Chapter 1 — Morning Noise
The bird at the window sang like it owned the world. The dog barked somewhere down the street. Inside my house, a messy kingdom of clothes and manga, sunlight sliced through dust motes and landed on the poster of Goku above my bed. I was still buried in sleep, the phone alarm drowned out by my dreams — running with friends down a street that only existed in my head.
The door slammed open.
"Wake up!" Junako's voice was sharp enough to slice through dreams. She yanked the blanket from me and, when I didn't move, added, "Don't make me count to three."
My eyes opened the second she said "two." I stared at her, heavy-lidded and annoyed. "What now? Do you have to make a scene?"
"You forgot," she said, exasperation thick in her voice. "The long weekend's over. Back to school. Now get your lazy ass up and brush your teeth!"
"Fine," I muttered, dragging myself out of bed.
In the bathroom Raito — my little brother — was already at the sink, scrubbing his teeth with the fierce concentration only five-year-olds possess. He glanced up, grinned, and shouted, "Morning, Kiro!" as if I were the sun.
"Morning," I answered. I rinsed, scrubbed, and splashed until my face felt like it belonged to someone more awake. Junako called from the kitchen. "Lunch box on the table. Don't be late."
"Thanks, Junako."
"You better go," she warned, picking up Raito's hand. "If you skip school I'll make you clean the whole house."
I grabbed my bag, locked the door behind me, and walked with my hands shoved into my pockets. My name is Kiro Ayanagi. Junako is older and loud and mean in the way only protective sisters get. Raito is small and loud and thinks the world is a candy store. I kept walking because that's what I do. I keep walking until school swallows me for the day.
The crosswalk light turned green and cars rolled by. People sat in groups, loud and comfortable. I pass them, like I always do, the edges of conversations brushing past me — laughter, gossip, plans — none of them for me. I sometimes think being alone is safer. People hurt you. People leave you. It's simpler to be invisible in a crowd.
At school I drifted toward Class D and pushed open the door. The room smelled faintly of chalk and perfume. A girl with long black hair sat by the window, her hair lifting as if someone else was breathing on it. She didn't turn when I entered at first; only when she did, the whole room felt colder for a second.
I headed to the back and sat. The bell rang and the classroom filled. The teacher walked in — Mrs. Airi Kanzaki — smiling the kind of smile that expects cooperation. She wrote her name on the board and began roll call.
"Miyu Daisora?" she called. Miyu stood, hair pink and bright, and answered "Present" with a practiced smile. My chest tightened before I realized why. Miyu had been my crush since primary school. She sat down and I tried to pretend I hadn't just flinched.
When Mrs. Airi called my name — "Ichirou Kazemura?" — my stomach did a cartoon flip. Ichirou, childhood friend, always the easygoing one. He answered, and then Mrs. Airi called me. "Kiro Ayanagi?"
I stood so fast I almost hit my knee on the desk. "Yes—" the word escaped weirdly, and the class laughed. Heat surged in my face. I sat back down, mortified.
The day passed in snippets of boredom and small embarrassments. I kept stealing glances at the black-haired girl by the window. She never spoke to anyone. She was like a shadow that knowingly lived beside the light.
When the bell finally rang, students swarmed the halls. The girl stood too. I found myself saying, before I had time to stop it, "Hey. I didn't catch your name."
She froze. For a moment her eyes widened like someone seeing color for the first time. "Can you see me?" she asked.
Of all the things a person could say, that was the strangest. "Yeah. Of course I can," I answered, confused. Her hands trembled a little. "Why wouldn't I?"
She sat down again as if bracing herself. "My name is Shika Hozumi," she said quietly. "Nobody can see me. Not at school, not at home. They act like I'm a ghost. I… I've been like this since I turned sixteen."
Her voice cracked. The classroom grew very still. Shika wiped at her eyes. "Sometimes I get trapped like this. I thought… I thought about ending it. If nobody can remember me, who would even miss me?"
I wanted to say something clever, some heroic line I'd rehearsed in private. Instead I found myself saying the simplest thing. "I can see you."
