Ring! Ring! Ring!
The alarm clock buzzed through a cramped, quiet apartment on the outskirts of Sapporo.
A black-haired teenage boy shifted beneath his blanket, groaning softly as morning light filtered through the thin curtains.
He cracked open his eyes.
6:01 AM.
With a sluggish hand, he tapped the alarm off and sat up, stretching until his spine popped lightly.
"Morning already…" he muttered, rubbing his eyes before dragging himself to the bathroom.
The apartment was silent.
Too familiar a silence.
No footsteps.
No soft humming from the kitchen.
No clattering of dishes.
Just emptiness.
After brushing his teeth, he checked his phone. A new message blinked at the top.
[Kiyoshi, I won't come home this month either. Business trip again. I transferred some money—use it wisely.]
He stared at the message expressionlessly for a few seconds before exhaling through his nose.
"How many years has it been since I last saw him…? I can't even remember his face anymore."
He said it quietly, not out of sadness—just a simple truth.
Loneliness had become routine.
Putting the phone down, Kiyoshi stepped into the small kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator, took out ingredients, and moved with practiced motions.
Simple. Efficient. Habitual.
A single bowl of rice.
One piece of grilled salmon.
One serving of miso soup.
A small portion of natto.
And a cup of green tea.
Only one meal.
Because there was only one person living here.
On the side counter, next to the old electric stove, Kiyoshi placed a small pot and gently lowered six eggs into the boiling water. The steam rose in soft white curls, warming the kitchen air.
He didn't wait around.
While the eggs boiled, he walked out to the narrow hall where a pair of push-up bars lay neatly on a thin exercise mat.
Without hesitation, he positioned himself and began his workout.
Steady breathing.
Controlled movements.
No wasted energy.
Ten sets.
Twelve reps per set.
A total of 120 push-ups.
His arms trembled slightly by the end, but his rhythm never broke.
This wasn't the training of someone trying to get fit.
This was the routine of someone who had already been doing this every day for years.
Once finished, he returned to the kitchen, turned off the stove, and peeled the boiled eggs with practiced efficiency.
Breakfast was simple but healthy—rice, miso soup, grilled salmon, natto, green tea, and the freshly boiled eggs.
He sat down, pressed the power button on the TV remote, and began eating without ceremony.
The morning news came on, read by a middle-aged anchorwoman with a calm, professional tone.
["The new Special Welfare Law, implemented a few months ago, continues to gain mixed reactions. While many citizens praise it as necessary for social stability, others protest, calling it inhumane…"]
Kiyoshi paused with a bite of egg halfway to his mouth.
His eyebrow twitched.
Then a crooked, mocking smile appeared on his face.
"This… seriously," he muttered. "This looks exactly like those hentai mangas. No matter how many times they broadcast it, I still can't take it seriously."
He leaned back slightly, squinting at the screen.
"What was its name again…?"
He tried to recall the specific series that had a similar premise—an absurd, unrealistic, erotically exaggerated world where society used bizarre laws as excuses for adult scenarios.
It was surreal.
Because now… he was living in the same world.
"Yes… I've only ever seen concepts this absurd in hentai back in my previous life."
On the TV, the anchor continued describing the new "Special Welfare Law."
Even though it had a serious vibe, the whole situation felt pretty surreal.
The law was about women being forcibly transformed into "sex dolls" and sold.
This world was ridiculous.
It had been fifteen years since I reincarnated here.
My name now is Kiyoshi Kirishima.
Product of divorced parents.
Raised — mostly financially — by my parents.
Mother left when I was five.
Stock brokerage agent, always traveling abroad.
She sent money every month but never returned.
Father was no better — Japan might be small, but somehow he managed to be "too busy" to see his own son for years at a time.
In the end, money was the only proof that either of them remembered I existed.
As I chewed on my breakfast, I unlocked my phone with my free hand and opened my bank app.
Balance: ¥286,950
— ¥150,000 from Father
— ¥100,000 from Mother
— The rest from the savings I'd been managing myself.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
"…Not bad."
For a student living alone, that balance meant freedom.
Independence. Comfort. And a life without having to rely on anyone emotionally.
It was enough.
For now.
