The first item on the agenda of any restructuring is a complete audit of available assets. Kenji Tanaka, standing on the same grimy corner where he had rebooted his existence, applied this principle to himself. He gripped his arms, feeling the sharp bone beneath a thin layer of skin and threadbare cloth. The conclusion was immediate and depressing. The body he had inherited was not a high-performance vehicle; it was a second-hand model with a terrible maintenance history. His mind did a quick inventory, and the results were abysmal.
Alright, let's assess the situation. I'm in the body of a teenager, about 15 or 16 years old. Condition: severe malnutrition, negligible muscle mass. Basically, I've been handed a company on the verge of bankruptcy. I have no capital, no assets, no known special skills in this environment. The immediate priority is to secure resources—food and shelter—before this whole operation... meaning, me... collapses from systemic failure.
Panic was not part of his emotional repertoire. Panic was for middle management. He was a CEO. CEOs don't panic; they pivot. And the first pivot was clear: he needed to secure a revenue stream. He needed a job. With an upright posture that contradicted his gaunt appearance, he stepped into the vibrant chaos of the city, beginning his market prospecting.
His first stop was a bakery from which emanated an aroma that his new stomach, with an irritating biological logic, found irresistible. A burly, sweaty man was pulling loaves of bread from a stone oven. Kenji waited patiently for the man to finish, observing.
"What do you want?" the baker growled, sizing up the scrawny teenager. "I don't give out handouts."
Kenji cleared his throat, his voice weaker than he intended. "I'm looking for work. I can help. I'm a fast learner."
The man let out a dry laugh. "You? Look at you, you look like a scarecrow. I need someone who can haul fifty-kilo sacks, not some beanpole who's going to pass out before noon. Get out of here."
Kenji held his gaze for a second before turning away. As he walked off, his mind was already dissecting the encounter.
Rejection due to physical deficiency. Predictable. The baker's logic is simple, but shortsighted. He doesn't see the potential in an employee who could be trained in exchange for loyalty. And his workflow... it's a disaster. The flour is too far from the kneading table, the oven has an obvious heat leak. With a simple reorganization of his workspace, he could increase his production by 25%. He's sitting on a mismanaged asset.
He was not discouraged. Rejection was data. The unskilled labor sector was closed to him. He needed a niche that required less strength. His eyes fell on the workshop of a craftsman carving intricate wooden figures. He approached the old man, whose face was lined with wrinkles as deep as the cuts in the wood.
"Master," Kenji said, with a respectful tone he had learned from observation. "I admire your art. I wish to learn. I will work for food and a place to sleep."
The old man looked up and, after studying his thin hands, offered him a knife and a piece of wood. "Try to make a sphere."
Kenji tried. His hands, trembling from hunger, refused to obey. The result was a mutilated piece of wood. The old man sighed.
"You have the age, but not the strength in your hands. They are empty. Come back when you've had a few hot meals and have some firmness in you."
Kenji returned the tools with a nod. There was no emotion in his retreat, only analysis.
Another rejection for the same reason. Lack of skill and strength. This artisan is a traditionalist, a niche producer. Why have one master do the entire process slowly? It's inefficient. He could break down the labor: one person cuts, another roughs out the shape, another details. Create an assembly line. We could flood the market with low-cost products. He's treating a potential business like a hobby.
Two failures. The trend was concerning. His current market value was zero. As he walked, he saw a pair of city guards posted at one of the main gates, their posture relaxed, almost lazy. The public sector was his next option.
"Officers," he said, approaching with a seriousness unsuited to his appearance. "I offer myself to serve the city. I can stand watch, carry messages, clean."
One of the guards looked him up and down and burst out laughing. "Serve the city? Kid, you look like a gust of wind could snap you in two. Go home and have your mother give you a bowl of soup. Or ten."
As he walked away from their laughter, Kenji's mind didn't register humiliation, but vulnerabilities.
Security analysis: pathetic. These guards are complacent. They have a massive blind spot to their right because of that fruit stand. And they don't even look up at the rooftops. I can think of three ways to neutralize them and open that gate in under two minutes. This city's security is a joke.
The sun was beginning to set, and the risk of an operational failure due to exposure to the elements was increasing. It was then that he overheard two merchants.
"...the fishing in Golden Carp Lake has been good this year. The city is prospering."
Good, a key piece of data. Golden Carp City. Now I can start building a mental map. Option one? Leave the city. The risk analysis is instantaneous: no supplies, no map, unknown dangers. The probability of success is extremely low. A clearly negative return on investment. The logical strategy is to establish a base here first.
Just as his mind ratified this decision, his eyes fixed on a parchment nailed to a post.
SERVANTS WANTED
The Silver Cloud Clan, an honorable cultivation sect, seeks hard-working and discreet individuals for duties at their residence. Sustenance, lodging, and a modest wage are offered...
Kenji read the notice twice. His brain kicked into high gear, calculating the opportunity.
There it is. The entry point. "Silver Cloud Clan." A "cultivation sect." The position is for a servant, the lowest possible. But the compensation covers my basic needs: food and shelter. It's the capital injection I need to stabilize my operations. But that's just the short-term benefit. The real gain is strategic. This gives me access. Access to a powerful organization, to observing its members, to understanding how power really works in this world. The risk is unknown, but the risk of doing nothing is total bankruptcy. This is the first viable investment opportunity I've found.
It wasn't the CEO position he deserved. It was the lowest rung on the ladder.
But it was a ladder.
And Kenji Tanaka was an expert at climbing them.
An icy determination replaced the hunger and cold. He looked at the notice one last time, memorizing the address. The sun disappeared completely. For others, it was just another night. For Kenji, it was the eve of his first acquisition. His target: the Silver Cloud Clan. His strategy: infiltration through the general services department.
The Immortal CEO had found his way in. And he planned to kick the door down.