On the quiet night streets of Tokyo, Eichi Arata walked alone. A normal man with an athletic build, he let his mind drift back to the office, replaying the day's events. Dressed in a simple suit, he had just wrapped up another long shift, ready to head home. The Yakuza? They were nothing more than characters in stories, figures that belonged to the pages of novels, far from anything in his real life. Or so he thought.
But tonight, fiction was about to collide with his world.
Out of nowhere, shadows shifted. Four hundred men in sharp suits appeared, filling the street in front of him. Their presence was overwhelming, blocking any possible escape.
Eichi's eyes widened. "What the…?"
Before he could react, one man stepped forward from the sea of Yakuza. His eyes were sharp, yet there was a clear respect in his gaze. He raised his hand, a simple gesture, but one that sent a ripple through the gathered crowd.
"Men, kneel!" he barked.
In perfect unison, the four hundred men obeyed, lowering themselves to the ground, their heads bowed. The leader, now standing before Eichi, softened his tone as he bowed deeply.
He said with unmistakable reverence, "Boss, welcome back."
Eichi froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Boss? He didn't belong here. What was going on?
"Me? A boss? For who? You guys?" Eichi stammered, blinking in disbelief. His pulse quickened as he tried to process what was happening. "I think you're mistaken."
Without waiting for a response, Eichi started to walk away, his pace quickening with every step, hoping to escape the surreal scene unfolding around him.
But before he could get far, he heard the sound of footsteps closing in. The man who had spoken earlier clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white, blood beginning to drip from his palms. With desperation in his eyes, he ran after Eichi, reaching out and grabbing his arm with a trembling hand.
"Boss… are you joking or what?" the man choked out, his voice breaking. Tears streamed down his face, his emotions raw. "Is this a joke?"
Eichi thought about it for a moment. Wait, why the hell does he think I'm his boss?
"Hey, you!" Eichi called out, trying to make sense of the situation. "What's your name?"
"Sakimura Juzo," the man answered without hesitation.
Eichi frowned, his mind racing. "And what's my name?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with confusion.
"Eichi Arata," the man answered firmly.
Eichi's brow furrowed. Eichi Arata? That's… me. But what is going on?
"And what's my position in the clan?" Eichi asked, his voice growing more tense, needing clarity.
Sakimura Juzo looked up, unwavering in his response. "The young master of the Arata Clan."
Eichi let out a sigh, his head spinning. Me? A young master? He couldn't help but scoff. "What kind of joke is this?" he muttered to himself.
He leaned in closer to Sakimura, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I mean… how did you gather all these people just to pull one big joke? If you want to kill me, just kill me, man. I was barely living as it is."
His tone was bitter, laced with disbelief and exhaustion.
Sakimura's face fell, his expression filled with sadness. "So the young master has lost his memories..." he said quietly.
Suddenly, the four hundred men surrounding them broke into tears. The sight left Eichi completely bewildered. Why are they crying? His mind raced, caught between disbelief and confusion. But then, an idea struck him. Maybe this is a chance to change my life a bit...
Maybe this is my chance. I could take this opportunity to become a Yakuza leader... The thought lingered. I could escape this miserable world of employees and climb to a position where I call the shots. Power, respect... It's all right there in front of me.
I've read a lot about the Yakuza and watched countless anime and manga about them. Maybe I could take the shot.
As the sobbing men seemed to surround him in their reverence, he could feel his uncertainty begin to shift. If I'm the boss, I could make things different. Control my fate instead of being a cog in the machine. The idea felt more and more enticing, like a door opening into a world he'd never dared to consider.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, his mind made up. "Let's see where this leads."
"No, no!" Eichi quickly said, waving his hands. "Sakimura, calm down. I'm just joking!"
Taking a deep breath, he straightened his posture, and with a strong voice that surprised even himself, he yelled,
"MEN!! Did you get tricked by this joke? And you expect me to count on you as the men of the Arata Clan?"
The crowd of Yakuza looked up, startled by the sudden shift in tone.
"Get a grip of yourselves!" Eichi continued, his voice booming. "You're men of the Arata family! How do you think we're going to take over Tokyo and all of Japan with weak hearts like yours?"
At his words, Sakimura began to cry even harder, but this time with a strange mixture of joy and devotion. The crowd erupted in cheers, shouting with newfound fervor.
"All hail the young boss! All hail the young boss!"
Sakimura, tears streaming down his face, looked up at Eichi, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and respect.
"Young master… I had no idea you harbored such grand ambitions to elevate the Arata Clan."
He paused, wiping his tears away, his gaze filled with admiration.
"Young master, even your father would be proud if he heard those words. This... Sakimura is left in awe by your vision."
Eichi froze for a moment, panic rising within him. Shit, maybe I said too much. He thought back to all the Yakuza-related manga and anime he'd consumed over the years. I think I've been watching too much of that stuff…
Eichi thought for a moment, the absurdity of the situation almost laughable. Maybe... just maybe, I can pull this off better than even the real Yakuza leaders, he mused, a newfound confidence swelling inside him.
He took a deep breath and raised his hand, calming the crowd and Sakimura. The men quieted immediately, hanging onto his every move.
Clearing his throat, Eichi composed himself. With a calm yet commanding voice, he spoke, "Sakimura, prepare the car and bring me my clothes."
Sakimura's eyes widened, his loyalty evident as he quickly nodded.
"Right away, young master!" he said, scrambling to follow the orders. The crowd watched in awe, as if witnessing the return of a leader they had been waiting for all along.
Eichi's mind was spiraling into a chaotic mess as he waited for the car to arrive. The idea of being uncovered by the real Eichi's parents—or worse, a real Yakuza clan leader—made him feel like his soul was trying to crawl out of his body. He glanced around the grand mansion's entrance, half-expecting someone to suddenly pop out and shout, "Imposter!"
His imagination didn't help. He pictured himself sitting stiffly across from a terrifying old man with a scar running down his face, who would see through him immediately.
"You're not my son," the man would growl, slamming a hand on the table. "Explain yourself—or lose a finger."
Eichi almost tripped over his own feet at the thought.
"What if they make me fight someone?" he mumbled, gripping his hands nervously. "Or—or worse, what if they challenge me to one of those Yakuza karaoke battles? Do I even know any enka songs?"
He froze mid-thought.
Nope. Not a single one.
By the time the sleek, black car started to pull up in the driveway, Eichi was practically vibrating with panic. Every part of his brain screamed at him to think of a solution. But every idea he came up with was worse than the last. Running away? Too suspicious. Pretending he had amnesia? Way too suspicious. Faking a sudden illness? No chance.
He clenched his fists, shut his eyes tight, and finally made his resolve.
"Future me will handle it," he whispered to himself. "Yeah, that guy always figures something out."
It wasn't a strategy so much as a desperate leap of faith in his future self's ability to survive. This was a tactic he had perfected back in his office job: procrastinate the problem long enough, and eventually some miracle solution would appear. The only difference was that, instead of explaining a late report, he might have to explain why he wasn't the Eichi they thought he was.
The car door opened, and a suited man gestured for him to step inside. Eichi gulped. His legs felt like jelly, but somehow they carried him forward.
"Alright, future me," he muttered under his breath, his voice shaky but trying to sound confident. "Don't screw this up… or we're both dead."
As he climbed into the car, he couldn't help but laugh nervously. At this point, he figured he had two choices: either everything would work out by sheer dumb luck, or he'd crash and burn spectacularly.
Either way, it was out of present Eichi's hands.