Chapter 1: The Curse of a Disappointing Ending
Kanami Reire knew the sterile scent of office air better than he knew his own reflection. For years, his life had been a monotonous cycle of spreadsheets, lukewarm coffee, and the occasional stolen kiss from his girlfriend, Akari. His days were a blur of fluorescent lights and the hum of computers, each one indistinguishable from the last. He'd been a diligent, if uninspired, cog in the corporate machine, dreaming vaguely of a promotion that would never truly materialize.
Until, that is, the day he walked in on Akari and his superior, Mr. Tanaka, in a compromising position. The sting of betrayal was quickly followed by the humiliation of being fired, his reputation in tatters, whispered about in hushed tones around the water cooler. His desk, once a symbol of his mundane existence, became a monument to his failure.
Now, his apartment was his prison, the blinds perpetually drawn, casting the rooms in an eternal twilight. The scent of stale alcohol clung to everything his clothes, the furniture, even his own skin. Days bled into nights, marked only by the shifting shadows and the growing pile of empty sake bottles. He'd become a shut-in, a recluse, the world outside his window reduced to a muffled, irrelevant hum.
His only companions were the empty bottles and the dog-eared volumes of Kimetsu no Yaiba. He'd become obsessed, devouring each chapter, finding a strange, almost desperate solace in Tanjiro's unwavering resolve and the vibrant, dangerous world of demon slayers. It was a stark contrast to his own pathetic reality, a world where courage and purpose still existed. He lived vicariously through the pages, escaping the crushing weight of his own failures.
But then came the ending. An ending that left him hollow, frustrated by its ambiguity and the senseless deaths of characters he'd come to adore. Rengoku, Shinobu, Muichiro, all gone, sacrificed for a future that felt incomplete, unsatisfying. It wasn't the heroic, definitive triumph he craved, but a muted resolution, a faint flicker of hope overshadowed by lingering sorrow.
"What a load of trash!" he slurred, his voice hoarse from disuse and resentment, as he hurled the final volume across the room. It struck the opposite wall with a dull thud, pages fluttering open like a wounded bird. "All that build-up for this? And so many good people just... gone!" He cursed the author, the characters, and the entire fictional world that had dared to disappoint him so profoundly. His hands trembled, not from cold, but from a potent cocktail of anger, grief, and the ever-present sting of alcohol.
As his rant reached a fever pitch, a blinding white light erupted from the manga, engulfing him. It wasn't a soft glow, but a searing, incandescent blast that filled his vision, pushing back the shadows of his self-imposed darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut, disoriented, a throbbing pain blooming behind his eyelids as if his very consciousness was being stretched and pulled.
When he dared to open them again, the sterile walls of his apartment were gone, swallowed by an impossibility. In their place was the chilling silence of a snow-covered forest. The air was frigid, biting at his exposed skin, and a thin layer of frost coated the ancient, gnarled trees around him. His breath plumed in front of his face, ghosting into the frozen air, and the distant howl of a beast—something primal and terrifying—echoed through the desolate landscape. He shivered, but not just from the cold. This wasn't his apartment. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
Then, he saw them. A young boy with a checkered haori, his face a mask of desperate determination, desperately trying to shield a demon girl from a stern-faced swordsman with a half-and-half haori. The scene was instantly recognizable, ripped directly from the pages he'd just been cursing. The boy, Tanjiro Kamado, clutching his demon sister Nezuko. And the swordsman, Giyu Tomioka, his blade raised, poised to strike down Nezuko.
It was the beginning, the pivotal moment. The very first encounter that set the entire epic in motion. Kanami's mind raced, a terrifying realization dawning on him with sickening clarity. He wasn't just reading the story anymore. He was in it. And the first act was about to unfold, whether he was ready or not. He, Kanami Reire, a disgraced office worker and a bitter shut-in, was standing in the snow, a silent, uninvited spectator to the genesis of Kimetsu no Yaiba.