I woke early, despite my late night. The morning light filtered through thin curtains I hadn't bothered to close properly. For a moment, disorientation gripped me—unfamiliar ceiling, unfamiliar sounds from the street below. Then reality crashed back.
Not my first day dead. Just my second day alive.
I sat up on the futon, running a hand through my hair. The apartment looked smaller in daylight. My new home. My new life.
After a quick shower in the cramped bathroom, I made instant coffee with the electric kettle I'd found among my supplies. The bitter taste grounded me as I opened my laptop and began researching.
If I was going to be Toshiro Kagami, teen idol hopeful, I needed to understand this world's music industry. Management had promised me "enhanced" abilities, but talent meant nothing without context.
Three hours of intense research later, I sat back, my head swimming with information.
The music was different here. Not just different styles or trends—entirely different artists. None of the bands I'd grown up with existed. No Nirvana, no Beyoncé, no Drake. Different world, different cultural timeline.
I pulled up streaming services, listening to samples of current hits. The production was familiar—pop music followed certain patterns regardless of universe, apparently—but the songs themselves were new to me.
A slow smile spread across my face as the implications sank in.
I had thousands of songs locked in my memory. Songs no one in this world had ever heard. Management had even "enhanced" my recall, ensuring I could reproduce every note, every lyric perfectly.
It wasn't just an advantage. It was a goddamn gold mine.
In my previous life, I'd struggled for years in an oversaturated market. Now I had an entire universe of music no one here had ever heard.
I glanced at the clock: 11:30 AM. My audition was at 1:00 PM, and I needed to leave soon to find the place. I dressed quickly in dark jeans and a simple white button-down that complemented my light hair and blue eyes. Smart casual—professional without trying too hard.
In the bathroom mirror, a stranger looked back at me. Toshiro Kagami was objectively beautiful. My previous body had been average at best—not ugly, just forgettable. This one? High cheekbones, perfect skin, eyes that seemed to shift from ice blue to deeper sapphire depending on the light.
I practiced a few expressions, watching how my face moved. Even my smile looked better—confident without arrogance.
"Hello," I said to my reflection. "I'm Toshiro Kagami."
My voice sounded different too—deeper, with a resonant quality I'd never possessed before. I tried singing a few notes. The notes came effortlessly, with a richness that had taken years of training in my previous life.
I grabbed my bag, double-checked that I had everything I needed, and headed out.
Tokyo at midday was a sensory overload. The streets teemed with people moving purposefully, digital signs flashed advertisements, and the background hum of traffic created a constant soundtrack. I navigated using the map on my phone, occasionally stopping to verify I was heading in the right direction.
As I waited at a crosswalk, I noticed a woman staring at me. Mid-twenties, business attire, clutching a portfolio to her chest. Our eyes met briefly. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she immediately looked down, suddenly fascinated by her shoes.
Weird.
The light changed, and I crossed, dismissing the incident. Then it happened again at a convenience store—the cashier fumbled my change, her fingers trembling slightly when they brushed mine. And again with a girl about my age who nearly walked into a lamppost because she was staring at me.
Oh.
This body wasn't just good-looking. It was stop-traffic gorgeous. The kind of face that made people stupid.
Another gift from Management.
I found Strawberry Productions at 12:40, giving me time to gather myself before the audition. The building surprised me—a modest mid-rise commercial structure in Nishi-Azabu, not the gleaming skyscraper I'd expected for an entertainment company. The lobby directory listed Strawberry Productions on the sixth floor.
The elevator creaked slightly as it carried me upward. When the doors opened, I found myself in a small reception area with B-Komachi posters lining the walls. A young woman sat at the desk, typing rapidly on a computer.
"Excuse me," I said. "I'm Toshiro Kagami. I have an appointment with Saitou-san."
She looked up, and her professional demeanor slipped for just a second. Her eyes widened slightly, and a faint blush colored her cheeks before she regained her composure.
"Of course, Kagami-san. The president is expecting you." She pressed a button on her phone. "Sir, Kagami-san is here for his one o'clock." A pause. "Yes, sir." She looked back at me. "Please go right in. First door on the right."
The office was smaller than I'd expected—a corner room with windows on two sides providing natural light. Framed magazine covers featuring B-Komachi adorned the walls. A desk occupied one side, covered with neat stacks of papers and a laptop. Two chairs faced the desk, with a small coffee table between them.
The man who rose to greet me didn't match my mental image of an entertainment company president. Ichigo Saitou stood about 5'8", with short blonde hair and thin facial hair that gave him a rugged appearance. He wore a black suit with a white shirt, the ensemble somehow managing to look both formal and casually rumpled. Dark sunglasses concealed his eyes despite being indoors.
"Kagami-kun," he said, extending his hand. His grip was firm, assessing. "Right on time. I appreciate punctuality."
"Thank you for meeting with me, Saitou-san."
He gestured to one of the chairs. "Sit. Water?"
"Please."
He poured from a carafe on a side table, handed me a cup, then returned to his seat behind the desk. For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression unreadable behind those shades.
