Magic power fluttered like dust from his mother’s face as it split in two, her expression frozen in wide-eyed shock. Her features dissolved, shifting into those of a woman Ryoma Takebayashi didn't recognize. With a fluid return stroke, he cut down Ryoma's Father, then spun in a full circle to lash out at the surrounding area. He struck every entity imitating his former colleagues, his blade wreathed in the purifying light of the Light Attribute.
Only Tabuchi-kun managed to retreat toward the entrance, evading the blade with a ghost-like, unnatural fluidity.
"Why?"
The voice that emerged from his mouth was no longer the familiar one Ryoma remembered; it was the raspy, gutteral croak of an old man. The eyes glaring at him were no longer those of a friendly junior, but sharp and filled with predatory malice.
The hallucination had been a calculated trap: liberation from his old company, recognition from his peers, reconciliation with those who had wronged him, and even the return of his lost parents. It was a tactic designed to disarm him by offering his deepest desires or sapping his will to fight. To be honest, if he had been the same Ryoma who had only just arrived in this world, he might have been seduced by it.
"Why do the illusions not work?" the thing croaked.
"They were working fine," Ryoma replied. "Everything I saw, heard, and even smelled felt exactly like my memories. You truly did surprise me."
But precisely because the effect was so flawless, it felt repulsive. It was the first time anyone had dared to use the image of his dead mother for their own ends, and it left a foul taste in his mouth.
"Ugh!"
The creature in Tabuchi-kun’s skin must have sensed his rising fury. Its face contorted, and as the image vanished, the world was rewritten. The cozy room of the izakaya dissolved into a long, dark corridor made of cold stone. The savory scent of the tavern was replaced by the damp, heavy air of the Sea of Trees.
The scenery appeared to have returned to reality, but...
"It hasn't completely broken yet, has it?"
His reflection still looked like his old self, and his weapon still appeared to be a business bag, but his memories and consciousness were razor-sharp. Even if he couldn't see the katana's true form, he hadn't let go of it. As long as he knew the weight and reach of his weapon, he could wield it without issue.
According to the records, this manor was originally built for the First Village Chief of Kormi Village, who was a blood relative of the local lord. It had served as a private residence, a document archive, and a meeting hall, making it quite large for a house of its kind.
The building had later been used as a base for workers developing the Sea of Trees, with barracks and warehouses clustered around it. As conditions deteriorated, the outpost was downsized, and the surrounding facilities were eventually integrated into the central manor.
Because of this history, the former Village Chief's Residence still stood at the heart of the complex as an Annex. That building was the monster’s stronghold.
"I thought I could just follow along quietly and walk right into its lair, but..."
Regretting the failure was pointless. Information suggested that once he reached the corridor, the enemy was already close. As he prepared to move forward, the scenery shifted once more.
Resistance was expected, but... a corporate office? It was his former workplace. What did the monster hope to achieve with this—
"Takebayashi!!"
"...The Section Manager, I see."
"Wh-What’s with that attitude!?"
The man who stepped forward didn't even stir a hint of nostalgia. Even in his past life, Ryoma would have known his current attitude was disrespectful, but the man was the same as ever—a human pressure cooker who flew into a rage the second he was touched. His receding hairline, the greasy sheen on his skin, the belly that jiggled with every scream... the reproduction was eerily accurate in all the worst ways.
"Where are you looking, you useless man?! Stop slacking off and get back to work!"
The Section Manager bellowed, slamming a thick stack of documents onto Ryoma’s desk. This much work was a guaranteed all-nighter—it was his old daily life.
"Hey! I told you not to slack off! Sit down and—Geh!?"
The man reached out to force Ryoma back into his chair, and Ryoma reflexively punched him in the gut. The Section Manager collapsed, letting out a sound like a crushed frog.
"Why... how could you hit me...?"
As the raspy voice echoed through the room, the Section Manager vanished and the scene shifted again. This time, he was in the company hallway outside the kitchenette. Through the open door, two young female employees were visible.
