By the time Amano Haruya crossed the pedestrian bridge near Minami-Senju, he had walked just over 8,100 steps. His calves throbbed faintly, his ankles stiff from the hours on foot. But the discomfort didn't bother him. If anything, it sharpened his focus.
Each footfall added yen. Each detour, each flight of stairs—an investment. His world had transformed overnight from static to fluid, from survival to slow, deliberate motion.
As he paused at the railing to stretch, the familiar soft chime flickered into view.
[Daily Login Reward Available]
[Claim Reward?]
He tapped the prompt with his index finger, the gesture already becoming routine.
[Reward Granted: ¥84,000 – Deposited]
No flashy prize today. Just clean, usable currency. Haruya nodded slightly, satisfied.
Around 2 p.m., he sat alone in a sparsely heated business archive center in Suginami. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a tired hue across cracked linoleum floors. Haruya wasn't here to print resumes or pull tax records—he was following a clue.
Earlier that morning, the system had whispered a cryptic suggestion:
"Value isn't always created. Sometimes it's left behind."
So Haruya searched—not for opportunity, but for abandonment. For things discarded. Names unclaimed.
And then he found one:
Kagura Asset Strategies Inc.
Status: Dormant
Last Registered: 2013
Owner: Deregistered
Assets: None
Reputation: Obscure
Notes: Suspended due to inactivity. No legal flags.
There was no branding. No scandal. Just a clean, forgotten shell.
He paid ¥4,500 to revive it. Signed nothing. Clicked "Confirm."
[Entity Revived: Kagura Asset Strategies Inc.]
[Legal Custodian: Amano Haruya]
[Now designated as default recipient for legal asset holdings.]
It was his now—quietly, officially. A legal presence with no spotlight.
And the best part? No one knew.
That evening, Haruya stopped for coffee at a low-lit café in Sangenjaya. The crowd here was slightly older, better dressed—university grads, brand interns, finance interns wearing fake confidence and cologne.
Haruya wore a dark zip hoodie and an Achéon Type-F on his wrist. Real. Limited edition. One of the week's quieter flexes from the system.
He wasn't trying to draw attention.
But sometimes stillness does that on its own.
Two men sitting at a corner table kept glancing at him between sips of espresso.
"That's the Type-F, isn't it?"
"Looks worn too. Not borrowed."
"He's quiet. Rich ghost vibe."
Haruya kept his gaze forward.
[Social Status Assumption: "High-Status Individual"]
[Echo Web Triggered – Contact Opportunity Created]
At 7:42 p.m., a message arrived via Kagura Asset Strategies' public contact form:
From: T. Miyasaka
Subject: Brunch – This Wednesday
Location: Ginza, Atelier Nine
"You came up in conversation. And none of us like being late to an unknown player."
The message wasn't threatening.
But it wasn't friendly either.
It was a ping—the kind rich people sent when they couldn't tell if someone was a threat, or a rising star.
That night, Haruya took the long way home, passing through Ohanajaya, where his vending lease now sat active. The new machine was already installed. Branded. Stocked. Illuminated like a small shrine to momentum.
He stepped close and read the tag printed neatly on the bottom:
Operator: Kagura Asset Strategies Inc.
He ran a thumb over the sticker. Clean vinyl. The kind used by professionals.
This wasn't a title in a spreadsheet.
It was proof.
Back in his apartment, the system showed his totals:
[Step Count: 12,739]
[Passive Income: ¥1,800 – Vending Lease]
[Corporate Status: Active]
He lay back against the wall, arms folded behind his head. The ceiling bulb above him buzzed. But he wasn't thinking about light or silence.
He was thinking about the message.
Miyasaka. How?
He hadn't spoken to anyone. Hadn't shared his name. Hadn't connected Kagura Asset to himself publicly.
But he had walked in Ginza. He'd worn a rare watch. His company name was on a vending tag. And someone like Miyasaka—some social wolf sniffing for new money—had clearly put two and two together.
Maybe he guessed. Maybe he heard a name. Maybe he followed the trail of rumors and empty registration logs.
But he didn't know.
He wouldn't reply.
Let them wait.
Let the ghost grow louder.