Dawn approaches.
I lie among the corpses, my breathing carefully controlled to mimic shock and exhaustion. My clothes are torn and bloodied not my blood, of course, but the demon slayers who will find me won't know that. The story is perfect, every detail crafted with meticulous care.
Kibutsuji Ryōta, dutiful eldest son, sent on a pilgrimage to the mountain shrine of Kumano to pray for his family's continued prosperity. Accompanied by Hayato, a trusted guide his father hired a man with decades of experience navigating these treacherous paths.
They stopped in this village for the night. Then the demon came.
Hayato died protecting him. Everyone died. Everyone except the terrified boy who hid beneath the floorboards of a destroyed house, listening to the screams, powerless to help.
It's a beautiful tragedy. The kind that tugs at heartstrings. The kind that makes people want to protect you, trust you, teach you.
The kind that opens doors.
The sun's first rays begin to crest the mountains, and I feel that familiar burning sensation crawl across my skin. I've positioned myself in shadow, of course near enough to the carnage to be discovered, but sheltered enough that I won't burst into flames before my rescuers arrive.
How theatrical this all is. Playing the victim, waiting to be saved. In my previous life, I would have scorned such weakness. But I've learned patience. I've learned that sometimes the strongest position is to appear weak.
Let them think me helpless. Let them think me traumatized.
Let them underestimate me entirely.
Footsteps. Multiple sets. Running.
"Over here! I see someone!"
"Careful! The demon might still be nearby!"
Ah, finally. My audience arrives.
I let out a weak, pitiful sound half sob, half gasp. My body trembles convincingly. When I open my eyes, I make sure they're wide with terror, unfocused, seeing but not comprehending.
Three figures materialize from the morning mist. Two men and one woman, all wearing variations of the same uniform dark pants, white shirts, and distinctive haori jackets. Swords at their hips that catch the dawn light with an unusual gleam.
Nichirin blades. The demon told me about these. Forged from ore that absorbed sunlight, capable of killing demons.
Fascinating. I'll need to examine one up close eventually.
"It's a child!" The woman drops to her knees beside me, her hands hovering uncertainly. "Can you hear me? Are you hurt?"
I stare at her with blank, traumatized eyes. My lips move, forming soundless words.
"Shhh, it's okay now. You're safe." She looks back at her companions. "Tanaka, check the perimeter. Yoshida, see if there are any other survivors."
The two men nod and move off, their hands on their sword hilts, alert for danger.
The woman turns back to me, her expression gentle but firm. "My name is Hana. I'm with the Demon Slayer Corps. The demon is gone now you're safe. Can you tell me your name?"
Such kind eyes. Such earnest concern. It almost makes me feel guilty.
Almost.
"R-Ryōta," I whisper, my voice hoarse and broken. Perfect. "Kibutsuji... Ryōta..."
Her eyes widen slightly at the family name. "Kibutsuji? From the merchant family in Ōsaka?"
I manage a weak nod.
"What are you doing this far from home, Ryōta-kun?"
Here we go. The story I've rehearsed a hundred times in my mind.
"P-pilgrimage," I stammer, tears real tears that I force out through sheer will tracking down my cheeks. "Father sent me... to Kumano shrine... to pray for the family. Hayato-san was... he was supposed to protect me... but the demon..."
My voice breaks beautifully, and I bury my face in my hands, shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs.
"Hayato-san?" Hana's voice is gentle.
"Our guide. Father trusted him. He... he tried to fight the demon. Told me to run. I heard him screaming..." Another sob. "I hid. I'm a coward. I hid while everyone died!"
"No." Hana's hand is on my shoulder now, firm and reassuring. "You survived. That's not cowardice—that's wisdom. Hayato-san would be proud that his sacrifice wasn't in vain."
Oh, if only you knew how right you are. His sacrifice along with everyone else's—has granted me exactly what I needed.
The other two demon slayers return. The one called Tanaka shakes his head grimly. "No survivors. Demon's already disintegrated must have been killed by something. Maybe fought another demon over territory?"
"Or it pushed itself too hard and burned out," Yoshida suggests. "Either way, it's gone now."
Yes, keep making assumptions. Never suspect the traumatized child.
Hana helps me to my feet, supporting my weight as I deliberately sway. "We need to get him medical attention. And contact his family—they must be worried sick."
"The nearest town with a doctor is three hours away," Tanaka says. "But there's a Wisteria House just an hour from here. We can rest there, let the kid recover, and send word to Ōsaka."
A Wisteria House. The demon mentioned these safe houses for demon slayers, protected by wisteria flowers that demons cannot tolerate.
Ironic that I'll be seeking shelter in such a place.
"Can you walk, Ryōta-kun?" Hana asks gently.
