When Tomioka Giyu's consciousness sank into darkness, there wasn't much pain.
Only a familiar, dull ache spread across his chest, like something had gently but firmly rolled over it.
He looked down and saw his own hand pressed against that spot. There was no blood between his fingers—only a heavy pressure that deepened with each breath.
Outside the window, the sky was bright. Sunlight streamed through the paper door, scattering uneven patches of light and shadow across the tatami.
He remembered last night—Zenitsu had been making a fuss, saying he wanted to cook sukiyaki for him because today was his twenty-fifth birthday.
Inosuke had slapped his chest and declared he'd go hunt the fattest boar in the mountains.
Twenty-five years old.
Giyu closed his eyes as his consciousness began to fade. He recalled the meeting of the Hashira, when they spoke of the curse—those who bore the Demon Slayer Mark would not live past the age of twenty-five.
He hadn't cared much at the time. Before the final battle in the Infinity Castle, he'd never imagined he'd even make it that far.
Someone seemed to be speaking beside him—the voice faint, as if coming through a layer of water.
He tried to tell who it was. Was it Shinobu? Or maybe Rengoku Senjuro? Or… Tanjiro?
Tanjiro… that boy should be fine now, right?
Nezuko had become fully human again. The siblings could finally live like normal people.
Zenitsu and Inosuke had grown up too. Still loud and restless, but strong enough to stand on their own.
That was enough.
The last thing he felt was the warmth of sunlight falling across his face—soft, gentle, like the warmth of his mother's hand when she used to tuck him in as a child.
Then everything went still.
…
Cold.
A biting chill dragged Tomioka Giyu out of the void.
He opened his eyes abruptly. The first thing he saw was a low, wooden ceiling he didn't recognize, with cobwebs hanging in the corners.
The air was thick with dampness and the faint smell of grass—so different from the clean, well-kept room he remembered.
This wasn't his room.
He pushed himself up. As he moved, a strange ache spread through his muscles—part stiffness from holding one position too long, part exhaustion like after an intense battle.
He looked down at his hands.
They were young hands.
Both of them.
The knuckles were clear, the skin a healthy light honey color, with faint calluses on his palms and fingertips—the mark of long practice with a sword—but nowhere near as thick as he remembered.
There was no scar on the back of his hand from Upper Moon Three, nor the worn marks around his wrist from years of carrying his Nichirin Sword.
These weren't the hands of a twenty-five-year-old.
Giyu's heartbeat stuttered. An absurd realization crept up his spine.
He threw off the thin, musty blanket and stood up.
He was wearing a deep blue haori, simple and plain, the stitching uneven in places.
It wasn't the one he wore before—it couldn't be. The haori he'd worn in the Infinity Castle had been torn apart in the battle, later repaired by Nezuko with small, delicate stitches almost invisible to the eye.
He looked around.
The room was small—barely a third the size of his old one.
In the corner lay a pile of dry straw beside a worn wooden box.
At the center was a small fire pit, the ashes long cold.
The only sign that someone had once lived here was a chipped clay bowl beside the hearth.
Giyu walked over to the wooden box and opened it.
Inside were a few folded clothes, not neatly arranged. At the bottom, pressed flat, was his Nichirin Sword.
The sheath was plain black, the handle wrapped with blue cord, and the tassel at the end slightly frayed.
He reached out and gripped the handle, slowly drawing the blade.
In the dim light, the metal gleamed coldly, the Water Breathing pattern etched along the blade clear as day.
It was indeed his Nichirin Sword—only newer, without the scratches carved by countless battles.
He slid the blade back into its sheath and ran his fingers along the surface, searching for a small, familiar notch.
It wasn't there.
That notch had been left when a Lower Moon demon's claws struck it during a mission.
Which meant—he wasn't the Water Hashira yet.
Giyu turned sharply and pushed open the creaking wooden door.
Outside stretched a dense forest. Morning mist still clung to the trees, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering patterns of shifting light across the ground.
The air was fresh, carrying the scent of dew and earth.
He recognized this place.
This was the house he'd rented while training his swordsmanship alone—a half-day's walk from Urokodaki Sakonji's training ground.
Sixteen years old.
This was the year he became a Hashira.
Giyu stood frozen at the doorway, his body stiff as stone.
He raised a hand to his cheek—his skin smooth, unscarred.
Looking down at his body, he could tell it was strong from years of training, but nowhere near as powerful as his twenty-five-year-old self.
His heart pounded violently, drumming in his chest.
