Chapter 4: Genius or Ghost?

For the first time in two lives, I began to doubt myself.

I lay on my bed that night, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like I was waiting for an exam. Not from nerves—but from confusion.

Because if Daisuke Hayama wasn’t reborn… how the hell was he so good at this?

He had shown up in my life like a ghost from a nightmare—but fresher, younger, and infuriatingly more confident. Everything I’d tried so far, every company I remembered from my past life, every “secret” investment move I thought only I would know—he had matched, blocked, or beaten me to it.

But the problem was...

He wasn’t doing it perfectly.

There were tiny cracks—subtle mistakes he wouldn’t make if he were reborn like me.

At NekoPan Café, for example, he reserved a meeting but didn’t negotiate any equity. He probably thought it was a gimmick cafe for teenagers and didn’t know it was about to be a delivery titan.

And in our class economics project, he picked a startup that I knew would fail in three years.

If Daisuke really remembered the future… he wouldn't make those mistakes.

And that’s when it hit me, like cold water to the face:

He wasn’t reborn.

He was just… good.

Really good.

The next morning, I tested my theory.

I dropped hints in homeroom.

“Man, imagine investing in AI voice synthesis right now. Total waste of money, right?”

I watched him from the corner of my eye. No reaction.

If he were reborn, he’d know that AI voice tools would explode in four years. He’d either perk up or flinch. But nothing.

So I tried again during lunch.

“You ever heard of FlashBasket? That company’s app is such a mess. Can't believe people think it's going to grow.”

He sipped his drink and replied calmly, “You sure? Their delivery model’s pretty scalable if they fix the interface.”

…Which was exactly what happened in the future.

But his tone was thoughtful, analytical—not knowing. He wasn’t cheating like I was. He was just sharp.

And I hated how impressed I was.

That night, I wrote in my notebook in big, capital letters:

DAISUKE HAYAMA IS NOT REBORN.

STOP BEING PARANOID.

HE’S JUST SMART. TOO SMART.

But that made things worse, didn’t it?

If he was reborn like me, at least we were equals.

But this?

I had a ten-year head start.

And he was still catching up.

I had to step up my game.

No more obvious plays. No more nostalgic stock picks. It was time to build something of my own. Not just beat him in trades—but create something he couldn’t copy.

And I knew just the place to start.

Three days later, I found myself at a little alley-side teahouse near the university district. I'd remembered this place from my previous life—not as a tea shop, but as the humble beginning of a billion-yen health drink brand called Kujaku Bloom.

In the future, they’d have endorsements from athletes, celebrities, even a streaming anime collab. But now?

They were struggling.

Their menu was handwritten, their staff overwhelmed, and their branding nonexistent.

I walked in, bought a drink, and said the words I never thought I’d say again:

“Hi, I’d like to speak to your manager about an early-stage investment.”

That was the turning point.

By the end of the week, I had signed a simple contract—helping them with marketing and rebranding in exchange for 5% equity. Nothing huge. But it was mine. No one could mirror it unless they knew the future, and Daisuke didn’t.

It felt good to be one step ahead again.

But my small victory didn’t last long.

Monday morning. School rooftop.

I was sipping milk tea alone when I heard footsteps behind me.

“Congrats on Kujaku Bloom,” Daisuke said, walking up beside me.

I froze.

“How do you—?”

He held up his phone. “Local startup blogs. You’re getting bold.”

I tried to play it cool. “Guess I’m just passionate about tea.”

He studied me, then smiled. “You’re different lately.”

“Different how?”

“Sharper. Calculated. Like you're not just playing to win… but to rewrite something.”