Chapter Text
"Every story began with a childhood dream. An unshakable determination. A founding idea. But sometimes, it began in the greasy oil of a factory and in the worry of a family."
The sound of the whistle—announcing the end of her shift—still echoed in her mind like the bells of liberation. Nezuko Kamado’s body ached. The stench of soot and misery clung to her nostrils. Sensations she had grown used to since moving here.
On her SW-T motorcycle—imported from Germany and coughing every hundred meters—she rode through the streets of Honjo. Along the way, she saw buses and trams packed to the brim with workers like her. Exhausted. Desperate. Disillusioned.
"The city of progress," they called it. All of it was just a pile of lies fed to naive people like her. Like them. She had been promised a job that would pay well every month—and it did; she earned far more than she had as a coal burner—but no one had warned her that the price would be enduring this punishment every day. She had to wake up. Get dressed. And sweat in a factory where she worked under the deafening roar of an infernal machine. Return home. Then do it all over again. And again. Until her mind and body shattered completely.
After several minutes, she finally arrived in the Shitaya district. A slum like so many others in the capital. But still, they said, it offered "better conditions" than elsewhere.
Well… "better conditions" was a stretch. There were disappearances. At first, they were rumors. Stories children whispered under their blankets. Then came the missing posters plastered on the walls: blurry faces, forgotten names. A neighbor. A night watchman. A quiet factory worker. And sometimes… children.
In the worst cases, they were found dismembered, drenched in their own blood. Sometimes in the narrowest alleys, where light no longer reached. Sometimes in their own apartments, the door was locked from the inside, as if death itself had a key.
At first, she thought they were murders. Madmen, or gangs, or maybe revenge. But there was something about how the bodies were left. Too clean. Too methodical. And most of all… no sound.
No one ever heard a thing.
Some of the older residents spoke of hungry spirits. Others whispered the name of a forgotten demon, an ancient legend that had returned to haunt the city’s rotting veins.
But the most unsettling part… was that the police said nothing. Or rather—they knew, but did nothing. Reports were filed away. Investigators reassigned. Patrols never set foot in the darkest alleys.
As if someone—something—scared them more than the truth.
And even if Nezuko didn’t believe in spirits, she knew something supernatural was at work. When she rode through the deserted streets on her motorcycle, she sometimes felt it. A gaze pressing into her back. Something cold and ancient. Something that, when she stopped to listen… also held its breath.
She was worried, of course. But here, worry was useless. It was part of the scenery. So, she did what everyone else did—she rode faster and never looked back, hoping deep down that these events would eventually stop.
After several more minutes, she reached Block B. She parked her motorcycle behind the ground floor of the apartment building, then climbed to the top floor. Toward the last door at the end. Nezuko opened the door with a tenderness she had forgotten she possessed.
Quietly, she stepped inside, careful not to wake anyone. The apartment smelled musty and stale, but she had grown used to that too. She fumbled for the light switch, but someone turned it on before she could.
Her older brother—Tanjirō Kamado—sat there, on a chair near the switch. His face, pale and sickly, was marked with worry and disappointment. His red eyes—usually kind, but now stern—along with his crossed arms seemed to silently scold her.
Nezuko already knew what was coming. She went through this every night. So, she acted as if nothing was wrong and moved toward the table where her meal was wrapped—lukewarm rice and a bit of meat.
Tanjirō sighed.
"You're late again, Nezuko," he said, his voice calm but firm, watching his sister pray over the meal before eating.
She avoided his gaze.
"They just asked us to clean up before leaving."
"You know… you should practice lying, because you're as bad as I am," Tanjirō said with a wry smile. "That was your excuse yesterday, the day before, and last week."
An uncomfortable silence followed. Nezuko swallowed a bite of meat, pretending she hadn’t heard.
"Please, Nezuko. I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to stop," Tanjirō said, standing and placing his hand over hers.
At the word "stop," Nezuko’s blood boiled.
"Stop?! I’m doing this for us. I want you, Hanako, Takeo, Shigeru, and Rokuta, to have a better future," she snapped, clenching her jaw. "I took responsibility for this family when you got sick and when Okaa-san… I want to be able to buy your medicine and give our siblings a proper education."
"I understand that, Nezuko. But what you're doing is slow suicide. You can’t carry this burden alone," Tanjirō said, lowering his eyes slightly. "I already applied for a job as a tailor at a workshop nearby. I start tomorrow…"
Nezuko fell silent for a moment.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her chopsticks as her eyes lingered on her brother’s tired face. There was an untamed gentleness in his features, but also worry. Worry for her.
"Onii-chan…" she murmured, barely audible. She hesitated, then shook her head. "You're sick. Otou-san was sick too, and he kept working. And one day, he just… dropped dead. I don’t want you to end up like him."
Tanjirō let out a bitter laugh.
"And you think watching you kill yourself is a better solution?! I’ve made up my mind. You won’t be the only one providing for this family anymore!"
