His head felt heavy and throbbing. A young boy struggled to open his eyes, greeted by the unfamiliar sight of a white ceiling. The distinct smell of disinfectant filled his nostrils. Slowly, his eyes scanned the surroundings—an iron-framed bed, white curtains, and a blinking monitor beside him.
'Where... am I?"
'A hospital?'
With what little strength he had left, he tried to push himself up. That was when he realized there was a thick bandage wrapped around his head.
"Ah, Fukumoto-kun, you're awake?"
A nurse's gentle voice greeted him. The woman smiled in relief seeing him conscious.
"Fukumoto-kun?'
'Who... is Fukumoto?'
He stared blankly at the nurse. His mind was foggy, dark, as if a thick veil had shrouded all his memories.
"Who is... Fukumoto?" he murmured hoarsely, his voice raspy.
The nurse looked surprised for a moment, but quickly replaced it with a calming smile. "Ah, sorry, it seems you're still a bit confused. Your name is Fukumoto Ikurou. You were in an accident yesterday, but thankfully you're awake now. Please don't move too much yet, okay? Your head is still recovering."
Fukumoto... Ikurou?
The name felt foreign, completely disconnected from himself. His chest tightened. He tried to force himself to remember—his parents' faces, friends' voices, even the shape of his home. But all that came was a torturous dizziness, making his head spin violently.
Ugh... what's happening? Even my own name... sounds like it doesn't belong to me...
The nurse turned toward the door. "I'll call the doctor, wait a moment, okay."
As soon as the door closed, the room fell silent again. Only the ticking of the wall clock and the sound of the IV drip kept him company.
Ikurou (or whoever he was now) gripped the white sheets under his hands tightly, trying to find an anchor in his confusion.
"If I'm really Fukumoto Ikurou... why... does that name feel so unfamiliar?"
He stared at the ceiling, his breath growing rapid. And amidst the chaos in his mind, something strange emerged.
...What is this?
A flood of foreign memories suddenly surged into his mind—not about Fukumoto Ikurou's life, but about himself before all of this. Two sets of memories from two different lives merged into one, as quick as a flash. His consciousness finally cleared.
Wait a minute... this world...
This is the world of "Majikoi," isn't it?!
The world he knew from a visual novel game! He knew the characters' names, the storylines, even the people who should only exist on a flat screen. And now, he was trapped in the body of a minor character known for being despicable: Fukumoto Ikurou.
"Why did this happen...?" he whispered tremblingly, staring at his own palms. His fingers shook, trying to convince himself this wasn't a dream. Yet, his increasingly clear memories forced him to accept the bitter truth—he was now Fukumoto Ikurou. Or more precisely, the Ikurou who had just been hit by a car.
Even so, there was one problem. His memories from his previous world were somewhat blurry after he turned 25, making it slightly confusing when he tried to recall specific details.
Creek—
The door opened again. This time, the nurse returned with a doctor who immediately began examining his condition. They looked relieved to see Ikurou conscious, completely unaware that the soul within this body had changed.
While the doctor busily asked about his physical condition, Ikurou only gave brief replies. His thoughts drifted far away.
If this really is the world of Majikoi, that means I'll meet them... the characters I could only watch on a 2D screen.
Now, I can actually interact with them.
But... given the despicable nature of the original Fukumoto, wouldn't it be impossible for me to get close to them?
His heart raced. The world he had once only dreamed of was now real before his eyes. Yet, beneath the euphoria, a deep fear emerged.
A minor character like me... can I even survive in a world filled with these superhumans?
"Majikoi" is a world where martial arts have reached fantasy levels!
I mean, Momoyo can create a black hole—a fucking black hole!
How can I stay calm knowing there are people who can fight and make nuclear bombs with just their bare hands?
Forget about that for now...
The doctor seemed finished with the examination and began writing something on the medical chart. After ensuring all the equipment was functioning normally, he patted the nurse's shoulder and advised that the patient shouldn't be forced to talk too much yet.
Once they left, silence once again enveloped the room. Ikurou lay weakly, his eyes fixed on the fluorescent light on the ceiling. Its glare was blinding, but it also convinced him that all of this was real. Not a dream, not a hallucination.
So... this is my body now. Fukumoto Ikurou.
A teenager with an average build, somewhat skinny, and not very athletic. His dark brown hair was messy, partially covered by a white bandage. His face was pale and tired, with brown eyes filled with confusion and uncertainty. His body looked fragile, with several bruises and small wounds on his hands serving as silent witnesses to the trauma of the accident.
He stared at his left hand, still attached to an IV drip. His skin was pale but felt warm when he gripped it with his right hand.