"So," he finally said. "Hokkaido. Long way from home."
"I don't have much to keep me there," I replied, taking a sip of water.
"Orphanage kid." It wasn't a question. He'd clearly read my file.
"Yes."
"Tough break." He leaned back slightly. "Tell me why you're here."
It wasn't the question I'd expected. Not 'show me what you can do' or 'what experience do you have.' Why are you here. The underlying question: what drives you?
I set down my cup. "I could say something about dreams and passion for music. That would be true, but not complete." I met his gaze through those dark glasses. "I'm here because I have something to offer that no one else does. A perspective, a sound that's mine alone. And I believe Strawberry Productions is the company that can help me develop that."
His mouth quirked in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Confident."
"Realistic."
He nodded slowly. "What do you know about Strawberry Productions?"
"You're smaller than the major labels, but you've had remarkable success with B-Komachi, particularly through Ai. Recently acquired a male group called PRISM that's undergoing restructuring. You have a reputation for spotting raw talent that others miss, particularly from unconventional backgrounds."
His eyebrows rose slightly above his shades. "Done your homework."
"I take this seriously."
"Clearly." He steepled his fingers. "What's your goal, Kagami-kun? Fame? Fortune? Girls?"
"Recognition," I said. "For creating something meaningful. Something that connects with people."
"Noble."
"Genuine connection is what builds lasting careers. Flash-in-the-pan acts disappear."
He tilted his head, studying me. "How old are you again?"
"Seventeen."
"You don't talk like seventeen."
I shrugged. "The orphanage ages you."
That earned me another almost-smile. "Fair enough." He stood suddenly. "Show me what you've got."
I reached for my bag, but he shook his head.
"No prepared pieces. I want to see you work with something new." He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and music filled the room—a pop ballad I'd never heard. "B-Komachi's latest single. Released last week. Listen once, then sing it back."
I closed my eyes, letting the music wash over me. Female vocals, strong emotional delivery, perfect production. The melody was complex but beautiful, with an unexpected bridge that elevated the composition. When it ended, I opened my eyes.
"Ready?" Saitou asked.
I nodded. He restarted the instrumental track, and I began to sing. The notes came easily, my "enhanced" memory recalling every nuance of the melody. I adapted the key slightly to suit my male voice but maintained the emotional delivery that made the original powerful.
When I finished, the office fell silent. Saitou's face gave nothing away.
"Again," he said. "But make it yours this time. Not a copy."
I nodded, understanding the challenge. When the music started again, I took the melody in a different direction, adding subtle variations and embellishments that showcased my voice. I kept the emotional core but transformed it into something new.
As the last note faded, Saitou removed his sunglasses, revealing sharp, assessing eyes. He tapped his desk thoughtfully.
"You have natural talent," he said. "But so do lots of people. What makes you different?"
"I write my own music."
"So do lots of people."
"Mine is better."
He laughed then, a short, genuine sound. "Confident and arrogant. Fine line." He leaned forward. "PRISM needs a new center. Someone to replace a member who left and rebuild the group's image. Not a solo act."
"I understand."
"Do you? It means being part of something larger than yourself. Adapting to existing dynamics. Supporting others while standing out. It's complicated."
"I can handle complicated."
He studied me for another long moment. "Show me an original piece. Something you've written."
This was my moment. I could play him something from my previous life—something proven, something I knew worked. With my enhanced abilities, I could deliver it perfectly.
I picked up the acoustic guitar leaning against the wall, checking its tuning. "This is something new. Still rough."
I began playing, the melody simple but haunting. Then I sang.
"She'd take the world off my shoulders if it was ever hard to move.
She'd turn the rain to a rainbow when I was living in the blue.
Why then, if she's so perfect, do I still wish that it was you?
Perfect don't mean that it's working, so what can I do?
When you're out of sight in my mind.
'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes, and that's where I find a glimpse of us.
And I try to fall for her touch, but I'm thinking of the way it was.
Said, "I'm fine" and said, "I moved on" I'm only here passing time in her arms.
Hoping I'll find a glimpse of us…"
When I finished, Saitou was completely still. For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
"Where did that come from?" he finally asked, his voice quieter than before.
"Experience," I said simply.
He nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision. "You remind me of someone."
"Who?"
"A girl I discovered years ago. Similar circumstances. Similar raw talent." He put his sunglasses back on, his professional demeanor returning. "She became Ai Hoshino."
The name clearly meant something significant. From my research, I knew Ai Hoshino was B-Komachi's center and Strawberry Productions' biggest star.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should." He stood, extending his hand. "Welcome to Strawberry Productions, Kagami-kun. We'll start paperwork tomorrow. Today, I want you to meet the rest of PRISM. See if the chemistry works."
I rose, shaking his hand. "Thank you for the opportunity."
"Don't thank me yet. This isn't charity. I see potential, but potential isn't performance. You'll work harder than you ever have. The industry eats talented people alive every day."
"I understand."
"We'll see." He checked his watch. "The group will be here at three for rehearsal. Until then, my assistant will show you around, get you familiar with our operation."