Chapter 2: Chapter 2 (V2) A Fresh Start
Junichi sighed, rubbing his temples. "I don't know how to draw. How embarrassing..."
In his previous life, he had been a typical salaryman—a hard-working, overworked office drone who loved novels, manga, and dramas. The only remotely creative skill he possessed was basic video editing, something he occasionally tinkered with for fun. Drawing? Not a single clue.
And the boy whose body he now inhabited—the sixteen-year-old Junichi—hadn't learned it either. That meant he was starting from absolute zero.
He exhaled again. "Great. The 'Comic Creation System' can't even assist me with this. Some cheat system this is."
His top priorities were stark and immediate:
- Learn how to draw. Seriously.
- Buy food—or starve.
He began scavenging the small apartment his late father had left him. Under sofa cushions, behind dusty drawers, in old coat pockets—after fifteen minutes of desperate searching, all he could scrape together was a measly ¥2,000. That was just enough for a single convenience store dinner or a couple of instant noodle packs. His stomach, still a bottomless pit after the previous night's meager meal, growled in protest.
He stared at his phone for a long moment. Thankfully, the prepaid plan still worked. He pulled up a contact: "Mom."
With another sigh, he pressed call.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
After a few rings, a gentle but strained voice answered.
"Hello?"
"It's me," Junichi said, the words feeling alien coming from this young throat.
"...Jun? Junichi? Is that you?" His mother's voice, Aoki Yae, was laced with surprise.
"Yeah. I... I need a favor. I was wondering if I could borrow some cash."
A pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken history.
"Junichi... you don't need to borrow from your mother," she finally said, her tone softening. Aoki Yae worked as a senior manager in a company—career-minded, driven, and divorced. She had always tried to maintain some connection with him, especially after his father's arrest. But her work consumed her, creating an emotional distance that felt wider than the miles separating them.
She continued, her voice now a plea. "I know you're still angry about me and your father... but you've been living alone for so long. Why don't you come and stay with me? I can transfer you to a new school. I'll arrange everything. You won't have to worry about a thing."
He hesitated. The offer was tempting, a chance at stability. But this body, this life, was his now. He had a mission. "..... No. I want to stay here."
A resigned sigh drifted through the phone. "Alright. I'll send you some money. But please, take care of yourself, Junichi."
He ended the call, a flicker of something close to relief in his chest. Minutes later, his phone buzzed. ¥25,000 deposited. A small fortune in his current state.
He reached for his hoodie, grabbed his keys, and headed out into the warm spring sunlight. The outside world felt surprisingly crisp after the stale air of the apartment.
He walked to the nearby ATM and withdrew ¥5,000 in cash, tucking the crisp bills into his pocket. His first real money.
On the way to the supermarket, he passed a small barbershop. In the window's reflection, he caught sight of himself—messy bangs nearly covering his eyes, hair flaring past his ears. He looked exactly like the kind of kid who'd spent too much time indoors, stewing.
He froze, touched his fringe with his fingers, then pushed open the door.
"Welcome!" the barber, a cheerful man with a neatly trimmed mustache, greeted him brightly.
"I'd like a haircut."
"Of course! This way."
After washing his hair, the barber asked, "Any style in mind, young man?"
Junichi considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "Not really. Something clean. Do what you think fits. Surprise me."
The barber examined his head shape and smiled. "Alright. Short textured layers, trimmed neatly around the ears. It'll suit you well, make you look sharp."
Twenty minutes later, Junichi blinked at his reflection in the mirror. His new look was... crisp. Clean-cut. Neatly trimmed, revealing more of his face. Surprisingly handsome, even. It was a good change. A tangible part of his fresh start.
"Looking good, young man. That'll be ¥1,500."
"No discount for being ridiculously good-looking?" Junichi quipped, a hint of his dry humor surfacing.
The barber raised an eyebrow, a slight smile twitching at his lips.
"Kidding. Kidding." Junichi paid, feeling a lightness he hadn't experienced in years.
At the supermarket, he navigated the aisles with purpose. He bought five instant noodle packs, a bundle of dry ramen, a carton of eggs, two ripe tomatoes, and a bag of rice. Total cost: just under ¥2,000. Sensible, practical, and most importantly, filling.
Back home, he got to work. He chopped up the tomatoes with surprising dexterity, boiled noodles, cracked in an egg, and stirred it all together. The result: steaming tomato-egg ramen. Simple, but infinitely better than cold instant noodles.
He devoured it. One bowl. Then two. Then the whole pot, slurping loudly. His stomach, finally placated, settled into a contented calm.
"Huh... My appetite's insane," he muttered to himself, patting his flat stomach in disbelief. "What am I, Luffy? Or Goku? Even Naruto couldn't possibly eat this much." The thought was absurd, but it was also strangely exhilarating. This new body had some serious hidden perks.
He stood, stretched, and looked around the apartment again. Dirty laundry, empty bottles, layers of dust.
"...Yeah. First things first."
Cleaning took over an hour. He swept, scrubbed, collected trash, sorted laundry, and wiped down every surface. By the time he was done, the small apartment was unrecognizably tidy. The scent of mildew was gone, replaced by the faint smell of cleaning products.
Junichi grinned with satisfaction. This was his space now, and he would take care of it.
Just then, his phone rang, startling him.
"Hello?"
"Junichi! You coming to the net café to open a black hole raid? I swear I won't bail this time!" It was none other than Haruto Yagami, his best friend and partner-in-crime.
Junichi chuckled. "Nah, not tonight. School starts tomorrow. I want to get some real sleep."
Haruto stared at his phone in silence for a moment. "...You? Since when? Even the homeroom teacher gave up on your grades! And your class is full of freaks." Haruto's voice was a mix of disbelief and playful accusation.
"Come on, stop it. Only two months left till graduation. Might as well see it through."
"Tch. Alright, alright. Let me know if you change your mind, weirdo." The call ended.
They had met during a school brawl. Junichi had stepped in to defend someone, while Haruto had been on the other side. The fight never actually happened—they both saw the absurdity of it, a pointless clash fueled by teenage bravado. They walked away, somehow, as friends. A bizarre but solid foundation for their bond.
Junichi leaned back against the freshly cleaned wall, a comfortable weariness settling over him.
"Okay... One step at a time. Next, art."
He opened his phone and began searching:
"How to learn manga drawing from scratch."