Chapter 1: The Day I Died (Again)

I used to think rock bottom was when my family declared bankruptcy. Turns out, rock bottom has a basement.

The day I died, I was in court—again—watching my father lose the last of our properties. His once-sharp eyes had dulled, and his back, which used to tower like a mountain behind me, had collapsed into a weary slope. Mother stopped attending hearings altogether. My brother? Vanished to avoid the shame.

And me?

I sat in the back row with a leather notebook full of failed investment plans, scribbled calculations, and angry tears. I clutched it like it had answers. Spoiler: it didn’t.

My name? I don’t even remember what the headlines called me. “Heiress-Turned-Beggar,” maybe. “The Fallen Bloom of the East.” People liked poetic tragedy when it wasn’t theirs.

And the worst part?

He was there.

Daisuke Hayama. My arrogant, smug-faced childhood rival turned business genius. He watched my family unravel like it was a show he’d seen coming all along. No, he didn’t gloat. He didn’t have to. His silence was worse than any mockery.

He was winning.

That night, I walked home alone. No phone. No driver. Just me and the rain. It felt like the sky was ashamed of me too.

I didn’t see the car until it was too late. Blinding lights. Screeching brakes. A loud thump. A moment of weightlessness. Then, darkness.

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t in a hospital.

I was in my old bedroom.

My pink bedroom, complete with stuffed bears I’d given away ten years ago and posters from a girl group that disbanded half a decade ago.

I sat up, heart pounding. “What the hell…?”

My hands. Smooth. Young.

I scrambled for my phone. The date on the screen nearly gave me a heart attack.

April 7th.

Ten years ago.

The next few hours were chaos. I pinched myself. Screamed. Cried. Laughed. Checked the news. Checked my reflection. Ran into my mother, who was humming a tune and complaining about avocado prices like our future wasn’t about to explode.

It was real.

I was reborn. Not into someone else’s life, not into the future—but back into my own past, a decade before everything fell apart.

And just like that, I knew what I had to do.

Save my family.

They were about to make investments that looked genius on the surface but were absolute sinkholes. I remembered each and every one of them. Real estate disasters. Failed tech startups. Shady crypto schemes. The only thing worse than our bad luck was our stubbornness.

But I had information. Knowledge. And ten years of hindsight.

I wouldn’t beg for change this time—I’d change everything.

The plan was simple:

Start small.

Invest early.

Buy stock in that ugly little gaming company that’s about to blow up.

Put money in the bakery chain that would double in three years.

Stop Dad from funding that influencer's fashion app.

And most importantly—

Beat Daisuke Hayama at his own game.

Except… something was off.

I had started my plan quietly. Bought a few cheap shares in a nearly unknown app that was about to go viral. No one else knew about it yet—except…

Someone else bought in minutes after me.

Same amount. Same timing.

The name on the transaction?

D.H. Capital.

My blood ran cold.

Daisuke Hayama. No way. He couldn’t be… Could he?

Was he reborn too?

I stared at the screen, a slow grin creeping up on my face.

Well then.

This game just got interesting.

Chapter 2: First Investment, Second Shock

Waking up ten years in the past comes with unexpected side effects.

For one, it’s hard to sleep. My mind, once sluggish from stress and failure, now raced like a trading algorithm on steroids. I had a decade’s worth of economic trends, pop culture explosions, and financial disasters locked in my head—and no time to waste.

By 6 a.m., I was already dressed in my old school uniform, sitting at my childhood desk with a calculator, a notebook, and my mother’s ancient laptop. My room still had a faint lavender scent I used to love. It felt peaceful. But my mind was anything but.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself. “We start small.”

In my past life, I had watched my father lose nearly five million yen investing in a flashy luxury real estate firm called Skyward Estates. It promised high returns, hosted lavish galas, and paid influencers to pose in empty penthouses. People were hypnotized by its glamour. But two years in, the CEO disappeared with everyone’s money.