"You already did it for years! I nursed you when you had a fever after work! You smiled, but I knew you were exhausted!" Nezuko raised her voice. "You need to rest! It’s my turn now! I’m the eldest now! So stop trying to help me all the time!"
Then, a soft rustling. The sound of blankets shifting. A messy brown head poked out from the darkness—Hanako, the fourth sibling.
"Onii-chan! Onee-chan! Please, stop fighting!" Hanako pleaded, on the verge of tears.
Nezuko turned toward the little girl, letting out a small scoff, while Tanjirō wore a calm smile.
"I had a feeling you weren’t asleep," Tanjirō said, closing his eyes.
"I guess you heard everything?" Nezuko sighed.
In response, the other two children sat up. Each wore a different expression. Takeo—the third—had a neutral face, but his worry was palpable. And Shigeru—the fifth—looked both sad and happy to see his big sister home.
"You know, Aneki…" Takeo began, his voice unusually calm. "No… Well… When you talk like that, it’s like you’re preparing to disappear. Like… you’re not our big sister anymore. Like you’re already leaving, somewhere."
Nezuko froze for a moment, caught off guard by her little brother’s insight. She hadn’t expected to hear those words today.
Shigeru nodded slowly.
"Nii-chan worries a lot about you. And to be honest… so do I," he said timidly.
Nezuko lowered her eyes, gripping the fabric of her worn jacket. Silence settled, broken only by the creaking of the floorboards and the faint whistle of wind through the cracks in the old apartment.
Tanjirō looked at his siblings, then at Nezuko.
"I think…" he said softly, "we all feel the same way. It’s not just what you say, Nezuko. It’s your eyes. Your absence, even when you’re here. It’s like part of you is somewhere else…"
Nezuko slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were full of emotion, but she fought to keep control.
"I’m sorry…" she whispered. "That’s not what I wanted. I didn’t mean to worry you. But…"
She stopped. The words burned in her throat.
"Since we were kids, you were everyone’s hope, Nii-chan. The one everyone relied on. And me? I was just the cute little sister. I just wanted to be… useful. To do something. Like you."
Takeo frowned. "But we never asked for that, Nezuko. We just want you to be yourself. Not to become like Tanjirō."
Hanako reached out and gently took her sister’s hand. She looked at her without flinching, eyes shining.
"You and Onii-chan are different. You don’t have to be like him to be useful. You already were," Hanako smiled before making a theatrical gesture with her arms. "Who told Takeo to stop yelling when he got mad? And who held me when I had nightmares?"
Nezuko closed her eyes, tears threatening to spill.
Tanjirō placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder.
"You don’t have to carry everything alone. Otou-san wouldn’t have wanted that. And Okaa-san…" His voice trembled. "She wanted us to stay together. Not to sacrifice ourselves trying to be someone else."
Another silence fell, but this one wasn’t heavy. It was warm. Full of unspoken emotions.
Finally, Nezuko spoke in a voice barely above a whisper:
"Okay. I’ll try. I promise."
Hanako puffed out her cheeks, her face red with emotion.
"Good. Because otherwise, we’re all going with you. And that’ll be loud."
"Besides, you don’t have to change. I can drop out of school right now and work at the factory with you. School’s crap anyway," Takeo added, his tone indifferent as he crossed his arms behind his head.
His remark made the others flinch.
"Takeo!" the siblings scolded in unison.
Takeo pouted and looked away, muttering:
"What’s the point of learning math anyway?"
A beat of silence. Then, laughter filled the room. A rare moment of camaraderie between siblings who had drifted apart because of tragedy. It was fleeting, but for that brief moment, the weight of the world felt a little lighter. They moved there, had lost their father and their mother. They had grown distant, isolating themselves in their roles and fears. They had lost so much. But in this moment—just this one—the Kamado siblings had reclaimed something from their old life: the simple joy of laughing together.
"So, it’s settled?" Tanjirō asked.
Nezuko nodded.
"Yes. But please. Take it easy, or your illness will get worse."
"I’ve been feeling better lately. Don't worry," Tanjirō reassured, raising a hand.
A softer silence settled, as if everyone sensed this moment needed to stay pure.
Then Hanako, eyes sparkling, leaned toward Nezuko, resting her chin curiously on her knees, asked.
"Hey, Nee-chan? Can you tell us the story about the cursed child?"
"It’s midnight. No more stories," Nezuko waved her off. "Besides, I have to get up early tomorrow."
But Takeo smirked.
"Or you just don’t remember it. Right?"
"A story! A story!" Shigeru chimed in, giggling.
Nezuko glanced at Tanjirō, as if asking for help. But the eldest just shrugged. Nezuko sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused.
"Fine. But after this, everyone goes to bed, got it?"
Excited murmurs followed. Hanako snuggled against Shigeru, who sat up straight, eyes wide. Even Takeo, despite his aloof act, inched closer, resting his head on a cushion. Tanjirō lay down beside Rokuta, who was still asleep.
