The World On His Shoulders | Demon slayer x Male reader

Chapter VI

Y/N's POV

2 years ago

I found myself back in time, just a ten-year-old boy trapped in a memory. Inside our house, my father, Kyogo, cast a long shadow over my trembling mother, Shizu. Her tearful eyes pleaded with him as he hurled insults and cruel words her way.

My father's voice was harsh, each word dripping with hatred. "You're nothing but a burden, Shizu! Look at you, the only thing you can do is spread your legs and whine all fucking day! Where's the oldest failure?!"

My younger siblings huddled in a corner, crying and trying to shield each other from seeing. I couldn't bear to see my mother suffer, and I knew what would come next if I didn't intervene.

Trembling, I mustered the courage to speak up, I had just returned from buying some food at the market. "F-Father!"

My father's attention shifted to me, his eyes filled with rage. I knew I was in for it now, but I couldn't let him hurt my mother.

"What did you say, boy?" he growled, his voice like thunder.

Desperately, I replied, " If you're going to hit someone, hit me instead!"

My heart pounded with fear and defiance as I faced my father's wrath. I had chosen to bear his anger to protect my mother, and I couldn't back down now.

The imposing figure of my father, with his jet-black hair and that cruel scar etched into his left cheek, seemed even more menacing in the light. His muscular frame was a clear contrast to my own small stature.

I couldn't comprehend why my father had always been so cruel. I tried my best to be the son he wanted, to follow his orders, and to avoid doing anything that would trigger his anger. I'd push myself to the limit, even training with a sword in the hopes that I could make him proud. It seemed that violence and strength were the only things that could earn his respect.

But despite my efforts, his violent tendencies continued. The slap he delivered to my face sent me sprawling to the ground, my cheek throbbing with pain. My mother's cries and pleas filled the air.

My father's face contorted with anger, his eyes narrowing as he glared down at me. "You shit," he spat, "You think you can talk back to me?"

My mother, her eyes filled with tears, rushed forward and tried to shield me. "Please! Kyogo," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "He's just a child. Don't hurt him!"

My father shoved her aside with a rough hand. "This boy needs to learn his place," he growled, his gaze fixed on me.

As I rose to my feet, I couldn't help but wonder why my father had to be this way. Why did he always resort to cruelty and violence? It was a question that haunted me, even as a young boy.

That day my father took me to the village, not before almost slapping my mother when she asked what for, he had only said I would finally be of any use to him.

My father's grip on my hand was like a vice as he dragged me with him. The villagers we passed by shot us disdainful glances, but no one dared to intervene. They knew the reputation of Kyogo Shinazugawa all too well – a violent, unpredictable man who also beat his own family senseless.

As we walked, I couldn't help but steal glances at another family, happily gathered around a street cart, sharing a meal and laughter. Their warm smiles and affectionate gestures to one another left a pang of envy in me. What had my mother, my siblings, and I done to deserve the life we were trapped in? Why were we subjected to the cruelty of a man like my father?