"Hmm? Demon King, where's your signature two kilograms of dry ice today? Why didn't you make your usual dramatic entrance with smoke?"
"Demon King, look who it is—Yoriichi! Hahaha!"
"You're cosplaying Kibutsuji Muzan? That's perfect timing—I just so happen to be dressed as Tsugikuni Yoriichi! What fate!"
"Damn, man, you've got the worst luck! You came as Muzan, and this event's got at least a dozen people dressed as Yoriichi! Not to mention another twenty as Demon Slayer Corps members!"
"Hey! It's Muzan! Come play with us!"
...
All around him, the voices were loud, energetic, and relentless.
And all of them were directed at Amamiya Rei.
Their cheerful laughter and invitations—"Come play with us"—echoed endlessly in his ears, like a demonic chant reverberating within his skull.
Rei felt overwhelmed.
He covered his face and practically fled the convention in a panic, his costume pieces falling apart with every rushed step.
It was terrifying.
As the only person at the entire event dressed as Kibutsuji Muzan, Rei had almost been cornered by a group of overzealous Demon Slayer cosplayers.
He had no desire to spend the whole day cooperating with others just to record over twenty TikToks, reenacting the same death scenes again and again.
Staggering out of the bustling convention venue, Rei stepped into the sharp chill of autumn air. The streets outside were busy, filled with pedestrians waiting at the crosswalk.
And yet, for some reason, Rei felt something strange.
Nobody was looking at him.
Not a single passerby spared him even a fleeting glance. It was as though he had become invisible.
"Was public acceptance of cosplay now so high that people just ignored it altogether?" he wondered.
Rei felt oddly comforted. The world was changing. People's mindsets were evolving. Moved by the progress of modern society, Rei gave a small nod of approval.
As he mused over the cultural evolution, the signal light on the opposite side of the street turned green.
Rei deliberately looked around, double-checking all directions.
Only after making absolutely sure that every vehicle had come to a full stop did he begin crossing the street.
He wasn't being paranoid.
Just recently, a cosplayer had been in a tragic accident. After leaving a convention, that person was hit by a freight truck while crossing the street—and vanished without a trace.
The driver, traumatized, had claimed to have "seen a ghost" and nearly had a psychological breakdown. He had to be restrained to keep from being institutionalized.
The story spread quickly throughout the cosplay community.
Some speculated that the cosplayer hadn't died, but instead, had been transported to another world—an isekai.
Rei preferred that version of the story. It was less horrifying to believe that someone had been "chosen by fate" than to accept a senseless death.
Just as he entertained that thought, an earth-shattering truck horn blared from behind him.
The blast shook his entire body and froze him where he stood.
He hadn't even turned around, but his instincts had already plummeted into ice-cold dread.
Whether or not that other cosplayer died a tragic death, Rei no longer knew.
But if things kept going this way…
His own ending was going to be a tragedy for sure.
A freight truck roared through the intersection.
Then, darkness.
And with that—
Amamiya Rei disappeared.
---
Time seemed to dissolve.
In the endless void, pain came first—blinding, unbearable pain that coursed through every fiber of his being.
How painful?
It was indescribable. The kind of pain that made death seem merciful in comparison.
But Rei was conscious enough to form a thought: He had been hit by a truck.
Just the fact that he was still capable of feeling anything… perhaps meant that he was still alive?
"Maybe my ancestors pulled a few strings in the afterlife," he thought. "I can't waste their efforts!"
His surroundings were pitch black.
He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like they were glued shut—sticky and sealed tight, no matter how hard he tried.
Was this reincarnation?
Was he submerged in amniotic fluid?
That had to be it. What else could explain the black void and the lack of control over his body?
If so… wasn't this a little too fast?
His memories were still intact.
Was the afterlife department this inefficient?
If the officials in charge couldn't do their jobs, they might as well hire him. Finding decent work in the living world was practically impossible these days anyway.
As Rei wrestled with his thoughts and tried desperately to force his eyes open, his hearing returned first.
