The Funeral
My name in this world is Jin Yongtae. My original name was ■■■, but whenever I try to speak it aloud, the words refuse to form. It has been exactly one week since I tore into the drama writer on the viewer message boards.
I had been thrust into the body of a Japanese man I barely knew. Ah, to be precise, since he was a third-generation Zainichi Korean, I could still claim to be Korean.
The original story was set in Korea, so I had no idea who or what had dropped me into Japan instead. That single change completely nullified any advantage a possessed person was supposed to have.
In every novel I had ever read, the protagonist knew the source material inside and out and exploited that knowledge for profit. Both the game Mega Corp's Youngest Son and its drama adaptation took place in Korea; Japan was nothing more than a few fleeting background scenes.
I was a die-hard fan of the original game, so I did possess some knowledge of the Japanese side, but none of it was useful enough to build a foundation on.
The one small mercy was that I had not been dropped in blind. All the information about Jin Yongtae had been implanted directly into my mind. It felt less like possession and more like a seamless merging.
To summarize the life I had inherited: I was twenty years old and had graduated high school two days earlier. My family was not wealthy, so university was out of the question. I was scheduled to begin work at a modest local company in three weeks.
I had been raised in a single-parent home and never knew my father. Fortunately, I had been a dutiful son who never caused trouble or went down the wrong path.
No girlfriend.
My face took after my mother, Jin Mija, which meant I was fairly handsome.
My special talents were the martial arts I had learned to endure the bullying that came with being Zainichi, and the fact that my dick was apparently Western-sized.
That was the entirety of Jin Yongtae's twenty years. Now it was all mine.
At first I had desperately searched for a way to return to my old life, but unlike the possession novels I had devoured by the dozens, there was no convenient escape route. So I had resigned myself to lounging around, watching television, and savoring the two weeks of freedom before my new job began.
I was idly flipping channels when a breaking news banner flashed across the screen. I stopped. What was going on?
The television showed a luxury foreign car crushed beyond recognition and the flashing lights of ambulances. Strangely compelling, in a morbid way.
In this world the Taira Group was one of Japan's two great megacorps. The fact that the accident site of Taira Danzo's third son had been released to the public within an hour was highly unusual. Had the rival megacorp, Minamoto, orchestrated it?
"None of my business," I muttered, changing the channel. The names Taira and Minamoto belonged to a world far removed from mine, like stories from another universe. I needed to focus on adapting to this near-future cyberpunk setting. Wasting time on megacorps that had nothing to do with me was pointless. If I had been possessed in Korea, where I actually knew the plot, things would have been different.
"Hmm. Maybe I should just head to Korea?"
Staying in Japan felt like a waste when I knew so much about the Korean side of the game. But the original story was a game, which meant Korea had become a lawless hellscape of biochemical weapons, running gun battles that made American gang wars look tame, and literal monsters breaking out of research labs. In short, it had turned into a modern demonic realm. Other countries were hardly better; they were all sliding into megacorp dominance. Korea was simply the worst of them.
Of course, in the game the protagonist's family—the Shingang Group—used that very chaos to seize control of the peninsula. The protagonist was the youngest son of Shingang, and the story followed his brutal climb to surpass his grandfather, the founder.
Japan had its own problems, but my detailed knowledge of Korea's nightmare future actually made me afraid to go there.
Still, it felt like a shame to let all that information rot. Perhaps I could slip into Korea, grab the most useful items and technologies, then get out. That seemed like a solid plan. Snag the loot and leave. At least that way I probably wouldn't die suddenly in Japan.
I kept flipping channels, mentally cataloging useful items from the original story, when the front door suddenly slammed open with a violent bang. Two towering men in black suits, each easily over two meters tall and built like professional wrestlers, stood in the doorway. They stepped inside without removing their shoes and loomed over me. What the hell? Yakuza? Why were they in our house?
"We don't have time, so I'll be brief. You must attend the funeral immediately. Please change into these clothes."
"W-what are you talking about? Are you sure you have the right house?"
My confused stammering made their sharp expressions grow even colder.
"You are Taira Ryuta, correct? It would be wise to wash up first. Your mother is already at the funeral hall, so you should hurry as well."
Taira Ryuta was simply the Japanese reading of my Korean name, Jin Yongtae. My few friends had always called me that. The men hauled me to my feet and shoved me toward the bathroom. Still dazed, I turned on the water and began to shower.
They knew my name, so they probably hadn't come to the wrong place. And if Mom was already there… I would find out who had died once I arrived.
Thanks to my military experience in my previous life, I could shower with military efficiency. Three minutes later I emerged, towel-dried my hair, and put on the suit they handed me. It was the standard funeral black suit with a black tie, and somehow it fit my frame perfectly.
