I died in Japan.
That is not an impressive way to start a story, I know. Most people prefer something dramatic. A heroic sacrifice. A tragic accident. At the very least, a truck.
I got none of those.
It was quiet. Simple. Forgettable.
Which, in a way, suited me perfectly.
I had lived an ordinary life. Not a bad one, not a great one. Just… average. I went to school, got decent grades, found a job, paid bills, and occasionally wondered if this was all there was.
Apparently, the answer was no.
Because when I opened my eyes again, I was no longer in Japan.
At first, I did not move.
There was a ceiling above me. It looked expensive—or at least it used to. There were carved patterns along the edges, the kind you would only see in old buildings or historical dramas. But those details were broken in places. Cracks ran across the surface like thin scars.
It looked… tired.
That was the first strange thing.
The second was that I could feel the bed beneath me. The fabric was rough, not uncomfortable, but not exactly pleasant either. The air smelled faintly of dust.
So, after confirming that I was not dead—or at least not in the way I expected—I slowly sat up.
That was a mistake.
Pain hit my head immediately. Sharp. Heavy. Like someone had decided my brain needed rearranging.
I held my forehead and waited for it to pass.
"…Right," I said quietly. "That's happening."
Once the pain faded enough for me to think clearly, I looked around.
The room was large.
Too large, actually, considering how empty it felt.
There were only a few pieces of furniture. A wooden chair near the wall. A table with uneven legs. A wardrobe that looked like it had not been opened in years. Everything had the same problem—old, worn, and slowly falling apart.
Dust had gathered in the corners. Not a thin layer. Enough to suggest that cleaning was either rare or completely abandoned.
Which raised a very important question.
Where exactly was I?
Before I could answer that, something else happened.
Memories.
They did not belong to me.
They came suddenly, like a flood breaking through a weak barrier. Images, names, emotions—none of them mine, yet all of them clear.
I did not fight it.
There was no point.
If anything, I needed those memories.
So I let them settle.
And when they did, I understood my situation.
"…Renard Vale," I murmured.
That was my name now.
A noble.
Technically.
The Vale family had once held land, influence, and a respectable position in society. Not the highest rank, but enough to matter.
That was the past.
The present was… less impressive.
The family was gone. Ruined. Whatever wealth they once had had disappeared over time—poor decisions, bad luck, and a steady decline that no one had managed to stop.
And now?
Only one person remained.
Me.
Which meant I had inherited everything.
The title.
The estate.
And, most importantly…
The debt.
A very large amount of debt.
I leaned back against the bed and stared at the cracked ceiling again.
For a moment, I said nothing.
Then, very calmly, I spoke.
"…This is a terrible deal."
Reincarnation, as a concept, usually comes with benefits. At least, that is how stories tend to present it.
You die, you wake up in another world, and suddenly you have power, talent, or some kind of advantage that makes your new life easier.
That did not happen here.
No strength.
No magic.
No hidden skill waiting to be discovered.
Just a broken estate and financial problems.
If this was someone's idea of a reward, I would like to file a complaint.
Unfortunately, there did not seem to be anyone available to receive it.
I let out a small sigh and forced myself to focus.
Complaining would not fix anything.
The situation was simple.
I was alone.
I had no allies.
And in three days—according to the memories I had just received—creditors would arrive.
Which meant I had exactly three days before this situation became worse.
"…I should at least confirm what I'm dealing with," I said.
It sounded responsible.
It also sounded like something a person with options would say.
Still, I swung my legs off the bed and stood up.
The moment my feet touched the floor, I noticed something else.
The body felt… weak.
Not fragile, but not strong either. It was the kind of body that had not seen proper training or effort in a long time.
That matched the memories.
Renard Vale had not been a particularly impressive person.
He had been passive. Quiet. Not useless, but not capable either.
In other words, perfectly average.
I paused for a moment.
"…At least that part is familiar."
Before I could continue my inspection of the room—or my new life—the door opened.
No knock.
No warning.
Just a quiet, precise movement.
I turned my head.
A woman stepped inside.
She wore a maid uniform. Simple design. Black and white. Clean. Very clean.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Everything else in this house looked like it had given up.
