Content Warning: This chapter touches on themes of psychological trauma and emotional distress.
Staggering slightly, Jingū Yō made his way to the parking lot. As he looked around at the luxurious cars on display—lined up like a high-end auto show with models from the world's most elite brands—it all felt somewhat unreal.
Most of these luxury cars parked in this underground lot would likely gather dust their entire lives. The kind of cars that could drive car enthusiasts insane, the kind that ordinary people couldn't afford even with a lifetime of earnings—for the truly wealthy, they were merely symbols, ways to distinguish themselves from the crowd. Yet, the ones who actually drove these cars were few and far between.
Finding the limited-edition red Ferrari, he opened the door and sat in the leather seat. Leaning his head back against the rest, he stared upward, a dazed look in his eyes.
Life felt hollow. He drifted through each day, unable to find any real purpose to strive for. It lacked even the basic weight of reality. Ironically, those days when he worked hard just for a place to live—carefully budgeting for meals, calculating how long he could stretch out wearing one shirt—felt more meaningful than now.
He had no friends here. Not even family. Every day passed in a fog, like he was stuck inside The Truman Show. It was as if some production team had dropped him on a deserted island, and everyone around him was just acting—playing along in some staged performance.
Suddenly, something caught his eye in the rearview mirror. He leaned over and reached back, his hand closing around a small box.
A pack of cigarettes. Just a few had been smoked. A cheap lighter was tucked inside. Jingū Yō had never smoked before. He didn't even know much about Japanese cigarette brands. He pulled one out. Unlike those back home, this cigarette had an unusually long filter—almost like a passive warning that smoking was harmful.
On impulse, he placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it. Having never smoked, he instinctively took a drag.
A strong wave of tobacco surged into his lungs.
"Cough—cough—cough!"
He couldn't stop coughing. It was as if his chest had been hit with a blunt force. He gasped for breath, then slowly calmed down. This time, more cautious, he took smaller puffs.
He didn't have a nicotine habit, so there was no pleasure to be found in it. But the acrid, pungent smell he usually found repulsive gave him, oddly, a sliver of groundedness.
"Fine, so I transmigrated—but why didn't I get the previous guy's memories?"
The words slipped from his mouth, filled with irritation.
That was what scared him the most. After landing in this strange world that seemed both familiar and foreign, he hadn't inherited the former "Jingū Yō's" complete memories—only fragmented scraps.
Still, those scraps were enough to keep him afloat. At least he didn't have to worry about the language; he could speak Japanese. The original Jingū Yō had spiraled into self-destruction after his mother died. His father, too busy with work, had barely paid attention. That spiral had led to drug use, and it was during that breakdown that the current Jingū Yō managed to take over this body.
He had opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling. Around him were voices shouting in surprise and the clamor of hurried footsteps. He'd been in intensive care, hooked up to a tangle of tubes. Through the haze, only the soft, tearful cries of "Onii-chan" had kept him barely conscious.
Once his mind recovered and the hospital confirmed he was physically fine, he had fled. This body's father had visited a few times, but since he'd been bedridden and didn't speak much, he hadn't aroused suspicion. But once he got better, he ignored everyone's pleas—turned a deaf ear to the little girl's tearful voice—and left. He relied on the fragments of memory he had to avoid being found, especially by the two people tied to this body: the father and the younger sister.
They had grown up together. Any drastic shift in habits or behavior would be instantly noticed. The former Jingū Yō may have overdosed, but he wasn't brain-dead—so the excuse of "amnesia" wouldn't fly. Any inconsistency could easily expose him.
So the best course was to leave. Disappear for a year or two—no, maybe two or three years would be better. That way, he'd have an excuse ready for the changes.
Luckily, the original Jingū Yō had a good habit: keeping a diary. Many important things were written in it—including the bank card password.
Thanks to the savings the original had left behind, he'd been drifting ever since. Either hiding out in vacant family properties or renting discreet places. He had almost completely cut off contact from everyone—living entirely on his own.
Calls came in from time to time—people looking for him, the "friends" of this body's previous owner. But not wanting to blow his cover—and longing for a fresh start—he flatly rejected them all. Eventually, the calls stopped. He was now, truly, all alone.
Fortunately, the drug incident had caused him to take a full year off school. Technically, he should be a first-year high school student now. So putting aside the time he spent listlessly surviving, he still had a few months of freedom left.
"Man, this is like being the protagonist in a CN webnovel… But if I had a choice, I'd rather be in some dumb rom-com light novel. At least those guys get tons of girls throwing themselves at them, even if they're total losers. Those arrogant, overpowered types in Xianxia stories—so not me. I don't have that vibe where people kneel when I walk by. I don't have some cheat move that makes all the girls strip and follow me around either!"
Jingū Yō clutched his head and sighed in anguish. Honestly, he was starting to think that transmigrating into an ordinary family might've been better. At least then, he could've adapted quickly. Unlike now—thrown into the upper crust of society—his 25 years of ordinary life experience didn't transfer so easily. Confidence and charisma weren't something you just gained by jumping worlds.
"First thing's first—I need to find something to do. If this keeps up, I really might fall into depression. Besides… I did swear something in front of the first friend I made in this world. I should at least try to act on that."
Thinking of the person he'd met online—someone he'd never seen in real life—his expression softened.
He didn't dare meet people in person. But humans were social creatures. Living in isolation just wasn't viable. The internet became his only outlet. And it was online that he stumbled upon her—a girl who went by the name "Kasashiko."
Their chats were something he clung to like a lifeline. Through her, he rediscovered the simple joy of being alive—the importance of friendship. For that, he was deeply grateful to her.
"Still… better not meet her in person. Let me keep the illusion. If she turns out to be ugly, who's going to give me back all those warm feelings? And if the shock actually gives me a heart attack, then what?"
He let out a laugh at his own ridiculous thoughts. Looking down, he noticed the cigarette had long since burned out. With a glance at the half-full pack still in his hand, he hesitated—then decisively opened the window and tossed both the pack and the lighter out.
Ignition. Engine roaring. The sports car sped off from the lot like a shot.
"Kids these days. No manners."
A middle-aged security guard in uniform shook his head as he watched the car vanish into the distance.
Unwillingly, he walked over to where the car had been parked. He bent down and picked up the discarded cigarette and pack.
"…Huh?"
The pack felt heavier than it should. Opening it, he saw nearly all the cigarettes were untouched. Studying the brand closely, he muttered, "Rich kids these days… they have no idea how to save money."
Muttering complaints, he carefully slipped the pack into his own pocket.
Given his salary, this kind of brand was way out of reach. But class resentment? That existed everywhere in the world.