Volume 1: An Ordinary Person's Night
With the afternoon bell, the first day of the second semester of my first year of junior high came to an end. Le Zhengling grabbed his school bag and left the classroom, ignoring the groups of twos and threes heading off to their club activities or other plans.
He navigated the crowded hallway, went down the stairs, and walked briskly toward the bicycle parking area. Just before leaving the school gates, he glanced back one last time at the school's name—Private Sakakino Academy.
When he first received his acceptance letter, that famous name had sent a jolt through him. But after enrolling, he realized it was all a lie—the ultimate clickbait! This was not the infamous academy where Makoto Itou had fought his battles!
Just look at the drab, tunic-style school uniforms and the long skirts that went past the knees. This wasn't the Sakakino Academy he knew at all!
I must have enrolled in a fake school, he thought, shaking his head. Pushing up the black-framed glasses he wore to disguise his appearance, he got on his bike and quickly rode away.
He returned to a small, secluded residential alley and took a key from his pocket to open the door. A careful observer might notice a sign next to the door with four characters written in traditional calligraphy: "Chinese Cuisine."
This was the most important property his grandfather had left him, and the place he called home in this world.
He went around the back of the shop to the living quarters and sat before a small shrine. Gently opening its doors, he lit two sticks of incense and spoke to the memorial tablet inside. "Grandpa, I'm home."
In his memory, Le Zhengling had never met his parents. He was raised solely by his grandfather. Just six months ago, his grandfather had passed away peacefully from old age, with him by his side.
After his passing, no relatives came to pay their respects. Even the funeral was arranged with the help of the neighbors. Some had offered to adopt him, but possessing the soul of a reincarnated person, he had refused.
Fortunately, having learned the craft from his grandfather since he was a child, he already possessed ninety percent of his skills. As a chef, he could support himself anywhere. And so, for the past six months, he had managed to keep the small restaurant afloat.
After paying his respects, he returned to his room to change and prepare to open the shop.
It was a very ordinary room. The south-facing window offered a view of the entire shopping street, which was already bustling at four in the afternoon. Housewives gathered in small groups to buy ingredients for dinner, and students in school uniforms occasionally stopped at snack shops for a bite on their way home.
It was now 1986. If he remembered correctly, Japan's bubble economy would burst next year, plunging the country into a recession.
His grandfather had mentioned that their family fled to Japan because of a major event back in their homeland, though he never specified what it was. Le Zhengling was brought to Japan shortly after he was born and had grown up here. Although the soul inside him was Chinese in both of his lives, he had unfortunately never set foot on that land in this lifetime.
The reason he was certain he had been reincarnated into another world was because people here had all sorts of hair and eye colors—and he was one of the victims.
Furthermore, as a former history major, he had studied world history and found subtle differences between the two worlds. But for a commoner like him, none of that mattered. That's just how it was for ordinary people. His only major complaint was being thrown from an age of information and convenience into such a backward era.
It annoyed him slightly. And to be a transmigrator without any special cheat or ability was simply embarrassing. Lost in these random thoughts, Le Zhengling opened his closet and took out a clean set of clothes.
He took off his glasses and looked at his reflection in the mirror, still feeling unaccustomed to it.
A pair of beautiful, ruby-red eyes, a well-proportioned yet soft face, a still-developing frame, and a voice that hadn't yet changed, making it sound androgynous. It all led to him constantly being mistaken for a girl.
Back when he was in the fourth grade, his school was participating in a prefectural competition and needed a representative to present flowers. He won the selection by a landslide. The woman receiving the flowers—who, in his eyes, was beautiful despite her slightly old-fashioned clothes—gave him a kiss on the cheek and announced to the entire audience, "Thank you so much to this adorable little girl for the flowers. Today is truly a memorable day in my life."
After that day, for the rest of his elementary school years, he received confessions from dozens of people, more than half of them boys. It made him marvel at how precocious Japanese students were, while also forcing him to confront his own appearance.
In the end, he grew his hair long and intentionally left it messy, got a pair of opaque black-framed glasses, and always walked in the shadows to cultivate a gloomy aura. It finally scared off those little kids.
He was now in junior high, a private school. Not many students from his prefecture attended Sakakino Academy, and none of his old acquaintances were in his class. As a result, by deliberately playing the part of a dark and brooding character, he had gone over a year without making a single friend.
But he was perfectly fine with that. Just watching a group of immature kids was tiring enough; having to join them would be nothing short of torture.
Taking off his glasses, he neatly combed and tied back his hair. He changed into a comfortable and breathable linen shirt and pants. Looking at the refreshed and energetic person in the mirror, Le Zhengling nodded in satisfaction and left the room.
Following his daily routine, he first went to the front of the shop and hung up today's menu. Then he went to the cold storage to get the meat and vegetables he needed, loaded them onto a small cart, and pushed them to the kitchen. Finally, after arranging everything on the counter, he stood on a small stool and began his prep work.
Around six in the evening, customers started to arrive. Most were regulars. The friendly ones would greet him with a smile and chat, while the more reserved ones would place their order and wait quietly.
Occasionally, new customers would come in. Some would see only a child in the shop and turn to leave, while others would stay out of curiosity.
"The little chef might be young, but her skills are top-notch. I wouldn't lead you astray," a regular said, bringing a friend along.
"That's right! I've been eating here for years. When the old master passed away, I was worried the shop would close, but I never expected the little chef to keep it going," a neighbor from the shopping street chimed in during one of their visits.
"I've tried so many Chinese restaurants, but I still think this place is the most authentic."
In Japan, many people had disposable income and enjoyed trying out different shops. Self-proclaimed foodies, upon discovering a delicious spot, would promote it to others. As a result, his small restaurant had gained a bit of a reputation in certain circles.
A young, adorable chef single-handedly running a Chinese restaurant—it was a story with plenty of buzz.
For all these reasons, Le Zhengling had managed to live a quiet life in Japan during this era.
The pace of life was neither too fast nor too slow, and his daily routine was stable. Although he was now an orphan, he had nothing to complain about. Life had to go on, and a simple, peaceful existence was what truly mattered.
As he was cooking Mapo Tofu and planning the next day's menu, a dramatic turn in his life was quietly approaching. At that moment, however, he was completely unaware.
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