"I'm dressed. So… who passed away?"
"...."
"Your father, Taira Saburo, has passed away."
"Excuse me?"
The suited men ignored my shocked question, each grabbing one of my arms and marching me outside. Their grip was inhuman. It felt like they had undergone body modification surgery.
A luxury sedan waited in front of the house. The abstract butterfly emblem on its hood marked it as a high-end Taira Motors model. The butterfly was the Taira family's symbol, after all.
Suddenly the pieces clicked together in my head. Two body-modified men in black suits, a luxury Taira car, and the news report I had just seen…
Don't tell me my father was the third son of a chaebol family?
I climbed into the back seat. One guard sat beside me, the other took the wheel. Despite their size, the driver was smooth and professional. We headed east out of the Edogawa ward where I lived, as if leaving Tokyo behind.
The car remained silent for the entire hour-long drive. They didn't stop me from using my phone, so I sent my mother a Line message. No reply. Was she really at a funeral? Or had she been kidnapped? My mind churned with questions.
We finally arrived at an enormous, sprawling traditional Japanese mansion. I checked the GPS before getting out; we were in a quiet part of Chiba City, Chiba Prefecture. Strangely, the GPS map didn't show the building at all, yet here it was—a massive estate that looked like it belonged in a historical drama. A sign beside the gate read "In Mourning."
Servants in kimonos stood at the entrance. When the suited men stepped out, they silently opened the gate. I followed nervously and spotted my mother standing motionless amid the commotion. She wore the black kimono reserved for funerals. I had seen similar outfits in Japanese adult videos before my possession, but seeing one in person felt strangely fresh. I walked over to her. Her expression showed no particular grief.
"Mom."
"Ah, you're here."
"What the hell is going on? They said my father died… Who exactly was my father?"
Of course I had already guessed by the time we reached this place. But I needed to hear it confirmed.
"Your father was Taira Saburo. The third son of the Taira Group."
Just as I thought. So, would there be an inheritance? I had never met the man in my life, and I was possessing this body anyway, so the news of his death brought less sadness than excitement at the potential windfall.
"How dare you… Who do you think you are!"
Wow. I never expected to hear a line straight out of a drama in real life. A beautiful woman with light brown hair stormed toward my mother and shouted. She wore a kimono as well, but even the modest garment could not hide her impressive curves. The way her body moved made her strangely captivating.
"I didn't want to come either. The Taira Group forced me to be here."
My mother stood her ground, refusing to back down. If my guess was right, this woman was Taira Saburo's wife. I seemed to recall her name was Taira Yukiko.
"What did you just say? You… you sly little cat!"
Another classic drama line. Calling her a cat was kind of cute, though. I almost looked around for popcorn. My mother remained completely unfazed. She was tougher than I had given her credit for. In contrast, Taira Yukiko seemed anxious, perhaps because she had just lost her husband.
Our argument drew every eye in the hall. Whispers spread. I caught the words "bastard" and "Zainichi" and other unpleasant remarks. This body took after my mother; my expression barely changed. The only thing on my mind was how large a share of the inheritance I might receive. Even as the third son's child, being part of the Taira family—one of Japan's top conglomerates—meant the sum would not be small.
"Enough! What is all this commotion?"
A booming voice cut through the noise. An imposing man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties—though the glossary in my head said he was actually eighty-two—strode toward us. His snow-white hair was tied back, and nearly a dozen attendants followed in his wake. Seeing the supreme leader of the Taira Group in person felt surreal, like encountering a celebrity.
"Father, these two—"
"Silence! This boy carries my blood. You would not dare call my own blood inferior, would you?"
Taira Danzo cut his daughter-in-law off and pointed at me. Taira Yukiko flinched and closed her mouth at once.
"You, who could not even produce a single child, dare cause a scene in front of so many guests? Apologize to this mother and son at once!"
"I-I'm sorry."
Taira Yukiko bowed her head to my mother. Even as she apologized, she bit her lip hard enough to show it was far from sincere. Then her eyes met mine and she gave a visible start.
"He looks… just like Saburo. Ah, forgive me."
Her murmur was loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. If even Taira Saburo's wife unconsciously remarked on the resemblance, then the dead man really was my father.
"So you are Saburo's son?"
"So I'm told."
"So you're told? Hahaha!"
My slightly provocative answer made Taira Danzo burst into loud laughter. I heard someone mutter "Impudent brat," but I ignored it.
"The fact that you stand here means my blood flows through your veins. My special operatives have already tested your DNA."
When the hell did they test my DNA? This family was completely lawless. I was left speechless by Taira Danzo's casual revelation.