An unfamiliar room with tatami flooring. Warm lights filtered through the paper lattice door, and a calligraphy scroll hung on the wall reading "Self-Mastery and Restoration of Propriety."
Where is this?
Thought Takuya, Nakayama Takuya...or so his memory showed.
He gradually got up from his warm futon and paced around the room scattered with papers, one of which was the newspaper from yesterday, the date: Showa 60, March 22nd. (March 22, 1985)
Wait, wait, wait, I was having fever yesterday night...?
No, I can clearly remember raging about the absurd Switch 2 porting price..
And what's up with my name, Nakayama Ta..kuya...?
At the thought of the name came a throbbing headache, as if a leaking dam of memories had been burst opened.
"ARGH AHH"
"Huff huff hff"
...
The spinning visions and the pain gradually subsided as he tried to calm his mind
~Ba-bump~
~Sigh~ Quite the soft fella aren't you
***
The original Takuya had just graduated from Tokyo Institute of Technology, a true academic star.
At the graduation party, he was teased by some friends and was forced to drink with them, resulting in him getting sick from drinking too much…and being transmigrated into by another person.
***
With my memories all jumbled up,
can I even trust myself to act as my usual demea-
"Takuya-sama, are you awake?" a voice cut short his thoughts
"Ah...I'm awake" replied Takuya with a dry throat
~Swish~ sound the door and walked in a middle aged women with a gentle face wearing a neat yukata
"Are you feeling better, Takuya-sama?" she said while reaching toward Takuya's forehead with her palm
"I'm alright now Aunt Keiko, I'm a young man afterall"
"Hmm....your temperature has returned to normal, and you're not yourself today, would you like to rest a while longer?" said Keiko as she proceeds to tidy up the scattered papers
"It's alright. I feel much better after a good night's sleep, it must've been the drinks from yesterday." He pressed his temples, pretending to be still hungover.
People really are perceptive about changes, fortunately I can remember names.
Aunt Keiko, our family maid. Well not surprising considering my old man is the head of freaking SEGA.
"That's great thinking. Well, you'll need plenty of energy so why don't you tidy up first? I'll go prepare breakfast. How about your favourite udon?" said Keiko as she approaches the paper lattice door.
"Oh, Hayao-sama instructed that you should go see him when you wake up. He's enjoying tea in the backyard."
"Okay, I understand." He nodded, relieved that he hadn't given himself away.
Keiko left, sliding the door behind her and Takuya slipped into the inner bathroom; the cool water splashed on his face, clearing his muddled mind. The mirror reflected a young, slightly childish face—belonging to the original owner of this body, and also to him now.
Heh, the height isn't too bad. Could get some jawline with moderate fat loss.
Takuya gave a brief assessment of himself then took a quick shower.
***
In the outer room, a steaming bowl of miso udon lay on the table. Golden-brown fried tofu soaked up the broth, topped with a perfectly cooked soft-boiled egg—exactly a favourite flavour of Takuya's former self. The aroma was irresistible, whetting his appetite.
Takuya sat down and picked up his chopsticks…..
~Slurp-slurp~ ~Slurrrrp~
The chewy noodles, the rich broth, and the soft-boiled egg with its creamy yolk warmed his stomach.
Mmm, what a delicacy, truly an authentic experience. This a genuine 1980s Japanese breakfast, far superior to the takeout and fast food of my time.
***
After quickly finishing his breakfast, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and headed towards the backyard. Passing through several corridors, a traditional Japanese garden unfolded before him, with fully bloomed cherry trees, reflecting the season of March, their pinkish white petals fell like fine snowflakes and the air filled with a faint fragrance of flowers and the damp scent of the earth.
Deep within the courtyard, beneath one of the cherry trees, a man sat at a low table with his back to Takuya. He wore a dark blue yukata, his posture upright, exuding a calm and dignified aura. On the low table sat an antique purple clay tea set, steaming gently.
"Father," Takuya said, "I heard you wanted to meet me"
Hayao Nakayama didn't turn around immediately. He simply picked up his teacup, took a small sip, and slowly turned around with a scrutinizing gaze.
"Hmm, Takuya, you're doing better than I expected."
"Yes, father."
"Sit" he gestured to the cushion called zabuton opposite him.
Takuya settled on the zabuton, with his back straight, he adjusted his posture to appear proper. Facing this legendary head of SEGA, he was still a little apprehensive.
--- END