When I opened my eyes in this world, it wasn't to a grand prophecy, a sword in my hand, or a cool reincarnation power like the isekai protagonists get. No, I opened my eyes to the smell of soot and the soft heartbeat of my mother. I was a baby in a womb. That's it. A regular baby.
Disappointing? Maybe. But somehow... oddly comforting.
The memories came in wisps blurred images of high school, midnight anime binges, and the bittersweet ending of Demon Slayer. I didn't question them at first. Why would a baby care about such things? But I remembered enough to know this world wasn't fiction anymore.
My name is Satoshi Kamado, eldest son of the Kamado family. Yeah, that Kamado. But I didn't realize the gravity of that name until years later.
I grew up quickly too quickly, if you asked my parents. Walking, talking, thinking with a sharpness that startled the village. They laughed, calling me a little genius. I played along, hiding my inner turmoil behind forced smiles and childish antics. But in truth, I was waiting.
Waiting for something to click.
And then it did.
I was four. Mother's belly was round with life another sibling on the way. Father's hand was on her shoulder, smiling warmly.
"If it's a boy," he said, "we'll name him Tanjiro."
Tanjiro Kamado.
The name hit me like a blade to the chest.
The floodgates opened. The story, the pain, the deaths I remembered everything. Muzan. Nezuko. The blood. The snow. The single blood-streaked step outside our home.
That night, I fainted.
I woke up trembling, sweating, a sense of dread wrapping around me like a cold blanket. I tried to shake it off. I couldn't. And I didn't want to. If I let it go, they would die. My family my real family now.
I had to do something.
I asked my father to teach me the Dance of the Fire God.
He was surprised but not displeased. "You want to dance with your old man?" he laughed, lifting me into his arms. "Then you better keep up."
And so began my journey.
The dance wasn't just a dance. It was agony. Each step demanded control. Each breath, purpose. My limbs burned, my lungs begged for air. But I endured.
Because this was no longer a tradition it was my weapon.
At night, when the others slept, I practiced. When I fell, I stood. When my muscles tore, I forced them to heal stronger. Obsession turned to passion. Passion to resolve.
And with each day, the scent of charcoal and fire became more than the smell of home. It became a reminder of who I had to become.
Tanjiro was born, wide-eyed and full of light. Nezuko followed, then Takeo, Hanako, Shigeru, Rokuta. The house was filled with laughter, cries, warmth.
I chopped firewood. I carried charcoal to the village. I trained until my legs buckled. No one noticed my trembling hands. They only saw the smile I wore.
But behind my eyes, I watched the skies.
For someday, a pale man in a dark hat would come.
And I must be ready.
Even if I can't change fate... I will try to burn through it.