At first, I was born into this world with my previous knowledge, I was in total confusion, and be wilderness but now I got gradually used by it now.
Not only I have born in 2000 again, the details of technology development and company names and growth were same.
Seeing that I starts to smell money and planned for my future.
From the age of 10 I have been pretty much living alone, father will come home occasionally between his work trips, mother usually sent message stating this month's allowance.
The truth was… I didn't remember my mother's face at all.
Not her smile.
Not her voice.
Not even the color of her hair.
All I had were the monthly bank transfers — the only proof that she still cared enough to support me until I turned eighteen. For that, at least, I was grateful.
After checking my balance, I opened another app: my stock portfolio.
A faint smirk appeared on my lips.
Unlike my father or mother, this was something I built myself.
When I was eight, I threw a tantrum until my father opened a Junior NISA investment account for me — a tax-free program for minors.
Honestly, I doubt he cared; he probably just agreed so he wouldn't have to deal with me crying.
But that decision changed everything.
From that point on, I invested every yen I could save.
Eight years later…
My portfolio was beautiful.
I scrolled through the charts and summaries:
— Japanese stocks: Massive gains
— US stocks: Steady long-term growth
Back when I started, the market had only recently recovered from the deep 2008 crash.
Even as a kid, I wasn't stupid.
My past life (with memories intact) helped too — I knew exactly which companies would explode in value later.
I bought when prices were still crawling.
MonotaRO.
Kobe Bussan.
ZOZO.
Every single one of them did spectacularly well over the years.
Some even grew more than ten times since I first invested.
My eight-year-old self had no parents at home, no warm family dinners…
But at least he had good financial instincts.
Now at fifteen, my stock portfolio was worth more than what most adults saved in a decade.
I exhaled through my nose, satisfied.
"This world might be insane," I muttered, "but at least the stock market is same."
But the real monster in my portfolio wasn't the Japanese market—it was the U.S. one.
I scrolled down the list, the familiar tickers lighting up the screen one by one:
Netflix (NFLX) — 2,914%.
Regeneron Pharmaceuticals (REGN) — 2,160%.
Tyler Technologies (TYL) — 1,258%.
Tesla (TSLA) — 1,163%.
Ulta Beauty (ULTA) — 1,000%.
Booking Holdings (BKNG) — 992%.
Incyte Corporation (INCY) — 980%.
Expedia (EXPE) — 920%.
Broadcom (AVGO) — 855%.
Domino's Pizza (DPZ) — 844%.
Every single one of them was still climbing, still in their growth phase.
These weren't just lucky picks—they were golden tickets I somehow grabbed as a kid with my memory.
Looking at the totals, the numbers almost didn't feel real.
$96,000 in the U.S. stock market.
12,498,440 yen in Japanese stocks.
All of this—eight years of tiny savings, monthly allowances, and silent support money from my parents.
I built this alone. It felt strange, having accumulated so much while still living like a normal high schooler.
But the most profitable investment?
It wasn't the stocks at all.
It was Bitcoin.
I stared at the line in my notes that I memorized long ago.
Bought in 2010 at $0.003 each.
My first investment: $2,400—two years of disciplined saving, ¥15,626 per month converted into dollars back then.
After that, I continued adding $100 every month directly into Bitcoin.
Now, after eight years…
My total holdings amounted to 812,402 BTC.
The current value?
$349,332,860.
I exhaled slowly.
Even after seeing these numbers for months, they still felt overwhelming.
Back then, when the first exchanges opened and Bitcoin was still a joke among adults, I hesitated.
I was scared. I doubted whether it would ever go up in this world.
Looking at it now, I regret not going all in when I had the chance.
If I had invested everything into Bitcoin, I would've had three times this amount by now.
But what's done is done. Regret won't change it.
I'm a secret millionaire—no, more than that—but I still live off the pocket money my parents send every month.
And honestly?
I have no shame about it.
With a faint smile tugging at my lips, I stood up, stretched, and headed to the bathroom.
After a refreshing shower, I slipped into my school uniform.
The morning air felt crisp as I stepped out, locking the front door behind me with a garbage bag of household waste dangling from my hand.
Another ordinary day… at least on the surface.