Jinguu Akira sat before his computer—one hand resting on the mouse, the other on the keyboard. But neither moved. His vacant eyes simply stared at the monitor.
To an outsider, it would seem as though he were zoning out. But only Akira knew the truth: he was scanning through the memories that had mysteriously emerged in his mind.
If his brain were to be likened to a computer hard drive, it was divided into numerous partitions. Akira frowned, troubled by the complexity of this internal storage system, half-suspecting that his brain had been synced with his old computer from before the transmigration.
Back in his original world, Akira wouldn't have called himself a tech expert, but he could handle most basic computer issues on his own. His desktop had been assembled part by part from components he ordered online. Partitioning the hard drive was also something he did himself.
He used to have a habit: splitting the hard drive into four parts—C, D, E, and F. C was for the system, D was for games, E for tools and his extensive library of Japanese "romantic action" films, and F held everything else—anime, music, movies, and other odds and ends.
It sounded like a good plan, but in practice, problems always arose. Akira was a relentless downloader with a massive collection of "romantic action" films, and he hated deleting anything. So his E drive filled up fast. With no more room, he began dumping downloads into any other partition except the system drive. Over time, his hard drive became a chaotic mess, and finding anything became increasingly difficult.
Now his brain felt exactly the same. Divided into countless partitions, each one overflowing with jumbled content—unorganized, untagged, unsearchable. And unlike a computer, his brain didn't come with a search bar. So Akira had to sift through it all manually, trying to locate anything useful.
He imagined himself double-clicking folders in his mind, peering into digital heaps of overwhelming data. Anime, novels, games, even movies… Akira paused. He sensed something—this moment, this very decision—was the biggest turning point of his life.
"What should I choose?"
He questioned himself, as if standing before a divine judgment, awaiting a verdict from the heavens.
Movies were still the dominant form of entertainment in the world—an international cultural pillar. Anime, while it had diehard fans in every corner of the globe, was still considered a niche.
His head brimmed with classics: movies complete with cinematography, casting, scripts, scores—every essential element. If he wished, he could recreate them all in this world. Given enough time, he could amass fortune and fame through cinema.
But... is that really what I want? Am I lacking money?
The pre-transmigration Akira would have said yes without hesitation. Money trumped everything—dreams, ideals, even pride. But now, as the legitimate heir to the Jinguu financial conglomerate, Akira couldn't care less about money.
In capitalist nations, governments may appear to wield power, but in truth, their leaders are often mere puppets of vast financial conglomerates. Those who control a country's economic lifeblood—mining, energy, chemical industries, defense, transportation—are the real rulers.
And Japan, once heavily influenced by China's culture before its own industrial revolution, had taken this capitalist model even further. The Japanese populace had long accepted their reality: they lived under the thumb of conglomerates like the famed Sony Corporation, which was merely a branch of a larger zaibatsu.
Unless someone reincarnated into a very specific historical era, creating a new financial empire in modern times was virtually impossible. Even if you traveled back, invested early in Microsoft, founded Apple, or launched Google, even if you amassed hundreds of billions, you'd never reach the seat of true power. That seat was not just about money or genius—it required timing and systemic dominance.
These conglomerates controlled entire nations. Even if you had money, you couldn't breach their dominion. The only disruption would come from something cataclysmic—like war.
Of course, if one were to reincarnate with futuristic or alien technology, that would be a different matter. One could hide in the mountains, build an R&D lab, max out their tech tree, and when the time was right, descend upon the world to unify it under one rule, with a harem of thirty million women by their side…
But alas, there was no advanced alien tech in Akira's memory.
If there had been, he wouldn't be sitting here thinking about film or anime—he'd be planning how to become the King of Earth.
"Movies or anime…? Then there's no choice at all."
Akira chuckled. Since money was meaningless to him now, even if he turned every memory into a cash cow, it wouldn't compare to the wealth and influence he was destined to inherit. That being the case, there was only one thing that truly mattered—his dream.
"Besides, this world is different from my old one. Who says otaku culture can't claim its rightful place on the global stage?"
He clenched his fist and slammed it on the desk, startling JOJO, who had been resting quietly in the corner of the room.
Right now, he had no freedom. He couldn't choose who to marry. He couldn't even decide his own future. But—right now, in this very moment—he was still free. He still had a choice. So he would seize that fleeting freedom and charge toward his dream with everything he had!
"So… where should I begin?"
He picked up a stick of gum from the desk and popped it into his mouth. Chewing gum while thinking was a habit from his previous life—he always needed it whether working or strategizing.
Akira wasn't someone who moved without a plan. He believed in preparation above all else. Even if he were to become a literary copycat, a content pirate, a shameless plagiarist—he wasn't about to just copy a random novel or draw a manga and expect fame and fortune to fall into his lap.