The first thing Takeo did was organize the flood of information now clear in his mind.
From what he'd learned through his dream encounter with Uncle Wolf, one truth became undeniable:
He had traveled through time long ago.
The moment his body died in his original life, his soul had crossed over into this world. Or perhaps it was less of a transfer, and more like his past-life memories awakening within someone else.
But memory alone wasn't enough to revive a body long dead.
What truly brought him back to life… was Wolverine's supernatural self-healing ability.
By being acknowledged—recognized—by that fantasy character, Takeo had inherited more than memories. He now carried the power, instincts, and survival skills of a battle-hardened beast.
Logically, to gain such a blessing, one should have to fight the original source and earn their approval through combat.
But Wolverine… he hadn't resisted.
Maybe he pitied Takeo.
Maybe he, too, had once lost hope in life.
Either way, he had willingly passed on part of his strength.
In fact, the version of Logan Takeo met had been the older Wolverine—the one from Logan, nearing the end of his journey.
When Takeo returned to the dream realm later, the old warrior offered everything.
—Supernatural regeneration
—Bone claws
—Beast-like senses
—Slowed aging
—And every fighting instinct honed over 200 years of brutal, real-world battle.
That power now belonged to Kamado Takeo.
It would be the foundation of his survival in this brutal, blood-stained world.
"So… there's no adamantium."
Takeo sighed inwardly. It made sense. Adamantium wasn't Logan's own—it was implanted. And what Takeo received was only what Logan truly owned.
His claws weren't metal—they were pure bone.
But that, honestly, was a blessing in disguise.
Wolverine's healing in old age had declined. His passive regeneration was barely above a normal human's. For serious wounds, he had to focus his will to recover. In that weakened state, the adamantium in his body had become toxic, draining more than it gave.
Takeo stared at the wounds between his fingers—where the claws had pierced through.
The damage wasn't healing instantly.
Back in Wolverine's prime, those cuts would have sealed in seconds.
Now, they'd take a full minute—maybe longer.
Unless he activated the healing consciously.
So he closed his eyes, focused on his hand, and forced the regeneration forward.
One minute later, the wound was gone. No more than a drop of dried blood remained.
Clack.
The door creaked open.
"You're awake," said Saburou, stepping inside with a bundle of firewood in hand.
He tossed the logs beside the stove casually and sat with his back to Takeo, puffing on his pipe.
"When you're ready, come eat. I'll take you back home after dinner."
That word—home—made Takeo pause.
He stood, stretched, and walked over quietly. Leaning against the stove for warmth, he looked down at Saburou's back.
"…Grandpa Saburou," he said softly, "thanks for everything. But… you still have work to do, right? I'll head back on my own later."
"Hm?" Saburou raised an eyebrow. "Not running away anymore?"
"…No. I've thought it through. I was wrong. I should go back."
"Well," the old man said, exhaling smoke with a small smile, "that's good too."
He didn't question it.
Instead, he pointed to the steaming bowl nearby.
"Eat first. Can't climb a mountain on an empty stomach."
"Got it."
After breakfast, Takeo set off.
He was full. Rested. Reforged by the power of a wolf.
The same journey that had nearly killed him yesterday—this time, he completed it in a single morning.
Arriving once more at the Kamado family home, he stood before the patch of snow-covered land. Four graves rested quietly beneath the white sheet.
Beside them… was the shallow hole he had clawed his way out of.
Takeo said nothing.
He clasped his hands together in silent prayer. Then he gathered soil and buried the grave he had escaped from.
He didn't mourn the world he'd left behind.
Truthfully, there wasn't much worth missing.
His parents had passed away long ago. He had no close family. No true friends. At best, he'd shared passing conversations with a college roommate.
He was a man disconnected from the world—and so losing it didn't hurt.
If anything, this new world thrilled him.
He used to fantasize about it—being isekai'd while working overtime, escaping the gray routines of city life.
Now, that dream had come true.
And the only reason he could face this new world head-on was…
The golden finger.
Without his powers, Takeo would have done anything to go back to modern civilization.
At least that world was safe.
He kneeled at the graves.
"I'm sorry for stealing this body… But I'll find a way to make it right. I'll find Tanjiro and Nezuko. I'll avenge you all."
He helped rebuild the family tombstones.
Then he bowed deeply and offered one final prayer.
This body has given me a second life.
If he truly was the real Takeo, merely awakened after memory loss, then this life was not something he could abandon.
At the very least—he had to uncover the truth behind the massacre.
He had to hunt the killer, and deliver justice for the Kamado clan.
That was the mission of the new Kamado Takeo.
"Tanjiro and Nezuko… you're probably still alive. But where did you go?"
He clicked his tongue in frustration.
Damn it. If only I'd inherited Wolverine's nose a little earlier—I could have followed your scent.
Now, with no trail left in the snow, there was nothing to track.
Takeo packed his things, stood tall, and stared down the mountain path.
If what Grandpa Saburou said was true, then the eldest Kamado brother had to still be alive.
And since Nezuko's body wasn't found, she was likely out there too.
Maybe the graves had been built by them.
Maybe they were still close.
Step one: find the survivors.
Step two: hunt the killer.
As he descended the opposite side of the mountain, planning his next move, Kamado Takeo muttered to himself.
He hadn't watched many anime in his old life.
But somehow…
he was now living in one.
Author's Note:
One life ends. Another begins. Takeo's path of vengeance, survival, and discovery has just begun—and the claws of fate are only starting to sharpen.