I died choking on a gummy bear.
Yeah. That's how it ended.
One second I was sprawled on my bed at 2:37 a.m., scrolling Demon Slayer edits on my phone—Nezuko kick compilations, sad violin remixes, comments arguing whether she could solo half the verse—and the next second my throat closed up like my body decided, nah, you're done.
Darkness.
No tunnel. No light. No angel. Just—
Warmth.
Not comfy warmth. The kind where your limbs feel wrong. Heavy. Short. Small.
I tried to open my eyes.
Everything was blurry, colors bleeding together like cheap watercolor. My vision pulsed in and out. I tried to sit up—
And promptly face-planted.
Cool wooden floor. The smell of rice. Firewood. Snowy air drifting in through a cracked door.
"…huh?"
My voice came out high. Soft. Childlike.
That was problem number one.
Problem number two was my hands.
They were tiny. Chubby. Pinkish. Not my hands. Not adult hands. Not Gen-Z-doom-scrolling hands.
I stared at them, brain buffering.
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I scrambled to my feet, wobbling like a newborn deer, and caught sight of myself reflected faintly in a metal pot near the hearth.
Long black hair.
Pale skin.
Big pink eyes.
A child's face.
A girl's face.
Oh.
Oh no.
My heart started racing.
"Wait—wait—WAIT—"
I rushed to the nearest reflective surface, nearly tripping over my own kimono sleeves.
There was no bamboo muzzle.
No demon eyes.
No claws.
Just a small human girl, maybe… seven? Eight?
My mind snapped through anime memories like a slideshow.
Pink eyes.
Black hair.
Traditional house.
Snowy mountains.
Kamado.
"…Nezuko?"
The name left my mouth before I could stop it.
Silence answered.
Then—footsteps.
The door slid open.
And there she was.
A woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile, bundled in warm clothes, holding a basket of firewood.
Kamado Kie.
Nezuko's mother.
Alive.
My knees nearly gave out.
"Nezuko?" she said softly. "You're up early. Are you feeling alright?"
I stared at her like I'd seen a ghost.
Because I had.
Because in my world, she died in the first episode.
Because this meant—
This was way before canon.
This was before Muzan.
Before the slaughter.
Before the blood.
Before the bamboo muzzle.
My chest tightened.
I wasn't just reincarnated.
I was reincarnated with future knowledge.
And I was in a body that—eventually—was supposed to suffer more than almost anyone in the series.
"…I'm okay," I said automatically.
My voice sounded soft. Sweet. Innocent.
It didn't match the panic screaming in my head.
Mom smiled, relieved. "Good. Help me wake your brothers and sisters, alright?"
Brothers.
Sisters.
Plural.
Tanjiro.
Still alive.
Somewhere in this house, Tanjiro Kamado was probably sleeping peacefully, unaware that fate had a countdown timer.
I swallowed hard.
When Kie turned away, I clenched my small fists.
Okay.
Okay, Gen-Z brain, lock in.
I know this story.
I know the villains.
I know the rules.
I don't know why I'm here.
But I do know one thing.
I refuse to let this family die.
Even if I have to change the entire timeline.
Even if I end up becoming a demon anyway.
Because I'm not just Nezuko Kamado.
I'm a fan who knows what's coming.
And I'm not going to sit quietly while destiny speedruns tragedy.