A flash of the original Ikurou's last memory flickered in his mind. A wet asphalt road, the loud blare of a horn, blinding headlights—and then everything went dark.
…
It wasn't long before the room door opened once more. A middle-aged woman hurried in. Her face looked tired, but her eyes immediately lit up when she saw Ikurou sitting up on the bed.
The woman had a sincere and warm aura. Her black hair was beginning to show subtle streaks of gray, tied neatly back. Her eyes—soft brown, just like Ikurou's—glistened with relief. The faint wrinkles at their corners told of the difficult days she had endured as a single parent.
"Ikurou!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion.
She immediately approached and hugged Ikurou tightly, yet carefully avoiding the bandage on his head. Her body felt warm, and the gentle scent of her clothes felt real.
Ikurou could only stay silent. His memories told him that this woman was his mother in this world, Fukumoto Rika. Yet, in his heart, everything felt so foreign.
"…Mom?" he uttered, full of uncertainty.
Rika looked at him with tearful eyes, then smiled bitterly. "Thank goodness… you're finally awake. I thought… I thought you would never wake up after that accident."
Ikurou's chest tightened. He wasn't this woman's biological son. Yet now, he occupied the body of the son she deeply loved.
Damn… so this is what it feels like to be a transmigrator? Having to deceive the feelings of a sincere mother like this…
Slowly, Ikurou raised his hand and touched Rika's arm. The desire to be honest, to confess that he wasn't her son, burned in his chest. But his mouth remained sealed. Seeing the tears in the woman's eyes, he knew those words would only destroy her.
"Mom… I'm okay," he finally said, his voice hoarse but soft.
Rika covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hold back her sobs. "Ikurou… don't do that again, okay? Don't scare me like that."
Ikurou remained hospitalized for the next several days, constantly accompanied by his mother. Rika had panicked when the doctor mentioned the possibility of amnesia, but the physician reassured her that his memories could potentially return with gradual stimulation—by slowly recounting everything to Ikurou.
Once she received permission, Rika sat by his bedside. They engaged in light conversation—or more accurately, Rika did most of the talking while Ikurou listened and occasionally offered brief responses. His ability to recall certain details, albeit with difficulty, brought Rika some relief. At the very least, it wasn't total amnesia.
Through these conversations, Ikurou began to understand his new life. Fukumoto Ikurou was an only child. His father had passed away when he was young, and since then, Rika had raised him alone while working at a small family-owned store.
So this is Ikurou's background… he thought. In the Majikoi storyline, his character was almost never highlighted—only known as that low-class pervert. But now, he was experiencing firsthand a side of life that was never shown: the sincere love of a mother.
Yet, guilt gnawed at him. The real Ikurou was gone. This woman had no idea that the son she had just tenderly cared for had his soul replaced forever. All that remained was an outsider.
A few days later, Ikurou's physical condition improved. The bandage was still on his head, but he could now walk slowly. The hospital permitted his discharge on the condition that he get plenty of rest.
Rika agreed dutifully, even declining offers from neighbors who wanted to pick them up. "No need to trouble yourselves. I can bring my son home on my own. I also don't want him to get too tired," she said.
Ikurou sat in a wheelchair pushed by his mother. The evening breeze greeted them as they exited the hospital doors. The scent of this new world filled his nostrils—the blue sky, birds flying freely, and streets bustling with people… people he actually recognized from his previous Ikurou memories.
Every corner of the city felt familiar yet foreign at the same time. He knew certain event details from the Majikoi visual novel, but now he was part of that story.
When they arrived home, Rika attentively helped him inside. The house was modest, two stories high with old tatami mats and the distinct scent of wood. Here, the feeling that he had truly stepped into the world of the visual novel grew stronger.
Ikurou's room was on the second floor. With great care, Rika helped him slowly climb the stairs before freshening up his pillows and blankets. Everything felt intensely real—family photos hanging on the wall, a messy bookshelf filled with doujinshi and other books that were… well, rather hard to explain, as well as photography equipment and a collection of photos of pretty girls taken by the original Ikurou.
This is the real Fukumoto Ikurou's room…
He sat on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. The reality that this was no longer just a game began to truly sink in.
That night, after making sure Rika was asleep, Ikurou opened his bedroom window. The night breeze blew gently, carrying the faint fragrance of flowers from the small garden behind the house. Located at the foot of the hill on the outskirts of Kawakami City, the place held a serene spring night atmosphere—a stark contrast to the turmoil in his heart.
Alright… if I'm really trapped in the world of Majikoi, I can't afford to be careless. One wrong move could be fatal.
