The wooden house was small, but warm.
The middle-aged man who had taken Akio in—old man Saburou—pulled out bedding and set it up for him without complaint.
While getting settled, Akio finally had time to confirm something crucial: his current identity.
His name was now Kamado Takeo.
The eldest in the family was his brother, Tanjiro, followed by his sister, Nezuko. Their father had passed away the year before, and since then, Tanjiro had taken on the burden of supporting the household by selling charcoal. Their mother, Aoi, stayed home to care for the younger siblings: Jii, Hanako, and the youngest, Rokuta.
As this information filtered through his mind, Akio—or rather, Takeo—felt his chest tighten.
This… this is the Kamado family?
His thoughts spiraled. If he remembered right, the entire family would eventually be slaughtered.
Except one.
Why it happened… wasn't important right now.
What was important was that if this was truly that world, then it meant one thing:
This place was incredibly dangerous.
Not just your average "ancient Japan." No peaceful countryside or feudal nostalgia.
No—if the Kamado family's massacre was a known fate, and if demons were real here...
Then death lurked in the woods beyond the snow.
Saburou, the man hosting him, was apparently a longtime acquaintance of the Kamado household. He was one of the few people who lived in this isolated mountain region. Since Tanjiro had come home late last night and returned to work early this morning, Saburou had temporarily taken Takeo in.
Akio was grateful—but also a little embarrassed. He didn't want to be a burden for more than a day.
Still, one detail nagged at him.
Wait… wasn't the Kamado family made up of seven members? Then why did I only see five graves back there?
He had been too preoccupied before to think about it, but now the inconsistency gnawed at him.
Before he could dwell on it, Saburou's voice interrupted.
"Get some sleep. Ghosts come out if you stay up too late."
Ghosts? In this world… are they real?
And were they the same kind of "ghosts" Saburou meant?
The oil lamp flickered once—then went out.
The dream came suddenly.
In it, Akio was no longer himself. He was… someone else. Someone stronger.
The space around him was dim, vast, and endless. There were no landmarks, no sky, no ground. Only a shimmering surface below him, like rippling water atop a mirror.
He walked across it, unsure of where he was going, searching for something he couldn't name.
Time passed—he didn't know how much.
Then, he stopped.
Ahead of him stood a solitary figure leaning against a translucent tree. A man, broad-shouldered and rough, dressed in a worn leather jacket.
He had a beard, a grizzled face, and an aura that screamed danger.
Akio's eyes widened as recognition struck him like a lightning bolt.
"Holy shit… Uncle Wolf?!"
That rugged figure—
It was Logan. Wolverine. The freaking X-Men!
But something was… off.
This Wolverine looked old. Not just grizzled—ancient, as if he'd aged beyond even Saburou's years. If Akio hadn't rewatched the X-Men films countless times, he might not have recognized him at all.
But why was Wolverine in his dream?
Stunned, and driven by instinctual curiosity, Akio stepped forward.
Wolverine raised a hand.
His right hand.
For a handshake.
Akio blinked, dumbfounded, then pointed to himself.
"…You wanna shake hands?"
"Yeah," Logan grunted, his face unreadable.
There didn't seem to be any other option.
Akio reached out.
Their fingers touched—palms pressed together.
And in that moment, a chill ran through the air, slicing into the room like dawn wind through paper walls.
Akio woke up.
He sat up on the tatami mat, heart pounding, breath misting in the morning cold.
But his mind wasn't in shock—it was sharp.
Information he hadn't had before was now organized, flooding into his brain like a system booting up.
He looked down at his right hand, then clenched it into a fist.
Something clicked.
Between his fingers, bone spikes protruded—sharp, pale, and still stained with crimson.
They weren't fake. They weren't part of the dream.
They were real.
Yet… Akio didn't feel fear.
Instead, he stared at them with a strange sense of awe.
This… This is my golden finger, isn't it?
Whatever had happened—whether it was dream, fate, or system trigger—this ability was his now.
A gift from time-travel.
A gift from Uncle Wolf.
Author's Note:
Waking up in a new world is hard. But waking up with Logan's power? That's a whole different kind of nightmare—or maybe a blessing. Keep reading.