With haste Ron walked headfirst to the window and screamed, "Sengoku, hold up, you bastard! Come back or I'll shove my sword up your ass!"
For a while Nickan thought about what to do and then upon finding no other option he decided to face the situation of being caught head on and slowly came back to the window frame and entered inside the room through it.
Ron tightly gripped Nickan's shirt and yelled angrily, "You know what you did don't you, ya bastard?"
"Yes, I do," Nickan replied.
Ron's face contorted with rage. "You were my best friend Sengoku but now we're done, you've made an enemy out of me and now I'll join hands with Yamato and his clan to ruin you."
Nickan desperately tried to sort through the flood of foreign memories. Who was Sengoku? Who was Yamato? The name triggered something—a cascade of memories not his own.
Pain surged through his temples, and suddenly he knew. Yamato was the sworn enemy of Sengoku and his clan—the clan head whose body Nickan now inhabited.
He wanted to say, "Don't do it please," to salvage whatever friendship these two men had, but what came out instead was: "Go right ahead!"
Nickan mentally recoiled. What the hell? That's not what I wanted to say! He felt like hitting his head against a wall. Then it dawned on him—the speech pattern was following the book. This was exactly what Sengoku had said in "Sengoku the Dragon," the book he'd found at his grandfather's house. The arrogant, remorseless response was pure Sengoku—no guilt, just plain arrogance.
"Remember what you said and don't ever show your face to me!" Ron spat, his knuckles white from gripping Nickan's shirt.
Nickan desperately tried to explain. Please forgive me! But instead, his mouth formed the words: "That's what I plan to do!"
Ron's face turned a deeper shade of crimson. "Get out," he hissed, shoving Nickan toward the door.
With movements that weren't entirely his own, Nickan went outside through the door. His heart pounded with confusion and fear as he descended to the courtyard below.
There, a majestic carriage awaited—clearly meant for Sengoku.
Nickan entered the carriage, noticing pristine white glasses positioned on both sides. Curious, he peered into one and gasped.
The reflection wasn't his own but matched Sengoku's description from the book perfectly: sharp, confident facial features complemented by a perpetual smirk; black, shoulder-length hair with strands falling over his face; intense golden eyes, with an eyepatch covering one; a stylish battle-ready ensemble of blue and black long coat with gold-trimmed details and high collar; a black undershirt beneath a white scarf; and armored gauntlets with gold accents on his arms. He exuded an electrifying presence that felt entirely foreign to Nickan.
"Are you alright, master?" asked a maid sitting beside him, her voice laced with concern.
Nickan snapped back to awareness and heard himself reply, "Yes, never better!"
I'd like to slap this guy's face, Nickan thought bitterly. He's following the script, and I'm just along for the ride. He wondered if he could change anything—rewrite the story somehow—or if he was stuck forever in this body, saying things he never meant to say.
His thoughts were interrupted when, without warning, Sengoku's hands reached out to fondle the maid's chest playfully. Nickan's consciousness recoiled in horror. He remembered this part from the book—Sengoku was described as the lowest of scum, and his only weakness was women. According to the story, Sengoku was about to make out with this maid right in the carriage.
No, no, no! Nickan screamed internally as Sengoku's body moved of its own accord. He felt like a puppet, forced to relive what was written, powerless to stop it.
After their encounter, the carriage arrived at a grand castle that took Nickan's breath away despite his disgust. It was an ancient Japanese fortress of unparalleled magnificence, perched atop a cliff overlooking a vast valley. Its five-tiered main tower rose majestically against the skyline, with curved kawara tile roofs extending outward like the wings of a massive bird.
The stone foundation supported massive wooden structures, their aged timber speaking of centuries of history. Defensive walls of white plaster contrasted with dark wooden frames and were adorned with intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes. Cherry blossom trees dotted the expansive grounds, their petals dancing in the gentle breeze. Stone lanterns lined the pathway leading to the main entrance, where two massive wooden doors reinforced with iron stood open in welcome.
The carriage stopped at the gates, and after adjusting his attire, Sengoku stepped outside.
Fifty maids—all women and all visibly pregnant—greeted him with deep bows.
Nickan felt a mixture of jealousy and disgust at Sengoku's apparently insatiable sexual appetite.
