1981, Minato-ku, Tokyo
The March morning was still chilly, forcing Kaito Asano to throw on an extra coat.
Who would have thought? In his previous life, he was just a tired office worker obsessed with trivia from the past and present. Now, suddenly, he found himself in 1980s Japan—as an idol who had already debuted.
But calling himself an idol was a little embarrassing. Compared to Hideki Saijo, the legendary performer of the 70s who also bore the name "Hideki," Kaito's idol career was... a mess.
He'd debuted at sixteen, and his first single had sold only 500 copies. Total failure. He'd then tried acting, but the film only ran for three days in theaters—no one even noticed when it disappeared.
Two years in, he still hadn't made a name for himself in the entertainment world.
A few days ago, his agency arranged a final performance, a desperate last-ditch effort. Under intense pressure, he slipped in the bathroom, smacked his head, and—by some twisted stroke of fate—reawakened memories of his past life.
Before he could even process the situation, he was shoved onstage. In a daze, he performed the opening segment of Michael Jackson's Super Bowl performance.
And then… nothing. He was quickly booed offstage. He remembered one guy even hurling a shoe at him.
This morning, he arrived at the agency office as usual—but before he even stepped inside, he saw movers loading equipment into a truck.
"What's going on?"
Confused, Kaito rushed into the office—only to find it nearly empty. Sitting on a battered chair amidst the mess was 30-year-old President Yukio Tanaka, happily eating a beef bowl.
Kaito frowned, circled around him, and grumbled, "Yukio-san! You only bought one for yourself?"
"Ahem—!" Yukio choked on his food. He pounded his chest and snapped, "Asshole! All you think about is eating. Can't you see the office is gone?"
Kaito pointed to the agency sign still hanging above the door: Tanaka Entertainment.
"It's still there, isn't it?"
As if on cue, a mover walked by and took the sign down.
"…Well, now it's gone." Kaito rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"You idiot! What's your reaction?!"
Dropping his sarcastic tone, Kaito pulled up a chair and sat down. "Honestly, this should've happened a long time ago."
If not for the financial support of Yukio Tanaka—a man who'd run from inheriting his family's clothing factory—the agency would've gone bankrupt long ago. Today's outcome was hardly surprising.
"Yeah," Yukio sighed. "My dream's over. You stuck with me for two years, Kaito-kun."
His dream of running a big firm had crumbled, and he looked utterly defeated.
"I guess you'll go back to inherit the factory now," Kaito said with a sly smile. "Probably get set up on a blind date with a girl from a wealthy family. I hear they're all gentle and well-mannered. Kinda jealous…"
Bang!
Before he could finish, Yukio smacked him on the head with his chopsticks.
"Idiot! Don't ruin the mood. And I'm not old!"
Though annoyed, Yukio was touched. He knew Kaito was using humor to cheer him up.
Ever since the stage incident, Kaito had seemed lighter and more cheerful—a huge relief. Yukio had been genuinely worried the kid might spiral after the agency shut down.
"Here," Yukio said, handing over a small bag.
"Beef bowl?" Kaito asked, reaching for it.
"No, idiot! This is the master tape of your first single. I bought it back from the record company—as a memento of your idol days."
Since the sales were terrible, Yukio hadn't spent much to reclaim the rights.
"'Idol days'? I haven't officially retired yet, you know."
"Come on, don't be ridiculous. Want me to hold a retirement press conference for Kaito-kun? You think the media will show up?"
In Japan, there were countless no-name idols like him. When they quit, no one noticed. They just… disappeared.
"Anyway, I've talked to Hirohashi Asako. She needs a dance instructor. Since you've trained in dance since you were a kid, it's a good fit."
"You already found me a job after the breakup?"
"I wanted to just give you money, but my family cut off my credit card. So, back to work, you go."
"So I was almost a kept man, huh."
As Kaito grumbled, he thought of Asako Hirohashi—a plain-looking but talented woman who used to work as the agency's publicity manager. She'd left early on, pressured by her husband to become a housewife.
After a divorce, she became a single mother and started managing a training studio under Warner Pioneer. Kaito often saw her there during vocal lessons. She'd always been kind to him.
"We may be breaking up," Yukio said, standing up and brushing off his pants, "but I won't let Kaito-kun end up begging on the street."
"Thanks. It's been fun these last two years, Yukio-san."
"Asshole, don't get all sentimental now."
"No classy lady will want a man who gets weepy like this, Yukio-san!"
"I only want Nami-chan from Roppongi!"
…
Since the end had been inevitable, their farewell wasn't tearful.
Two grown men—one tall, one short—shouting the name of a hostess from Roppongi didn't exactly set a sad mood.
…
Later, in his Shibuya Honmachi apartment—renting for 50,000 yen a month—Kaito stood before a mirror after a shower.
At 180 cm, he didn't need to exaggerate his height. In Japan, he was tall. His upper body, sculpted by years of dance, was toned and smooth.
Short black hair, a handsome face with soft features, pale skin… and a trace of melancholy from two years of failure.
Tsk tsk… A human Swiss army knife like this? Not just women—even I'd hit on me, he thought. If I wander into a gay bar by mistake, I'm doomed.
After his daily narcissism session, he flopped onto the tatami—still something he hadn't gotten used to.
I need to move somewhere with a bed someday.
That'll cost money.
How to make money…?
His memories from his past life were crystal clear now, searchable like a digital database.
But oddly enough, he couldn't remember any lottery numbers from the Showa era.
Guess I'd better head to the training studio and start teaching dance, or I won't even be able to pay rent next month.
Still, now that he had traveled through time…
Do I really want to be a regular worker again?
No—he wanted to live the kind of life where he could fly to London to feed pigeons when feeling down. Travel whenever he liked.
To do that, he needed to become rich.