His mind began working intensely, carefully analyzing the situation.
This world was filled with main characters who were far from ordinary. They were strong, highly trained, and possessed abilities that often defied logic. Meanwhile, he—Fukumoto Ikurou—was nothing more than a minor character, almost insignificant.
If I simply follow the original Ikurou's path, I'll definitely end up a loser. I could even die a ridiculous death if I get dragged into the major conflicts of the main characters.
He narrowed his eyes, gazing at the stars in the night sky.
I have to change. I can't remain the old Ikurou. If I want to survive in this dangerous world… maybe even alter the existing storyline… I must train myself to reach the peak of martial arts in this world!
His thoughts raced. He tried recalling fragments of the Majikoi game's story. Was there some cheat or loophole he could exploit? Something that could give him an advantage?
Yet, his firm resolve wasn't entirely enough to dispel the fear eating away at his chest. This world was indeed full of color and beautiful girls, but it also hid deadly dangers that could destroy him in an instant.
His hands clenched tightly on the windowsill.
The old Fukumoto Ikurou is dead. From now on, I'm the one who will decide this body's fate.
…
The next morning, Rika woke him with a soft smile. "Ikurou, breakfast is ready. Don't forget to take your medicine. Even though school's still on break, you shouldn't make a habit of sleeping in, okay?"
Ikurou woke slowly to the sound of his "mother's" voice. There was a sincere warmth that comforted him, yet also small thorns of guilt that kept pricking at him. This woman didn't know her real son soul had been replaced by a stranger.
"Yes, Mom. I'll be down in a bit," he replied, trying to sound as natural as possible.
In his heart, he made a promise—
For the sake of this mother who loves me, at the very least I'll live rightly. I won't become the despicable loser that the old Ikurou was. If I can become someone better… perhaps all of this won't be in vain.
…
After several days of attentive care from Rika, Ikurou's condition finally showed significant improvement. His dizziness had lessened, and his body no longer felt so weak. The urge to quickly adapt to his new, dangerous world left him unable to stay idle. That morning, before the sun had fully risen, he put on a simple tracksuit and an old pair of trainers he found in the closet, then slipped out of the house.
The morning air in Kawakami felt fresh and chilling to the bone. His breath formed small white clouds. With steps that were still somewhat stiff and cautious—mindful of his injury—Ikurou began his first jog. His goal was simple: test the physical condition of his new body and, more importantly, familiarize himself with the surroundings.
He chose a route that looped around the residential area at the foot of the hill. Within just a few minutes of running, his pulse was already racing. The original Fukumoto Ikurou's body was clearly not accustomed to strenuous exercise.
At a bend in the road near the park, a woman with straight bangs and a sharp gaze shot past him at an astonishing speed. She wasn't just running; her strides were powerful, stable, and efficient, like a trained soldier.
That's... Kazuko! Ikurou's heart raced, this time not from exhaustion. Kawakami Kazuko, one of the heroines of Majikoi whose route had once brought tears to his eyes. The struggle of an ordinary girl without talent, born into a family of martial arts monsters.
Kazuko, already quite far ahead, glanced back after belatedly noticing the person she had just passed.
"Fukumoto-kun? Good morning! See you later!" Without slowing her pace, Kazuko continued her morning run.
She disappeared around the corner as quickly as she had appeared. The brief encounter was enough to make Ikurou realize this was truly a fantasy world—someone running at a pace of 6 minutes per mile while dragging tires and circling the city.
Trying to calm himself, Ikurou continued his run. This time, on an uphill path, he spotted another figure. A girl with purple eyes and short, light blue hair adorned with flower accessories.
Miyako! he thought. Miyako, the girl obsessed with Yamato who possessed extraordinary archery skills.
Unlike Kazuko, Miyako was just taking a morning stroll when she noticed Ikurou and greeted him.
"You... Fukumoto, right?" she said suddenly, her voice flat yet intense. "Strange. You usually prefer peeping at girls bathing in the morning rather than running."
Ikurou nearly choked on air. He forced himself to stop, catching his ragged breath. "J-Just... trying to... live healthier," he stammered.
Miyako observed him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity before continuing her walk.
"Hmph. Well then, carry on."
Miyako left Ikurou without further attention.
Curiosity and the desire to see more led him slightly off his residential route, toward the forested area surrounding Kawakami. There, in an open field typically used for baseball, he witnessed something completely beyond reason.
A girl with stunning black-brown hair flowing down to her hips, and a muscular yet sexy build with a "megalopolis-style" bust, was hitting baseballs pitched by a high-speed machine. That wasn't what shocked him. Each time the ball connected with the wooden bat in her hands, a small explosive sound echoed, and the ball shot away like a projectile—for a split second, he could even see it burning like a comet.
