The fluorescent lights hummed overhead like dying insects. Ryo Nakamura stared at the spreadsheet on his monitor, numbers blurring together after fourteen straight hours of work. His coffee had gone cold hours ago, but he kept drinking it anyway. The bitter taste matched his mood.
Just finish this report. Then the quarterly analysis. Then the presentation for tomorrow morning.
His chest tightened. The familiar weight pressed down on his ribs, making each breath shallow and forced. Ryo loosened his tie and tried to ignore the way his left arm tingled.
"Nakamura-san, are you finished with the Henderson projections?"
His manager's voice cut through the office quiet. Ryo glanced up to see Yamada standing beside his desk, arms crossed. Even at midnight, the man looked fresh as morning coffee.
"Almost done, sir. Just need another hour."
"Good. The client meeting is at seven AM sharp. No room for delays."
Yamada walked away without another word. Ryo turned back to his screen and felt the pressure in his chest spike. The numbers swam before his eyes.
This is my life. This will always be my life.
He'd graduated top of his class, landed the perfect corporate job, climbed the ladder just like everyone expected. But somewhere along the way, the ladder had turned into a treadmill. He ran faster and faster, going nowhere at all.
The tingling spread up his arm. His vision blurred at the edges.
Oh.
Ryo understood with perfect clarity what was happening. He'd read about it in health articles he never had time to finish. Stress, overwork, poor diet, no exercise. The modern Japanese male's perfect storm.
He should call for help. Should reach for his phone. Should do something.
Instead, Ryo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The spreadsheet could wait. For the first time in years, something else took priority.
The fluorescent humming faded to silence.
Consciousness returned like sunrise through thick curtains. Slow, warm, unfamiliar.
Ryo opened his eyes and saw wooden beams stretched across a ceiling. Not the sterile white of a hospital. Not the familiar cracks of his apartment. Something else entirely.
He sat up carefully, expecting the sharp protest of hospital machines or the ache of revival. Nothing. His body felt... different. Younger. Stronger.
The room around him belonged in a period drama. Heavy wooden furniture, stone walls, a window with actual glass panes instead of modern double-glazing. Sunlight streamed through in golden bars, illuminating dust motes that danced like tiny spirits.
This isn't possible.
But the bed beneath him felt real. The morning air carried scents of wood smoke and something floral he couldn't identify. His hands, when he raised them, looked different. Callused but not from keyboard work. The palms held the rough texture of someone who'd held swords, not pens.
A mirror hung on the far wall, its surface wavy with age. Ryo stood and walked toward it, each step confirming this wasn't a dream. His reflection showed a face that was his but wasn't. Same dark hair, same general bone structure, but younger. Sharper. The soft edges of office life had been carved away, leaving someone who looked like they belonged in this stone-walled room.
I died. I remember dying.
The knowledge sat in his mind without panic or disbelief. Maybe he'd burned through all his emotional reserves in his previous life. Maybe death had a way of putting things in perspective.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Young Master Aldric? Your father wishes to see you in his study."
The voice came from beyond a heavy wooden door. A woman's voice, formal but not unkind. Ryo—Aldric?—realized he understood the words perfectly despite never hearing the language before.
"I'll be right there," he called back, surprised by how natural the response felt.
As soon as he spoke, information flooded his mind. Not memories exactly, but knowledge. This body's history, laid out like files in a cabinet he'd suddenly gained access to.
Aldric Ravenspire. Third son of House Ravenspire, a minor noble family in the Kingdom of Astoria. Considered lazy and unmotivated by his family. Had shown no aptitude for swordplay, magic, or politics. At twenty-two, he was seen as a disappointment who would likely be quietly shuffled into obscurity.
The original Aldric had died three days ago. A riding accident, they said, though the knowledge that came with the memories suggested it might have been less accidental than reported. Political marriages were common among nobles, and a useless third son could become a liability if the right offer came along.