"Ugh, I'm so done. Old man Takebayashi is seriously such a drag."
"Right? He knows absolutely nothing about good nails or makeup, but he still feels the need to nitpick. He’s such a creepy geezer. Honestly, the Section Manager is better just because he actually shuts up."
"Exactly! It takes forever to get makeup perfect, and sometimes it smears. What’s the harm in fixing it a little at the office?"
Ryoma sighed. This was a memory of a time he had spoken to them because their behavior had become truly indefensible. He hadn't told them makeup was bad; he had simply asked them to use styles appropriate for a business setting instead of flashy "gal" makeup while on the clock.
He also didn't mind them fixing it at work, but they would disappear into the kitchenette thirty minutes after the day started and not return for two hours. Then they would do it again thirty minutes after they got back, repeating the cycle until it was time to clock out. He had to wonder: was he really the crazy one here?
"I mean, this is basically moral harassment, right? If we sue, can we get him fired?"
"Ooh, maybe!"
"...As if I'd let that happen."
With a silence that surprised even himself, Ryoma stepped in and decapitated the two laughing women from behind.
"Why...?"
"How...?"
The fallen heads questioned him in overlapping voices, like a television with dual audio channels, before everything vanished.
Honestly, he was the one who wanted to ask "why." They hadn't attacked him, nor had they tried to trap him. He could understand the earlier illusions of Tabuchi-kun or his mother as attempts to lure him into a false peace, but these last two were just forced recollections of irritating memories. They were nothing more than petty harassment.
What was the monster trying to accomplish? The lack of logic was what felt truly ominous.
"Hey! Do these extras! I want them done by tomorrow morning!"
"Whoa, he's getting yelled at by the Section Manager again. How old is he anyway? Nearly forty and still just a Senior Staff member? He’s totally incompetent. Just an empty shell that got old without growing up. I guess that’s what happens when you just do what you’re told and never speak up."
"Is a life like that even fun? I seriously don't get it."
"Hey, maybe we should educate him so he can get ahead like us? We’re going to take over our parents' companies anyway, so it’s like our job to fix a loser employee, right?"
"Forget it, there's no ROI on training someone like that. Old people are stubborn and won't listen to us just because we're young. If you're going to invest the time, you pick someone who can actually turn a profit. I’ll pass."
"And I'm passing on you! You pretentious corporate loafers!"
Unpleasant memories burst through his mind like a broken dam. Responding to the mental surge, Undead began to sprout like mushrooms from the floor, the ceiling, and the walls. The office scenery blurred and shifted again.
"Teacher! I absolutely refuse to be in the same group as Takebayashi!"
"You're a nuisance. Just by being here, you make everyone around you miserable. At least try to understand that."
"Takebayashi-san, so many people are burning out and quitting, so why are you the only one who's fine? You aren't actually working, are you? You’re just letting everyone else do the heavy lifting while you slack off. That's not right. Starting this month, you're doing three times your usual workload."
"Excuse me, we had a report from the neighbors. Could you come with us to the station?"
"Do you seriously think you're on equal footing with other people? Don't get ahead of yourself."
"Does your life even have any value?"
"Takebayashi-kun, people need setbacks to grow. They say you should seek out hardship while you're young, don't they? Failure makes you stronger, mentally and physically. That’s why, as your teacher, I will never acknowledge your effort or your grades. Crushing a young sprout for their own good—this is an act of love. You understand, don't you?"
Before he could even process the context of one memory, the next was forced upon him. A storm of insults swirled together until the conversations were nothing but a chaotic wall of noise. Faced with a barrage of unreasonable demands where he understood the words but couldn't fathom the twisted logic, trying to make sense of it became a waste of energy. A deep, heavy weariness began to drag at his limbs.
"How annoying."
With a sharp exhale, he cut down the humanoids crowding him. One, two, three, four... there was no need to look at their faces. Without giving them a chance to speak, he simply struck down every enemy that appeared. As he sensed the shifts in magic power and paid attention to all directions, he focused entirely on the movement of his body and the arc of his blade. Gradually, the noise of the world began to fade.
