On a moonless, windy night, an endless plain stretched out, where a demon was desperately running. It had lost an arm, and normally, with a demon's regenerative abilities, losing an arm wouldn't be a problem. But a human had shattered its dreams of regeneration.
The demon turned its head, eyes wide with horror, as if it had seen the apocalypse.
It truly didn't know what sins it had committed in its past life to encounter such a perverse demon slayer.
"Hey, hey, hey!"
"Listen up, demon ahead! Please surrender; you are surrounded by me alone!"
"Resistance will be met with severe consequences; confess and you will be treated leniently!"
"Get lost, you lunatic!" The demon cursed and quickened its pace. It didn't want to die, especially not at the hands of this guy.
The perverse demon slayer the demon spoke of was none other than Tendo Kazama. More than half a year had passed since the Fish Scale Village incident, during which he had not encountered a single Twelve Demon Moon.
His wish to slay a Twelve Demon Moon had yet to be fulfilled, and he felt miserable.
In the past six months, Kazama had completed over eighty missions, already meeting the requirements to be promoted to Hashira. However, that was the Demon Slayer Corps' requirement, not his own.
He told Kagaya Ubuyashiki that he wouldn't become a Hashira until he killed a Twelve Demon Moon. The Master knew Kazama was someone who acted on impulse, so he let him be.
"Hey, demon bro, do you want to tell me where your boss Muzan Kibutsuji is?"
"Don't be afraid; I'm very gentle when I kill demons!"
Kazama continued to spout nonsense, driving the demon to the brink of collapse.
"Demon bro, how about a cup of wisteria tea? It's good for poisoning."
"Why aren't you one of the Lower Moons?"
"Ahhh! I'm going to kill you, you chatterbox!" The demon abandoned its escape and turned to fight Kazama.
Under the night sky, a crimson-gold meteor streaked across the grass, and the demon died with a smile.
Kazama twirled his blade, sheathing it while complaining, "Sigh! Are demons nowadays so fragile? Looks like the Scrap Boss needs to strengthen his employees' mental fortitude."
At that moment, a gentle breeze rustled through the grass, blowing his Tanjiro-style sun earrings and Yoriichi-style high ponytail.
In the past six months, Kazama had grown his hair long and tied it in a style reminiscent of Tsugikuni Yoriichi. Coupled with his naturally deep red hair, he bore quite a resemblance.
"Completed the tenth task of the month; time to eat, time to eat!"
In the blink of an eye, he vanished into the wilderness.
...
In the Tokyo Prefecture, Kyobashi District, a suburban slum.
The dilapidated slum was rife with theft, robbery... and even murder, a series of crimes, and the Kawajiri family lived in such a place.
A drunken middle-aged man stumbled through the door, his white hair and fierce appearance causing the entire family to freeze in fear as if the air had solidified.
Inside was a woman with bruises on her face and her seven children, the oldest of whom was Kawajiri Sanemi.
He looked disdainfully at the scumbag of a man not far away, someone who didn't even deserve to be called a person. Sanemi would never acknowledge him.
Gambling, drinking, beating his wife and children, and even nearly selling his daughter into a brothel for money—could such a person be worthy of being a father?
"Scumbag, what kind of look is that? Do you look down on me?" The man was annoyed by his eldest son's gaze, which was filled with unabashed disdain and ferocity, like a little wolf cub.
"You've never earned a penny for this family, nor have you supported us. It's all thanks to Mom. How can I respect a stinking drunkard and gambler like you?" Sanemi's temper flared, and he retorted mercilessly.
"Looking for death!" The man hurled a bottle at him, but Sanemi easily dodged.
"Damn it, I'll kill you, you ungrateful brat!"
The man grabbed a nearby stick and swung it at Sanemi with all his might, not caring if he accidentally hit his own wife and children nearby.
With a loud thwack, the straw mat on the ground was split in half. The stick whistled through the air, narrowly missing Sanemi's face. Had he dodged even a second slower, he would have died.
"Waaah!"
"Sniff… sniff…!"
The younger siblings burst into terrified sobs, their cries grating on the man's nerves. Without hesitation, he raised the stick again. Sanemi's mother tried to stop him but couldn't stand—just yesterday, she had been beaten half to death.
"You bastard!" Sanemi lunged and tackled the man. He could tolerate this beast attacking him, but not his family.
Drunk and weak, the man was all bark and no bite. The stick flew from his grip, and the two tumbled outside, locked in a brutal fight.
One fought to protect his family.
The other fought to hurt them.
"You bastard! Let go of my brother!"
A boy with a dark, spiked mohawk charged out of the house, roaring. He was the second son of the Shinazugawa family—Genya Shinazugawa.
Though only ten years old, Genya had always wanted to help his brother and mother support the family.
Finally, through sheer determination and trading injury for injury, the Shinazugawa brothers drove the man away.
As he fled, the man spat venomous words at his own sons.
"You little ungrateful brats! I'll kill you both sooner or later!"
"Damn you!"
For the man, the real pain was failing to get gambling money from his family—that was the only reason he had come home after two months of absence.
"Sanemi, Genya… come back inside. Just let him take the money. If anything happens to you two… how could I go on living?"
Tears streamed down Mrs. Shinazugawa's face as she looked at her battered, bloodied sons. Trembling, she reached out, gently stroking their cheeks and hair before pulling them into a tight embrace.
"Mom, I'll collect more scrap tomorrow. We'll make it—we'll give you a better life!" Sanemi grinned, eyes full of hope. Because he still had his family.
Back then, he wasn't yet the sharp-edged man he would become. Not while his family was still with him.
"I'll help Big Bro too. We'll make everyone happy!" Genya chimed in, smiling.
Driven off, the man staggered into a filthy alleyway, still cursing his family under his breath.
Before he knew it, he emerged on the other side. Across from the alley stood a restaurant, and through the window directly in front of him sat a young man.
The table before the youth was piled high with lavish dishes—just one glance told anyone they cost a fortune.
"Waiter! Bring me another round of the same!" The boy slapped a thick wad of cash onto the table, cheeks bulging as he stuffed his face.
"Right away, honored guest! The kitchen is preparing it now!" The waiter fawned obsequiously—after all, this was a customer who ordered entire tables of food at once.
Watching this, the man burned with envy.
Damn it!
How does that little shit have so much money? Why don't I?
Showing off, huh? Well, that money's gonna be mine soon.
His lips curled into a grin.
Looks like I found my gambling funds.