“Bad luck, bad luck, bad luck…”
The blizzard screamed.
A young boy with snow-white hair lay sprawled in the drifts, his thin grey hemp clothes offering zero protection.
His exposed skin had turned a raw, angry red.
Through chattering teeth, he muttered his favorite TV quote–Uncle Jackie’s “bad luck” mantra–as if it could somehow ward off the frost.
Shiro pushed against the ground, his arms trembling.
His entire body was a block of ice; even the simple act of lifting a hand felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.
ROAR.
A violent, guttural howl ripped through the wind behind him.
A brown bear, nearly twice his height and built like a boulder, lumbered toward him on all fours.
It had spotted an easy midnight snack.
Shiro didn’t need to look back.
The stench of rotting meat and wet fur hit his nostrils, making his stomach cramp violently.
He choked back the urge to vomit.
His mind was a total blank–he still had no clue how he’d ended up in this frozen hellscape.
The bear lunged, its massive claws ready to shred his fragile frame, when a sharp whistle cut through the air.
THWACK!
The sound of steel biting through bone echoed in Shiro’s ears.
In a heartbeat, the bear’s head hit the snow with a heavy thud.
Blood erupted from the severed neck like a crimson fountain, staining the pristine white landscape a shocking, vivid red.
Shiro forced his head around, eyes wide with pure shock as he stared at the decapitated beast.
“It’s…
it’s dead?”
The weapon wasn’t some legendary blade.
It was a simple wood-cutting axe, chipped at the edge, buried deep in the snow nearby.
Who could throw an axe with enough force to decapitate a bear in the middle of a blizzard?
And in the pitch black of night?
A small figure emerged from the white-out, sprinting toward him.
The stranger checked his pulse and let out a long, ragged sigh of relief.
“What is a child doing out here in the mountains?”
The boy, who looked no older than twelve or thirteen, helped Shiro up.
He seemed stunned to find an eight-year-old lost in the wilderness.
*Why would a kid be up here at night?* the boy wondered.
Even grown men wouldn’t dare trek through this storm.
It was a suicide mission.
“Cough…
Tanjiro.
We have to take him back.
He won’t last a minute out here dressed like that.”
The voice was weak but pierced through the howling north wind with unnatural clarity.
Leaning against the boy–Tanjiro–Shiro squinted.
Standing a few feet away was a gaunt, sickly man.
With his sunken cheeks and the same deep red hair as the boy, the family resemblance was obvious.
The man stepped past the dead bear, his movements fluid despite his frail frame.
He bent down, retrieved the axe, and turned back toward the trail.
He walked with a strange, ghostly grace; even in the deep drifts, he left almost no footprints behind.
“If you’re hurt, I’ll carry you,” Tanjiro said.
His nose twitched–he could smell the toxic cocktail of exhaustion and terror clinging to the stranger.
“Yeah…
thanks.
I can’t really feel my legs right now,” Shiro managed to nod.
It was surreal.
The boy was speaking Japanese, yet Shiro understood every word perfectly.
He also knew exactly who this kid was.
Tanjiro Kamado.
The protagonist of *Demon Slayer*.
Even in the “real” world, those birthmarks and that distinct hair were unmistakable.
You didn’t exactly see many people with crimson eyes and fire-scarred foreheads walking around.
A short while later, they reached the Kamado family’s modest cabin.
Tanjiro busied himself in the kitchen before bringing over a steaming bowl of mushroom soup.
He looked apologetic.
“Sorry, we’re a bit low on supplies.
This is all I could whip up on short notice.”
“No, don’t apologize,” Shiro said, gulping the broth down.
He didn’t care if it scalded his tongue.
“You saved my life.
I’m the one who’s sorry for the trouble.”
He needed the calories.
His body was screaming for fuel.
Even though he knew Tanjiro’s target personality from the series, experiencing it firsthand was different.
To cook a hot meal for a total stranger in the middle of the night?
Shiro wasn’t sure he’d be that selfless.
Tanjiro gave up his own bedding, tucking Shiro in next to his younger brother, Takeo.
When Shiro tried to protest, Tanjiro gently but firmly pressed him down with a reassuring smile.
“Rest.
You have frostbite.
You need the warmth more than I do.”
The small room was cramped, holding nine people in total.
For Shiro, who had grown up with every modern luxury, it was a tight squeeze–but surprisingly cozy.
The next morning.
“Wait…
you want to *adopt* me?”
Shiro stared at the woman in front of him.
She wore a simple headscarf, and her purple eyes were filled with a gentle, maternal warmth.
“That’s right,” Kie Kamado said softly.
“You said you have no family left.
You won’t survive on your own out there.”
Shiro stayed silent.
He wasn’t some cold-blooded protagonist who could just “system-glitch” his way into a new life.
He’d spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, wondering how a kid’s body was supposed to survive the Taisho era.
There were no orphanages in these mountains.
Without physical strength or money, he was a dead man walking.
He’d either end up like Kanao–sold into slavery–or end up as a snack for a wild animal.
Or worse.
He knew “Demons” were real here.
Staying with the Kamados was his best shot at survival, but it came with a death sentence.
In less than a year, the ultimate villain, Muzan Kibutsuji, would butcher this entire family.
Only Tanjiro and Nezuko would survive the slaughter.
“Cough…
our finances…
as you can see, aren’t great,” Tanjuro, the father, spoke from his futon.
He looked so weak it was hard to believe he’d decapitated a bear twelve hours ago.
“But we can manage one more.
The children want you to stay, too.
It’ll just mean more work for Kie and Tanjiro.”
*Slide.*
The paper door creaked open.
Shiro turned to see five pairs of wide, curious eyes peeking into the room.
Tanjiro, Nezuko, Takeo, Hanako, Shigeru…
and little Rokuta, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Shiro took a deep breath.
He made his choice.
He would stay.
Maybe it was gratitude.
Maybe it was survival.
But looking at those innocent faces, he knew he couldn’t let them be slaughtered.
If he could learn the *Sun Breathing* technique, or even just convince them to move off this mountain before next winter, he might change everything.
“I’m in your care, then,” Shiro said, bowing deeply to the couple.
“Thank you for everything.”