In his previous life, his martial arts training had been useless. He was so busy with school and work that people mocked him, calling him a "delusional chuunibyou" for practicing at his age. To be honest, he hadn't even liked it that much. Yet, he had continued to train until the day he died, likely because it was the only time he could immerse himself in pure motion.
No matter how many complicated problems weighed on his mind, they all vanished during his training. It was, in truth, a form of reality escape.
"..."
He stopped thinking, but his movements didn't slow. If anything, the weariness from the hallucinations faded, replaced by a sharpening clarity as he pushed further into the manor.
"Why? Why?!"
"How can you still move?!"
"You should be helpless!"
Multiple screams rang out—the croak of an old man, the cry of a child, the voice of a young woman. But Ryoma knew they all belonged to the same monster. Their words finally made him realize something: the flood of unpleasant memories hadn't been just for harassment or provocation.
Every illusion had been a reproduction of his past. The monster had been reading his memories—and perhaps even his thoughts—to construct its traps.
Based on those memories, the "me" from Earth truly had been helpless. No matter how angry he got, he never raised a hand against anyone unless his life was in danger. He never had a proper comeback when he was insulted. He was a human sandbag.
When the Section Manager dumped work on him, he did it in silence. When women gossiped behind his back, he quietly walked away. Everyone in his past life knew that no matter how much they abused him, he wouldn't hit back.
The monster, reading those memories, assumed that by bringing up his past, he would become just as helpless as he had been back then.
"Guu... ugh..."
"Looks like I'm right on the money!" Ryoma shouted.
"——!!"
"Hmm?"
Just as he confirmed his deduction, the scenery shifted again. This time, he was in the dojo of his childhood home. Ryoma's Father appeared in the center, clad in his gi and holding a wooden sword. Without a word, he swung the blade toward Ryoma's head—the same strike Ryoma had used against his mother's image.
Ryoma parried it instantly, but a swift step and a strike with the sword's pommel lunged toward his throat. He pulled back half a step, opening his stance, and thrust his blade toward his father's neck as the arm passed—only for his father to brush it aside at the last possible second.
"...This is a pain."
The movements were an exact match for his father in his prime. That meant the illusion was using the same techniques and style as Ryoma himself.
"Is this all you have?"
His father’s murmur of disappointment echoed between the clashing of blades, bringing back vivid memories of his youth. Suddenly, his father grew larger—or rather, Ryoma became a child again, dressed in his old gi with a wooden sword in his hand.
As they fought, Ryoma saw the expression on his father’s face: he was teaching out of a cold sense of duty, clearly bored with the task. If there were ever a textbook definition of a "fed-up expression," this was it. Based on the accuracy of the other illusions, Ryoma realized his father really must have looked at him this way. He had probably muttered those same words back then, but—
"You reproduced him too well."
Ryoma softly caught the sword thrusting at his heart. He parried in a circular motion, breaking his father's balance, and slid his blade across the man's throat. He felt the distinct sensation of steel passing through flesh and bone without resistance, and the image of his father dissolved into mist.
Being overwhelmed in the dojo was a story from his childhood. If the monster had been able to reproduce the actual power gap between them, Ryoma would have been killed before he could even notice his father's expression.
But Ryoma had continued his training for twenty years after his father died, gaining real combat experience along the way. Now, the man in his memories was no longer a mountain he couldn't climb; he was just another obstacle.
"Now then... you've irritated me more than enough. It's time to show your face!"
With a Focused Slash, Ryoma poured his full Qi into his katana and swung it down at the dojo wall. The illusion shattered, and reality returned. He stood before the door to the Main Building. He could already see through the deep sword gash he had carved into the wood, but he didn't need to look.
The door swung open with a violent groan. Inside was a massive hall, and at its far end sat a single old man, emaciated like a skeleton. He sat there waiting, flanked by a small army of Undead wearing a grotesque mixture of faces—some from Ryoma's memories, and some he had never seen before.