Morning sunlight pierced through the thin curtains, illuminating the open bank passbook on the scratched wooden desk.
He sat cross-legged on the chair, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the table. His calm, pitch-black eyes stared fixedly at the numbers printed on the paper.
One million yen.
That was the entire sum his parents back home, Kazuo and Harumi, had scraped together for their only son to cover his living and tuition expenses in the capital. It was no small amount for a regular college student.
But in the mind of this body, the original Kazuya had devised a spending plan so awful it made him nauseous. He sifted through the available memories. Kazuya had intended to squander this entire amount on that damn Diamond app, renting a pretty girl to put on a show of smiling, holding hands, and whispering sweet lies just to soothe his pathetic ego after getting dumped.
He shook his head, a smile of extreme contempt curling his lips.
"A million yen just to buy a few dozen fake hours with an actress? That is the mindset of an inferior, someone so starved for affection they lose all reason."
He stood up, decisively closed the passbook, and shoved it into his jacket pocket. He had no time to play the role of an obedient student or a tragically heartbroken loser. In his past life, he was a ruler of the masses, a master of words. He knew exactly how to turn the attention of tens of thousands of people into an inexhaustible gold mine. The first thing to do now was to personally acquire everything he needed.
…
Tokyo's largest electronics district was bustling with people. He walked with a poised demeanor, completely ignoring the stalls displaying movies or colorful manga. His goal was crystal clear.
He blew nearly the entire passbook balance to purchase a top-tier processing computer. He spared no expense selecting the monitor with the highest resolution and refresh rate in the store, along with professional recording equipment, an ergonomic chair, premium headphones, a good microphone and a custom mechanical keyboard. Everything was chosen with a ruthlessly optimized mindset. He didn't need flashiness or useless blinking lights. He only needed absolute hardware power.
Although he lacked the leisure to start from scratch, stepping straight to the peak where all eyes had to look up meant he had to begin at the bottom. What this social network wanted most was simply the underdog journey of an ordinary carp leaping over the dragon gate. That was the only thing that mattered.
…
Eight o'clock at night.
The rickety apartment was now filled with glossy black machinery, emitting the smooth hum of cooling fans. He sat down in the swivel chair and adjusted the gold-plated microphone in front of him.
He didn't turn on the camera. On the livestream screen he had just set up, there was only a mysterious black avatar and an audio waveform pulsing to the rhythm. He wanted the audience to focus entirely on his brutal skills and his voice, rather than being distracted by the face of this body.
He took a deep breath and launched the first-person shooter currently attracting the largest viewership, alongside another tab displaying a tutorial video from a famous channel.
After a few minutes of going through the in-game tutorial with some bots and glancing at tutorial videos for different maps, things finally kicked off.
For the first ten minutes, the viewer count was merely a few dozen curious onlookers watching an unknown account rank up from the bottom. But shortly after, they were completely glued to the screen.
The reflexes and muscle memory from his past life awakened flawlessly. He maneuvered the character as smoothly as a ghost. There were no wasted movements, no hesitation. Whenever an enemy entered his line of sight, the outcome was singular. A deafening gunshot rang out, and the target fell with absolute precision right between the eyes.
But the real moneymaker, the thing that made the viewer count skyrocket exponentially, was his incredibly slick mouth and his utterly disdainful, superior attitude.
He cursed. He didn't just use vulgar words or meaningless slang like immature kids. He insulted his opponents in a deep, steady, and incredibly polite tone. He was as smooth as a television broadcaster, yet the mental damage was as sharp as a razor blade slicing the eardrum.
"Look here, guys." His voice flowed smoothly through the expensive audio setup. "That idiot hiding behind the wall would reaction so slow that I will enough time to jerk off before putting a bullet in his head."
Bang.
The screen jerked slightly. Another opponent was wiped from the match for daring to step out of cover.
He clicked his tongue and let out an exasperated sigh. The sound transmitted through the microphone, crisp down to the last breath.
"I'm your dada, you're mah children, don't you ever try to shoot me. Ain't gonna work, motherfuckers! Fuck, I ain't your dad for nothing, That did not happen for no reason, there must be logic of some sort. Get it?"
The live chat box in the corner of the screen exploded. Comments flowed as fast as a waterfall. The audience went from sheer bewilderment and shock to absolute exhilaration. They had never seen a streamer with such brutal skills and a lethally seductive voice, yet possessing words so toxic, arrogant, and absurdly elitist.
Viewers began clipping his politely insulting audio segments and sharing them wildly across other social media platforms. The crowd effect spread like a storm.
After exactly four hours of continuous streaming, the counter in the corner of the screen locked in at 3,600 new subscribers. It was an insane number, breaking every rule of growth for a rookie. Donations from the audience began dancing across the screen, accompanied by praise for his ruthlessness.
He smirked slightly, running a hand back through his hair. The feeling of manipulating thousands of people through an LCD screen was all too familiar and incredibly satisfying.
"Not bad at all."
He clicked to end the broadcast instantly. There were no sappy goodbyes for the audience. He knew the rule perfectly. The colder you are, the more desperate the crowd becomes.
He stretched, his joints popping after hours of sitting motionless. He reached for the can of black coffee on the desk. Right then, the phone tossed on the bed vibrated softly, signaling a new message.
He frowned and picked up the phone. The screen displayed a group chat of three people. It was him, Kibe, and Kuribayashi, the original Kazuya's college friends.
Kibe: [Hey Kazuya, we are drinking at the usual izakaya the day after tomorrow. You have been MIA lately. You need to get out and clear your head.]
Kuribayashi: [He is right. Just a heads up so you are not surprised, Mami will be there too. We are all classmates, so do not make it awkward. Be there on time!]
He stared at the name Mami on the screen. The temperature in the apartment suddenly dropped a few degrees.
If it were the old Kazuya, receiving this message would make him sweat profusely, his heart pounding and legs trembling. He would struggle internally, making excuses to decline because he was terrified of facing his ex, or he would show up looking pathetic and awkward, clinging to the fragile hope that she might glance at him one more time.
But the man holding the phone right now slowly smirked. It was the cunning, cold, and ruthless smile of a predator that had just caught the scent of blood. His dark eyes gleamed with razor-sharp excitement.
He knew the psychology of narcissists like Nanami Mami all too well. She did not care about college friendships. Her only purpose in agreeing to a drinking party with the ex-boyfriend she just dumped was to play the role of a fragile, friendly victim. She wanted to use fake, sweet words and hypocritical actions to humiliate Kazuya in front of his friends. She wanted to turn him into a lovesick fool just to elevate herself to the status of a forgiving goddess. She craved the feeling of watching others writhe beneath her heel.
"She went through the trouble of setting up such a crowded stage." He muttered, his fingers tapping dryly on the desk. "If I do not personally strip away your fake skin and dissect that twisted psyche in front of everyone, I would be failing as a guest."
He opened the virtual keyboard and pressed down on the screen decisively, devoid of any hesitation.
[Sure. I will be there on time.]
The message was sent. He tossed the phone aside, leaned back in his chair, and interlaced his fingers. The image of Mami's pretentious face and fake smile flashed in his mind.
"Enjoy tomorrow to the fullest, you thot. Because the day after tomorrow, I will show you the price of putting on an act in front of someone who specializes in exposing lies."