Nezuko slowly removed her tattered coat, folding it neatly over her lap before standing to reach the light switch. A click, and darkness enveloped the small apartment, broken only by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the worn curtains.
"Once upon a time, during the Heian era," she began, her voice soft and deep, "there was a vain and greedy nobleman who wanted nothing more than to be immortal and rich…"
The children fell silent. Hanako clung to Shigeru’s arm, eyes wide with fascination. Takeo sat up, elbows on his knees, fully attentive.
"One day, he met a beautiful priestess, with hair as white as snow and eyes like amethysts. He fell hopelessly in love with her. In a fit of madness, he violated her…"
Hanako flinched.
"And from that non-consensual union, a child was born. The Child with Eyes of Heaven. A child with eyes so beautiful, people believed he could see the future…"
At that moment, she struck a match. The flame burst to life with a sharp hiss, casting dancing shadows across her face. She held the small flame near her chin, the orange glow deepening the intensity of her gaze. Shigeru stared, mouth slightly open.
"But Amaterasu, enraged by the crime, punished the nobleman and the child."
Her voice grew slower. Darker.
"The child would be beautiful. The most beautiful in the world. He would seduce all women and be the model for all men. He would possess strength rivaling giants. No army could stand against him. He would be immortal. Wealthy. Untouchable."
Shigeru unconsciously squeezed Hanako’s hand. He barely breathed. Takeo furrowed his brows, his eyes lost in the flickering flame.
Then Nezuko’s tone shifted. Harder. More sinister. The room itself seemed to shrink around them.
"But he would be alone. His wives would die. His children would vanish. He would taste human flesh and never stop. He would be hated. Hunted. Everything he touched would be cursed. And never… never would he feel the warmth of Amaterasu."
A draft made the flame waver. Hanako curled tighter against her brother, whispering:
"It’s cold…"
"Shh… listen," Shigeru murmured, shivering.
Nezuko continued, relentless:
"The nobleman and his descendants, meanwhile, would be doomed to die young in agonizing pain. The only way to break the curse would be to hunt down the child and kill him. But none of them would ever succeed. Their bloodline would fade into silence and indifference, replaced by one more worthy."
Tanjirō, silent until now, watched his sister with a grave expression. He knew this story—or at least, a version of it. But tonight, it sounded different. Less like a tale… and more like a warning.
"The child grew, and the nobleman had descendants. And everything happened. The child seduced the world, but the curse followed him. He was alone. Bitter. Unable to walk under the sun."
Takeo muttered thoughtfully:
"Shame. No tanning…"
Nezuko stifled a laugh. The match burned out, plunging them back into darkness. Her face vanished. Only her voice remained, hanging in the silence:
"Meanwhile, he was still hunted by the nobleman’s clan, sworn to destroy him, clad in black, and wielding sacred katanas. But despite all the tragedy and hatred directed at him, the child refused to resign himself. He searched for a way to break the curse. He lives… even now. Hiding in the shadows. Devouring those who stray. Searching… for a cure."
The children sat motionless, breaths held. Hanako’s eyes were wide with fear.
"Beware," Nezuko whispered, her voice almost inaudible, "for the Progenitor of Demons is never far away…"
A dull creak in the ceiling—maybe the pipes, maybe the old wood—made Hanako jump. She clung to Shigeru with a small yelp.
Takeo chuckled nervously, but his arms stayed crossed, as if reassuring himself.
"Pff… not scary. Just a story."
He glanced at the window, as if to confirm.
Shigeru raised a hand.
"But… what if it’s true? What if that child is still out there?"
Nezuko straightened, her voice softening.
"That’s why we don’t go out at night. And that's why we always keep a light on, right?"
Hanako nodded frantically, hugging a cushion to her chest.
Tanjirō stood slowly.
"Alright. Everyone to bed now. The Progenitor of Demons won’t attack as long as we stay together."
He gently ruffled Hanako’s hair, then moved closer to Nezuko.
"Well told," he murmured.
She shrugged.
"It’s the version Grandma used to tell. I just… embellished it a little."
"You mean more traumatizing," Takeo mumbled, heading for the futons.
And in the returning darkness, the Kamado siblings prepared for sleep.
An argument had erupted. Decisions had been made. A moment of closeness had happened. Everything seemed to point toward their lives and relationships improving.
Yet, as Nezuko lay on her futon, staring at the fogged-up window, a strange feeling settled in her chest. A dull, creeping certainty. Not fear. Not exactly. More like… the knowledge that something was coming.
She pulled the blanket tighter and glanced at Tanjirō, now fast asleep, his face finally at peace. Beside him, Hanako had curled up on her side, thumb near her lips. Takeo, as usual, had sprawled diagonally, one leg under the covers, the other out. Shigeru had fallen asleep hugging a worn cushion.
She sighed. She wished she could dismiss the feeling and blame it on exhaustion or the story she’d just told. But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t in her head.
"The Progenitor of Demons is never far away…"