The last thing Takeshi Yamada saw was the truck's headlights.
*Shit.*
That was his final thought as 28 years of mundane existence ended in a screech of brakes and the sickening crunch of metal meeting flesh. No dramatic life-flashing-before-eyes moment. No profound revelations. Just a tired software engineer crossing the street at 2 AM after another fourteen-hour shift, too exhausted to notice the red light.
*At least I finished reading Chapter 650 before this,* some absurd part of his brain thought as consciousness faded.
Then—nothing.
---
**Then—everything.**
---
Takeshi's eyes snapped open.
Wrong. That wasn't right. His eyes had been closed from impact, blood filling his vision, sirens wailing in the distance as Tokyo's emergency services rushed to scrape what remained of him off the asphalt.
But now he was staring at an ornate ceiling painted with murals of shadow dragons coiling through storm clouds. Gold leaf traced their scales. Crimson eyes—painted with disturbing realism—seemed to track his movement.
*What the hell?*
He tried to sit up. His body responded wrong—too light, too coordinated, muscles moving with fluid grace his Earth-body had never possessed. Twenty-eight years of sitting in an office chair, surviving on convenience store meals and energy drinks, had left him with a soft middle and chronic back pain.
This body had neither.
Takeshi looked down at his hands. Long fingers, callused in specific patterns that spoke of sword training. Pale skin marked with thin scars—the kind from blade practice, not accidents. And on his right wrist, a tattoo of a coiled shadow dragon, its crimson eyes matching those on the ceiling.
*No. No fucking way.*
He stumbled out of bed—a massive four-poster thing that could sleep five people—and nearly fell. His legs were longer than they should be. His center of gravity completely different. He caught himself on a nearby dresser, and that's when he saw the mirror.
The face staring back at him was not Takeshi Yamada's.
It was Duke Akira Kurogane's.
The villain from *Hikari no Joō*.
The man destined to die in Chapter 487, begging for mercy as Princess Yumeko Shirogane drove her divine blade through his heart.
"Oh fuck," Takeshi—no, Akira—whispered. His voice was deeper, richer than Takeshi's had been. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh *fuck*."
He stared at his reflection, cataloging features he'd only read about in text descriptions:
**Height:** Easily over six feet. The mirror showed him towering in a way Takeshi's 5'8" frame never had.
**Build:** Lean muscle, warrior's physique. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. The kind of body that came from daily sword training and actual physical activity, not gym memberships he never used.
**Hair:** Jet black, falling past his shoulders in a way that should have looked feminine but somehow didn't. Currently disheveled from sleep, framing sharp features.
**Eyes:** This was the distinctive feature. Deep crimson, like blood held up to light. The hereditary trait of the Kurogane bloodline, according to the novel. In certain lighting, they seemed to glow faintly.
**Face:** Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, a small scar cutting through his left eyebrow. Handsome in a dangerous way. The kind of face that made readers love to hate the character.
He was wearing black silk sleeping robes embroidered with silver thread forming patterns of chains and thorns—the Kurogane family crest.
*This is real. This is actually real.*
Panic clawed up his throat. Takeshi had read over 700 chapters of *Hikari no Joō* during his commutes, lunch breaks, and sleepless nights. He knew this world. Knew its rules. Knew its story.
And he knew exactly what Duke Akira Kurogane was supposed to do in three months.
The Hikari Empire invasion. The slaughter of the Shirogane royal family. Princess Yumeko's escape and her vow of vengeance. Five years of brutal war culminating in Akira's execution at age 23.
Takeshi was currently—he searched for context clues, found a letter on the dresser with a date—18 years old.
Three months before everything went to hell.
*Okay. Okay. Think. THINK.*
He'd read enough transmigration novels to know the tropes. Protagonist dies, wakes up in a novel world, usually as a minor character or the protagonist themselves. They use their meta-knowledge to change fate, get stronger, build harems or whatever.
But those protagonists didn't usually wake up as the villain destined to commit genocide.
"Young master!" A voice called from outside the bedroom door, accompanied by urgent knocking. "Young master Akira, are you awake? Your father summons you to the war council!"
*War council.*
Takeshi's—Akira's—stomach dropped.