Shika looked at me like I'd handed her a lifeline. "Really?"
"Yeah," I said. My past swallowed by my present — the way the world had cut me out and made space for me to be small — and yet here was someone smaller still, falling into a black hole that no one else noticed. "I don't have many friends either."
She smiled for the first time, fragile and grateful. "Then maybe… maybe we can be friends."
After school, the corridor felt thinner, the sky bruised and orange. Ichirou and his friends bumped into me. Miyu slipped me a small bag of homemade chocolates and a quiet plea. "Can you give this to Ichirou?" she whispered. I took the bag and blinked. I didn't expect what happened next.
Ichirou's face contorted with something ugly and casual. He slammed the chocolate on the ground and crushed it with his shoe like it was nothing. He laughed with his friends and walked off. The look on Miyu's face — hurt, disbelief — made me taste something bitter behind my teeth.
Shika saw it all. She watched silently, like a witness to petty cruelty nobody else cared about. We exchanged a look that said the same thing: people are complicated and often cruel without meaning to be.
"Here," Shika said, pressing a small slip of paper into my hand. "If you ever want to talk. Email me."
That night at home I lay on my bed and stared at Goku's poster. I thought about the girl who people couldn't see. I thought about Ichirou crushing chocolates and Miyu's quiet shame. I thought about secrets families keep — the Hozumi name rolled in my head like something heavy.
I should have gone to bed. Instead I wandered the streets, footfalls echoing in alleys. I didn't expect the explosion.
It sounded like a microwave dumping fire, loud and sudden. I ran toward the noise and found myself in front of a building where a dog-shaped demon — fur like nightmares, eyes like hot coals — had cornered a girl with a sword. Shika. She looked up at me and for a second there was a strange calm in her face.
"Hey," she said, weirdly casual. "You're here."
The demon lunged. I froze, stupid with shock, and it bit me. Pain flared, hot and sharp, then a warmth rolled through my chest and the wound knitted like something being rewound. The bite mark sealed as if it had never happened.
Shika charged, blade flashing. She drove the sword into the demon and it vanished in a puff of black smoke.
I should have felt heroic. Instead I felt hollow and scared and fascinated all at once. Before I could say anything, a man clapped slowly from the shadows. He wore black glasses and a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Impressive," he said. Then, like a joke that slices, he said, "Kiro Ayanagi… rare to see you in one piece."
My throat closed. "How do you—"
He laughed. "Because I'm your father."
My knees wanted to buckle. The man's grin turned genuine, delighted and cruel all at once. "Renjior Valen," he said, bowing theatrically. "And yes — your father is the Demon King."
Everything in my world shifted like a deck of cards. Shika staggered, sword clattering from numbness. Renjior's voice dropped, serious now. "You're half-demon. That's why you heal. That's why you could be bound to the Hozumi family."
Shika's face drained of color. "They couldn't see me because I'm weak," she whispered. "We have to kill more demons to survive."
Renjior's eyes were on me. "There is a way," he said. "If you take her presence — become the Hozumi anchor — you'll gain the title of Demon Slayer. You'll fight and you may die. But she will be seen. Remember, the sun will erase her unless she's anchored."
I looked at Shika, trembling, the idea of losing her to the sun like a bad dream. I looked at Renjior, at the demon-smoke drifting where the dog had been. My heart assaulted me with one crushing thought: I'm already in love with someone else. How could I become what he wants?
Renjior smiled like he'd already decided. "Will you accept?"
The sky above us brightened as if on cue. My heartbeat felt loud enough to be heard. I thought of Junako's warnings, of Raito's laugh, of Miyu's crushed chocolate, of people you can't see when they need you. I thought of Shika's thin smile and the way she'd held on to life when everyone else pretended she wasn't there.
I didn't have time to weigh the cost. The sun edged higher, and something ancient and terrible unfurled in the air around us.
I took a breath, and I kissed her.
A magic circle bloomed under our feet. The world detonated into light.