Haruto knew they couldn’t stay here much longer.

The destruction caused by the demon would draw attention soon. It was only a matter of time before someone from the Demon Slayer Corps came searching. That alone was dangerous but if the police showed up, it would bring an even bigger mess. For a demon like him, lingering too long in one place was just asking for unnecessary trouble.

The world was no longer in the Heian era nor the Sengoku era, where the demons only have to fear the demon slayers. Gone were the days where demons ruled the night, their strength unmatched by humans.

The Taisho period had brought rapid advancements in technology—guns, bombs and other weapons that can cause trouble to the low ranking demons. Although they can't be killed by these weapons, it was possible for the humans to survive the night. Since demons can't come out in the sunlight anyway.

Even Muzan Kibutsuji, the creator of all demons, had been destroyed in the future when Kagaya Ubuyashiki, in a desperate bid to create an opening for the Hashiras, used explosives to obliterate his own mansion.

I guess I’ll have to find out if I share the same weakness to sunlight as other demons, but that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, my priority is solving Kanao’s problem—no matter what it takes.

Haruto quickened his pace. He carried the small girl, Kanao, on his back as they neared her home. Suddenly, she began to squirm, her weak struggles trying to pull away from him. Her movements were small and hesitant, but Haruto could feel the fear behind them.

He stopped for a moment, shifting her weight slightly to hold her more securely and gently took her hand in his. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice steady and calm. “This time, I’ll be with you.”

At his words, Kanao stilled. Her trembling eased and she stopped fighting him. Slowly, she relaxed against his back, though her small hands clung tightly to his clothes, as if afraid he might disappear.

Haruto’s chest tightened as he thought about her past. Was her sudden stillness a habit born from years of being forced into submission? Or had his words offered her a tiny flicker of comfort? Either way he could feel how much she wanted to believe him—how

much she needed to feel safe.

A wave of sadness washed over him. No child should have to live like this. Her silence, her empty gaze, her fragile body—all of it told the story of a life filled with pain. What kind of parents could be so cruel to their own child? Haruto just couldn’t understand it, since he didn't even have that in both lives.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

But before he confronted those parents, he needed to take care of something. His hand moved to the top of his head, where two sharp horns sat hidden beneath his hair. If anyone saw them, it will be hard to conceal his identity.

Scanning his surroundings, Haruto spotted an abandoned house nearby. The owners had fled during the chaos, leaving behind a few belongings. Among the discarded items, he found a black bamboo hat. Placing it carefully on his head, he adjusted it until the wide brim concealed his horns.

With Kanao still clinging to his back, Haruto continued walking. The closer they got to her home, the worse the surroundings became. The air grew thick with the stench of rotting garbage and human waste. Dirty water flowed through open ditches and the streets were littered with scraps of waste.

This was a slum, a place where misery and desperation thrived. Haruto’s sharp hearing picked up the cries of children, the angry shouts of drunken men and the muffled sobs of women in the shadows. Prostitutes lingered in dark corners, their voices laced with forced cheer as they called out to potential customers. The weight of despair hung heavy in the air, pressing down on everything.

Kanao’s grip tightened on his clothing, her small hands trembling against his back. Haruto reached out and gently patted her shoulder, a silent gesture of reassurance. She seemed to calm slightly, though he could still feel her fear.

Finally, they reached a run-down courtyard. The gate was crooked, barely hanging on its hinges and the walls were cracked and stained. This was Kanao’s home—the place where her parents lived, the people who should have protected her but had done the opposite.

Haruto knelt and gently set her on the ground. Kanao’s wide, star-like eyes which were empty before now had the clear traces of fear of in them. Her trembling now more pronounced. He took her hand, her small fingers cold and frail in his.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, his voice soft but full of promise.

With his free hand, Haruto knocked on the door. The sound echoed through the quiet courtyard, loud and foreboding. Kanao clung to him, her grip tightening as if bracing herself for what was to come.

"Who is it?"

A sharp voice roared from inside the house as the door was flung open. Standing in the doorway was a man with a bloated, drunken face, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

Kanao’s father.

His gaze flickered briefly to Haruto, who stood silently with the brim of his black bamboo hat casting a shadow over his face. But the man’s attention quickly shifted to Kanao, who stood nervously at Haruto’s side, her small hand clinging tightly to his.

"You didn’t bring any money!" he barked, his tone harsh and accusing. "Where did you run off to today?"

Before Haruto could respond, the man’s arm shot up, his palm raised to strike. It was a reflex, as natural to him as breathing. Violence wasn’t an exception for him—it was a habit, something ingrained into his twisted nature.

Kanao’s wide, frightened eyes darted upward, and her small frame tensed. She didn’t move to avoid the blow. Instead, she tilted her head slightly to the side, as if hoping that even a fraction of an inch might lessen the pain.

It was instinct.

It was routine.

She had long been accustomed to this—to parental violence and the suffocating fear that came with it.

But this time, the blow never landed.

Before the man’s hand could strike, another hand shot out, fast as lightning. Haruto’s fingers closed around the man’s wrist, stopping him mid-swing. The force of the grip made the man wince, his bravado faltering for a split second.

Haruto’s golden eyes glinted beneath the shadow of his hat, a murderous gleam flashing in their depths. The aura around him changed, growing heavier, darker.