In the early morning, the moment he heard the front door close, Toyokawa Ling sat up.
It was already the second day. Sakiko had gone to school, which meant he didn't have to stumble through the awkwardness of father-daughter conversation for now. Good. He could finally move.
The system panel had quietly posted a quest at some point:
Quest: Find a job and gain a skill improvement.
Reward: Begin synchronization with the original body.
Toyokawa Ling didn't even want to comment on a brain-dead system that handed out quests without so much as a notification. He took out his phone and opened the map. Today, he'd circle the neighborhood first and see where he could get part-time work.
Sakiko's "activity budget" was pitiful—basically nothing—so he'd be walking and relying on public transit.
He did have ideas about work, though. His professional abilities weren't exactly employable in low-combat Japan. The one thing he could lean on was what the "old man" had left him: piano skill.
But teaching piano was hard to break into without introductions. Even if he found a place, he wouldn't be able to name a decent price. So, for now, he had to step down and take the sort of odd jobs that required no credentials.
Which was a problem.
Toyokawa Ling had no experience with "odd jobs." In his previous life, that path never existed. He'd graduated university, enlisted, transferred out after service and worked in demolition, then accepted an overseas posting. None of that had anything to do with dishwashing shifts or minimum wage kitchens—especially not with this weak, half-dead body.
"Tch."
After silently blaming the original Toyokawa "old man," he went to the bathroom mirror.
Stubble. Puffy, swollen eyes. A waterlogged face. The perfect portrait of someone who'd been rotting at home, drowning in alcohol.
He found a razor on the side counter and cleaned himself up.
"Looks like Sakiko's hair color really did come from me," he thought, staring at his reflection and touching his freshly shaved chin.
He didn't like the color. Once he started earning money, he'd dye it black.
"I'm heading out."
He picked clothes that looked like they hadn't been worn recently and stepped outside. Locking the door felt pointless—given their situation, even a thief would probably leave behind a thousand-yen bill out of pity.
Finding work turned out to be easier than he'd expected.
Thanks to a native-language advantage, Toyokawa Ling quickly landed a kitchen position at a nearby Chinese restaurant: lunchtime helper, meal included, 4,000 yen for three hours. Not great, but jobs with low technical requirements tended to stick close to minimum wage.
"So far, people are decent enough," he muttered.
The first thing he did after getting paid was walk to a nearby cigarette vending machine and buy a pack—any pack. After grinding through the midday rush, he needed a breather.
It wasn't his first time in Tokyo. In his old life, he'd been here too—but on assignment, not as a broke middle-aged father hunting for shifts. Today's wandering also helped him confirm one thing:
This world had all the things a real world had.
Especially that annoying, tax-hiking four-eyed guy on TV. Honestly? Felt like a downgrade compared to… Fujiwara Chika.
One job wasn't enough. At this income level, he'd never be able to convince Sakiko to quit her customer service work. So Toyokawa Ling kept walking.
And on the way to scout the route toward Tsukinomori, he found a second job—almost absurdly easily.
A café. Hiring a barista.
"Too smooth to be real," he said, taking a sip of the coffee he'd just brewed. He nodded in satisfaction.
Bitter enough.
He copied the manager and added milk. The flavor settled into something far more comfortable.
But the reason he got hired was something he hadn't expected:
The owner recognized him.
He was job-hunting under his real name. And cleaned up, the Toyokawa "old man" wasn't bad-looking. If the man had once been a famous pianist, it made sense people would still remember.
"It's been nearly twenty years since you were active," the manager said, "but people my age still remember you."
Typical middle-aged café owner, Toyokawa Ling thought—of course he was into classical.
"That's all in the past. Just treat me like a normal employee," Toyokawa Ling replied.
He didn't feel much nostalgia. He was an adult—he'd tasted wealth and applause before. More often, though, he'd been doing work where you tied your life to your belt and hoped you didn't slip. Compared to that, this pace of life felt almost… pleasant.
If anything, this might be the rhythm he actually liked.
Back then, he never should've believed his friend's nonsense and become some kind of "devil hunter."
"Mr. Toyokawa, just master the basics first," the manager said. "Leave everything else to me. The customer flow has been insane lately—I can't keep up alone."
A bean ratio chart sat on the counter. Brew times, water temperature, filter choices for different textures—everything was written out.
Toyokawa Ling had mixed too many dangerous "formulas" in his previous life to struggle with measurements. Within half an hour, he was pumping out coffee that was passably solid.
Still, he personally thought a French press was simpler.
Just… not something he could use in front of certain old friends, unless he wanted to get punched.
After wiping down cups and seeing off the last customer—a girl with an instrument case on her back—he took today's pay from the manager:
6,000 yen.
For Toyokawa Ling's current situation, that was extremely generous.
And it would be even higher later. He'd already agreed to occasionally play piano in the café.
It was five o'clock. Which meant, technically, he could squeeze in a third shift tonight—and maybe add a morning job too.
He didn't plan to.
Earn enough to live. That was fine.
