"Demon Slayer?"
Ryota's brow furrowed deeply. The name sparked a vague memory—an anime, wasn't it?
He immediately pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he searched.
He skimmed through the story background, the core concepts—man-eating Demons, the Demon Slayer Corps, Breathing Styles, Nichirin Swords…
A world filled with life-and-death struggles in the darkness of night, yet strangely imbued with the flavor of its historical era.
Ryota's eyes scanned the wiki entries, capturing every keyword.
Then he opened a video platform, watching short historical explainers and clips from the original work.
"Demons… Twelve Kizuki…"
His heart sank.
The danger level far exceeded his initial expectations.
This wasn't a peaceful world where one could quietly conduct business.
Just then, his phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with a transfer notification: [Arata has transferred 250,000.00 to you. Note: Take this for now.]
Immediately after, Arata's call came through.
Ryota stared at the string of numbers, his throat tight. He took a deep breath before answering.
"Hey."
"Got the money?" Arata's background was noisy, like he was at some entertainment venue, but his voice was clear. "Just wrangled it from the old man. Make sure you pay whatever Sakura needs."
"...How did you know?" Ryota's voice was rough. He thought he'd kept it well hidden.
"Idiot, you've been going to the hospital non-stop lately. Was it hard to ask around?" Arata's tone carried his usual sarcasm. "I'm asking you, Mr. Top Student, are you shouldering everything alone again? Can your pride put food on the table or cure an illness?"
Ryota remained silent. He'd been like this since high school. Because of his family situation, because he shouldered responsibilities early, he was shrewder and more sensitive than his peers. Unwilling to accept unnecessary pity, he preferred to rely on his own calculations.
Arata was one of the few who saw through this and stuck around anyway.
"Thanks…" Ryota finally managed, his voice low but heavy with meaning. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can."
"Cut the crap. Who expects you to pay it back? Sakura's my sister too." Arata seemed to have moved somewhere quieter; his voice softened a bit. "But… listen, man, truth is, my family's business has hit a rough patch lately. The old man's running around like a headless chicken. This 250k is all I could scrape together recently by tightening my belt."
"After this… I'll try to think of something else."
Ryota's fingers tightened around the phone. He knew Arata's family was well-off, but hearing him admit to difficulties, and still pulling out 250,000 without hesitation at a time like this…
A mix of gratitude, guilt, and immense pressure slammed into his chest, making it hard to maintain his usual composure. He could almost picture the cocky, indifferent expression Arata was surely wearing right now to mask his genuine concern.
"Arata…" He paused, taking a sharp breath. "…It's enough. Really. I can figure out the rest myself."
"Figure out my ass!" Arata shot back mercilessly. "Don't go taking on those soul-crushing side jobs again! Listen to me, stabilize the situation first. The sky won't fall. There's always a way. If you need help, you have to ask, don't fucking bottle it up again, you hear me?"
"...Yeah." Ryota responded quietly.
"Alright, I've got stuff to do here. Hanging up. If it's not enough, tell me. I'll go bother the old man again!"
With that, Arata hung up in his usual whirlwind manner.
The call ended, and the room returned to silence.
Ryota stared at the transfer record on his screen, unmoving for a long time.
Arata's words were like a warm current, but also like a whip, lashing him to move forward faster.
He shook off the tangled emotions, his gaze turning sharp and calm once more. The abundant energy and enhanced cognition demanded action.
Now wasn't the time for sentimentality.
He checked the time: midnight. The lab should be mostly empty.
He stood up, feeling the surging strength in his body and his utterly wakeful mind, and headed straight out the door.
The campus at night was silent and empty.
Ryota moved with a light step, even experimenting a little. He broke into a slight run, his figure almost merging with the darkness, his speed so fast it left only a faint whisper of wind in his wake.
Back in the lab, he booted up the computer and pulled up the backlogged electrophysiology data.
The complex analysis that used to require intense concentration and significant time now flowed with exceptional clarity and smoothness, his mind operating as if overclocked.
His fingers flew across the keyboard, writing analysis scripts, processing massive datasets, generating graphs…
His efficiency was staggering. His attention remained absolutely focused for extended periods, and when verification calculations were needed, his mental math speed far surpassed his previous capabilities.
Outside the window, the sky shifted from pitch black to the pale light of dawn, then gradually brightened fully.
Ryota was immersed in the sea of data, losing track of time.
It wasn't until the following afternoon that he sent a perfectly formatted, deeply analyzed report and data package—complete with several additional, meaningful extended conclusions—to his advisor, Professor Touma's, inbox.
Only after finishing did he feel a hint of mental fatigue, though his body still felt powerful.
In less than half an hour, Touma called.
"Ryota? The report you sent…" Touma's voice held unconcealed surprise and approval. "This analysis… it's exceptionally well done! Especially those cross-verification and trend prediction parts—very sharp angles, but the logic is completely sound! You kid… did you pull another all-nighter?"
"It was alright, Professor. The data itself was quite interesting." Ryota's reply was calm, betraying little emotion.
"More than just interesting! The quality and speed of this…" Touma paused, his tone softening slightly. "Ryota, the project timeline isn't so tight that we need one or two days like this. You need to look after your health."
"Tell you what, you've worked hard these past few days. Take a few days off. Rest properly and reset."
Ryota was quick to notice the unusual, extra layer of concern in his advisor's tone. He immediately understood—Touma had likely found out about his family situation through some channel.
"…Thank you, Professor." He didn't acknowledge it directly, simply accepting the goodwill.
"Mhm, get some rest. If you have any difficulties… don't bear them alone." Touma offered one last piece of advice before hanging up.
Setting the phone down, Touma looked at the exemplary analysis report on his screen and sighed. He had indeed asked around and learned about Ryota's family situation. The burden on that clever, hardworking kid's shoulders was too heavy. He wondered if he could organize a department collection or lend Ryota some money privately. But remembering the distance and pride always in Ryota's eyes, he decided to hold off for now. He'd wait and find a more reliable way.
Ryota left the lab, walking across the campus in the afternoon sun. The light was a bit glaring, but his mind was occupied with matters of another world.
He had the time off now. Arata's money had temporarily alleviated the most urgent medical payment pressure, buying him roughly a week's buffer.
Now, he had to focus entirely on preparing for the journey to the [Demon Slayer] world.
What could be traded in that world? What did he need to obtain from it?
Information. Power. Resources.
He needed to research more detailed information on Demon Slayer, to understand the world's dangers, faction distribution, and special items as much as possible.
He needed to prepare items that could be used for trade or self-defense in that world.
What things from the modern world would be attractive to people of that era? Medicine? High-energy food? Precision tools? Or… knowledge?
His mind raced, plans forming and being discarded, then restructured.
The first crossing—unknown risks, unknown rewards.
He had to plan meticulously, prepare for every contingency.