Birth:

"With cunning, I shattered the womb’s illusion, recalling past lives as a dragon among men."

One Month Old:

"Ambition cares not for age—even a babe may shear its first locks with resolve."

Age Four:

"The international speculators’ feast began—and I, the Stock Prodigy, entered the fray."

Age Five:

"The markets crashed. The prodigy rebuilt from nothing."

Age Seven:

"Industry revives the nation! Mixue Bingcheng rings the Nasdaq bell!"

Age Eight:

"To save all mankind."

(Current crossover elements include: "Clannad," "Night Shift Nurses," "Saekano," "Eromanga Sensei," "Highschool of the Dead," and more.)

My name is Imazumi Rinnaeus, and I'm a transmigrator.

As a transmigrator, I naturally came equipped with a golden finger system.

My system is called the Dream Performance System. As long as I complete performances according to the script, I can receive rewards in the form of "tags."

Those max-level attributes, talents, skills, and even tags for health and longevity look truly enticing.

However, this damn system took over a decade just to activate, and the first script it gave me left me speechless.

Because this script... isn’t something one person can complete alone. It requires the cooperation of several girls.

For heaven’s sake, even in open-minded Japan, what decent girl would agree to this kind of script?

...

"My name is Nakano Ichika."

"My name is Nakano Nino."

"My name is Nakano Miku."

"My name is Nakano Yotsuba."

"My name is Nakano Itsuki."

Today, they accepted an invitation from a certain "great system." In order to achieve their respective goals, they decided to seek out someone with the surname Imazumi and perform the script together.

It’s just that this script... is way too embarrassing...

"Rainy Night, Overpass, Maybach."

Crash.

...

When sitting alone, he often caught himself thinking about her—the girl who had shadowed him for years. He’d imagine her barging into the restaurant, drawing every gaze, then plopping down beside him, propping her chin on her hands as she stared into his eyes.

"Buy me a cola," she’d say.

But tonight, to his surprise, another girl actually did sit next to him.

...

Blue hair. Delicate. Radiantly sociable. A checklist of desirable traits.

Yet when it came to love, she was bafflingly cowardly.

Even his unluckiest junior never got to drink their senpai’s leftovers—but Banaumi did it without trying.

Too scared to confess. Clinging to "I’m fine" while heartbroken. Binge-eating after rejection. When urged to fight for her feelings, she’d just whisper, "I hope they’re happy."

He kept seeing that other girl in her—until he blinked, and a stranger’s face stared back.

A stranger who wasn’t even the same gender.