He knew this scene. Chapter 15 of the original novel, from Yumeko's perspective. The day Duke Akira attended the council where Emperor Ryuzen decided to invade the Hikari Empire. The day the original Akira enthusiastically volunteered to lead the vanguard.
The day he sealed his fate.
"Young master?"
"I'm—" Akira's voice cracked. He cleared his throat, forced it steady. "I'm awake. Give me ten minutes."
"Yes, young master!"
Footsteps retreated down the corridor.
Akira braced his hands on the dresser, staring at his reflection. The crimson-eyed stranger stared back, face pale with shock.
*Get it together. You have three months before the invasion. Three months to change everything.*
But how? He couldn't just refuse to participate—that would raise suspicion. The original Akira was known as a brilliant but ruthless military strategist, ambitious and cold. If he suddenly became pacifist, his own father might have him executed for being compromised by enemy magic.
*I need information. I need to understand exactly where in the timeline I am.*
Akira moved to the dresser, rifling through its contents. Letters, military reports, maps. His hands—Akira's hands, he needed to start thinking of them as his—moved with practiced efficiency, muscle memory from the original owner sorting through familiar documents.
A letter caught his eye. The seal: Emperor Ryuzen Kurogane's personal stamp.
He opened it:
---
*Akira,*
*The intelligence you provided regarding Hikari Empire's eastern defenses has proven invaluable. The council meets today to finalize our strategy. I expect you to present your proposal for the invasion route.*
*Your brother Kaito protests this action, calling it unnecessary aggression. He is young and idealistic. You understand the necessity of strength in this world.*
*The Hikari fools sit on resources we need. Their light magic is wasted on healing and peace while demons gather in the north. We will take what they squander and use it properly.*
*Attend the council. Make me proud.*
*— Father*
---
Akira's hands trembled, crinkling the paper.
*I provided intelligence. I already helped plan this invasion.*
Of course he had. The original Akira was already a villain before the story even started. This wasn't some misunderstood character who could be easily redeemed. This was someone who genuinely believed might made right, who saw the Hikari Empire as weak prey.
*But I'm not him. Not anymore.*
A knock on the door, gentler this time. "Young master, I've prepared your council attire."
"Come in."
An elderly woman entered—Obaa-san Hana, Akira's personal attendant since childhood. Her face was weathered with age, eyes kind despite serving in the Kurogane household for forty years. According to the novel, she was one of the few people who genuinely cared for Akira, and she died trying to protect him during Yumeko's attack in the original timeline.
*I can't let that happen.*
"You look pale, young master." Hana approached, concern evident. "Did you sleep poorly?"
"Strange dreams," Akira said, which wasn't entirely a lie.
"The same nightmare again?" Hana began laying out his clothes—formal military attire in black and crimson. "The one about drowning in light?"
Akira froze. "What?"
"You've had them for weeks now. Waking up screaming about light consuming everything." Hana's hands were gentle as she helped him out of his sleeping robes. "I've been worried."
*The original Akira had prophetic dreams?*
No—wait. Takeshi remembered something from Chapter 203. A throwaway line about how the original Akira had once mentioned having nightmares about a silver-haired goddess. Readers had assumed it was foreshadowing his fear of Yumeko, but what if...
What if the original Akira had some awareness of his fate? And it drove him to act more ruthlessly, trying to prevent it?
*That's... actually tragic.*
But there was no time to dwell on it. Hana dressed him efficiently: black undershirt, crimson vest embroidered with the Kurogane crest, black formal jacket with silver clasps shaped like thorns, black hakama-style pants, boots that came up to mid-calf. A ceremonial sword at his hip—*Kurogane no Kiba* (Fang of Black Steel), the weapon that would eventually be shattered by Yumeko's divine blade.
Looking in the mirror now, Akira looked every inch the dark lord villain. The clothes emphasized his height, his lean strength. The crimson and black color scheme made his red eyes seem to burn.
*I look like I stepped out of an anime.*
"Perfect, as always," Hana said, stepping back with satisfaction. Then, quieter: "Whatever your father asks today... remember that you have choices, young master. You're not just a weapon for the Kurogane name."
Akira met her eyes in the mirror. She knew. Maybe not the specifics, but she knew today was important. Knew he was being pushed toward something.
