A violent snowstorm howled past a small wooden cabin at the foot of Mount Sagiri.
Inside, a boy with traces of youthful innocence still lingering on his face slowly regained consciousness.
"I… I'm not dead?!"
Shuichuan Oboro shot upright, shock written all over his face.
The heavy blanket slipped off his body, and the freezing air rushed in, biting at his exposed skin. A shiver ran through him, but he ignored it, his instincts sharpening as he scanned his surroundings.
The cabin was small, yet orderly. Firewood and farming tools were stacked neatly in one corner, but what drew his attention most was the hearth at the center of the room and the figure seated beside it.
A pot rested over the fire, bubbling steadily. Steam curled into the air as a milky broth simmered, with a few gray-brown mushrooms rising and sinking in the rolling liquid.
Oboro inhaled.
A rich, spicy aroma mixed with the fresh sweetness of mushrooms and wild vegetables rushed straight to his head.
He swallowed hard. It had been days since he last ate.
The person by the hearth turned slightly. The moment Oboro saw his appearance, a surge of excitement shot through him.
A blue haori patterned with flowing water. A thick scarf adorned with cloud motifs wrapped around his neck. And most striking of all, a red tengu mask with a long nose and wide, stern eyes.
There was no mistaking him.
Sakonji Urokodaki, the former Water Hashira and legendary mentor from Demon Slayer.
Urokodaki did not look directly at him. He simply sat by the fire, stirring the pot with a long wooden ladle.
"If you're awake, come eat."
A bowl of soup was pushed toward the edge of the tatami. Inside were two pieces of tender stewed rabbit meat, still steaming.
Oboro stared at it, his throat bobbing as he dragged his weak body forward on his hands and knees.
He picked up the bowl but did not devour it immediately. The last shred of reason in him told him to remain polite.
"Th… thank you. I'll start now."
He took a sip.
Warmth spread instantly down his throat, flowing into his limbs and bones, driving away the bitter cold lodged deep inside him.
That was all it took.
Oboro could not hold back any longer. He began gulping the soup down, finishing it in less than a minute.
Still unsatisfied, he licked his lips and glanced at the pot.
Without a word, Urokodaki took his empty bowl and filled it again.
Behind the mask, his experienced eyes quietly studied the boy.
Surviving a blizzard that could freeze a wild bear to death spoke of strong physical resilience.
But more importantly…
His sense of smell.
Urokodaki caught a peculiar scent coming from him. It was the ashen, hollow trace left behind by someone who had endured absolute despair.
He had smelled it before.
On many children.
On Sabito. On Makomo. On Giyu Tomioka.
"Do you want more?"
Oboro blinked, then shook his head, setting the bowl down carefully.
"Thank you for the meal. I'm full."
He placed his hands neatly on his knees and straightened his back, facing the old man properly.
"I live at the foot of Mount Sagiri. You can call me Urokodaki."
"My name is Oboro Shuichuan. I'm from Kawahara Village, downstream."
The boy lowered his gaze, staring into the flickering flames of the hearth.
"I was a blacksmith's apprentice. I also repaired farming tools."
"Kawahara Village…"
Urokodaki paused slightly.
"I heard something happened there."
"That wasn't an accident."
Oboro lifted his head instinctively.
His calm black eyes were now filled with restrained fury.
"It was a massacre."
"Twenty-seven people in the village. Everyone is dead except me."
His voice was eerily steady. No hysteria. No tears.
As if he were describing someone else's tragedy.
"The doors and windows were smashed by force. The bodies were mutilated, but there were no bite marks from wild animals. Only tearing and crushing."
His fingers tightened against his pants, the knuckles turning white.
"That thing… enjoyed it."
"It didn't kill my parents right away. It broke their limbs first… and listened to them scream."
He looked straight at Urokodaki.
"That was a demon, wasn't it?"
The moment the word fell, the air in the room grew heavy.
Urokodaki fell silent.
The firelight cast distorted shadows across the red tengu mask.
Most people would blame something like this on bears, bandits, or mountain spirits.
But this boy was different.
He had noticed the unnatural wounds and even deduced the killer's intent.
"Since you know it was a demon…"
Urokodaki's voice turned colder, carrying a quiet pressure.
"What can you do? Wait to die?"
"I want to live."
Oboro met his gaze without hesitation.
"I want to live for every person in my village."
He suddenly stood, then dropped heavily to his knees.
His forehead struck the tatami with a dull thud.
"Mr. Urokodaki, please accept me as your disciple!"
This was not just a request.
In a world where man-eating demons roamed freely, this was his only path to survival.
Memories from his previous life had given him knowledge of the story, but fourteen years of peaceful living had lulled him into a foolish illusion.
That he could simply stay hidden in the countryside and live out his days in peace.
Reality had shattered that illusion.
It had taken twenty-seven lives to do it.
In this world, weakness itself was a sin.
He did not fear death.
He feared dying without meaning, like a stray dog crushed beneath a demon's heel.
"I know you're not an ordinary man."
His voice was muffled against the tatami, yet every word was clear.
"No normal old man could live alone in these mountains. No one ordinary would have an aura like yours. I know how to forge. My hands are steady. I'm not afraid of hardship."
"I just want to borrow your blade… to cut off that monster's head and avenge my parents and everyone in my village."
Silence filled the room.
Only the occasional crackle of burning wood could be heard.
Oboro remained kneeling, completely still.
Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose.
This was a gamble.
He was betting everything on the mercy of the former Water Hashira.
A long time passed.
Then, the faint rustle of cloth.
Urokodaki stood and walked over, reaching down to help the boy up.
"Raise your head."
Oboro straightened, his eyes clear, deep, and unwavering.
Urokodaki studied them carefully.
In those eyes, he saw shadows of his former disciples.
"Hunting demons is not like forging."
His voice was slow and stern.
"Once you draw your blade, there is no turning back. You will lose limbs. You may be torn apart. You will die in ways you cannot imagine."
"Even so… do you still wish to walk this path?"
Oboro did not hesitate.
The fire of vengeance left no room for doubt.
"My life is my own to choose."
"Since I didn't freeze to death in that snow… then whatever remains of my life should be used to slay demons."
Urokodaki stared at him for a long time, searching for even the slightest trace of hesitation.
There was none.
Only resolve, as solid as steel.
"…Perhaps this is fate."
He sighed softly and turned toward the door.
"Rest well for now. When spring comes, if you can pass my test, I will teach you how to hunt demons."
Oboro froze for a moment.
Then, hope flickered in his trembling eyes.
"Yes… Master!"