I nod, taking a tentative step, then stumbling. She catches me immediately.
"It's alright. Lean on me."
And so my infiltration begins.
The Wisteria House is exactly as described.
Surrounded by gardens of purple wisteria in full bloom, the scent so thick in the air it makes my skin prickle with discomfort. Not pain not like sunlight but a persistent irritation, like an itch I cannot scratch.
So this is what keeps demons at bay. A natural deterrent. Useful information.
An elderly woman greets us at the entrance, her eyes widening with sympathy when she sees my condition. "Another demon attack? Poor child. Come in, come in. I'll prepare food and draw a bath."
Food I don't need. A bath I don't require. But I accept both with quiet, traumatized gratitude.
The demon slayers are given rooms to rest they've been traveling all night. Hana insists on staying nearby while I bathe and eat, maternal concern radiating from her.
She reminds me of someone. Who was it? Ah, yes. Jonathan's mother. That same gentle strength, that same nauseating goodness.
I despised her too.
But I smile at Hana through my tears and thank her for her kindness.
After I'm clean and fed forcing down rice and fish that taste like ashes—Hana sits with me in one of the rooms. The afternoon sun streams through the window, and I position myself carefully in the shadows, claiming the bright light hurts my eyes after hiding in darkness.
She doesn't question it.
"Ryōta-kun," she begins carefully, "I need to ask you some questions about last night. I know it's difficult, but anything you remember might help us understand what happened."
Ah, the interrogation. How delightful.
"I'll try," I whisper, making my voice small and scared.
"When did you arrive at the village?"
"Yesterday evening. Hayato-san said we'd stay the night and continue to the shrine in the morning. The villagers were kind. They gave us food, a place to sleep..."
"And when did the demon attack?" I close my eyes, as if the memory pains me. "Middle of the night. I woke to screaming. Hayato-san grabbed his sword he always kept it close and told me to hide. Said he'd come back for me."
"Did you see the demon?" Careful here. Too much detail raises suspicion. Too little seems evasive. "Only... only glimpses. Through cracks in the floorboards. It was... huge. Fast. Hayato-san fought it, but..." I trail off, shuddering.
"It's alright. You don't have to describe it." Hana's hand is gentle on my shoulder. "Did anything else happen? Did you hear the demon say anything? See anyone else fight it?"
She's fishing. They're wondering what killed the demon. "I... I'm not sure. There was so much noise. Screaming. Breaking wood. I think..." I furrow my brow, as if struggling to remember. "I think I heard another voice. Someone else. But I was so scared, I might have imagined it."
"Another voice? Like another demon? Or a person?" "I don't know. Everything's confused."
Hana nods understandingly. "That's alright. You've been through a terrible trauma. Your mind is protecting you from the worst of it."
How wonderfully convenient.
She stands, preparing to leave me to rest. But I reach out, catching her sleeve with a trembling hand.
"Hana-san... the demon. Will it come back? Will there be more?"
She turns back, and I see the conflict in her eyes. Should she comfort me with lies, or prepare me with truth?
She chooses truth. "There are demons all across Japan. The Demon Slayer Corps fights them every night. But you're safe here demons cannot enter Wisteria Houses."
"How do you fight them?" I ask, injecting my voice with desperate hope. "How do you kill them?" "With special swords and techniques called Breathing Styles. We train for years to" "Could I learn?" I interrupt, letting passion bleed into my voice. "Could I become a demon slayer? So I could fight them? So no one else has to die like Hayato-san and those villagers?"
There it is. The hook, cast perfectly.
Hana's expression softens with understanding. "Ryōta-kun... I understand how you feel. But you're only twelve years old. You have a family waiting for you in Ōsaka. They need you."
"But if I go home, I'll always be afraid!" The tears return, and this time I don't entirely have to fake the emotion. "I'll always wonder if a demon will come. If I'll be helpless again. Please... isn't there a way? Any way I could learn to protect myself?"
She hesitates. I can see the internal debate playing across her face.
"There is a way," she says slowly. "But it's not an easy path. Most who attempt it die in training. It would mean leaving your family for years. It would mean pain and sacrifice beyond what most people can endure."
Perfect. She's already convinced.
"I don't care." I meet her eyes with fierce determination genuine determination, actually, though not for the reasons she thinks. "Hayato-san died protecting me. If I go home and live a comfortable life as a merchant, his death means nothing. But if I become strong enough to protect others... if I can save people like he tried to save me..."
I let the implication hang in the air.
The noble justification. The heroic motivation.
Humans are so predictable. Give them a tragic backstory and a righteous cause, and they'll move mountains for you.
"I'll speak to Master about it," Hana finally says. "But Ryōta-kun, you need to understand your parents will have to give permission. And even if they do, there's no guarantee you'll survive the training."
