Today at Demon Slayer Academy was chaotic — not the loud chaos of shouts and collisions, but the subtle, suffocating kind that settles in your bones and makes every heartbeat feel too loud. The academy was a college, a place where the students were exactly like their canon selves: sharper, carrying scars visible and invisible. Tanjiro Kamado walked the halls with his familiar kindness, a faint scar marking his temple. Zenitsu Agatsuma fidgeted and whispered to himself, blond hair glinting in the fluorescent light. Giyu Tomioka moved silently, a shadow even when walking. Obanai Iguro’s eyes were sharp and watchful.