.
"This Village may be protected for a while, but... I have no purpose in life. I can't do anything here. I want to help people! I want to protect the innocent and defend those who cannot defend themselves! I can't do that like this!" I finished, breathing heavily.
He turned, seemingly angry and... I'll be frank, I forgot how to breathe for a moment. Hayashi-Sama was terrifying when angry, and his being taller than me made it even worse.
"Is that so? I didn't expect you to be so naive. Allow me to explain it in a way you can understand." He approached me, and despite every nerve, every part of my body telling me to move, I still decided to stand my ground. "I trained many students in my lifetime, and most ended up dying extremely quickly. I've seen people with skills you couldn't believe lose their lives over a simple mistake or them being too arrogant in their skills. Don't rush to your death. Live life normally, with no regrets and no fear in your hearts, and trust in the Demon Slayer Corps. When I finally retired after training Shinazugawa, I promised not to take another student." He finished, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. "Gods, what was I thinking? I should have known you'd get this in your head. I thought you'd just write it off as an old man's rambling." He grumbled, pointing at me.
I could not.
I never cared about the exact timeline of the story, admittedly. I knew the rough dates, but even then, those were extremely foggy. For all I knew, Muzan's defeat was hundreds upon hundreds of years away. "Please, Hayashi-Sama, I want to protect people. I don't want to live in fear, and I don't want them to live in fear! I want to be strong!"
He stared at me. He said nothing as he turned away from me and shut his door.
A week passed, and nothing changed. I ran errands for Obaa-San, I played with the children in the Orphanage, but the nights...
The Nights were terrible. I knew I shouldn't be so worried. The Hashira's are ridiculously strong, even the ones out of their prime like Hayashi, but deep inside, I could not help it. It wasn't like I was in an adult body; I was a weak, feeble child who couldn't even eat enough and thus was weak. I could barely sleep; each sound made my heart seize before it was covered by shame.
Some days, I could sleep.
Some days, I could only stare at the ceiling and try my best to recall what little I knew of the world I lived in now.
The Heroes win, but not without many of them dying. Muzan is terrified of... Yoichi? Yoriichi? Someone who handed his ass to him, and since Tanjiro wears the same earrings, so he is collectively shitting himself at the mere idea of Yoriichi 2.0 appearing.
There are different Upper Moons. There's the... Ice Guy? There's the one who fought with the Flame Hashira... oh, there's also the one who many people online were madly in love with simply because she was attractive.
Honestly, I was not sure how long I could stand this anymore. I was highly tempted to leave eventually, though only once I worked enough to help Obaa-San. I know there were other... what was the name... the ones who taught other students. I know someone trained Tanjiro Water Breathing, so I was tempted to try to look for him. I avoided Hayashi-Sama for a long time, as he did me...
Which made why he was standing in front of the Orphanage building with his arms crossed confusing. I approached him, confused as to why he was there. I made my peace with our argument. Though I could see his point, I was still slightly annoyed.
Whether that was the childish immaturity that I had due to my age or something else, I do not know. However, I noted Hayashi had a sword on him now, which was new.
"Ayakashi-San. Answer me truthfully. Do you wish to become a Demon Slayer?" He asked bluntly.
"Yes, Hayashi-Sama," I replied immediately and firmly. There were a few moments of silence before he spoke again.
"...You will do as I say. The training will be hellish. I trained people older than you. If you expect any coddling, cast those thoughts aside, as you will not find it here. If I see any lick of complaint on your mouth and grimace as I train you, I'll stop it immediately." He warned.
I straightened my back and nodded, my blue eyes glimmering. "O-Of course, Hayashi-Sam, I mean Hayashi-Sensei!" I swore, and I meant it.
Hayashi-Sensei would not coddle, and I did not want that. In this world... the weak died, the strong lived. It was sad, yes, many people died who didn't deserve to. I wanted to protect them and get stronger to defend myself in response.
"Then sleep properly. You look horrible." He said bluntly before before turning. "I'll be making my rounds around here. I'll expect you at sunrise." With that, my... teacher disappeared.
I slept peacefully that night, making myself a promise.
I would become a Demon Slayer. Not just any Demon Slayer... but I would become one who is powerful, and can protect anyone in this world.