"Thank you, Hana-obaa-san."
Her expression softened at the affectionate suffix. The original Akira had stopped using it years ago, becoming cold and formal. "Go. Don't keep the Emperor waiting."
---
The walk to the war council chamber took Akira through corridors he recognized from novel descriptions but had never actually seen. The Kurogane fortress-palace was built into the side of Mount Kageyama (Shadow Mountain), its architecture blending natural rock with obsidian and dark stone. Torches burned with enchanted flames that gave off no smoke, casting everything in flickering shadows.
Guards lined the halls—all wearing the Kurogane black and crimson, all bowing as Akira passed. He returned each nod with the automatic courtesy that muscle memory provided, his mind racing.
*Three months. In three months, I'm supposed to lead an army across the border. Kill thousands. Destroy the Hikari capital. Murder Yumeko's entire family.*
His hands clenched.
*I won't do it.*
But how to stop it without getting himself killed in the process?
The war council chamber doors loomed ahead—twenty feet tall, carved from black oak and inlaid with silver depicting famous Kurogane victories. Two guards pulled them open.
"Duke Akira Kurogane!" one announced.
The chamber beyond was circular, dominated by a massive table carved from a single piece of obsidian. Maps covered its surface, marked with colored pins and strategic notations. Around it sat the most powerful people in the Kagerou Dominion:
**Emperor Ryuzen Kurogane** at the head of the table, a man built like a bear despite his age, gray threading through his black hair. His crimson eyes—identical to Akira's—fixed on his son with expectation.
**General Tesshin Hagane** to Ryuzen's right, scarred and battle-hardened, reviewing troop movements.
**Lady Kaguya Kurogane** to Ryuzen's left, Akira's aunt, her beauty concealing one of the sharpest minds in the dominion.
**Duke Saburo Yami** across from Akira's empty seat, smiling that oily smile that made readers hate him from his first appearance.
And standing apart from the table, arms crossed in obvious displeasure—**Prince Kaito Kurogane**. Akira's younger brother, with the same black hair but eyes of deep blue instead of crimson. The novel described him as everything Akira wasn't: warm, idealistic, beloved by the people. In the original timeline, he died during Yumeko's revenge, cut down while trying to negotiate peace.
*I have to save him too.*
"Akira." Emperor Ryuzen's voice filled the chamber. "You're late."
Actually, Akira was exactly on time, but punctuality was an insult in Kurogane culture—arriving early showed respect, arriving on time showed you felt no urgency.
"My apologies, Father." Akira moved to his seat with practiced grace. "I was reviewing the updated intelligence reports."
A lie. But a good one.
"And?" Ryuzen leaned forward. "Anything new?"
This was it. The moment where original Akira would present his detailed invasion plan, earning praise from his father and sealing the Hikari Empire's fate.
Akira met his father's crimson eyes.
And lied through his teeth.
"Actually, Father, I've found concerning inconsistencies in our intelligence."
Silence crashed down.
Duke Saburo's smile froze. General Tesshin looked up sharply. Lady Kaguya's expression remained neutral, but her eyes gleamed with interest.
Emperor Ryuzen's face darkened. "Explain."
*No turning back now.*
"The eastern defense reports—the ones indicating weak patrol patterns—they're too perfect." Akira pulled out the maps, pointing to marked locations. "Every weakness is exactly where we'd expect. Every patrol gap precisely timed for our troop movements. It reads like..."
"Like bait," Lady Kaguya finished, leaning forward with sudden intensity.
"Impossible," Duke Saburo interjected quickly—too quickly. "Our spies have been in position for months. The Hikari dogs suspect nothing."
"Then why," Akira countered, meeting Saburo's gaze, "do these reports match intelligence patterns from the Mizuumi Federation's failed invasion attempt twenty years ago? The same invasion that ended with half their army drowned in an ambush?"
He was making it up as he went, but the original novel had mentioned that old invasion in Chapter 340. Takeshi's obsessive memory for plot details was finally paying off.
General Tesshin grabbed the maps, comparing them to older documents. His scarred face paled. "He's right. The formation patterns are nearly identical."
