"Thank you so much, Aki-kun!"
Standing in front of Akihabara Station, Jingu Yō bowed slightly, expressing genuine gratitude to Aki Tomoya.
This seemingly frail otaku was surprisingly full of energy. The moment he heard about Jingu Yō's plans, he went into overdrive. In less than an hour, he had taken Yō around several stores in Akihabara. And without the slightest complaint, he even guided him to numerous other spots just to provide comparisons.
Now, Yō carried two large shopping bags—packed with all kinds of traditional and digital illustration tools. With these, he could finally begin executing his plan.
"As long as you can create the manga you want, that's more than enough for me, Jingu-senpai."
Aki, glasses perched neatly on his nose, spoke like a man willing to give everything for his dream. Though his ideal world was two-dimensional and he considered himself just a consumer-type otaku, there was something sincere in his dedication that moved even Yō a little.
"Let's chat again sometime. Take care on your way back. I bet you can't wait to dive into your new game, right?"
Yō flicked his gaze toward the bag in Aki's hand—it held the latest game and a brand-new Blu-ray disc.
"You too, Jingu-senpai. Safe trip back!"
Aki showed no trace of the awkwardness typical of otaku stereotypes. He nodded openly at the teasing remark.
After parting ways in front of the station, Aki headed to board the JR line, while Yō planned to drive home. Only after watching Aki's silhouette disappear into the crowd did Yō finally turn to leave himself. Even though the other person was a guy, basic manners drilled into him over the years made it hard for him to act rude or dismissive.
They had exchanged email addresses. The fact that the first genuine face-to-face connection he'd made since arriving in this world was with another guy—even exchanging contact info—left Yō somewhat exasperated. But it wasn't like he could complain.
With his objective achieved, the thought of continuing to wander Akihabara no longer held much appeal. Maybe the pre-reincarnation version of himself would have stayed, all excited to collect merchandise and browse through endless shelves of otaku treasures. But in this world, much of the anime and media were unfamiliar. He didn't even recognize most of the franchises, so the allure of collectibles was nonexistent.
On his way back along the same path, intending to stop by a supermarket for some ingredients to start his "plagiarism" operation, Yō passed by the towering Don Quijote building in the heart of Akihabara—and froze.
Ever since transmigrating, it felt like the two souls had merged completely. Be it body or mind, everything about him was sharper—vision, hearing, even logical thinking. He wasn't superhuman, but definitely above average. And now, amid the chaotic barrage of signs and advertisements plastered across Don Quijote, something all too familiar caught his eye.
"AKB48...?!"
He smacked his forehead, annoyed.
He'd never been a hardcore AKB fan, but as a nationally beloved idol group, they were impossible to ignore. The Don Quijote Theater in Akihabara was considered sacred ground for AKB devotees. Back in his original world, AKB had already become a nationwide phenomenon—tickets to those early-stage performances were nearly impossible to get, distributed through lotteries. Even if one made it to Akihabara, just getting a seat at a performance was a dream.
"I can't believe this world has AKB too…"
He muttered to himself. But upon reflection, it wasn't so strange. Obama was still President in the U.S., Audrey Hepburn still won an Oscar for Roman Holiday. Despite some bizarre divergences in history and especially drastic changes in China, the rest of the world seemed largely the same.
But the poster… something felt off. He looked down at the million-yen Patek Philippe on his wrist—an extravagant item utterly beyond his reach in his previous life. The year displayed was unmistakable: 2011.
"2011… AKB should already be huge by now, but…"
Looking up at the building's subtle signage, Yō couldn't believe that if AKB were at the peak of popularity, the advertising would be so subdued.
The folks running Don Quijote weren't idiots. If anything could bring in foot traffic, they would absolutely plaster it everywhere. Why would they keep it this low-key?
On impulse, he whipped out his phone and googled "AKB." What he found was… underwhelming. Sure, search results popped up, but nowhere near the magnitude one would expect from a mainstream idol powerhouse.
"So in this world's 2011… AKB hasn't blown up yet?"
Yō's interest was piqued.
If they hadn't gone mainstream yet, then it might be relatively easy to score a ticket to one of their performances. Getting to watch AKB live in their humble beginnings—that was something even most diehard fans could only dream of.
He didn't know the group all that well, just some of the key members from the early years. But judging from the current timeline, those very girls would likely still be active now.
Watching the transformation of a group of "ugly ducklings" as they worked tirelessly toward stardom until they became icons—this was exactly the kind of emotional narrative that captured the hearts of their loyal fans.
But Yō quickly dismissed the idea of going today.
AKB performances took place in the evening. It was only 2 PM. He had no desire to waste half a day lingering here, especially when burdened with so many bags. Today was a day for setting things into motion.
"When I get tired of working, I'll come here to unwind."
Decision made, he decisively turned away, heading off to catch a taxi and return to his apartment to retrieve his car and head home.
Humming a light tune as he climbed into the cab, he leaned back, glancing out at the city flowing past the window. It wasn't a long ride—Akihabara and Chiyoda Ward were close—and before long, he arrived back at the luxury high-rise.
Paying the fare, he made his way down into the underground garage. On instinct, he looked up at the top floor of the building.
His heart was calmer than before.
It felt like he had finally found a direction worth pouring himself into. A reason to fight. A place to belong. And for the first time, he was able to face the reckless choices he'd made until now with just a little more honesty.
Still, for the time being, it was probably best if he avoided running into that beautiful fiancée.
No point in making things even more awkward than they already were.