This chapter explores the MC's Chinese origins without the usual bs propaganda.
***
He had a card but no PIN. He had a family, presumably, but no contact information, not even a hometown name to cling to. A stranger in a strange land, linguistically stranded. He didn't even know which bank the card belonged to.
Marching into one and trying to explain, with his non-existent Japanese, that he'd 'forgotten' the password? Proving his identity? The only data points he had were 'Kuroha Akira' and 'age fifteen'…
This was a classic game-over scenario. A dead end before the tutorial even finished.
What now? A park bench for a bed starting tonight? Food? How do I solve the food equation?
A profound sense of dislocation, of being a glitch in the system, washed over him as he wandered the unfamiliar Tokyo streets, a ghost with a schoolbag.
That's when he saw the cat.
It was pure white, save for a single, starkly black tail. It moved with an air of purpose, appearing before him as if summoned. It took a few deliberate steps, then paused, glancing back over its shoulder with luminous eyes that seemed to say, 'Well? Are you coming or not?'
With nowhere else to go and nothing to lose, Kuroha Akira, in a moment of pure narrative desperation, decided to follow it. Maybe this was how isekai protagonists found their rich, lonely patronesses?
And he did meet one.
A true lady of means… a wealthy obaa-san.
Kobayashi Mika, seventy-four years young, lived in a modest but well-kept detached house with two stories and a pocket-sized garden. When she spotted the lost-looking boy trailing a cat to her gate, she seemed to understand everything at a glance. She simply waved a weathered hand and spoke in the crisp, familiar tones of his true mother tongue: "Gen wo lai." Come with me.
Kuroha Akira froze, thinking the stress was making him hallucinate. Then came the follow-up, tinged with impatience: "Hai zhan zhe gan shenme?" What are you still standing there for?
She really was speaking it! But how did she know? Who was this mystical old woman?
Regardless, Kuroha Akira was thus ushered into Granny Kobayashi's home. He ate a plate of steaming curry rice that tasted like salvation, and was granted a temporary sanctuary—a room roughly four-and-a-half tatami in size (about 7.5 square meters).
He later learned her help came with a backstory. Her late husband had left a peculiar will: "Should you ever encounter someone brought to you by Kuroo (the black-tailed cat) who speaks in halting tongues, extend what help you can."
It seemed Mr. Kobayashi had also been a transmigrator, and from the same cultural sphere as Kuroha Akira, which explained Granny Kobayashi's fluent Zhonghua dialect. Judging by her accent, her husband had likely been from Hunan.
Kuroha Akira was moved almost to tears. A senior transmigrator! I am in your debt!
However, Granny Kobayashi was no pushover. Her help wasn't unconditional. She would provide room, board, and cover his school fees only until he could stand on his own. Once he started earning, he'd have to repay every yen of rent and living expenses. It was, in essence, a living student loan.
Even so, Kuroha Akira's gratitude was boundless. Without her, he'd likely have experienced a swift, second demise on the cold streets of a foreign world.
He wasn't her only charity case, either. She housed two others, but their schedules were so erratic Kuroha Akira had barely glimpsed them.
Once his basic survival was secured, Kuroha Akira launched his two-pronged campaign: language acquisition and world assessment.
He quickly realized this Japan held subtle, yet profound, differences from the one in his memory.
A glance at a world map showed familiar shapes—four oceans, seven continents. But the landmasses… something was off. He wasn't looking at Japan, but at the vast country across the sea, his previous homeland. Instead of the serene, brooding hen shape he knew, it now resembled… a proud rooster with a distinct comb, tail, and sturdy drumsticks.
Baffled, he shelved the map and cracked open a world history textbook. The broad strokes were recognizable—the major events, the iconic figures, all seemed to line up. But as the timeline marched into the modern era, the narrative swerved into the unbelievable.
Overseas developments made him blurt, "Muri da!" Impossible! It wasn't just the emergence of a few extraordinary individuals; it was as if an entire convention of cheat-code users had convened. Could this be the handiwork of other transmigrators?
Japan's own modern history was even more mind-bending. It seemed the nation had embarked on… an unforeseen path? The surreal scenario of a nation resisting itself appeared to have genuinely occurred, though it seemed to have stalled mid-process, leaving the country in a state of paternal ambiguity.
Kuroha Akira had zero interest in politics, especially not another country's convoluted past. The wheels of history had turned, and it had little bearing on his immediate crisis.
At least, by the present day, this Japan had evolved into a recognizable, even nostalgically charming, form. High school uniforms were transitioning from sailor suits to blazers, but gym classes still demanded those infamous bloomers, pool lessons required the classic sukumizu, and Akihabara remained a geek mecca… So far, so good.
However, the butterfly effect of national-level changes was terrifying in its totality. None of the corporate giants Kuroha Akira remembered from his world existed here. Names like So○y, Ni○tendo, Mit○ubishi, Toy○ta were absent from the business landscape.
Yet, the Famicom had still been born. Arcades thrived. The manga, anime, and gaming industries were vibrant and booming. Crucially, Japan had not plunged into its 'Lost Decades'—the economic bubble had not yet burst.
This, for Kuroha Akira, was bittersweet news.
His advantage of foresight was obliterated. Dreams of getting rich quick by memorizing stock trends or lottery numbers evaporated instantly.
But since transmigration was his irreversible reality, he was determined to carve out a comfortable life here, no matter what.
And to live comfortably, the essential ingredient was, naturally… okane! Cash! Yen!
However, Kuroha Akira's ambition wasn't to work for money. He wanted to earn it while reclining. While not unattractive, his looks weren't devastating enough to secure a lifetime of patronage from a sugar mama. Besides, even a kept man's life involved exhausting emotional labor and navigating complex social webs—far from his ideal of lazy bliss.
His true goal was a state of financial freedom: enough resources to do as he pleased, even if that meant doing absolutely nothing at all.
To reach that pinnacle, he needed start-up capital.
His initial plan was plagiarism—leaning on his past life as a writer. With a mental library of hit stories, surely he could make a splash.
But the discovery of his humble 'cheat'—the ability to see talents and proficiencies—had hatched a more mischievous, and potentially more lucrative, scheme.
Meeting the Class President had crystallized this plan further.
Running into Asato Hitomi on the last day of summer vacation, securing free lunches and… other bonuses… was a fantastic windfall. But for Kuroha Akira's grand strategy, the Class President herself was not the ultimate target.
She was a 'self-aware genius.' She knew her talents and had diligently cultivated them into skills.
But what about the unaware geniuses? The bookworm with a latent, A-rank talent for baseball who has never held a bat? The quiet girl with a sublime, undiscovered singing voice? Talents buried by circumstance, never to see the light of day.
Kuroha Akira could see those talents. If he could identify such diamonds in the rough, befriend them, guide their development, and steer them toward professional success… then he could rightfully claim a finder's fee! A manager's cut!
What was the annual salary of a top professional baseball player again? Once they hit the big leagues, surely they wouldn't mind sharing a little with the 'brother' who believed in them first?
Of course, if given a pure choice, Kuroha Akira would still prefer the soft life of being supported by a wealthy partner.
But if a sworn brother was willing to bankroll his lazy existence, he certainly wouldn't say no.
He would live off women and men! Only by mastering both arts could he be considered a truly well-rounded master!
To freeload off everyone, and become the undisputed King of Soft Rice!