On a narrow countryside path, a young boy strained forward—pushing a wheelchair with one hand, a bamboo basket strapped to his back.
Inside the basket sat his sister, Nezuko, while his eldest sister, Chika, rested in the wooden wheelchair.
Their destination was Mount Sagiri, and it was all thanks to Tanjiro's determination that they'd come this far. Carrying one sibling and pushing another… even Chika felt a little guilty watching him work so hard.
Her recovery was still far from ideal. She could move for short bursts if she tried, but her stamina failed quickly. At best, she estimated a month before she could walk normally again.
Chika sighed, head lowered. A month. Not long, but not short either.
Tanjiro, behind her, kept glancing down at his sister's back with quiet worry.
Can she really recover from those wounds?
She looked fine now—too fine, perhaps. Aside from her weakened legs, she'd shown no other symptoms. Could she have been affected by Muzan's attack… maybe even turned into a demon like Nezuko?
But before he could think further, a shaft of sunlight pierced through the trees, snapping his thoughts apart.
No… demons fear the sun, he reminded himself. His sister didn't even flinch beneath it.That alone made his mind spin.
Scratching the back of his head, Tanjiro muttered, "I'll never understand this."
The three continued onward until they reached the foot of a small mountain not far from Mount Sagiri.
"Mount Sagiri? To reach that, you'll have to cross this ridge first," a kind village woman warned when Tanjiro asked for directions. "You're carrying such a load, and that girl looks unwell. It's dangerous."
Tanjiro bowed politely. "Thank you very much, ma'am."
Without wasting another moment, he turned and started up the trail. Time was precious—he had to find Sakonji Urokodaki as soon as possible.
The sun dipped behind the trees, and as dusk fell, a muffled pop! came from behind him—the lid of the basket opened, and Nezuko's head peeked out.
Now that the sunlight was gone, she could finally breathe freely. And of course, she preferred being near her brother and sister instead of crammed inside a box.
They talked as they traveled, their laughter soft in the cold air. And as they did, fragments of the original Chika's memories began to surface in Chika's mind—memories of her family, their home, and the warmth she'd lost.
Tanjiro spoke cheerfully to keep spirits high, while Chika, eyes closed, silently "binge-watched" the Demon Slayer storyline in her head from the protagonist's perspective.
In this world, she was real—Chika Kamado, the true eldest daughter of the Kamado family. A character who hadn't existed in the anime, but now did.
As she drifted between reflection and memory, Tanjiro suddenly stopped. His pupils trembled as he sniffed the air.
"Blood… I smell blood. The mountain path ahead—it's narrow. Someone must be hurt!"
The moment he caught the scent, his instincts took over, and he stepped forward—but Chika's voice cut sharply through the air.
"Tanjiro. Wait."
He turned, startled. "But Sister—someone might be injured!"
"Think for a second." Her tone was calm, but firm. "Didn't we hear before that people often go missing on this mountain? Blood and disappearances together… what do you think that means?"
Chika's words hit like ice water.
He froze. Missing people. The smell of blood. Darkness closing in.It could only mean one thing—a demon.
Tanjiro hesitated. What if it's not? What if there really was someone who needed help, and he did nothing? The thought of that guilt burned inside him.
"So what should we do then?" he asked quietly. "Ignore it?"
"Ignore it?" Chika smirked faintly. "Why ignore it—when we can kill it?"
Tanjiro blinked, stunned. He'd expected caution—not aggression.
Of course, that was caution—of a different kind. She knew what was coming. This was where Tanjiro would face his first real demon encounter. It was better to control the situation than stumble into it blind.
"Come closer," Chika whispered. Tanjiro leaned in, and she quickly outlined a plan—her voice low, measured, almost eerily calm.
When she finished, Tanjiro's expression shifted between disbelief and awe.
Ten minutes later.
They reached the source of the smell—a small shrine nestled among trees, its paper lanterns flickering weakly. The silence was heavy. Too heavy.
Tanjiro drew in a breath and slid the door open."Is anyone here? Are you all right?!"
He barely finished the words when the scene hit him.
Bodies.Several of them—mangled and still. Blood soaked the floorboards.And standing among them was a demon, its claws dripping red.
The creature turned lazily at the noise, clearly irritated."'All right'? Obviously not. I'm starving, brat. Don't interrupt my meal—"
Thwack!
Before it could finish, something whirled through the air—A spinning axe slammed into its skull with a wet crunch, embedding itself deep in its head.
The demon froze.
Low-level demons had regeneration, yes—but not fast, and not without pain. The agony of being decapitated mid-thought stunned it completely.
"AAAARGHHH!"
Its scream tore through the shrine. But Tanjiro didn't wait.
"Now!"
He charged forward, yanking the axe free and swinging again—once, twice, three times—each strike fueled by terror, desperation, and the muscle memory of years spent chopping firewood.
The demon staggered, its body barely holding together.
Demons could only be killed in four ways:
Firearms and explosives—special bullets or heavy black powder.
Sunlight—the purest death for any demon, even the Demon King.
Nichirin blades or weapons of similar material.
Exhaustion—draining a demon's stamina until regeneration fails.
Tanjiro had only the fourth option. His axe was sharp, his body trained—and his will unbreakable.
"Don't be afraid," he muttered. "Just keep going—!"
One strike.Two.Three.
The blows came faster, harder—until the demon's skull finally split apart, its body collapsing with a dull thud.
It never even got to finish its last word.
Tanjiro stood there, panting, blood splattered on his hands, the air thick with silence.
Behind him, Chika's calm voice broke it at last."Good job, Tanjiro."