He still didn't even know whether this "debt" was real. He didn't know his ex-wife's attitude either. For all he knew, it had been some marital fight and he'd "return as the dragon king" to the Toyokawa household one day.
But considering how thoroughly the original man had collapsed… that was probably fantasy.
Even if it wasn't, Toyokawa Ling wasn't thrilled by the idea. He was in his twenties mentally. His "ex-wife" would be in her forties.
No thanks. That would just be letting her take advantage.
He pulled out his phone and texted Sakiko:
"No need to bring dinner home tonight."
He planned to cook.
Eating store-bought bentos every day was pathetic. Maybe Sakiko had tried making him meals before. If she had, they probably weren't anything special. A kid working herself to the bone didn't have time to make "special."
He went to the supermarket and bought potatoes and two pork ribs.
When he saw the prices and the tax line under them, even a man who'd traveled across Europe felt his eye twitch.
Are these food prices serious?
While he waited for the ribs to soften in the pot, he stared blankly at the status panel.
Compared to last night, his skill list had gained something new:
Coffee Brewing — LV3
He was starting to understand the skill tiers.
Level 3 was entry-level.
Level 5 was competent.
Level 7 was mastery.
Beyond that—true expert territory.
He was still annoyed that his demolition skill was rated only Level 8. In the kitchen right now, he felt like he could "cook up" something big enough to send Tokyo's police into panic mode.
More importantly—
His distributable points had changed.
From 0 to 0.3.
Not a small increase. Enough to serve as motivation. Otherwise, what was the point of this panel? Just telling him what he could do?
And there was the quest reward.
He stared at his hands. The faint tremor was gone. He could feel a small increase in strength—quiet, subtle, but real.
So "synchronization" wasn't instant.
"I'm home."
Just like yesterday, Sakiko returned late. From outside, she could see the light on in their house, and she couldn't help letting out a small breath of relief.
Compared to her father going out to cause trouble, wasting a bit of electricity was nothing.
"Welcome back. Hungry, Sakiko? Dinner's ready."
Toyokawa Ling adjusted the seasoning one last time, took off his apron, and carried the dishes to the table.
"...This… this isn't right."
Sakiko's brain stalled.
"Sakiko?" Toyokawa Ling only noticed she was still standing by the door when he set the plates down.
"I…"
Then—
Click.
The sound of a beer can opening.
Toyokawa Ling took a gulp and looked at her. "Hm? What's wrong?"
"Father."
Okay. She recognized him. She hadn't walked into the wrong house.
At least she could be sure he wasn't possessed—because no demon would tolerate something that tasted this awful.
"Come on, eat," he said. "I made you braised ribs and potatoes."
He looked at her small frame and felt his chest tighten. If she never grew taller, that'd be rough… but after watching the Tsukinomori rich girls at the café, he realized they weren't much taller either.
So maybe it wasn't only nutrition.
"…Mm."
If this was a dream, then please—let it last a little longer.
Sakiko sat down, pressed her palms together, and murmured:
"I'm eating."
"Eat more meat," Toyokawa Ling said, placing a rib into her bowl.
He tasted the potatoes first—soft, broken down the way they should be. Which meant the ribs would be tender too, the kind that fell off the bone with a light bite.
The Toyokawa household's first father-daughter meal ended smoothly.
They didn't talk during dinner, but Sakiko's expression said enough: she liked it.
Afterward, Toyokawa Ling took out an envelope he'd prepared and handed it to her.
"Father… what is this?"
Sakiko opened it.
7,000 yen.
"I found two jobs today," Toyokawa Ling said. "This is part of the wages. Sakiko… I want you to stop working from now on. School is exhausting enough."
"..."
Sakiko clenched the envelope so tightly it wrinkled.
Enough. This was already too much. A dream where her father cooked dinner was more than generous—so why keep pushing, why make it so unreal?
"Sakiko?"
Toyokawa Ling read the disbelief in her eyes. Without thinking too hard, he reached out and pinched her cheek.
"This isn't a dream."
"Ow—! You bastard old man, what are you doing?!"
Sakiko slapped his hand away, clutching her reddening cheek.
Okay.
Now she was sure.
Not a dream.
"It's just—don't overthink it," Toyokawa Ling said, helpless. "And… I don't really know how to apologize. But anyway, you suffered a lot these past days. From now on… leave it to me."
He was apologizing for things he hadn't personally done. But in this body, with this name, the responsibility still landed on him.
He didn't do a dogeza, but he could bow. And he could say, Hontōni sumimasen.
"What the hell…" Sakiko whispered.
The money crumpled in her hand, and the image of her father blurred.
"Why… why only now?"
She finally broke.
And as Sakiko began to sob, Toyokawa Ling went numb—because he'd known this would happen.
But he couldn't keep rotting like the original man. He couldn't keep letting her carry everything.
Not knowing what else to do, he pulled her into his arms.
At the very least—
A father's chest should be a place where she could cry as loudly as she needed.
-------
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