Momoyo!
Momoyo Kawakami, the true monster, a human whose power was often compared to a natural disaster.
Unintentionally, Ikurou stopped and stared in awe. As if sensing his presence, Momoyo turned. A wide, cheerful smile spread across her face.
"Oh! An unusual face here!"
"If you're trying to take photos of me again, you'll have to share the profits, monkey," she called out in a loud, friendly voice.
"Just happens I need money right now," she added, waving the wooden bat she had just used to create small comets.
Ikurou immediately flustered, shaking his head and hands rapidly as he ran away from the spot. "N-No! Sorry! Just continue your game!" he shouted back, terrified.
Momoyo watched Ikurou run away in fear.
"Strange, he usually begs to take my photos to sell them."
"Sigh, I thought I'd make some money today."
Momoyo resumed her practice.
All these encounters left him both deeply impressed and terrified. With breath coming in ragged gasps and legs feeling like jelly, he unconsciously kept running, his confused thoughts guiding his path as he emerged from Kawakami's forested area.
Then, he arrived.
His breath caught.
Before him lay a small, somewhat old and secluded shrine. Right in front of it was a sharp turn in the asphalt road. The sidewalk still showed signs of damage—black skid marks on the pavement and a slightly bent road sign.
A chill that had nothing to do with the air pierced through him.
This... this is the place.
His heart pounded fiercely. Vague memories—not his own, but the original Ikurou's—seemed to possess his mind. Flashes of blinding headlights, the blaring sound of a horn, the feeling of being thrown, and then... darkness.
He stood there motionless, staring at the location where the original Fukumoto Ikurou had breathed his last. Across the road stretched a large public cemetery, its stone fences and old tombstones extending into the forest, adding to the gloomy and mystical atmosphere of this place.
Mixed emotions flooded him: deep guilt for having taken over this body, gratitude for getting a second chance at life, and terrifying fear of the world he had to face.
He approached the edge of the road, staring at the traces of the accident.
He looked once more toward the shrine, as if the place was a silent witness to his transition.
With breath still coming in ragged gasps and his mind filled with both the tense encounters and the shadow of the accident, Ikurou stood before the old shrine. It felt like an invisible magnet was pulling him into the shrine's grounds. Curiosity overcame caution. With slow steps, he passed through the fading painted torii gate and began stepping on the gravel courtyard that crunched under his running shoes.
The atmosphere within the shrine complex felt completely different from the outside world. Quiet, serene, and filled with an ancient aura. The air felt colder, and the morning sunlight seemed filtered through a layer of sanctity. He walked along the path, his eyes tracing every detail—stone lanterns covered in moss, komainu statues worn down by age, and the main shrine building simple yet well-maintained.
Then, his gaze was drawn to a figure standing motionless beside a large cherry blossom tree that hadn't yet fully bloomed.
A tall man with a slender build, pale skin, and sharp maroon eyes. His long hair with red tips was tied in a ponytail, revealing short bangs that framed his solemn face. He wore a red haori over a pale orange kimono, complemented by black umanori-style hakama and a white belt. Red-strapped zōri sandals and white tabi socks completed his appearance, with a katana tucked at his left side. Hanafuda earrings hanging from his ears were his most striking feature.
Ikurou, still caught up in the chaotic emotion and breathing heavily, simply nodded slightly toward the man as a form of greeting. He assumed the man might be a swordsman in meditation—a common sight in Kawakami. He intended to continue his steps toward the main shrine.
However, as he was about to pass the man, a voice so quiet it was almost like a whisper of wind, yet clearly audible, reached his ears.
"You can see me?"
Ikurou stopped immediately. His entire body suddenly stiffened. There was something profoundly unusual about that voice—crystal clear, utterly calm, and seeming to come from a great distance. Slowly, with a heart suddenly pounding like a drum, he turned to face the source of the voice.
The kimono-clad man had now turned his body. His gaze, previously fixed on the trees, was now directly piercing through Ikurou. His eyes... they were incredibly sharp and deep, seeming to see straight into his soul. Within them shone extraordinary peace, but also an ancient, profound sadness.
And now, seeing him from the front, Ikurou could observe clearly. That face... a face he had seen on his computer screen in his previous life. The pattern like faint flames on his forehead, the hanafuda earrings hanging from his ears...
Impossible... This... This can't be!
The world seemed to spin. The man standing before him was a perfect copy of Yoriichi Tsugikuni, the Sun Breathing prodigy from the world of Demon Slayer!