Chapter 1: Wait—Where's My Exit Button?
"Kucha, I have nothing more to teach you."
Deep in the mountains of Honshu, far from human settlements.
A silver-haired old man stood in the training ground with his back to the boy behind him. His face was deeply lined, his posture steady as stone.
"You have mastered all the sword forms," he said slowly, "as well as the breathing techniques."
"From this day forward, you have crossed the threshold."
"According to the traditions of the Demon Slayer Corps, your next step is to participate in the Final Selection. If you survive, you will become an official member."
The boy behind him remained silent.
Sensing this, the old man felt a faint ripple in his heart.
His name was Kazami Kyouki—a retired Demon Slayer who now lived in seclusion, training successors for the Corps.
Behind him stood the student he had personally taught for a full year: Kucha Natsumi.
The boy was exceptionally talented.
Hardworking. Calm. Pure of heart.
Yet now that his student had learned everything he could teach and was finally ready to leave, Kazami felt a long-suppressed hesitation resurface.
The Final Selection was infamous for its brutal mortality rate.
After a year of living together, Kazami had long since begun to regard the boy as family. Watching him step onto a path soaked in blood filled him with quiet dread.
When Kazami finally turned around—
He saw the same calm expression as always.
The same expression Kucha had worn a year ago, when Kazami had pulled him from the ruins of a massacre.
Those eyes were clear and deep, free of fear.
The old man made his decision.
The Demon Slayer Corps existed to slay demons.
Anyone who joined had already accepted death.
"Kucha," Kazami said, "take this Nichirin Blade with you when you depart."
"It's old, but it's better than traveling unarmed."
"You know this already—only blades forged from scarlet sand iron can truly kill demons."
"I'll help pack your belongings. We leave in three days."
The boy remained silent.
"Kucha," Kazami asked softly, "is there anything you wish to say to your master?"
The boy suddenly snapped back to awareness and looked up.
"No, Mr. Kazami."
But inside his mind—
Skip.
Skip.
Skip!
Wait—what did my bargain-bin master just say?!
The rapidly flashing "cutscene" abruptly returned to normal.
Above Kazami's head, a familiar subtitle hovered:
Kucha, is there anything you wish to say to your master?
Kucha quickly replayed the skipped dialogue in his mind. After a brief pause, he replied somewhat absentmindedly,
"So, Master… after the selection, I'll officially become a member of the Demon Slayer Corps?"
This kid—still so easily distracted.
"Yes. After you pass, you'll travel across the country slaying demons, just like I once did," Kazami said helplessly. "And remember—it's the Demon Slayer Corps, not Demon Hunters."
Kucha glanced at Kazami, then at himself.
Kazami Kyouki (Energy Level: 187)
Kucha Natsumi (Energy Level: 29)
The gap was ridiculous.
Could he really be expected to walk the same path as this old man?
With stats like these, could he even survive the Final Selection?
Then again, maybe he was overthinking it.
From years of gaming experience, tutorial mentors being absurdly overpowered was standard practice.
High stats, flashy effects—how else would developers impress players?
Main-story balance, however, was another matter entirely. If players were expected to match NPC-level attributes, they'd quit in droves.
Thinking it through, the Final Selection was probably designed to be difficult—but survivable.
After a brief hesitation, Kucha nodded and bowed deeply.
He accepted the Nichirin Blade and turned to leave.
Then, as if remembering something, he stopped and looked back.
"Mr. Kazami… after I'm gone, take good care of yourself. Don't let old enemies—or demons—take advantage of you."
Ah yes.
The classic trope.
The mentor dies to push the protagonist forward.
He'd read enough stories to recognize the pattern.
He really didn't want the developers to kill off his NPC master the moment he left the starting area.
After all, he'd spent an entire year with this man.
He was reluctant to part with him.
What he didn't expect was Kazami's reaction.
The old man glared furiously.
"You brat! I'll outlive you by decades!"
"Take your blade and get lost! Stop loitering in front of me!"
As Kucha's figure disappeared amid Kazami's shouting, the old man's gaze slowly softened.
So… the kid could care about others after all.
"He's grown up…"
---
Back in his room, Aeron focused intently on the system panel.
The main quest had updated:
[Prologue: Complete Sword Training]
→ [Chapter One: Complete the Final Selection]
In the skill panel, only a single entry remained:
Wind Breathing Technique
Level: 1 (Beginner)
Progress: 271 / 500
As the main storyline officially began, a new feature—Life Skills—was unlocked.
Aeron decided to study it later.
He had already spent nearly a year inside the prologue—just over three hours in real time.
It was time to log out and eat dinner.
In the game, he was Nine-Cart Aeron.
In reality, he was a hardcore action-game enthusiast on Earth.
Playing cutting-edge, high-difficulty games wasn't just a hobby—it was a lifestyle.
This time, he was participating in an early access test for a mysterious unreleased title:
Demon Slayer: Blood Rain Chronicles.
Powered by the Magic Core Engine and the Onion Head AI Algorithm, the game's visuals and physics were shockingly realistic.
The freedom offered by the system far surpassed anything on the market.
Thanks to seventh-generation brainwave interconnection and quantum deep-dive technology, the time ratio reached an unbelievable 1:2400.
One hundred in-game days equaled a single hour in reality.
Most mainstream games barely reached 1:720.
Combined with the developer's stellar reputation, the game had gone viral even before release.
As a well-known action gamer in 2099, Aeron naturally wouldn't miss this opportunity.
And based on his experience so far—
The hype was justified.
Not only were the five senses simulated with terrifying realism…
Even his cheap master and the occasional visitors behaved almost exactly like real people.
Though some details were too realistic.
Like the foul-smelling outhouse.
Or Kazami's thunderous snoring.
Why spend development resources on that?!
While complaining internally, Aeron opened his system panel to log out.
One life. Four hours. 5,000 Federal Credits.
That was the price of this test slot.
Not cheap.
Four hours equaled more than a year in-game.
After dinner and completing the job-advancement quest, the trial period should have ended.
"Confirm logout."
[Attempting to log out… Retrying (1/10)…]
Aeron wondered idly if other testers were progressing faster than him.
He even considered eating instant noodles tonight to save time.
[Protocol fault detected… Retrying (5/10)…]
As a test player, he wasn't just here to play—he also had to submit bug reports.
He was already mentally drafting one.
[Logout failed.]
[Warning: Unknown spacetime protocol interference detected.]
[System conflict detected.]
[Emergency protocol activated.]
[Deep immersion mode enabled.]
[Time ratio recalibrated to 1:8760.]
[Reconnecting… Estimated repair time: 4–8 hours.]
[Cognitive buffer expanded.]
[Deep dive level increased.]
"…Huh?"
Aeron stared at the grayed-out exit button and the dense error messages, eyes widening.
A system malfunction?
Unable to log out?
In the year 2099?!
And 1:8760…
One hour equaled nearly a year.
Four to eight hours meant—
Four to eight years?!
Wouldn't he miss dinner?!
After the initial panic faded, a different thought surfaced.
Wait.
From another angle…
Didn't I profit?
He'd only paid for a four-hour trial.
Now the playtime had effectively doubled.
As for the years spent inside the game—
With cognitive buffering, it was essentially an extended lucid dream.
Hardcore gamers regularly stayed logged in for dozens of hours to experience long story arcs.
So why not take advantage of it?
Let's grind.
Let's clear this single-player game in one life.
Aeron summoned his skill panel.
Wind Breathing – Level 1, huh?
"Before leaving the starting area," he muttered,
"let's push it to Level 2 in the next few days."