Happiness has no upper limit.
People who feel happy never think there is "too much happiness," never feel troubled by it, and never become truly satisfied with it.
But pain, at least, has its limits.
Before Rinyo ever understood what happiness really meant, he learned this truth first.
A family that was never well-off, a house that was never large to begin with, became even poorer and more cramped with every new child that was born.
"If only you hadn't survived in the first place."
"If only I hadn't given birth to you."
"If only you had died before you were born."
"You're more useless than a girl. All you do is drag me down."
These were the things his mother would say to him over and over again.
His mother did not like him. His father did not either.
A father who drank and gambled.
A mother full of resentment.
An older brother who worked himself to the bone.
An older sister who was forced to marry.
It seemed like this was the final destination for every family that was not quite poor enough to starve, but never rich enough to breathe.
"Rinyo! You useless brat!"
Rinyo. A name that, on the surface, sounded rather nice, like the sun that rises on a winter morning, bringing people hope and warmth.
The sun. What a beautiful word.
But Rinyo did not like the sun, just as he did not like the name "Rinyo."
"Rinyo. Rin like a girl's name, and a sun that's no use to anyone."
That was how his brother put it.
Yes. That was the true meaning of his name.
Not some "hope after hardship," not some "winter sun that warms frozen hearts."
The sun at the break of a bitter winter's day does not warm anyone. It is only a harsh, dazzling glare, disturbing other people's sleep.
Just like him.
Rinyo had been born on the coldest day of the year.
The wind had howled all night. Snow had fallen all night. His mother's screams had filled the darkness, echoing around the little house. The sound was scattered to nothing once it passed the main door and met the freezing wind, but within this cramped space, it simply circled and circled, never fading. His father, his brother, his sister, none of them slept a wink because of his mother's agonized cries.
And his mother writhed in pain for an entire night.
By the time the darkest hour before dawn came, his mother had almost given up. She was ready to let him die in her womb.
But, of all moments, just as the sun rose, little Rinyo slipped into this not-at-all-beautiful world.
Later, he would think that it must have been because his mother's belly was already the best place he could imagine. That was why he had been so unwilling to come out.
Rinyo was a boy. That was supposed to be good news.
A boy could help with work, help keep the household running, go out and earn money, and carry on the family line.
The problem was, Rinyo was not a healthy boy.
That drawn-out winter night had nearly consumed his mother's life, and it had almost consumed his as well.
From that day on, the two of them were like candles guttering in the wind, on the verge of being snuffed out at any moment.
A useless boy was worse than a girl who could marry out for a bride price. So from then on, the root of all the family's suffering became him.
His mother's resentment.
His father's scolding.
His brother's disgust.
His sister's cold indifference.
This family was in such a dire state that every person was living a hard life.
He genuinely could not help. That much was true, and he blamed himself for it.
Rinyo understood them, and at the same time, he did not.
He had not chosen to be born with a frail body.
He had not chosen to be born a boy.
He had not chosen to come into this family at all.
Why, then, was he the source of all their problems?
That question was not allowed to be asked aloud. He never had the chance to ask anyway. There were too many things to do every day, and his body was too weak. Every single task was a strain on his fragile life. For him, just staying alive was already a struggle.
But no one had the time to pity him.
This family could not afford his medicine, so they simply decided he had no right to rest.
He had to do whatever he could do.
If he failed, he was beaten.
After the beating, he still had to get up and find something else to do.
In short, he was not allowed to be idle.
They said this was what he deserved. His birth had left his mother bedridden, unable to work, and his sickly body had swallowed up the money his father should have spent on wine.
All of this was his fault. He was the one who deserved it.
He did not have a strong body. His birth had not gone smoothly. He could not help the family. All of it, they said, was his sin.
Scolding, insults, beatings.
Every word and action that could cause pain seemed to belong to this home and to the child named Rinyo.
Good-for-nothing.
Worse than a pig or a dog.
You'd be better off dead.
Curses laced with bone-deep hatred crashed down on him again and again.
Rinyo was starting to get used to it. Pain, after all, had its limit.
He had once brushed against that limit, if only for a moment.
When his small body was thrown onto the wooden floor.
When a stool smashed down onto his head.
When his vision was dyed a blinding red.
For a heartbeat, he felt no pain at all.
It was like a beautiful dream.
No more work.
No more dragging himself out of bed before dawn to fetch water.
No more trudging home after dark with a bundle of firewood on his back.
No one scolding him.
No gnawing hunger.
No more sneaking out into the freezing winter night to kneel in the snow and cough, so he would not wake anyone.
It was a happiness beyond anything he had ever imagined.
But it lasted only a moment.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back in that same familiar house.
"Rest? What's there to rest for? He needs to get up and work. He's been lying there for days already. Still sleeping?"
The door slammed open.
When his father grabbed him and hauled him up, Rinyo could not even feel his limbs yet.
So when his father let go, he just crumpled to the floor like a heap of mud.
He had once seen another family's child fall to the ground.
That child's mother had run to him right away, scooping him up, gently asking if he was hurt.
The child's father had walked over slowly, brushed the dirt from his face, ruffled his hair, and said that boys were bound to be a bit wild, that there was no need to fuss.
Rinyo dragged his gaze to his mother.
