"Counterattack System loading."
"You watch Itachi Uchiha grow day by day, unease and anxiety filling your heart."
"Your name is Uchiha Shuren, an ordinary genin who has yet to awaken the Sharingan."
"Initial reward: Three-tomoe Sharingan."
"Your rise begins now. Let the ninja world bear witness."
"First of all," Marcus Lee muttered, "my last name isn't Uchiha."
Marcus tightened his grip on the Nichirin blade at his waist. Standing before him was a demon with a twisted, grotesque face. Perhaps because it had gone too long without feeding, its skin was deathly pale, its body thin and weak-looking.
Gray-blue pupils burned with raw hunger. Foul saliva dripped steadily from jagged fangs, splattering onto the ground.
"Meat… meat…"
Muttering to itself, the demon lunged forward.
It moved far faster than Marcus expected. This was supposed to be a demon trapped on Mount Fujikasane for years without human flesh.
"This isn't the ninja world," Marcus shouted inwardly as he staggered backward, gasping for breath.
System, are you listening?
This is not the ninja world!
How am I supposed to extract chakra?
That's not even a thing here!
Do you understand breathing techniques?
Sun Breathing, ever heard of it?
Change that damn reward already!
Marcus Lee was not his original name.
When he first crossed over, he had already been inside Mount Fujikasane.
The body's original owner had been reckless, desperate to prove himself. Talentless, unable to master breathing techniques, yet he had stolen his master's Nichirin blade and entered the Final Selection year after year.
He wanted to prove to the old man who raised him that he, Marcus Lee, could become a Demon Slayer.
Reality was merciless.
The moment he faced a demon for the first time, fear crushed him completely.
His limbs went weak. His courage shattered. He did not even attempt to fight. He turned and ran, fleeing through the forest in utter panic.
The Final Selection required surviving seven days on the mountain.
The original Marcus had barely lasted one.
The sun rose as usual. Exhausted, he collapsed into sleep.
But when night fell, he never woke up.
That was when a new soul entered this body.
"I just nodded off at work for a moment," Marcus thought bitterly. "Did that really deserve this kind of punishment?"
He narrowly dodged a swipe of claws, his breath ragged.
Years of reading novels had made him no stranger to systems and transmigration.
His ability to accept this situation did not mean he was calm or fearless. It simply meant he had not yet reached his breaking point.
Put simply, he had not given up.
He wanted to live.
He wanted to go home.
He missed the two hundred thousand he had saved after years of work. He missed the dozen games waiting in his library.
His bed. The cola in his fridge. The novel chapters he had just subscribed to but never read.
All of it.
This cursed transmigration. This cursed system.
To be honest, he had no desire to become a Demon Slayer.
Perhaps because his mind wandered, or perhaps because his body had reached its limit, Marcus stumbled.
His footing slipped. He fell hard onto his back.
This is bad. Very bad.
Before he could even scramble up, the demon was already upon him.
"Hhh… hhh…"
Hot, rotten breath pressed down from above. A powerful arm covered in black scales pinned Marcus's shoulder to the ground. Razor-sharp claws pierced his skin.
"Weren't you pretty good at dodging just now, human?" the demon sneered.
The scent of blood filled the air. It was barely restraining itself.
Marcus nearly forgot how to breathe.
Fear flooded his chest.
At the end of the day, he was just an ordinary person who had never seen blood.
Facing a creature like this, staying calm for this long was already a miracle.
But this was his limit.
An exhausted body. No breathing techniques. Sword skills the original owner had trained for years but which Marcus had not yet absorbed.
What was he supposed to fight with?
Nothing.
He knew exactly what year this Final Selection was.
After Sabito and Makomo. Before Tanjiro.
No powerful allies. No protagonists to cling to. Everyone else was just background noise.
Even the system was unreliable. Somewhere, perhaps, there really was a ninja named Uchiha Shuren, waiting for his Counterattack System.
"Marcus, give up," the old man's voice echoed in his mind. "You don't have the talent to be a swordsman."
His master had been nothing special. Just an ordinary cultivator. Not a retired Hashira.
"Side quest…" a cold, emotionless electronic voice sounded.
Marcus's condition worsened.
Foreign memories surged. System notifications rang out.
This body was a mess.
The stench of decay grew stronger. The demon's mouth split wide, fangs like saw blades lining its grin.
The ending seemed inevitable.
"What are you barking about?" Marcus snarled.
If he did not explode now, he would die in silence.
Marcus slammed his head forward with everything he had.
Pain exploded through his skull. Blood streamed down his forehead.
Unnoticed, a flicker of crimson bloomed within his eyes.
"Damn it! Damn it!"
Enraged by the resistance of its prey, the demon screeched.
It raised its arm, abandoning its hold, and drove its claws toward Marcus's heart.
Then it met his gaze.
Eyes like a demon's.
Something strange shimmered within those pupils.
This was not something a human should possess.
For the first time, fear crept into the demon's heart.
Marcus struggled violently.
"Get off me!"
A desperate punch slammed into the demon's face, sending it tumbling backward.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
"It hurts! It hurts!"
This demon had not consumed many humans. Its strength was not overwhelming. It leapt back to its feet, fury burning across its face.
Marcus staggered up as well, drawing his Nichirin blade.
Adrenaline drowned out the pain.
The world sharpened.
The demon's movements slowed, as if reality itself had been dragged into slow motion.
He could see everything.
There was no retreat.
No other choice.
Logic told him that here and now, there was only one path left.
The blade flashed blue under the moonlight.
Years of training carved into muscle memory guided his arms as Marcus swung his sword.