The maid from the carriage followed behind as Sengoku ordered the others to turn around, walking past while slapping each one's backside.
"I hate this guy," Nickan thought, though a small, shameful part of him envied the libertine lifestyle.
Sengoku proceeded directly to his bedroom, announcing to the maid following behind, "I'll sleep for a while, don't disturb me!"
"As you wish, my lord!" she replied with another deep bow.
As Sengoku entered the bedroom and the maid stationed herself outside, Nickan felt consciousness slipping away. The moment Sengoku's head hit the pillow, Nickan jolted awake in his own bed, his heart racing.
The book lay beside him, still open but now glowing with an unearthly light. To his astonishment, the previously blank pages were filled with words, sentences, and paragraphs.
The pages he had already experienced had turned golden, as if marking his progress.
A display screen materialized before his eyes:
[Welcome to Memoir System!]
Name: Nickan Wole
Age: 27
Talent: None
Story relived class rank: SSS
Nickan stared at the "Talent: None" entry, feeling a surge of anger. First, he had been forced to experience such a repulsive scenario from his grandfather's book, and now this system or whatever straight out of anime or manga was mocking him?
In frustration, he grabbed the book and hurled it toward the window. Instead of going through, the book floated in midair, then slowly returned to hover before him with a new message:
[Host must relive the whole story like previous owner Nichol Wole or else host will die]
"What?" Nickan whispered, his voice trembling. "So Grandfather actually experienced this too?" He sat heavily on his bed, a terrible thought forming. "Did he die while reliving this book's story? Is that what's going to happen to me also?"
Tears streamed down his face as hopelessness washed over him. He didn't want to die so young, without having accomplished anything meaningful in his life.
Another message appeared:
[Host should not cry. Host's grandfather successfully relived this book and emerged victorious in this Memoir System]
Nickan's eyes widened. "Grandfather won?" A sudden realization dawned on him—if his grandfather had conquered this challenge, then maybe he could too. Maybe he could even surpass the old man's achievement.
A smile formed on Nickan's face as hope surged through him. He could beat this system, just as his grandfather had done. Besides, what choice did he have? It was either succeed or die.
With renewed determination, Nickan wiped his tears and began reading the newly written pages. After twenty pages, the text vanished, leaving blank pages once again. A final message appeared:
[Memoir System initiating in one hour]
[Host must find a safe place to sleep to relive the book's story]
Nickan closed the book and set it on his nightstand. His mind raced with questions. How had his grandfather succeeded? What was the key to surviving this bizarre experience? And why had the book chosen him?
He paced his small apartment, checking the time every few minutes. Fifty-three minutes left. Fifty-two. Fifty-one.
Nickan realized he needed preparation. If he was going to be thrust back into Sengoku's life, he should at least try to understand the character better. He sat cross-legged on his bed and closed his eyes, attempting to sort through the fragments of Sengoku's memories that had leaked into his consciousness.
Sengoku was cruel, selfish, and lustful—but also powerful, cunning, and respected. He commanded fear and loyalty in equal measure.
His conflict with Ron stemmed from cheating.
A betrayal, yes.
By the way, who was Yamato? Sengoku's sworn enemy, that much was clear, but why? What was their history?
Forty minutes left.
Nickan opened his eyes and stared at the book. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?" he muttered.
He decided to prepare his body. He showered, dressed in comfortable clothes, and made a light meal. What if he feels hungry? No sense facing this challenge hungry.
Twenty-five minutes left.
He wrote a quick note explaining his situation, in case someone found him unconscious. Then he laughed bitterly at his own naivety—who would find him? He lived alone, had few friends, and rarely received visitors. If he died here, it might be days before anyone noticed.
Ten minutes left.
Nickan lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Grandfather, if you're watching, give me a hint," he whispered. "How did you beat this thing?"
No answer came, of course.
Five minutes left.
He picked up the book one last time, running his fingers over its leather cover. "Sengoku the Dragon," he read aloud. "What makes this story so special?"
As if in response, the book began to warm in his hands.
One minute left.
Nickan set the book beside him and closed his eyes. "Here we go," he murmured. "Round two within the world's biggest asshole."
His consciousness began to fade, and the last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was a deep, unfamiliar female voice:
"Welcome back, successor. Your journey has only just begun."