Kenji Sato was twenty-nine years old when he learned that dying in your favorite game did not always mean the game was over.
He had been an exhausted office worker in Tokyo in the year 2026 — nothing remarkable, just another salaryman buried under deadlines and unpaid overtime. His only escape was historical strategy games. He especially loved doomed nations, and none fascinated him more than France under Louis XVI.
That night, he had started a new campaign after midnight.
Difficulty: Legendary
Nation: France
Year: 1760
Louis XVI was still a timid prince at that point, the awkward grandson of King Louis XV, fated to take the throne in 1774 and lose his head nineteen years later.
Kenji shook his head at the screen.
"Let's see if you can survive this time, Your Highness."
The monitor went white.
Pain struck his chest like a hammer.
Then warmth.
When Kenji opened his eyes, he was staring at a ceiling painted with cherubs dancing among clouds.
The smell was not plastic or detergent.
It was incense.
A woman gasped.
"Mon Dieu… the prince is awake!"
Kenji tried to sit up — and nearly fell forward.
His body was wrong.
Smaller. Lighter. Childish.
A tall man with silver hair rushed to his side, eyes shining with relief.
"Louis-Auguste… my son."
Kenji's blood ran cold.
Louis-Auguste.
That was Louis XVI's childhood name.
He slowly raised his hands.
Chubby. Soft. Six-year-old hands.
Not a king's.
A prince's.
Memory surged — not his own — of Latin tutors, strict etiquette, endless corridors, and a powerful figure whose presence filled the room.
Louis, Dauphin of France. His father. Still alive.
Year 1760.
Kenji had reincarnated nearly two decades early.
Long before the guillotine.
Long before the crown.
Long before Marie Antoinette would ever arrive in France.
He was early.
Dangerously early.
They assumed the prince had collapsed from a fever.
No one questioned his quiet gaze. Royal children were expected to be solemn.
Inside, Kenji's thoughts raced.
I'm not late this time.
He remembered everything.
His father would die in 1765.
His grandfather would drain France with luxury and favoritism.
He would grow into a shy, physically weak king mocked by nobles and misunderstood by his queen.
Marie Antoinette would marry him at fourteen and grow distant because he was immature, awkward, unconfident.
And eventually…
A crowd screaming for his head.
Not this time.
That night, lying in silk sheets far too large for his small body, Kenji stared into the dark.
Twenty-nine years of adult memories inside a six-year-old prince.
He clenched his fists.
If my stats are trash… I grind.
He rolled off the bed.
Crashed to the floor.
A maid shrieked.
He ignored her.
Pushed himself up again.
His arms shook violently as he forced out five push-ups before collapsing once more.
Pain burned through muscles that had never known effort.
But he smiled.
"So this is my tutorial," he whispered.
From that day on, the court whispered.
The prince ate meat instead of sweets.
He asked about taxes instead of toys.
He ran until he collapsed in palace gardens.
He lifted iron candlesticks in secret when no one watched.
The nobles laughed.
But Kenji knew his true enemy was not a person.
It was history itself.
And this time… he intended to beat the game.