This wasn't a dream.
All those battles, the comrades he'd lost, the blood shed in the Infinity Castle, the peace that came at the end—had it all been false?
No. It was real.
Rengoku-san's bright, fearless smile. Shinobu's calm, relieved gaze. Sabito and Makomo's faces deep in his memory.
And Tanjiro's clear, determined eyes… all of it felt like it had happened only yesterday.
He had died—on his twenty-fifth birthday, taken by the curse of the Demon Slayer Mark.
And now, he had returned.
Returned to the year he was about to become the Water Hashira.
Tomioka Giyu took a deep breath. The cold air filled his lungs, clearing the haze from his mind.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down.
Now wasn't the time to be lost.
If all of this was real, then he had been given another chance.
A chance… to change many things.
He thought of Sabito and Makomo—if he'd been stronger back then, could he have protected them?
He thought of Rengoku-san—if he had arrived to help, could he have stopped that tragedy?
He thought of Kocho Shinobu—if he had been more honest, could he have shared her pain?
And so many others.
The ones who had died, the ones who had stayed, the ones who had smiled, and the ones who had cried.
Tomioka Giyu opened his eyes. The confusion within them had faded, leaving only a cold calmness and a quiet, resolute determination.
He couldn't waste this chance.
He turned back into the room and tied his Nichirin Sword around his waist. His movements were practiced, almost instinctive, though his younger body still needed a moment to adjust.
He went to the fire pit, picked up the chipped clay bowl, and walked to a simple water jar in the corner, scooping a bowl of water.
The water was cold, carrying a faint earthy taste, but he drank it down without hesitation.
The chill running down his throat cleared his mind further.
He needed to confirm the current time.
According to his memory, this should be the second year after he officially became a swordsman—the very year he would become the Water Hashira.
The Kasugai Crow should be arriving soon.
Giyu walked to the doorway and leaned against the frame, gazing at the mist slowly lifting from the forest outside.
The sunlight grew stronger, birds began to sing among the trees, and everything brimmed with life—just like his own, beginning anew.
But he knew well how much danger hid within this peaceful-looking forest.
Demons—those creatures that fed on humans—lurked in the shadows, waiting for nightfall.
And he, Tomioka Giyu, was a swordsman of the Demon Slayer Corps.
That much hadn't changed—neither in the past nor now.
But this time, he wasn't the lost, grieving boy who had just lost everything.
He carried the memories and experience of the future, the heavy, unerasable past, and once again stood upon this path.
He didn't know why he had returned, nor what unpredictable consequences it might bring.
But he knew exactly what he had to do.
Protect those who should be protected.
Slay those demons who should be slain.
Make up for his regrets. Change fate.
Just then, the sound of wings beating echoed from above.
Giyu looked up and saw a black crow circling toward him, clutching a small bamboo tube in its claws.
A Kasugai Crow.
Just like in his memory, it landed on a nearby branch and croaked in a harsh voice:
"Tomioka Giyu! Mission! Head northeast to the Tsugaru region! Reports of missing villagers! Suspected demon sighting! Depart immediately!"
Giyu nodded and extended his hand.
The crow dropped the bamboo tube into his palm, flapped its wings, and took off again—shouting once more as it disappeared into the trees:
"Depart immediately! No delay allowed!"
He opened the tube. Inside was a folded slip of paper written in the Corps' encrypted code, detailing the mission—exactly the same as he remembered.
Tsugaru region.
He remembered that place. It had been a Lower Moon demon skilled at disguising itself as a human, luring in victims through their compassion.
Back then, though he had already mastered the basic forms of Water Breathing, he lacked experience and had nearly fallen into the demon's trap.
Giyu refolded the paper and tucked it inside his haori.
He glanced around the small house one last time, then turned and walked into the forest without hesitation.
His steps were steady, unwavering.
Sunlight streamed through the leaves, scattering shifting patterns over him. His deep blue haori swayed lightly in the breeze.
This time, he wouldn't repeat the same mistakes.
He would become stronger—stronger than anyone.
He was heading to Tsugaru to complete his mission.
And after that, there was another place he needed to go.
A place where, soon, he would meet a boy carrying a wooden box.
Kamado Tanjiro.
The red-haired boy with the Transparent World—the one who would change the fate of many.
This time, he wanted to meet him earlier.
Tomioka Giyu's figure vanished into the dense forest, leaving behind the quiet morning woods bathed in sunlight—silently awaiting the change that was about to begin.