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The Shibuya skyline was a shimmering sea of neon, a chaotic tapestry of electric blues, violent purples, and burning oranges that bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Leo's apartment. He stood there for a long moment, the glass cool against his forehead, watching the distant hum of traffic.
"My head's in a different space now," Leo murmured to himself. The realization hit him with a strange, satisfying weight. "A few days ago, I was just some guy in Seattle trying to find a reason to get out of bed. Now? I feel like a freight train with no brakes."
The change was profound. The combination of the NZT-48 and the Qi circulating in his marrow had effectively murdered his inner procrastinator. The old Leo would have spent three hours scrolling through social media before even thinking about a deadline. The new Leo? He had a drive so fierce it was almost frightening. He didn't just want to do things; he wanted to dominate them the second they popped into his head.
And that brought him back to Aki Tomoya.
Leo took a long pull of his iced cola, the carbonation stinging his throat in the best way possible. He hated Tomoya. He hated the guy's smarmy "I'm just a dedicated fan" act and the way he treated women like high-value assets for his hobby. But as a strategist, Leo had to respect the hustle. Tomoya had a terrifying level of agency. When that kid wanted something made, he moved mountains to make it happen.
"If I'm going to take him down, I can't just be better than him," Leo whispered, his eyes narrowing as he watched a maglev train blur past in the distance. "I have to be faster. I have to be more relentless."
He turned away from the window, his mind already spinning the next web. "Tomorrow, I make contact with Kato Megumi. If I'm going to cut the legs out from under Tomoya's little project, I need to take his 'Main Heroine' off the board before he even realizes she's playing."
To Leo, Tomoya was a lower-tier version of the worst protagonists back home—the kind of guys who coasted on plot armor and unearned loyalty. Farming "System Points" off a guy like that was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel.
But as much as he was here for the "game," Leo was still a man of culture. He set the empty can on a mahogany coaster and sat down at his workstation. Before he dived into the dark, visceral world of his novel, he decided to reward himself with a look at the local internet.
The entertainment industry in this world was... god-tier.
Because the development path of media had taken a different turn here, the "treasures" available were breathtaking. Leo had subscribed to a high-end streaming service earlier, and as he scrolled through the library, his jaw nearly hit the desk.
"Holy... holy crap," Leo breathed, his eyes wide. "EVA is actually finished? Like, for real? And Hideaki Anno actually stuck the landing?"
He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated envy. In his world, fans had been waiting decades for a satisfying conclusion to the Evangelion saga. Here, it was already a classic, sitting right there in 4K. And it didn't stop there. There was a Kamen Rider 1 remake, supervised by Anno himself, with a budget that looked like it came straight from a Disney-Marvel blockbuster.
"The otaku in this world are so freaking lucky," Leo grumbled, though he couldn't keep the grin off his face. "If the guys back in Seattle saw this, they'd riot. A Kamen Rider remake with Hollywood-level special effects? No 'suit-actor' cheesiness, just visceral, bone-crunching combat?"
He spent the next hour falling down a rabbit hole of high-budget remakes and unique anime that didn't exist in his world. It was pure spiritual nourishment. He felt like a kid in a candy store where the candy was laced with high-octane inspiration.
The copyright laws here were iron-clad, though. No offline downloads, no easy piracy. The Digital Entertainment Oversight Committee (DEOC) didn't play games. If you wanted the high-bitrate experience, you bought the Blu-ray.
"Good thing I've got the Yakuza's 'donation' funds," Leo chuckled. He'd already ordered three massive 20-terabyte hard drives and a top-of-the-line disc ripper. He was going to hoard every scrap of this world's culture. Every manga, every light novel, every niche indie game—he was bringing it all back to his "real" world like a digital conquistador.
He checked the time: 9:00 PM.
"I have class tomorrow. I can watch until eleven, then I have to grind," he told himself, his voice firm. He had to stay disciplined. If he let himself get sucked into a binge-watch of the Kamen Rider remake—which looked like the most badass thing he'd ever seen—he'd lose his edge.
But damn, it was hard. The special effects in the remake were miles ahead of anything Toei had ever produced back home. It was gritty, fast, and exciting—reminding him of the Kamen Rider Amazon web series but with ten times the budget. It was pure fanaticism on screen.
"Look at the trash we got back home," Leo sighed, thinking of some of the low-budget tokusatsu shows he'd seen recently. "It's like comparing a grilled steak to a microwave burrito."
By 9:15, he managed to tear himself away from the screen. He needed to focus. He opened his "Little Black Room" writing software, the void-like interface filling his vision. The mechanical keyboard under his fingers felt like an extension of his own body.
Clack-clack-clack-clack.
The prose flowed like a river of obsidian. He was already 50,000 words into the first volume. He understood now why Tomoya was so obsessed. In a world with this much high-quality inspiration, how could you not want to create something?
Leo's goal was becoming clearer. He wanted to buy a permanent base of operations in this world—a luxury penthouse in Akihabara. He wanted a place where he could officially set up his illustration studio and live the ultimate "high-end homebody" life. With his current income from his "Shadow Artist" gigs and his fanfiction, he could probably afford a decent place in five or six years. But with the System? He could probably buy the whole block by next Christmas.
However, no matter how much he loved the culture here, Leo was an American at his core. He'd lived in the States his whole life, and that was his "root." He looked down on the artists who changed their nationality for a tax break or a bit of local fame.
"If someone offered me ten billion dollars to give up my US passport, I'd tell them to shove it," Leo thought, his jaw setting. "I'm a guest here. A very well-armed, very talented guest. But Seattle is home."
He thought about the "fans" of some of those sell-out artists back in his world—the guys who defended their idols even when they turned their backs on their own country. He used to argue with them in group chats until his fingers were sore. Now, he didn't have to argue. He was becoming the kind of person they'd be forced to envy.
"After I wrap up this volume," Leo said, his fingers flying across the keys, "I'm going to look for some prime real estate near the Akihabara station. Maybe some second-hand land if I can find it. I'll build a fortress of otaku culture."
He smiled, the blue light of the monitor reflecting in his eyes. He was no longer just a viewer. He was a player. And in a world this beautiful, he was going to make sure he owned a piece of the sky.
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