The high-pitched ringing in his ears faded, and the world around him sharpened into focus.
He could hear the wind brushing through tall grass.
But then—he heard something far more disturbing.
"Squelch."
"Squelch."
"Squelch."
"Squelch."
...
The wet, sticky sound repeated in quick succession.
It was too close.
Uncomfortably close.
And then, realization struck.
The sound… it was coming from his own body.
Rei's desire to open his eyes skyrocketed.
Whatever this sound was, it was accompanied by pain so sharp he wanted to scream.
He needed to know what was happening.
He needed to see.
But no matter how hard he tried, his eyelids refused to budge. His limbs were equally disobedient, lying useless at his sides.
It felt just like sleep paralysis—conscious mind, immobile body.
The pain kept coming. His body twitched involuntarily, and his strength drained away.
A wave of hopelessness spread through his chest.
His nerves had reached their limit. The sharp agony dulled into a strange numbness.
But that horrible sound—"squelch, squelch"—never stopped.
Then—finally—he heard voices.
Voices.
Rei could have wept from relief.
Someone was here.
Someone could help.
It didn't matter who. Anyone. Just call emergency services. Just help him live.
Hope flared.
Maybe the gods weren't done with him yet.
"Why isn't he dead yet?"
That voice crushed Rei's hope into dust.
That was not the voice of a rescuer.
That was the voice of a killer.
Was he seriously hit by a truck and then picked up by a serial killer?
What kind of misfortune was this?
Did the universe hate him or something?
Maybe his ancestors did suck after all…
"The wound is healing?"
The voice sounded genuinely surprised.
Healing?
Was it the adrenaline?
Could his body be forcing itself to survive?
"Is he even human?"
"Stab his heart again. Two more times."
Those words chilled him to the bone.
And sure enough—
"Squelch."
"Squelch."
Two more stabs, straight into his heart.
Mystery solved.
All those earlier wet sounds had been…
Repeated stabbings.
To his chest.
To his heart.
Rei simultaneously felt a strange sense of awe—and pure terror.
The fact that he wasn't dead yet was a miracle.
But he refused to die here.
He clenched his jaw.
He would fight back.
Even if this was his last breath, he would take the bastard with him.
Suddenly—perhaps moved by his resolve—his eyes opened.
The first thing he saw wasn't the ceiling. It was the figure looming directly above him.
Without hesitation, Rei grabbed the weapon that had just been stabbed into his chest.
He would fight. He would survive. He didn't care anymore.
The moonlight filtered in through a cracked wooden window, casting a pale, cold glow over the rough wooden floorboards.
That same moonlight illuminated his enemy.
Rei's grip on the weapon froze.
His blood ran cold.
The thing in front of him wasn't human.
Its body was pitch black, with glowing yellow eyes the size of soybeans. He couldn't see its face—because it didn't have one.
That wasn't a person.
That was a demon.
A real one.
Rei squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief.
No. This had to be a hallucination.
He was still in shock. Still imagining things.
But the sharp pain in his hand—still wrapped around the weapon—told him this was real.
He dared to glance at the weapon.
And what he saw nearly gave him a heart attack.
It wasn't a knife.
It wasn't a dagger.
It was a kunai.
A chill shot down his spine.
This shape—this design—he knew it well.
Memories flooded back.
Anime. Ninjas. Chakra.
Naruto.
Then came the final realization.
The demon standing over him—
That shadowy form.
Those glowing yellow eyes.
It was—
Black Zetsu.
It was Black Zetsu who had been stabbing him all this time!?
But then—how was he still alive?
Why wasn't he dead?
Rei looked down at his chest.
He nearly screamed.
No holes.
No wounds.
No blood.
His skin was pale and flawless.
No scars. No signs of trauma.
Only the bloodstains on his clothes remained—evidence that this wasn't a dream.
This was real.
It had happened.
His heart pounding, Rei lifted a hand to touch his hair.
His eyes widened in shock.
This wasn't his buzz cut.
---