So I'm not just reincarnated. I'm replacing someone who was already dead.
Ryo tested the knowledge, probing for gaps or inconsistencies. Everything felt solid, real, like memories he'd always carried. The previous Aldric's life, his family relationships, the politics of noble society—it was all there, waiting to be accessed.
He dressed in the clothes laid out beside the bed. Fine wool and silk, but practical. The kind of outfit a minor noble might wear for a family meeting. As he pulled on the boots, another realization struck him.
I'm not panicking.
In his previous life, unexpected changes had sent him into spirals of anxiety. New assignments, office politics, even minor schedule disruptions could ruin his entire day. But facing death, reincarnation, and waking up in a fantasy world barely registered as concerning.
Maybe dying put things in perspective.
The hallway outside his room stretched in both directions, lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors. Ryo turned left, following knowledge he didn't remember learning, and walked toward what the inherited memories labeled as his father's study.
Each step felt measured, deliberate. Not the rushed pace of his previous life, always running late for the next meeting. Here, time seemed to move differently. More forgiving.
The study door stood slightly ajar. Ryo knocked once and pushed it open.
"Ah, Aldric. Good, you're awake."
The man behind the massive oak desk looked up from a stack of papers. Lord Marcus Ravenspire had iron-gray hair and the kind of weathered face that came from years of making difficult decisions. His eyes, when they met Ryo's, held no warmth.
"Father." The word came naturally, though it felt strange on his tongue.
"Sit down. We need to discuss your future."
Ryo settled into the chair across from the desk, noting how his father's attention never fully left the documents in front of him. Even a family conversation ranked below paperwork.
Some things never change, even between worlds.
"Your accident has made me realize something," Lord Marcus continued, still not looking up. "You've had twenty-two years to find your place in this family, and you've failed consistently. I can't afford to keep supporting a son who contributes nothing."
The words should have stung. Ryo waited for the familiar twist of inadequacy, the desperate need to prove himself worthy. Nothing came. Instead, he felt something that might have been relief.
"I'm cutting you off," his father said finally, meeting his eyes. "You'll receive a small inheritance—enough to start a modest life somewhere else. But you'll no longer be welcome in this house as anything more than a guest."
"I understand," Ryo said quietly.
Lord Marcus blinked, clearly expecting argument or pleading. "You... understand?"
"Yes. I think a fresh start would be good for both of us."
For the first time in the conversation, his father's attention focused completely on him. "You're taking this remarkably well."
"I've had time to think." Ryo stood, feeling strangely light. "When can I expect the inheritance?"
"Three days. I'll have papers drawn up transferring ownership of the old Millbrook Inn to you, along with enough coin to make basic repairs." Lord Marcus's voice carried a note of confusion. "It's not much, Aldric. The inn has been abandoned for two years. You'll be starting with almost nothing."
"That's perfect," Ryo said, and meant it.
As he walked back to his room, Ryo felt something he hadn't experienced in his previous life. Peace. Not the frantic peace of completing a project, but the deep quiet that came from having no expectations to fulfill.
Behind him, his father's voice called out: "Aldric?"
He turned back.
"Are you certain you're feeling well? You seem... different."
Ryo considered the question seriously. "I think I finally know what I want to do with my life."
The lie came easily. He had no idea what he wanted to do. But for the first time in two lifetimes, that uncertainty felt like freedom instead of fear.
As he closed his bedroom door, a translucent blue window appeared in his vision.
[Welcome to the Passive Growth System]
Skill Development Multiplier: Active
Current Status: No active skills detected
Recommendation: Begin any consistent activity to initialize growth
Ryo stared at the floating text, then dismissed it with a thought. A game system. Of course there would be a game system.
But unlike the spreadsheets and metrics of his previous life, this one promised something different. Growth through consistency, not intensity. Progress through patience, not pressure.
He looked out the window at the rolling countryside beyond the estate walls, and smiled.