This time, we wouldn’t be one of their victims.

Instead, I’d make sure we invested in companies that survived and thrived—even if they looked boring now.

First target: NexusPlay.

An ugly, barely functioning mobile gaming app that nearly tanked on release… until an unexpected update and streamer campaign sent it rocketing into global fame. Their stock had been 3 yen a share before the rise. Then it jumped to 1,300.

I didn’t need much. Just a few hundred shares. It would be enough to start building capital—and proof that I wasn’t just dreaming.

With the last of my childhood savings, I logged into my mother’s online brokerage account—bless her for using the same passwords for everything—and bought in.

Click.

Order complete.

I exhaled. “Phase one, done.”

Or so I thought.

That afternoon, I walked into school with more confidence than I had in years. My old classroom looked exactly the same—peeling motivational posters, a broken clock stuck at 3:47, and the faint smell of curry from the cafeteria drifting in through the windows.

But my perspective had changed.

People my age were worrying about quizzes and crushes. I was worried about stock portfolios, avoiding a financial apocalypse, and the growing suspicion that my mortal enemy had also reset his timeline.

As I slid into my seat, I noticed something strange: everyone was buzzing about a new student.

“Did you hear? He’s from a super rich family.”

“I heard his dad owns half of downtown!”

“No way, he’s transferring here?”

I almost ignored it—until the door slid open and the teacher announced, “Everyone, please welcome our new classmate—Hayama Daisuke.”

What.

I turned, slowly.

There he was. Crisp uniform. Impossibly neat hair. Calm, observant eyes that flicked through the room like he was scanning a stock market feed.

Daisuke Hayama. In my class. At my school. In this timeline.

I barely stopped my jaw from hitting the floor.

Our eyes met.

For a second, there was nothing. Then—just for a flicker—I saw it.

Recognition.

Not just curiosity. Not just politeness.

He looked at me like he knew me. Like he’d seen me fall. Like he remembered every deal I lost and every tear I swore I’d never let him see.

And I knew.

I wasn’t the only one reborn.

The rest of the day passed in a blur.

He was calm, charming, and infuriatingly perfect. Teachers loved him. Girls swooned. Boys respected him. And all the while, I was in the corner, recalculating every part of my plan.

Because if he had the same memories I did, he’d know about NexusPlay too. He’d know about Skyward Estates and the bakery chain, the 2020 tech boom, the 2023 tourism surge…

He could snatch every move before me.

But I refused to panic. I wouldn’t lose twice.

After school, I raced home, pulled up my trade confirmation—and my stomach dropped.

Someone had mirrored my NexusPlay order.

Same quantity. Same time stamp. One second behind.

Buyer: D.H. Capital.

I stared at the screen, fingers frozen.

This wasn’t coincidence.

Daisuke Hayama had been reborn.

He was watching me. Matching me. Competing with me.

And now he was sitting two desks away, smiling like we were just two students sharing notes instead of two reincarnated rivals waging a secret economic war.

I leaned back in my chair, slow and thoughtful.

“Well then, Daisuke,” I muttered, smiling to myself. “If you think I’m going down easy this time…”

I cracked my knuckles.

“Game on.”

Chapter 3: Terms and Conditions of War

I didn’t sleep that night.

Not from panic—but strategy.

My desk was buried under a mess of notes, charts, future company names, projected market cycles, and post-it notes scribbled with “DON’T TRUST DAISUKE” in increasingly aggressive handwriting.

I couldn’t afford to move blindly anymore. If Daisuke was reborn, he knew just as much as I did—if not more. We were two players, starting the same game at the same time with full cheat codes unlocked.

But this time, I had one advantage: I was watching him.

Last time, I didn’t even know we were playing.

The next morning at school, I wore my calmest expression and my neatest braid. Internally, I was ready to spar. I sat at my desk and ignored the whispers that still followed Daisuke wherever he went. He had been here less than 24 hours and already had a fan club.

