Chapter 1: I Swear I'll Support the Official Release in My Next Life
In a cramped apartment, barely twenty square meters in size, the only light came from two sources: a single, dim energy-saving bulb hanging from the ceiling and the glow of a smartphone screen.
The phone screen went dark, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips, carrying a mix of exhaustion, sorrow, and a deep, weary resignation.
Ash had just finished watching a pirated copy of the latest Demon Slayer movie. He hadn't wanted to, but he had no choice. The price of a single movie ticket was enough to cover his food expenses for several days of frugal living. His current financial state simply didn't permit such a "huge sum" for a moment of entertainment.
That single sigh was for the tragic fates of the characters he'd grown so attached to, but it was also for the crushing reality of his own life.
Shaking his head, as if to clear the melancholy, Ash pushed himself up from his worn-out chair. He opened the door, flicked off the lone light bulb, and stepped out into the evening air. The sky was bleeding from orange to a deep, bruised purple, signaling the start of his night shift. Watching the movie had consumed nearly all of the precious rest time he had.
Ash's parents had died in an accident when he was very young. He was taken in by a distant relative, a kind enough man, but one who was already struggling. With two children of his own, taking in another mouth to feed stretched their meager finances to the breaking point.
And so, the moment he finished his compulsory education, Ash had voluntarily dropped out of school to start earning his own way.
He'd been knocking around in society since he was a teenager. While he hadn't made much of a name for himself, he had at least achieved self-sufficiency. He'd even managed to secure this tiny space in the sprawling city—a place he could barely call a home—and he made sure to send small gifts to the family who had raised him during the holidays.
The crosswalk light was red. Ash zoned out, his mind drifting as he calculated his savings and mulled over his plans for the future. The last vestiges of sunlight mingled with the freshly lit streetlamps, casting a pale, tired glow on his face.
His features were delicate yet distinctly masculine. Though his frame was a bit thin from years of poor nutrition, he was, by all accounts, quite handsome. With his looks, he could have easily found work that paid better, but he could never bring himself to do it. Perhaps his principles were too old-fashioned. Or perhaps, back then, he just hadn't been hungry enough to compromise.
Time has a way of slipping by when one's mind is elsewhere. The red light, which Ash had often complained was far too long, had silently turned green while he was lost in thought.
Pulling himself from his reverie, Ash stepped off the curb and started across the empty street. As he walked, his thoughts drifted back to the movie, the anime, and the bits of the original manga he'd scrolled through online. He thought of all those characters whose stories ended in heartbreak and regret, leaving a lingering ache in his chest.
The thoughts were fleeting, pushed to the back of his mind as the curb on the other side of the street came into view.
Then, a sound from nearby—a violent screech of tires. Before Ash could even turn his head, the neat grid of tiles on the sidewalk ahead seemed to lurch sideways in his vision.
In the split second before his foot touched the pavement, an out-of-control car slammed into the curb. The entire chassis launched into the air, a dark metal beast soaring over the line of cars waiting at the light. It found Ash just as he was about to step to safety.
His brain only registered the searing, full-body agony after he had already hit the asphalt and skidded several meters.
His vision was a blur, stained with the dark red of burst capillaries. Blood poured from his nose and mouth, and each ragged attempt to breathe came with the gurgling sound of bubbles. Broken ribs had punctured his lungs. The pain was so intense it should have rendered him unconscious, but a massive surge of adrenaline kept a fragile thread of awareness intact.
His limbs were numb, capable of feeling nothing but pain. Through the high-pitched ringing in his ears, he could faintly hear the panicked screams of passersby.
In his final moments, his short life of less than twenty years flashed before his eyes. He realized, with a strange sense of clarity, that the most guilty thing he had ever done was watch pirated anime and read pirated novels.
As his consciousness finally began to dissolve into the encroaching darkness, one last thought surfaced in his fading mind.
I swear I'll support the official release in my next life.
…
"My dear son, today is your fourth birthday. How about Daddy plays hide-and-seek with you? You hide well, and Daddy will come find you…"
"Do we really have to… he's still so small…"
…
"Poor child…"
"I have no descendants of my own. From now on, you will follow me."
…
"From today on, my name will be Kanzaki Akira."
"Child, you… sigh…"
…
"Hiss—"
Kanzaki Akira gasped, hissing in pain as he broke free from the fragmented memories. He clutched his head and slowly pushed himself to his feet. A damp, sticky warmth coated his hand, a grim reminder of what had just happened.
He was Ash, reincarnated. Now Kanzaki Akira, he had been born into another poor family. When he was four, under the crushing pressure of survival, his parents had abandoned him.
He could still see the man's forced smile, could still picture the sallow, tear-streaked face of the woman peeking out from behind a dirt mound a short distance away.
By some miracle, just as he was about to collapse from hunger, he was found by an old man named Kanzaki Keizan, who took him in and cared for him as if he were his own grandson. The old man lived in town and had once been wealthy, but his son had committed a terrible crime, costing him his life and the family's fortune. Since then, the old man had been all alone.
Akira lived with him for nearly three years, learning to read and write. He had proactively taken the surname "Kanzaki" and the name "Akira." The old man was both gratified and a little helpless at the gesture, but seeing Akira's quiet insistence, he didn't object.
But the old man's body was frail. He couldn't survive one particularly harsh winter.
In an era where the common folk struggled just to eat and the powerful did as they pleased, an eight-year-old boy had no way of holding onto property. After burying the old man, Akira took what little money he could easily hide and began to wander once more.
Eventually, he was taken in by the head monk of a small, remote temple.
The temple was also home to more than ten other orphans around his age. For a group of children who had all lost their homes, being together with their "own kind" was a small, shared happiness.
The only exception was a boy named Kaigaku.
Yes, that Kaigaku. And in this very temple, there was also a tall, powerfully built, and naturally blind monk named Himejima Gyomei.
Just yesterday, Kaigaku had been caught stealing from the temple for the umpteenth time and was thrown out by the others. But he had snuck back in the middle of the night. As he was furtively tampering with the incense burner in their shared room, Akira, who had woken by chance, caught him in the act.
In the ensuing argument and scuffle, Kaigaku had smashed the heavy incense burner against his head, a blow that had violently reawakened the memories of his past life.
Of course, as these memories settled, Akira knew that all of this was just the prelude.
The truly life-threatening part was about to begin.
As his mind cleared, merging two lifetimes of memories, he had first assumed he'd just been reborn in early twentieth-century Japan. But the familiar names and events clicking into place one after another made him realize the horrifying truth. This wasn't his old world at all. It was the world of an anime.
A world with man-eating Demons.
And just moments ago, the incense burner—filled with Wisteria incense meant to repel those very Demons—had been destroyed by Kaigaku. The culprit had already vanished in the chaos. Some of the other children were cursing Kaigaku's name, while others gathered around Akira, worried about his injury.
But the last wisp of protective smoke in the room was about to dissipate completely.
If his memory served him right, a Demon was already outside the temple, its mouth watering as it stared at the dozen or so "little snacks" trapped inside.
The head monk had gone out with two others to perform a ritual for a nearby village, leaving only Himejima behind to watch over the children.
In the few seconds it took him to stand up, clutching his bleeding head, Akira had already pieced together the terrifying situation. He drew in a ragged breath and unleashed the loudest shout of his life.
"Gyomei-san! Help!!!"
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