His mother, who had been bedridden for years because of his birth, swept him with those sharp, mean eyes of hers. The look cut like the keenest knife. Her lips curled, then she turned her face away, as if he were not the child she had carried and delivered herself.
He shifted his eyes, with great effort, to the man standing beside him.
His father, still lost in his rage, noticed his gaze. The man's hand reached toward him.
For an instant, a faint light flickered in Rinyo's eyes.
The light vanished in the next heartbeat.
The hand did not comfort him. It seized his ear and yanked him up.
A tearing, burning pain shot through his ear.
"Few days without a beating and you grow a spine, huh? You dare glare at me? Think you're in the right?"
His head slammed into the wall. All he could hear afterward was a loud, droning buzz.
When the man let go, Rinyo slid down the wall like a broken doll, his head tilting at an odd angle.
His eyes focused on the floorboards.
Drops of blood fell, one after another.
He could not tell if they were from his ear or his head.
His father was still shouting something.
Rinyo could see the man's mouth opening and closing in the reflection on the floor, but he could not make out a single word. His hand moved on its own, reaching for his ear. It was damp, sticky, and warm. When he pulled his fingers away, they were smeared with red on skin stretched thin over bone.
Mm. His ear was torn.
At least he could not hear anything now. That was something.
Sometimes, having no one around you is its own kind of freedom.
Just like now.
His furious father kicked him out into the yard.
His venomous mother shut the bedroom door.
His brothers were probably all out working.
Only he was left in the courtyard.
Eyes open, eyes closed, breathing or not breathing, he could do as he pleased.
Even if he slept for a while, no one would care.
He wanted to have a dream.
Any dream would do.
As long as it was not here, it would be wonderful.
In his dream, someone kind picked him up from the ground, put him into a small bamboo basket. The basket was truly small, just barely big enough to fit him if he curled up tight. The man carrying it closed the lid, hiding him away inside.
Through the gaps, Rinyo could see that he was getting farther and farther away from that house.
He did not care where he was being taken.
He did not care who was taking him.
The simple fact that he was leaving that place was enough to make him happy.
He just wanted to leave.
Rinyo tried, once, to leave for real.
He believed this family did not need him.
His existence only deepened their suffering.
Everyone was unhappy because he was there.
If he were gone, maybe their problems would be solved.
So, on a certain night, when everything was silent and still, he slid quietly through the crack in the door. No one woke up. His first step went smoothly, so he stepped into the yard.
Rinyo brought nothing with him.
There was nothing in that house that belonged to him.
He knew that well.
So all he wanted to take away was himself.
But as his bare feet pressed into the snow and he walked step by step away from that place, a voice colder than the ice and snow rose up behind him.
"Rinyo. Where are you going?"
He could not make a sound.
He could not move a muscle.
A large hand closed on the back of his collar from behind.
The demon from hell dragged him back into it.
When he was tossed into the corner of the yard, Rinyo was deeply, deeply confused.
He could not understand any of it anymore.
It was strange.
They hated him.
But they insisted on keeping him there, on forcing him to stay where he was hated, so they could go on hating him.
Maybe he was not a child.
Not a person.
Not a member of this family at all.
Maybe he was an object. A thing.
Like the little teru teru bozu doll hanging from the beam.
That doll could not bring sunny days, but it could bear wind and rain.
Just like that, he too was hung up, just like the teru teru bozu.
A rope dug into his neck, fixing in place the expression others had painted on his face, leaving him to sway back and forth, back and forth.
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[Tips:]
Even though the synopsis already explained a lot, I want to emphasize a few things again.
This is my first time writing a Demon Slayer fanfic, so there may be issues. You are welcome to ask questions or point things out in paragraph comments or at the end of each chapter.
For setting details, I am using Baidu and official guidebooks as references. When I cannot find an answer, I collect information from all over and rely on common analyses to make reasonable guesses.
My knowledge of Japanese history is terrible. I am not very clear on the exact time period Demon Slayer takes place in, so I will mention politics, history, and other professional areas as little as possible or not at all. If I mess something up, please feel free to correct me.
The protagonist is a demon. A very pure demon. The kind of person who, in a standard storyline, would absolutely become a demon. So his point of view, his words, his analysis of things will be a bit off the usual path. Please read with a clear head. If you do not like this, you can stop reading. Everyone is welcome to voice their opinions, and I hope we can all be tolerant of different ideas and perspectives. Let us build a peaceful and friendly comment section together, starting with you and me.
I have a lot of plot ideas, but I do not know which ones will actually make it into the story. I do not outline in advance. I just write whatever I feel like writing as I go.
The main story will lean toward slice-of-life. The protagonist does not have some huge, bitter, tragic main plot or secret storyline. From beginning to end, he is a demon. If nothing unexpected happens, he will die when he is supposed to die. There may be if-line extras or alternative endings, but right now nothing is certain.
As mentioned in the synopsis, the protagonist is a child, around ten years old. He is not a combat-type lead. If anything, he is half a healer, a support character. His basic personality is gentle and mild. Early on he is quite introverted, and because of his experiences as a human, he is also rather timid. In the middle and later parts, he will gradually become more cheerful, but he will never be an especially loud or rowdy kid. So the entire story will feel like slowly warming water. It will not be particularly hot-blooded or heart-wrenching (at least, from a demon's perspective).
That is all I have for now.
If everything above sounds fine to you, please continue reading.