Transmigration

"Ugh..." His head hurt so much...

Nakayama Takuya managed to open his eyes. He was lying on a soft tatami mat, and a gentle, warm light filled his vision, filtering through the paper-covered lattice doors. It wasn't harsh at all; it was actually quite soothing.

Where was he?

He propped himself up on the tatami, but his whole body felt weak and sore, as if he'd just run a marathon. He looked around. The room was simply furnished, with a piece of calligraphy hanging on the wall that read "Conquer yourself and return to propriety." The brushstrokes were forceful. In the corner stood a small low table with a rather elegant tea set on it.

"Did I... get transported to another world?" Nakayama Takuya murmured, his voice trembling slightly. Memories surged into his mind like floodwaters bursting through a dam, threatening to drown him.

He clearly remembered that he'd been a hardcore gamer in 2025. That night, after watching Nintendo's special Nintendo Switch 2 Direct, he'd complained, "How come all the games supporting the console are either paid upgrades for the NS or a bunch of ports? And what's with this Japanese-language tax? Why are all the game companies like this? They get comfortable and then drop a turd. The NS did it, the PlayStation 4 did it, and the Xbox 360 did it too." Then he'd taken a swig of beer that might or might not have been past its expiration date and fallen asleep.

He hadn't expected to wake up with his soul transported to Japan.

The calendar on the table clearly showed the date in red: March 23, 1985. The sixtieth year of Showa!

Wait... Nakayama Takuya? As waves of pounding pain crashed through his head, he gradually began to absorb the original owner's memories. After sweating profusely, he finally figured out who he was. This Nakayama Takuya was none other than the youngest son of Nakayama Hayao, president of Sega!

The original owner had just graduated from Tokyo Institute of Technology, a bona fide top student. At his graduation party, a few troublemaking friends had egged him on to compete in a drinking match. He'd forced himself to keep drinking until he "died," and then Takuya's soul had taken over his body.

"Sega... 1985... I just roasted a bunch of game companies, and now I've been reborn as Sega's heir? Does the Rebirth Department at Qidian like the 'if you can do it, then do it yourself' routine too?" Nakayama Takuya's eyes gradually brightened, and the corners of his mouth lifted without him realizing it. "So it's Nintendo, huh? This time, I'll lead Sega and crush you."

"But the most important thing right now is..." Nakayama Takuya scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he tried to calm down. "I need to figure out what's going on, and... what kind of person this 'young master of the Nakayama family' usually is. I can't let anyone find out."

He didn't want to give himself away right after arriving and get mistaken for someone with split personality disorder.

Nakayama Takuya frantically searched through the fragments of the original owner's memories, piecing them together little by little, like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, trying to reconstruct a complete picture of "Nakayama Takuya."

Just as he'd finished going over the original owner's memories, a gentle voice came from outside the door, tinged with concern.

"Master Takuya, are you awake?"

"Ah... I'm awake," Nakayama Takuya replied. His throat still felt dry and tight.

The sliding door soundlessly opened, and a middle-aged woman in a simple, elegant kimono stepped inside. Her face was kind; she was Keiko, a maid in the Nakayama household. Seeing that Nakayama Takuya had managed to sit up, she hurried over and crouched beside him, studying his complexion with concern. "Master Takuya, are you feeling any better? You still don't look well. Why don't you lie down a little longer?"

Nakayama Takuya waved a hand and managed a fairly natural smile. "I'm fine now, Auntie Keiko. I feel much better after sleeping. I just... drank too much by accident yesterday." He pressed a hand to his temple, putting on the act of someone still hungover.

"Ah, it's nice that you and your friends had a good time, but you should take care of your health too," Keiko chided him, though her voice was full of affection. "Go get yourself ready. I'll prepare breakfast. Would you like udon, as usual?"

"Mm, sorry for the trouble, Auntie Keiko," Nakayama Takuya replied, rummaging through the wardrobe for a change of clothes. He asked casually, "By the way, where's Father?"

"Master is home today. He's having tea in the back garden. He told me to have you go see him once you woke up," Keiko answered.

"Having tea? So early in the morning..." Nakayama Takuya thought to himself. His new father's tastes were quite old-fashioned, but this was a good opportunity to sound him out. "All right, I understand." He nodded without letting anything show, secretly relieved. His responses so far shouldn't have given him away.

Keiko rose and considerately slid the door shut behind her. Nakayama Takuya went into the washroom, where the cold water splashed over his face and cleared his muddled head. The mirror reflected a young face with a hint of boyishness. It belonged to the original owner, and now it belonged to him.

"This body's not bad, and I'm not too short either. Good enough." He briefly assessed his new body, then took a quick shower.

After changing into simple house clothes, he returned to the outer room. A steaming bowl of miso udon was already waiting on the low table. Golden fried tofu had soaked up the broth, and a perfectly cooked soft-boiled egg rested on top. It was the original owner's favorite, just as he remembered. The aroma made his stomach growl. This was a genuine Japanese breakfast from the eighties—far better than the fast-food deliveries of his own era.

Nakayama Takuya sat down and picked up his chopsticks, slurping down the noodles. They were chewy, the broth was rich, and the soft egg yolk was wonderfully creamy. It warmed his stomach. Mm, this tasted great. He polished off breakfast in no time, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then got to his feet, straightened his clothes, and headed for the back garden.

After passing through several corridors, he came upon a traditional Japanese garden. It was March, and several cherry trees were in full bloom. A breeze swept through, sending pink and white petals drifting down like fine snow, onto the flagstones and into the babbling stream. The air was filled with the faint scent of blossoms and damp earth.

In the depths of the garden, beneath a cherry tree, Nakayama Hayao sat with his back to him in front of a low table. He wore a dark blue kimono, his figure upright and imposing. Even from behind, he exuded a calm authority. An antique clay tea set sat on the table, wisps of steam curling from it.

"Father," Nakayama Takuya said as he approached, stopping a few steps away and bowing slightly.

Nakayama Hayao didn't turn around right away. He merely lifted his teacup and took a small sip before turning at last. His gaze settled on Nakayama Takuya, calm but appraising. "Mm, Takuya. You're awake."

"Yes, Father."

"Sit." Nakayama Hayao gestured toward the cushion across from him.

Nakayama Takuya settled onto the cushion in the posture he remembered, kneeling with his back straight and trying to look as proper as possible. Facing the legendary head of Sega, he still felt a little nervous.