"I understand." I bow my head, the picture of humble determination. "Thank you, Hana-san."
She leaves me to rest, closing the door softly behind her.
The moment I'm alone, my expression shifts.
The mask drops
I lean back against the wall, a cold smile playing across my lips. Too easy. Far too easy.
Within a day of my "tragedy," I've already planted the seeds. Hana will advocate for me. They'll contact my "grieving" family. My father, the stern merchant, will likely refuse at first what parent would send their traumatized eldest son into more danger?
But I'll convince him. A letter, carefully worded. An appeal to his sense of honor, his pride in having a son brave enough to face his fears.
Or perhaps I'll simply run away and present the Corps with a fait accompli. Either works.
The important thing is, I'm exactly where I need to be.
Inside the enemy's walls. Learning their secrets. Gaining their trust.
I close my eyes and reach for the power thrumming beneath my skin. The sun is still up, preventing me from transforming fully, but I can feel it there the hunger, the strength, the beautiful monstrosity that is my true nature.
Soon, I promise myself. Soon I'll hunt again. Soon I'll feed. But for now, patience.
Patience and perfect performance.
Because Dio Brando is now Kibutsuji Ryōta, tragic survivor and aspiring hero.
And no one suspects a thing.
Three days later, a messenger arrives.
I'm sitting in the garden carefully positioned under the wisteria's shade when Hana approaches with a letter in her hands. Her expression is complicated.
"Your father has responded to our message," she says, sitting beside me.
I look up with carefully crafted hope and fear. "What did he say?"
"He's... overjoyed you're alive. He's been organizing search parties, desperate for any news." She pauses. "And regarding your request to join the Demon Slayer Corps..."
Here it comes.
"He's refused."
I let my face fall, disappointment and frustration warring across my features. "I... I see."
"However," Hana continues, and I look up sharply, "he's agreed to allow you to train in self-defense. He wants you to learn basic swordsmanship and survival skills before you return home. He sees it as... practical education for someone who might need to travel for business."
Clever man, my supposed father. He doesn't believe in demons—or doesn't want his son fighting them—but he's pragmatic enough to see value in combat training.
"So I can learn?" I ask, injecting hope back into my voice.
"Basic training, yes. One of us will work with you while we wait for an escort to take you back to Ōsaka. It won't be the full demon slayer curriculum, but..." She smiles slightly. "It's something."
Oh, my dear Hana. It's more than something.
It's everything I need.
"Thank you!" I bow deeply, genuine satisfaction flooding through me. "Thank you so much!"
She ruffles my hair affectionately. "Don't thank me yet. Training starts tomorrow at dawn. I hope you're ready for some very early mornings."
"I'm ready for anything," I promise.
And I mean it.
The next morning, my education begins.
Tanaka the taller of the two male demon slayers meets me in the garden before the sun fully rises. He's carrying two wooden practice swords.
"Alright, kid. Hana says you want to learn the basics. I'm going to start you with the fundamentals of swordsmanship. Stance, grip, basic strikes. Nothing fancy." He tosses me one of the practice swords. "Think you can handle that?"
I catch it effortlessly too effortlessly. I let it fumble slightly in my grip, as if the weight surprises me.
"I'll try my best, Tanaka-san."
"Good attitude. Now, first thing your stance."
And so I begin the most amusing charade of my new life.
I pretend to struggle with basics I mastered in my previous life. I act clumsy with the practice sword, letting Tanaka correct my grip again and again. I stumble during footwork drills, earning patient instruction.
All the while, I'm learning.
Not the basic techniques those are child's play. No, I'm learning how demon slayers move, how they think, how they fight. I'm studying Tanaka's breathing patterns, the way he shifts his weight, the subtle tells before he demonstrates a strike.
This is what I came for. This is the knowledge that will make me unstoppable.
"You're a quick learner," Tanaka says after the first hour, genuine surprise in his voice. "Most beginners take days to get the grip right. You picked it up in minutes."
Because I've held swords before, you fool. I've killed with blades more times than you've drawn breath.
"Hayato-san taught me a little," I lie smoothly. "He said every man should know how to defend himself."
"Smart man. Shame about what happened to him."
If only you knew.
The training continues through the morning. By the time the sun is high forcing me to retreat to the shade with claims of light sensitivity I've absorbed everything Tanaka knows about basic swordsmanship.
It's not enough. Not nearly enough.
I need more.
That evening, I approach Hana with a question.
"Hana-san, Tanaka-san mentioned something called Breathing Styles. What are those?"
She looks up from the tea she's preparing, considering her answer carefully.
"Breathing Styles are the foundation of demon slaying," she explains. "They're techniques that allow us to increase our physical abilities far beyond normal human limits. By controlling our breathing in specific patterns, we can temporarily access strength, speed, and reflexes comparable to demons."
