I died.
That, I did not forget.
I remembered my previous life clearly enough to know that I did not belong in this place. Another language. Another era. Another rhythm. It was not a dream, nor a childish confusion: I had lived before… and now I was here.
The world explained nothing to me.
When I opened my eyes for the first time in this body, I understood it without needing words. I didn't understand the language, but I didn't panic either. Over time, I learned that this was my natural state: observe first, react later.
I remembered concepts. Mathematics. Logic. Programming. I understood how systems worked, even if the concrete details didn't fully align yet. I also retained vague memories of anime and manga—nothing deep, just scattered references from another life.
From an early age, my mind worked in a strange way. Not like an obvious gift, but as a constant tendency toward order. If I looked at something long enough, I would eventually understand it. The pieces arranged themselves on their own.
Even so, I didn't feel special.
My childhood passed without incident.
I was an orphan. I never knew my parents in this life, and no one ever adopted me. I moved from one institution to another, always with just enough, always within what was considered normal. It didn't feel unfair. I still loved my parents from my previous life, and that silent connection made the absence hurt less than it should have.
I felt no resentment.
Nor gratitude.
It simply happened.
I grew up with pink hair—something that would have stood out elsewhere. Here, it didn't. No one pointed it out. This world had its own visual rules, and I fit into them effortlessly.
I studied what seemed logical: Computer Systems Engineering.
Not out of passion.
Out of inertia.
I entered the University of Tokyo and graduated without trouble. My grades were good, not outstanding. I knew I could do more, but I never felt the need to.
I retained memories of major companies. I knew their names, their futures, their historical importance. I sent applications to several of them more out of habit than ambition.
NEC.Namco.Sega.Square.
The result was almost ironic.
Hiring freezes.Restructuring.Layoffs.
The Japanese economic bubble had burst, and I had arrived just in time to witness it from the inside. History did not change because of my presence.
The Lost Decade had begun.
Unemployed and without any real sense of urgency, I ended up wandering through Akihabara. Small shops, hardware already obsolete even for the time, technical magazines piling up like recent fossils.
That's when I saw it.
A small sign, almost hidden:
「募集:プログラマー」(Programmer Wanted)
I read it without surprise.
I went up the stairs.
I knew that place wasn't important to official history.I knew the games made there wouldn't change the world.
But my steps didn't stop.
Maybe because I had nothing better to do.
And so, in a small company that still developed games for the NEC PC-9801, I began my second working life.
Without a goal.Without expectations.
But with a mind that didn't know when to stop learning.