The Kansai Villain’s Rebirth: I Accidentally Ended Up With a Harem.

The Kansai Girl Turns Back—Just a Little.

Tennouji Daiki’s Perspective

“Mm… alright, this is turning out pretty damn good.”

I’d been up since five in the morning, stirring pasta sauce in the kitchen. Slept at eleven, woke at five—it felt amazing. I’d been doing that stupid thing where I went to bed at two and got up at four; no wonder my body was rebelling. Six hours of sleep? Perfect. Not much different from my usual twelve-to-seven, but somehow it hit just right.

While the pasta boiled, I found myself staring off into space—thinking, as always, about this world. The world of NetHaza. And the fact that I was here, living as Tennouji Daiki, of all people—the very character I’d sworn to hate to my dying breath.

“It’s already been a month since I got here, huh… man, what a ride.”

A month and a half, to be precise. Hard to believe. Sometimes I wonder if this is just some long, elaborate dream. That one day I’ll wake up again in that empty, one-room apartment, with my idiot boss calling me first thing in the morning—“You still asleep?!”—and my spine freezing at the sound of coworkers whispering about errors in the code. God, please no.

Those first few nights were rough. I was afraid to sleep—terrified that when I opened my eyes again, I’d be back in that gray box of a life. I prayed before bed every night. Please don’t let me wake up in that world again. Please don’t put me back in a hospital bed. I still pray sometimes. And I swear, if some god pulls the rug out from under me now, I’ll commit seppuku on the spot.

“Still… being in this world, the happiest thing by far has been meeting the threeheroines—talking with them, spending time with them… and now they’re coming over tomy house. Damn, that’s nerve-wracking.”

I leaned over to check the pasta. “Nice. Perfectly al dente. This one’ll be the vongole. Gotta go easy on the garlic though—girls notice that stuff.”

Carbonara. Mentaiko butter soy. Vongole bianco. And my prized creation—tomato crab pasta. Four dishes, an unbeatable lineup. The crab cost a fortune, but it was worth it. I’d been fine-tuning that tomato sauce since Monday just for today.

I mean, come on. These are my favorite heroines. And all three of them are ridiculously beautiful. There’s no way I’m half-assing this. Sure, that meant I’d been eating pasta for three meals a day, but it was all in the name of perfection.

Still, Akitani-san scolded me for it—with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Tennouji-kun, eating pasta for every meal is bad for you. Want me to make you a bento instead?”

“H-huh? No, no, I’ll make one myself—”

“No.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

That smile froze my blood. Gave me the same chill I felt back in my old life when the cleaning lady unplugged my PC during a build cycle. Ten days of crunch because of that. Honestly, she might’ve been the reason I got isekai’d in the first place. I don’t even want to remember it. The point is—never make Akitani-san mad. Ever.

It’s funny… I think I’ve spent more time with the heroines than the supposed protagonist, Imamiya. And man, have they changed.

Take Shina, for example. She went and dyed her hair black. In the original game she was blonde through and through—but because I told her that flashy styles didn’t suit her? Yeah, apparently that’s why. And somehow… she looks even cuter. Way cuter, actually. That pink underwear I accidentally glimpsed during basketball practice didn’t help my peace of mind either. In the game it was always leopard print. What’s going on here? No, no—don’t think about that!

Then there’s Akitani-san. I finally got to eat her legendary bento—the one players used to rave about in the forums. And holy hell, it was divine. I’m not exaggerating; it was that good. We’re supposed to do a bento exchange next time. A friendly challenge, not a competition. But still, I can’t afford to slack off. Her soft “honya” laugh could probably cure diseases, by the way. But when she’s angry… you run.

Now, Fuyuki-san… I might’ve influenced her the most. She started wearing glasses. Got a wolf-cut because I said I liked it. And honestly? She’s stunning. Cool, intellectual, elegant—the perfect balance. Am I… am I low-key producing the heroines here?

According to Shina, when Fuyuki-san touches her hair, it’s not because she’s angry—it’s because she’s embarrassed or happy. That tiny habit, the one I used to think was cold indifference… turns out, it’s adorable. She glares at me, sure, but if her fingers are in her hair, she’s fine. Too cute. Though her attitude toward Imamiya has gone ice cold.

Which brings me to the man himself—the protagonist. Imamiya Shunya.

Dude’s falling apart. Shina called him “gross” twice. He rejected Akitani-san’s bento. Fuyuki treats him like he doesn’t exist. What the hell happened? In the game, even the worst choices didn’t tank all three routes this badly.

“Don’t tell me… did his protagonist aura run out or something?”

I laughed nervously—but it came out a bit shaky. “No way. This world revolves around him. It has to. It’s still October—there’s time. The story runs till Christmas.”

But honestly? I wasn’t so sure anymore. Shina was too open about her feelings for someone else. Fuyuki had shut herself off. Akitani-san… maybe she’s still the last ray of hope.

“At least let the guy end up with his childhood friend,” I muttered. “Please.”

The kitchen filled with the rich, briny scent of crab.

“Mmm… that’s perfect. Smells amazing. No way this isn’t a hit.”

I’d bought two crabs—tested one yesterday. It was incredible. This one would be even better.

“Okay, once the vongole’s done, it’ll be just the right time.”

The fourth dish had to be simple, so I went with vongole bianco. The clams were frozen, but they still packed plenty of flavor.

“Garlic’s light, chili’s mild… just a bit of heat to balance it. Yeah, that’ll do.”

By the time I plated everything—four heaping dishes, each glistening under the light—I couldn’t help grinning.

“Man, these look good. Carbonara’s creamy, mentaiko’s rich, vongole’s clean, crab’s divine. I could open a restaurant.”

I checked the time. “Oh crap—it’s already ten!”

I rushed around cleaning up, tossing utensils in the sink. No way was I greeting them in a tracksuit. Swapped into something halfway fashionable.

And then, with my heart thudding like crazy, I stepped out the door.