Fascinating. So humans in this world have developed a method to artificially enhance themselves. A crude form of power, but effective enough to threaten demons.
"Could I learn that?" I ask innocently.
"Not in the time you have here. Breathing Styles take years to master. Most demon slayers train from childhood, and even then, many never progress beyond the basics."
"But what if I wanted to try? Just... just to see if I could do it?"
Hana studies me for a long moment. Then she sighs. "You're very persistent, Ryōta-kun."
"My father says I get it from my mother."
She laughs softly. "Alright. I'll teach you the foundational breathing exercise—Total Concentration Breathing. It's the first step all demon slayers learn. But you must promise me you won't push yourself too hard. It can be dangerous if done incorrectly."
Dangerous. How thrilling.
"I promise, Hana-san."
That night, after everyone has gone to sleep, I practice.
Total Concentration Breathing. The technique is simple in concept, complex in execution. Breathe in through the nose, expanding the lungs to their absolute limit. Hold. Then exhale completely, expelling every trace of air.
Repeat. Again. Again. Again.
Until the breathing becomes natural. Until the enhanced oxygen flow becomes constant. Until the body adapts and strengthens.
Hana said it takes most students months to maintain it for an hour. Years to maintain it constantly.
I master it in three nights.
Not because I'm human and exceptional, but because I'm not human. My vampiric physiology adapts to the technique with supernatural efficiency. My lungs expand beyond normal human capacity. My body drinks in the oxygen-enriched blood and transforms it into raw power.
By the fourth night, I'm maintaining Total Concentration Breathing constantly, even while I sleep or pretend to sleep.
And the results are extraordinary.
My already superhuman strength increases further. My speed reaches new heights. My regeneration accelerates. The breathing technique, designed to let humans fight demons, is making me a demon in all but name even more powerful.
The irony is delicious.
But I can't reveal my progress. Not yet. So during my daily training sessions with Tanaka and Hana, I pretend to struggle. I gasp and pant and claim I can barely maintain the breathing for a few minutes at a time.
They praise my "dedication" and "natural talent."
If only they knew the monster they're teaching.
Two weeks pass.
The escort from Ōsaka is due to arrive any day. My father has arranged for guards to accompany me home safely. My time with the demon slayers is nearly at an end.
But I've learned so much.
Swordsmanship. Breathing techniques. The structure of the Demon Slayer Corps. The locations of their training grounds. The names of their leaders—the mysterious Ubuyashiki family who've led the Corps for generations.
And most importantly, I've learned their weaknesses.
They're honorable. Noble. Predictable.
They would never suspect a child.
On my last night at the Wisteria House, Hana finds me in the garden, staring up at the stars.
"Thinking about home?" she asks, sitting beside me.
"Thinking about the future," I reply honestly.
"You've come a long way in two weeks, Ryōta-kun. Tanaka says you're a natural with the sword. I've never seen anyone pick up Total Concentration Breathing so quickly."
Because you've never taught a vampire before.
"I had good teachers," I say with a humble smile.
"Will you continue training when you get home?"
"Yes. Father has agreed to hire a swordsmanship instructor." This is true my fabricated father's letter mentioned it. "And I'll keep practicing the breathing exercises."
"Good." She's quiet for a moment. Then: "Ryōta-kun, can I tell you something?"
"Of course, Hana-san."
"When we first found you, I thought we were too late. I thought the trauma would break you. But you're stronger than I expected. You've turned your fear into determination. That's rare." She smiles. "I think you would have made an excellent demon slayer."
Oh, Hana. If only you knew what I really am.
"Thank you," I whisper, and for a brief moment, I almost feel... something. Regret? Guilt?
No. Impossible.
I feel nothing but anticipation for what comes next.
"Promise me something," Hana continues. "Live a good life. Honor Hayato-san's sacrifice by being kind, by protecting others when you can, by making the world a little brighter."
"I promise," I lie.
She hugs me then a brief, motherly embrace and I force myself not to recoil.
"Goodnight, Ryōta-kun. Your escort arrives tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Hana-san."
She leaves me alone in the garden.
I sit there for a long time, staring at the moon, cataloging everything I've learned.
The game has only just begun.
I've infiltrated the demon slayers. I've learned their techniques. I've established a cover identity that will allow me to move freely through this world.
And when I return to Ōsaka, I'll continue my hunts. Continue growing stronger. Continue preparing for the day I finally meet Muzan Kibutsuji.
Two apex predators in one world.
Only one will survive.
But first, I need to play the role of dutiful son a little longer. Need to maintain the facade. Need to be patient.
Patience, Dio. Patience.
The moon watches silently as I smile into the darkness.
The mask stays on.
For now.