I was Reincarnated as an Incompetent Leader with Zero Popularity who met his downfall early on. Instead of banishing the hidden cheat Protagonist, I decided to embrace him, and somehow, I ended up being treated like a Hero instead. - Chapter 1

Revised on May 28, 2022

“Your room’s gone.”

That’s how my mother broke the silence after years of no contact. No greeting, no preamble—just those words, leaving me, Takumi Haimura, struggling to find my breath.

She didn’t wait for a response. On the other end of the line, my mother continued in her usual brusque manner. This was just who she was, and the bitter nostalgia of it all came rushing back.

“A-kun’s starting middle school this year, right? He wanted his own room.”

“A-kun?”

“What, you’ve forgotten your own nephew? Honestly, you’re such a cold child.”

Her voice carried exasperation mixed with reproach, vivid enough for me to imagine her face as she spoke. She wasn’t wrong—I had been distant, absent for over a decade. No, more like fifteen years.

“Well, since you’re not giving me any grandchildren, the least you can do is care about your nephew.”

It was this kind of conversation that had kept me away from home. Any attempt to respond would only escalate into something worse, so I chose silence, nodding vaguely as she spoke. My thoughts drifted to my nephew—my younger brother’s son, born when my brother was twenty. I’d never met him but recalled a photo of a baby in a onesie, smiling with innocent joy. The last update I had was from a New Year’s card they’d sent years ago.
“He’s starting middle school already? Time flies.”

My brother and his wife had moved back into my parents’ home over a decade ago. That baby in the photo had grown up and graduated elementary school, and I hadn’t even sent so much as a congratulatory note.

Standing on the side of the road, I felt the weight of my neglect—of my nephew, my family, and myself. Around me, working adults hurried down the tree-lined street, heading home after their day. I leaned against a building wall, careful not to block the sidewalk. The wail of sirens echoed in the distance, louder than usual for a Friday night.

“I’m so glad I have Takashi. If it were just you, I’d never get to see any grandchildren.”

“…Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I gave up expecting anything from you a long time ago. It’s just such a waste.”

“…Yeah. You’re right.”

I was thirty-five now—no wife, no kids, not even a full-time job. I’d left home right after high school, citing work as an excuse, and had been living alone ever since. I drifted through life without direction, chasing nothing, achieving less. Maybe I once had dreams, but I’d long forgotten them.

“Oh, by the way, I sold all the junk in your room. Had to make space. Kids are expensive, you know.”

“…That’s fine.”

The words stung, but I accepted them. I’d abandoned those things when I left, taking only what I needed. The rest—childhood toys, books, model kits—had stayed behind. I’d treasured them once, but I hadn’t cared enough to return for them.

“Didn’t get much for it, though. The unsellable stuff? Burned it in the yard.”

She mentioned it casually, like throwing out old trash. The image of my old notebooks—filled with stories I’d written—flashed in my mind. I’d poured my heart into those stories, only for them to be mocked when my mother and brother discovered them. Their ridicule crushed my childhood dream of becoming a novelist. That was when I realized I couldn’t stay in that house.

That was a lifetime ago. My mother hadn’t changed, though I had. Even now, I couldn’t recall the titles of the stories I once wrote with such fervor.

“Oh, and don’t forget to send something for A-kun’s entrance to middle school. Write a check if you have to.”

She sighed, clearly annoyed by my lack of thoughtfulness. I mumbled a vague acknowledgment.

“That kid’s sharp, you know. Private school isn’t cheap, but he’s worth it.”

“Wow, a private school? That’s impressive.”

“Of course! I chipped in, too. He’s smart, athletic, and destined for a good future. I can’t let him end up like you.”
And with that, the call ended. The sounds of the city returned, filling the silence. Even on a weekday night, the streets here buzzed with energy. Opportunities were everywhere if you weren’t picky. And yet, I remained stuck in place—not even a full-time employee.

“You’re right, Mom. I don’t want him to end up like me either.”
I didn’t want to end up like me. But somewhere along the line, I’d stopped trying. Hearing her voice had only reminded me of how far I’d fallen.

I pushed off the wall and started walking. Home. Sleep. Work. Repeat. That was my life—a monotonous cycle until my body inevitably gave out.

“…I wish I could start over.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Then let me help you.”

The voice came from nowhere. Before I could react, pain exploded in my stomach. For a moment, I thought someone had punched me, but no—this was far worse.

Looking down, I saw a knife hilt buried in my abdomen. I’d been stabbed.

I vaguely recalled the news that morning about a random attacker on the loose. It had seemed so distant, so irrelevant—until now.
A strange mix of anger and resignation swirled within me. On impulse, I lunged forward, wrapping my arms tightly around the person who’d stabbed me.

“What?! Let go of me! Die already!”

“…I will. But not alone.”

They struggled, the knife driving deeper. I held on tighter, refusing to let them go. The screams of bystanders echoed around us. Someone would call the police. They had to.

For once, I wanted to matter. I wanted someone to acknowledge that I did something right.

And then, as my vision blurred, the thought hit me: I never truly wanted to be a novelist. What I really wanted was to be the hero of my own story.