"Coincidence," Saburo insisted, but sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Or," Prince Kaito spoke for the first time, moving to the table with barely contained hope, "the Hikari Empire knows we're coming. And they're prepared."
Emperor Ryuzen's hands clenched into fists on the obsidian table. The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Saburo." The Emperor's voice was deceptively soft. "Who vouched for these intelligence sources?"
"I—my lord, I merely compiled reports from multiple—"
"WHO. VOUCHED."
Duke Saburo's face went from pale to ashen. "I did, my lord. But I assure you, the sources have been reliable for years—"
"Reliable sources don't provide intelligence that could lead our armies into a massacre." Ryuzen stood, and everyone in the room tensed. When the Emperor stood during council, someone usually died. "Akira, your assessment: if we proceed with the invasion as planned, what are our chances?"
*Say it. Save them. Save everyone.*
"If the Hikari Empire is indeed prepared?" Akira kept his voice clinical, strategic. "We'd lose sixty percent of our forces in the initial engagement. The eastern approach would become a killing field. And if they've allied with the Seisen Theocracy—which I suspect they have, given the timing—we'd face divine magic users in entrenched positions."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"We wouldn't just lose the invasion. We'd cripple our military capacity for a generation. And with demons moving in the northern wastes..." Akira met his father's eyes. "We'd be defenseless when the real threat arrives."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Prince Kaito looked like he wanted to cry with relief.
General Tesshin was recalculating troop allocations, his strategic mind already shifting gears.
Lady Kaguya watched Akira with an expression that suggested she was seeing him—truly seeing him—for the first time.
Duke Saburo looked like he wanted to run.
And Emperor Ryuzen...
The Emperor sat down slowly. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of mountains.
"The invasion is postponed. Indefinitely." He turned to Saburo, and his crimson eyes promised death. "You will identify every source that provided this intelligence. Every single one. And you will discover who compromised them."
"My lord—"
"If you fail, I will assume you were the one compromised. Do you understand?"
Saburo bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the table. "Yes, my lordI will not fail."
He will fail, Akira thought. Because in the original timeline, Saburo was already in league with the demons. This 'intelligence' was probably designed to get Kagerou and Hikari to destroy each other, weakening both for demonic invasion.
But saying that now would require explaining how he knew. One crisis at a time.
"Akira." Emperor Ryuzen's attention shifted. "You've prevented a potential disaster. What do you propose instead?"
And there it was. The opening he needed.
"Diplomacy," Akira said, and enjoyed the shocked expressions around the table. "Not surrender—never that. But communication. If Hikari knows we're preparing for war, then they're also preparing. Both sides building up forces, draining resources, while the real enemy gathers strength in the north."
"You want to negotiate with them?" General Tesshin sounded incredulous. "The Hikari Empire? They've been our rivals for three generations!"
"I want to propose a summit." Akira stood, moving around the table to point at the maps. "Neutral ground. The Mizuumi Federation would host—they profit from stability. We present evidence of demonic movement in the north. Share intelligence. Propose a temporary alliance against the greater threat."
"They'll refuse," Lady Kaguya said, but her tone was thoughtful rather than dismissive. "The Shirogane family has no reason to trust us."
"Then we give them one." Akira took a breath. This was the gamble. "I'll go personally. As a show of good faith. The heir to Kagerou, alone in Hikari territory, presenting evidence of a mutual threat."
"Absolutely not!" Kaito burst out. "Brother, they'd arrest you! Execute you for espionage!"
"Or," Akira countered, "they'd see it as the gesture it is. A powerful enemy making himself vulnerable to propose peace. It would buy time at minimum. And time is what we need to prepare for the demons."
Emperor Ryuzen studied his eldest son with an expression Akira couldn't read. Finally: "Why?"
"Why what, Father?"
"Why this change? Three weeks ago, you were eager for this invasion. You called the Hikari Empire 'weaklings who deserved to be conquered.' You presented me with battle plans that were..." He paused. "Brilliant. Ruthless. Effective. Now you advocate for peace?"
Because I'm not your son. I'm a dead software engineer from another world who read about all of this in a web novel and knows that everyone in this room will die horribly if I don't change the story.
But he couldn't say that.
