"Hiss—" My head hurts so much… Takuya Nakayama painstakingly opened his eyes and found himself lying on a soft tatami mat.
Gentle light, warm and pleasant, streamed in through the paper-covered lattice door, not harsh, but quite comfortable.
Where is this?
He propped himself up on the tatami to sit, his whole body aching and weak as if he had run a marathon.
Looking around, the room was simply furnished, with a calligraphy scroll on the wall that read "Restrain Oneself and Return to Propriety," the brushstrokes quite vigorous.
In the corner, a small low table held a set of delicate tea ware.
"Am I… transmigrated?" Takuya Nakayama murmured to himself, his voice trembling slightly.
Memories flooded in like a breached dam, almost drowning him.
He clearly remembered that he was a veteran game otaku in 2025.
That night, after watching Nintendo's Switch 2 dedicated direct, he cursed, "What's with these launch titles? Either paid upgrades of NS games or a bunch of ports?
And what's with this 'Japanese tax'?
Why are all game companies like this? When things are going well, they just release a pile of garbage.
NS did it, PS4 did it, and XBOX360 did it too." Then he chugged a beer, not sure if it was expired, and fell asleep.
He never expected to wake up and find his soul had transmigrated to Japan.
Looking at the calendar on the table, the red numbers were clearly marked: March 23, 1985.
Showa 60!
Wait a minute… Takuya Nakayama?
With waves of pounding headaches, he was slowly merging with the original owner's memories.
After breaking out in a sweat, he finally understood the identity of this body.
This Takuya Nakayama was actually the youngest son of Hayao Nakayama, the president of Sega!
The original owner had just graduated from Tokyo Institute of Technology, a proper academic ace.
At the graduation party, egged on by some mischievous friends, he gritted his teeth and challenged someone to a drinking contest, which resulted in him drinking himself "to death," and then he transmigrated into him.
"Sega… 1985… I just complained about a bunch of game companies, and now I'm reborn as Sega's prince.
Does Qidian's transmigration office also like this 'you can you up' routine?" Takuya Nakayama's eyes gradually brightened, and the corners of his mouth unconsciously curved upward slightly.
"It's just Nintendo, isn't it?
This time, I'll lead Sega to take you down."
"However, the most important thing right now is…" Takuya Nakayama scratched the back of his head, his brows slightly furrowed, trying to calm himself down, "I need to figure out the current situation first, and also… what kind of person was this 'young master of the Nakayama Family' usually?
I can't let my cover be blown."
He didn't want to expose himself as soon as he arrived and be mistaken for schizophrenic.
Takuya Nakayama began frantically searching through the original owner's memory fragments in his mind, piecing them together bit by bit, like playing a jigsaw puzzle, trying to reconstruct a complete image of "Takuya Nakayama."
Just as he had roughly reviewed the original body's memories, a gentle voice, tinged with concern, came from outside the door.
"Young Master Takuya, are you awake?"
"Ah… I'm awake," Takuya Nakayama replied, his throat still dry and tight.
The sliding door was silently opened, and a middle-aged woman dressed in an elegant kimono entered.
Her face was gentle, and she was Keiko Nakayama, a maid of the Nakayama Family.
Seeing that Takuya Nakayama had managed to sit up, she quickly approached, knelt down, and looked at his complexion with concern: "Young Master Takuya, are you feeling better?
Your face still looks a bit pale; perhaps you should lie down a bit longer?"
Takuya Nakayama gently waved his hand, forcing a somewhat natural smile: "I'm fine, Aunt Keiko.
I feel much better after sleeping.
It's just… I accidentally drank too much yesterday."
He raised a hand and pressed his temples, feigning the look of someone still recovering from a hangover.
"Oh, it's good that you and your friends had fun, but you must also take care of your health," Keiko chided him with a look, but her tone clearly conveyed care.
"Please get ready, and I'll prepare breakfast.
Still your favorite Udon noodles?"
"Yes, thank you, Aunt Keiko," Takuya Nakayama replied, starting to look for a change of clothes in the closet, and casually asked, "By the way, where is Father?"
"The master is home today, enjoying tea in the backyard.
He instructed that once you woke up, you should go see him," Keiko answered.
"Drinking tea? So early in the morning…" Takuya Nakayama muttered to himself.
His cheap dad's hobby was quite old-fashioned, but this was a good opportunity to test the waters.
"Alright, I understand."
He nodded impassively, secretly sighing in relief; his response just now should not have revealed any flaws.
Keiko rose and left, thoughtfully closing the sliding door.
Takuya Nakayama went into the inner washroom, and the cold water splashed on his face cleared his muddled head considerably.
Reflected in the mirror was a young, slightly childish face, belonging to the original owner, and now to him.
"This body isn't bad, and he's not short either.
It's acceptable."
He briefly evaluated the body, then took a quick shower.
Dressed in simple casual wear, he returned to the outer room.
A steaming bowl of Miso Udon noodles was already on the low table.
The golden fried tofu skin was soaked in broth, topped with a perfectly cooked onsen egg, exactly the original owner's favorite flavor from memory.
The aroma was enticing, stirring his appetite.
This was an authentic 1980s Japanese breakfast, much better than the instant takeaways of his own era.
Takuya Nakayama sat down, picked up his chopsticks, and slurped the noodles into his mouth.
The chewy noodles, rich broth, and the mellow half-cooked egg yolk warmed his stomach.
"Hmm, the taste is really good."
He finished breakfast in no time, wiped his mouth with a napkin, stood up, straightened his clothes, and walked towards the backyard.
Passing through several corridors, a traditional Japanese garden unfolded before his eyes.
It was March, and several cherry trees were in full bloom.
As a gentle breeze blew, pink and white petals fell like fine snow, landing on the bluestone slabs and drifting in the murmuring stream.
The air was filled with a faint fragrance of flowers and the damp scent of earth.
Deep in the garden, beneath a cherry tree, Hayao Nakayama sat with his back to him at a low table.
He wore a dark blue kimono, his figure tall and straight, exuding a calm and dignified aura even from just his back.
On the low table sat a set of rustic Yixing clay tea ware, emitting wisps of steam.
"Father."
Takuya Nakayama walked forward, stopped a few steps away, and bowed slightly.
Hayao Nakayama did not turn around immediately; he simply picked up his teacup, took a light sip, and then slowly turned.
His gaze fell on Takuya Nakayama, calm yet scrutinizing: "Hmm, Takuya, you're awake."
"Yes, Father."
"Sit," Hayao Nakayama motioned to the cushion opposite him.
Takuya Nakayama knelt on the cushion in the posture he remembered, his back straight, trying to appear as proper as possible.
Facing the legendary head of Sega, he was still a bit nervous.