She had not.
Which meant one thing.
She was the only reason this place had not completely collapsed yet.
She stopped a few steps away from me.
Her posture was straight. Controlled. Not stiff, but not relaxed either.
Her face showed no emotion.
She looked at me.
Not with curiosity.
Not with relief.
Just… calm observation.
"If you are capable of standing, my lord," she said, "there are matters that require your attention."
Her voice was steady.
Clear.
Efficient.
No unnecessary words.
I appreciated that.
It made things easier.
"I can stand," I replied.
That was technically true.
Even if my head still felt slightly unpleasant.
She gave a small nod, as if that was all she needed to confirm.
"Then we should proceed quickly."
There was a brief pause.
Then she added,
"The creditors will arrive in three days."
Of course they would.
I looked at her for a moment.
"…That's sooner than I hoped."
"It is later than expected," she replied.
I blinked.
"That does not make it better."
"No," she agreed. "It does not."
At least she was honest.
I studied her more carefully.
Her hair was neatly tied back. No loose strands. Her uniform was perfectly arranged. Not a single wrinkle out of place.
Her eyes were calm.
Too calm.
Not empty. Just… controlled.
This was not someone who panicked easily.
Which meant she had likely dealt with this situation longer than I had.
"…You stayed," I said.
It was not a question.
She understood that.
"Yes," she said.
No explanation.
No added detail.
Just one word.
I tilted my head slightly.
"Why?"
It was a simple question.
Important, though.
Because everyone else had left.
Servants, workers, anyone who had a reason to stay—they were gone.
Only she remained.
That was not normal.
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she answered.
"Because this is my duty."
A very clean answer.
Also a very incomplete one.
But I did not push further.
Not yet.
"Alright," I said. "Then let's talk about the situation."
She nodded again.
And just like that, we began.
We moved to another room.
Calling it an office would be generous, but that was clearly its intended purpose. A desk stood near the window. Papers were stacked neatly—too neatly, as if someone had spent a great deal of time organizing problems instead of solving them.
She handed me a few documents.
"Current financial records," she said.
I took them.
Looked at the numbers.
Then looked again.
"…This is worse than I thought."
"Yes."
"Why is there no income?"
"Because there are no active sources of revenue."
"That is… not helpful."
"It is accurate."
I rubbed my forehead.
The headache was coming back.
"Let me rephrase," I said. "Why are there no sources of revenue?"
"Because the land has not been maintained, the workers have left, and the previous management was… inefficient."
That was a polite way of saying everything had gone wrong.
I nodded slowly.
"Understood."
I did not understand.
Not completely.
But I understood enough.
This was not a small problem.
This was a complete collapse.
And somehow, I was expected to fix it.
I placed the papers down and leaned back slightly.
"…Alright," I said.
She waited.
Patient.
Silent.
I took a breath.
Then I spoke again.
"We have three days."
"Yes."
"We have no money."
"Yes."
"We have no allies."
"Yes."
I paused.
"…Do we have anything?"
She thought for a moment.
Then answered.
"The estate is still legally yours."
I stared at her.
"That's not very useful if I lose it in three days."
"No," she agreed. "It is not."
At least she was consistent.
I let out a small sigh.
This situation was bad.
Very bad.
But panic would not help.
I needed to think.
Carefully.
Logically.
Even if I did not have many options.
"…Alright," I said again, this time more quietly.
I looked at the papers.
Then at the room.
Then at her.
And finally, back at the cracked ceiling above.
I had not been reborn into a better life.
I had not been given a second chance.
I had been placed into a problem.
A complicated one.
A dangerous one.
And, if I failed—
A very short one.
"…Fine," I said.
The word felt heavier than it should have.
"I'll fix it."
She did not react immediately.
Then, after a brief pause, she spoke.
"I will assist you."
Of course she would.
She was the only one left.
I gave a small nod.
"Good," I said.
Because I was going to need help.
A lot of it.
And as I looked at the documents again, one thought became very clear.
This was not going to be easy.
Not even close.
But then again…
Nothing about this situation had been easy from the start.
And somehow—
I had to survive it.
Unfortunately, that was only the beginning.
I just didn't know it yet.