Akira met his father's eyes. "I had a dream."
The room went still.
"Not the usual nightmares," Akira continued quietly. "This was different. I saw... everything. Our invasion succeeding. The Hikari capital burning. Their royal family dead. And then I saw the demons pouring over our borders while our armies were depleted from conquest. I saw Kagerou falling. Our people slaughtered. Mount Kageyama running with blood."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He had seen it—through 700 chapters of a web novel.
"And in this dream," Akira's voice dropped, "I saw myself dying. Not in battle. Not with honor. But begging for mercy I didn't deserve, killed by someone I'd wronged beyond redemption."
Chapter 487. Yumeko's blade through his heart. His final words: "Please... I only wanted... to be strong..."
Emperor Ryuzen's expression shifted. Something that might have been fear flickered in his crimson eyes.
"I don't believe in prophecy," Akira finished. "But I believe in strategy. And everything in that dream told me we're focusing on the wrong enemy."
Silence.
Then Emperor Ryuzen laughed—a sound like grinding stones. "My son, the dreamer. Very well. You have two weeks to gather evidence of this demonic threat. If you can present compelling proof, I'll authorize your diplomatic mission."
"And the invasion?"
"Postponed, not cancelled. But..." Ryuzen's gaze sharpened. "If your summit succeeds, if you can forge even a temporary alliance with Hikari, I'll consider it. The Kurogane family has survived for ten generations by adapting when necessary."
"Thank you, Father."
"Don't thank me yet. Duke Saburo, you will assist Akira in investigating these intelligence failures. Consider it your penance."
Saburo bowed again, his face a mask of compliance. But Akira saw the hatred burning in his eyes.
I've made an enemy. Good. Now I know to watch him.
The council dissolved. As people filed out, Prince Kaito grabbed Akira's arm.
"Brother," his blue eyes were wide with hope and confusion, "I don't know what changed, but thank you. Thank you for stopping this."
Akira managed a smile. "Don't thank me yet, Kaito. This is just the beginning."
As Kaito left, Lady Kaguya approached, her expression unreadable.
"That was quite the performance," she said quietly, so no one else could hear. "The question is: was it genuine or manipulation?"
"Does it matter? If the result is the same?"
"Oh, it matters very much." Kaguya's eyes—purple, unlike the rest of the family—studied him intently. "Because if you're genuine, you've just become the most dangerous person in this dominion. And if you're manipulating..." She smiled, cold and beautiful. "Then you're playing a game even I don't understand yet."
She left him alone in the council chamber.
Akira slumped into a chair, adrenaline draining away.
I did it. I actually changed the timeline.
The invasion was postponed. Yumeko's family wouldn't die in three months. The path to Chapter 487 had been altered.
But he'd also just put a target on his back. Duke Saburo would be investigating him now. The Emperor was watching. Lady Kaguya suspected something.
And he still had to actually prove the demonic threat, arrange a diplomatic summit, and somehow convince Princess Yumeko Shirogane—the woman destined to kill him—that he wasn't the villain she'd been expecting.
No pressure.
Akira looked down at his hands. Akira's hands. Callused from sword practice, marked with thin scars, crimson dragon tattoo coiling around his wrist.
In the original novel, these hands had killed thousands. Had destroyed a kingdom. Had committed atrocities that made readers simultaneously hate and pity him.
But they were Takeshi's hands now. And Takeshi—Akira—had no intention of following that script.
"Two weeks," he muttered to himself. "Two weeks to find proof of demons. Then convince my father to let me walk into enemy territory alone. Then somehow make the heroine who's supposed to kill me fall in love with me instead."
When he said it out loud, it sounded insane.
But Akira had read enough web novels to know how this worked.
The story could be changed. Fate could be rewritten.
He just had to survive long enough to do it.
Outside the window, storm clouds gathered over Mount Kageyama. In the distance, barely visible against the darkening sky, the northern mountains loomed—where the Jubaku no Chi lay, and beyond it, the Makai.
Where demons waited.
And where Akira's real enemy—not Yumeko, but the forces that had been manipulating this world's conflicts—prepared their invasion.
Chapter 1 of my story, Akira thought, standing to leave the chamber. Let's see if I can write a better ending than the original.