deltarune_91
In a world built on power - where the extraordinary is ordinary and heroes walk the streets in broad daylight - there exists a shadow that the age of quirks conveniently forgot.
Demons.
Not villains with flashy abilities and grudges against society. Not criminals with something to prove. Something far older. Far worse. Creatures that heal faster than they can be hurt, that have been bleeding quietly into the dark corners of history since long before the first quirk ever manifested. The world moved on. The world forgot.
They didn't.
A shadow organization, centuries old, reforged and rebranded for a modern age - now operating under government recognition as a pro hero agency. The Demon Slayer Corps doesn't make headlines. It doesn't do press conferences or merchandise deals. It handles what the hero world doesn't know it needs handled, in the dark, before dawn, with blades that were designed for one purpose and one purpose only.
And among their best - their Hashira, their nine pillars - is a fifteen-year-old boy who, by every conventional metric, should not be there.
Wrong height. Wrong build. Wrong quirk. By U.A. standards, by hero standards, by any standard that measures strength the way most people understand it, Y/n Kocho doesn't add up. His classmates tower over him. His body can't produce the raw force that defines the fighters around him.
Most people aren't paying close enough attention.
Because Y/n Kocho has spent eight years quietly turning himself into something that has no business being alive - and even less business smiling about it. He attends class. He charms his teachers. He annoys Bakugo with a patience that borders on artistry. And behind that easy, unhurried smile is a mind that has already calculated exactly how to kill everything in the room if it came to that.
He carries his sister's haori on his back and her unfinished war in his blood.
Literally.