The early morning air at the dock was sharp, biting, and dense with a chill that crept through even the thickest coat.
Men shouted back and forth as they loaded cargo onto boats. Amid the clamor, Kamado Takeo stood out—a teenage boy with a short build, a katana strapped to his waist.
In this era, the Meiji government had long since passed the Sword Abolishment Edict, banning the public from carrying blades. Only government-sanctioned military and police could wield them legally.
But Takeo didn't care about the stares.
He rubbed his shoulder, breath fogging from his nose, hands red from the cold. Even with Wolverine's regenerative powers, he still felt the chill—he just didn't have to worry about frostbite.
So, what was Takeo doing here, exactly?
It wasn't that he had given up on finding Tanjiro and Nezuko.
It was just... he had no money.
As always—whether in the old world or this one—money moved everything. And in peaceful times like these, it mattered even more. Without money, you couldn't even move, let alone investigate a murder.
When Tanjiro had left home, he'd taken the family's few valuables with him. Takeo was left with nothing but some charcoal—and you couldn't exactly carry that around and sell it on foot.
After burning through what little savings he had, Takeo was forced to do what most travelers eventually had to do: find work.
He didn't care what it paid. As long as it bought food and kept him alive long enough to find his siblings, he would take it.
So he used the combat training inherited from Uncle Wolf to apply for a job as a bodyguard for a wealthy merchant.
With Wolverine's extensive knowledge of traditional Japanese martial arts, Takeo's movements were flawless. No one questioned him when he claimed to be a wandering samurai.
After defeating three hired guards with just a bamboo sword, no one doubted his skills again.
He was hired on the spot.
The merchant even gave him a katana—likely obtained through some backdoor connection—along with what appeared to be a permit for its use.
Now, Takeo was helping escort the merchant's transport team by river to Mito.
The job wasn't hard.
The merchant had already arranged protection and logistics. As long as Takeo accompanied him to their destination, he would be paid.
It had been over a month since Takeo arrived in this world.
In that time, he had gradually come to understand what era he was living in.
Taisho Year 1.
He didn't know much about this period, but it was often described as one of the most peaceful in Japanese history.
And from what he'd seen—it wasn't a lie.
Every region seemed relatively prosperous. There were few refugees. Beggars existed, but far fewer than one might expect.
Yet beneath this surface calm… something felt wrong.
Takeo's sharp hearing—another gift from Wolverine—picked up low murmurs from nearby workers. Even when people whispered, their voices couldn't escape his ears.
"Hey… they say there's been a ghost sighting in Namie Town next door."
"Ghosts? You think it's just a folk tale?"
"Dunno. A relative came asking for help. Said a whole family got eaten by one. No bodies found."
"What… That's awful…"
At first, Takeo thought it was just superstition.
The first time he heard rumors about ghosts, he brushed it off.
The second time, he got suspicious.
But by the third, he knew better than to ignore it.
In a world like this—especially if this was some kind of anime—ghosts weren't just stories.
They were warnings.
Sure, he didn't watch much anime beyond Digimon and Dragon Ball as a kid, so he wasn't well-versed in genre logic. But even so…
If monsters existed in this world, he wouldn't be surprised.
In fact, he was starting to expect it.
He mulled over the whispers as the workers around him busied themselves with crates. Truth be told, spacing out had become a bad habit lately. There wasn't much entertainment, and the only thing to break the boredom was sharpening his fighting instincts.
"All right! Cargo's loaded! You're all clear to board!"
The butler barked an order. The last of the supplies had been packed onto the boat.
Takeo shook off his daydreams and followed the others up the gangplank.
Just as he stepped aboard, someone caught his attention.
A man dressed in black, a long sword hanging at his side.
His posture, his presence… a warrior.
A samurai's black haori draped over what looked like a military uniform beneath.
Was there a guest onboard?
"HEY!!"
The shout pierced the air near his ear.
Followed by a sharp whoosh!—the sound of air splitting open.
Takeo didn't flinch. He didn't turn.
He simply shifted his weight slightly to the side and reached calmly for the short bamboo sword at his waist.
"Again, huh... young master."
The attacker was a boy with a buzz cut, wearing a dark-patterned kimono, wielding a practice sword.
He looked like a tiny samurai himself.
"You didn't even look! How'd you know I was coming?!"
"If it's a surprise attack, don't shout about it first."
The boy frowned, then lowered his voice in a deliberately dramatic tone, like a moody middle-schooler playing at war.
"Hmph! A true warrior should announce even a sneak attack with honor!"
"...That's not how surprise attacks work."
"Sh-shut up! Next time, I'll crush you and teach you the true path of the sword!"
He flailed his bamboo sword wildly, shouting with the full power of childhood frustration.
Takeo just sighed.
Others nearby laughed quietly, amused.
One of the older guards strolled past and grinned.
"Takeo, the young master's been pestering you for half a month now. Why not give him a real lesson?"
Takeo waved him off with a tired smile.
"Quit teasing me. Go play somewhere else, kid."
Still smiling, he bent down and patted the boy on the head.
"Have fun. But my sword skills aren't something I can teach."
Author's Note:
Peaceful times? Maybe on the surface. But whispers of ghosts, blades in the dark, and shadows aboard the ship… Kamado Takeo's journey is just starting to shift into deeper waters.