But when he slid into his seat—two rows behind mine—he didn’t even glance at me.

That annoyed me more than I’d like to admit.

Fine. Be cool. I can be cool.

When class ended, I stood and walked straight toward him.

“Hayama.”

He looked up slowly. His eyes were unreadable. “Ayuzawa.”

So. He remembered my name. Good.

“I heard you’ve been doing some early investing,” I said casually. I watched him closely for a reaction.

He smiled. Calm. Perfect. “That so? I guess word travels fast.”

So he’s not going to deny it. Interesting.

“Must be beginner’s luck,” I added, tilting my head. “I mean, what are the odds we pick the same stocks, same day, same quantity?”

He met my gaze. “Maybe we just think alike.”

His tone was easy, but there was a flicker behind his eyes—like he was enjoying this too much.

“Or,” I said, stepping a little closer, “maybe you’re watching me.”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “If I am, it’s only because you’re more interesting than I remembered.”

What.

Did he just flirt with me?

Was that supposed to be a distraction? Or did he just enjoy throwing me off my rhythm?

Well, two could play that game.

I smiled sweetly. “You always were better at pretending to be charming than actually being it.”

A flash of amusement crossed his face. “And you always got sharper when you were losing.”

“I’m not losing.”

“Not yet.”

The tension between us felt like it could slice paper.

We stared at each other, an unspoken understanding crystallizing in that moment:

This was war.

No teachers. No rules. No formal declarations.

Just two reincarnated rivals trying to outplay fate—and each other. Wait is he really a reborn like me?

By lunch, I had already made a list of companies that hadn’t blown up yet. My next move had to be something Daisuke wouldn’t expect.

I couldn’t stick to the obvious viral hits. I needed a slow-burn winner. One that would go unnoticed by most investors until it was too late to catch up.

That’s when I remembered NekoPan Café—a quiet chain of cat-themed bakeries. People mocked their concept at first. Too niche. Too “kawaii.” But then the food delivery boom hit, and NekoPan’s adorable branding exploded on social media. Their iced melon bread shaped like cat paws? A cult favorite.

In two years, they went from six shops to eighty.

I grinned. “Perfect.”

After school, I raced to the nearest location—one of only three in Tokyo right now.

The place was cozy, pastel, and smelled like sugar and warm butter. A sleepy gray cat blinked at me from the windowsill while two girls sipped strawberry milk out of tiny paw-print mugs.

A sign near the counter said: “Seeking Investment Partners – Inquire Within.”

Jackpot.

I stepped inside, ready to strike early.

But when I reached the counter, the barista smiled and said, “Oh, someone just left. He already reserved a meeting with the manager.”

No. No. NO.

I stormed out and scanned the sidewalk.

And of course—there he was.

Leaning casually against a lamp post, sipping iced tea, and smirking.

Daisuke freaking Hayama.

“You really should move faster, Ayuzawa.”

I marched up to him. “You followed me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I guessed.”

“You stole my move.”

“You telegraphed it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So this is how you want to play it?”

He leaned in just slightly, enough for me to catch the faint scent of citrus from his drink.

“I’m not playing,” he said. “I’m winning.”

I took a breath. Counted to three. Don’t punch him in front of the cat café. Bad branding.

“You know what?” I said finally. “Let’s make it official.”

He blinked. “Make what official?”

I stuck out my hand. “A challenge. Thirty days. Whoever nets the most investment profit wins. No stealing each other’s moves. No buying out places just to block the other.”

He looked at my hand, amused. “And the loser?”

“You tell me.”

He thought for a moment. “Loser owes the winner a favor. No questions. No complaints.”

I hesitated. That was dangerous.

Then again… so was he.

I took his hand. “Deal.”

Our handshake was firm.

Our rivalry, reborn.

And this time, I was going to win—no matter how much he smirked.