Became a Manga Artist

The next morning, Junichi woke with the sun. After a quick, self-made breakfast of eggs and bread—a meal that surprisingly left him only partially full—he slipped into the oversized, slightly faded school uniform. The blazer was a relic, probably untouched since his predecessor had last worn it, gathering dust and the faint smell of neglect.

"Ugh, this thing is ancient," he muttered, adjusting the stiff collar. He tugged at the sleeves, which hung awkwardly past his wrists. "Guess I'll need to buy new clothes soon, too. This whole 'fresh start' thing is expensive."

Chiba County Junior High School.

The name itself sounded generic, in the way only Nihon public schools could be—rows of uniform buildings, a sterile sports field, and the faint, institutional smell of disinfectant and chalk dust. But stepping through those gates brought on a strange, chilling feeling—like he was walking into someone else's memory, a dark echo of the past.

He paused at the entrance to his classroom, Classroom 3-2. The whispers started instantly.

"He's actually here?"

"Thought he dropped out for good."

"Look at him, still acting like he owns the place."

Junichi ignored them, his expression carefully neutral. He could feel their gazes, sharp and assessing, dissecting him. It was like stepping into a cage full of people who had already decided he didn't deserve to exist. He felt like an actor dropped into someone else's role, forced to play a part he knew nothing about.

This is a tutorial level for real life, he thought, a cynical smile touching his lips. And these guys? Just NPCs with extra dialogue options. Nothing to see here.

He walked directly to the back row, his assigned seat, and settled in. The desk was scarred with carvings and graffiti, a grim canvas of past grudges. The chair wobbled precariously beneath him. This was the seat of Aoki Junichi, the delinquent. The outcast.

He opened his bag, pulling out an unused notebook and a pencil.

Just then, a voice cut through the hum of the classroom.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with his presence."

Junichi glanced up. Standing over his desk was Hayashi Mikami, a lanky boy with a sneer perpetually plastered on his face. Behind him, Yano, a bulky, silent enforcer, loomed. These two, Junichi knew from his predecessor's memories, were the real bullies, the ones who pulled the strings, manipulating Junichi's past self into doing their dirty work. They'd used his bad reputation as a shield.

"What do you want, Hayashi?" Junichi asked, his voice calm, almost bored.

Hayashi faltered for a second, surprised by the lack of reaction. He expected the usual sullen silence, perhaps a muttered curse. "What do I want? I want you to know this is my classroom now. You're nothing but a ghost. So don't even think about causing trouble."

Junichi leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. "Your classroom? That's cute. Last I checked, the school's name was Chiba County Junior High, not Hayashi's Playtime." He spoke softly, a dangerous edge beneath the quiet tone.

Hayashi's sneer tightened. "Listen, punk. You think just because you disappeared for a while, you can come back and act all high and mighty? Everyone here hates you. You're a stain. So why don't you just pack your bags and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of?"

Junichi's gaze sharpened, cutting through the bravado. "You've got one shot to walk away, Hayashi. Take it."

Hayashi scoffed, stepping closer. "Or what, delinquent? You gonna cry to your mommy? Oh, right, you don't have one around, do you?"

Junichi's eyes flashed, but his voice remained level, a low, controlled rumble. "Funny. You're talking a lot of trash for someone whose entire reputation is built on hiding behind mine. Let me be clear. I don't care about you. Or your little friend there." He nodded subtly toward Yano. "But if you keep talking, I promise you—you'll leave this room with a limp. And I won't even break a sweat."

He met Hayashi's gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding. It wasn't the empty threat of a frustrated teenager. It was the calm, resolute promise of a man who had seen worse.

Hayashi's smirk vanished. He swallowed hard, a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes. He hesitated, then backed away slowly, pulling Yano with him. They retreated to their own desks, muttering curses under their breath, but not daring another word.

Junichi simply watched them go, then turned his attention back to the notebook. He needed to get his life in order. He had two months left until graduation. He'd have to catch up on all his studies, learn kanji, and prepare for high school entrance exams. This new world, this new body, it was a fresh start. And he wouldn't waste it.

He opened the notebook again, his fingers tracing the name "Shirahashi Yukine." He had a lot to make up for.

"Time to get to work," he murmured, picking up his pencil. "I'm not going to be that guy anymore."