Steve stood motionless, the cold air stinging his lungs, his fear-addled mind gradually clearing. Almost masochistically, he tried to calm himself and analyze the situation.
Yes… I, Steve the physical transmigrant, am penniless and homeless, utterly unsuited for this era.
But… is it really that bad?
A thought flashed through his mind like lightning in the dark, instantly illuminating Steve's thinking. The talent he dubbed "Astonishing Wisdom"—the goldfinger that had just activated—was far more powerful than just "thinking quickly."
Just now, the man had only glanced at newspapers and street signs—Japanese katakana and kanji, grammar, pronunciation rules, and contextual usage that had previously been separate ciphers in his mind… Everything, like a released genetic code, was instantly broken down, analyzed, and reconstructed perfectly in Steve's mind.
He could even "feel" his tongue and throat muscles subtly adjusting to syllables he'd never uttered before. A kind of enlightenment came naturally—he was now fluent in Japanese, as if he'd been born and raised here.
This discovery sent a warm current through Steve's body, which had been trembling with cold and fear. The most fundamental barrier to communication had been removed before anyone even noticed. The path ahead seemed much less rugged.
With that, Steve's mind began spinning at terrifying speed. Countless pieces of historical information, social background, economic context, and knowledge he'd read as stories or data all became vivid, active archives in his mind.
Japan during the Bubble Economy era was a time full of opportunity and madness. Unprecedented economic boom and extreme labor shortages created a massive gray zone—the black labor market. Steve could distinctly "recall" that in this era, Asian neighbors came to Japan in various ways to work the harshest jobs, earning shockingly high wages compared to their home countries.
They had no legal identity, but were indispensable to the operation of these vibrant cities.
In Steve's mind, a clear plan unfolded like a precise blueprint:
Step 1: Initial Accumulation
He needed a "black job" (unregistered work) that didn't require ID—dishwashing at restaurants, porter at construction sites, anything his chubby body could barely manage. His goal wasn't to stay in the game long, just to get initial startup capital. Not much—around 100,000 yen, which was about $700 at that time. For a black laborer willing to endure hardship, this wasn't impossible. With that money, he could escape the danger of freezing or starving to death.
Step 2: Capital Snowballing
Steve eyed the neon-lit pachinko parlors on the street corner. For most people, they were pits that devoured money. But for someone with [Astonishing Wisdom], they were like ATMs. Every pachinko machine was a precise program governed by mechanics and probability. With enough observation, he could analyze their workings, calculate the steel balls' trajectories, and find the "winning formula" hidden among countless failed paths. He would never be greedy—he knew excessive greed only brought trouble. So long as he never "won" more than 500,000 yen at any one shop, it would be just a drop in the bucket for Bubble-era parlors that made daily profits, enough to be considered "today's lucky customer," but not a "cheater." Like a diligent bee, he'd quietly accumulate his capital into the millions.
Step 3: Identity Whitewashing
Once his funds were strong enough, Steve could access the other side of society—the underworld. Money moves ghosts; this is true in any era. Through their channels, it wouldn't be hard to forge a "tourist visa" or other temporary ID. This would transform him, at least on paper, from a "black household" into a "legal" foreigner.
Once the identity issue was resolved, he could move to even higher levels—like legal gambling in casinos, or the stock market just starting to boom at the time. His [Astonishing Wisdom] would give him unmatched power in data analysis and trend prediction. Sooner or later, he'd have both enough money and legal status to truly establish himself in this world.
Only then could Steve afford to think long-term—perhaps using his future knowledge and "prophet" status to contact the supernatural side, and even achieve those unreachable dreams like "protecting the principles of humanity and the Earth."
[It's a pity I can only give up on the main plot, but for now, this is the only way.]
After a moment's sigh, he looked again at the Western-style building in the distance—the symbol of the "Mahoutsukai no Yoru" main plot—and immediately shook his head, focusing once more on tonight's survival plan.
The first step of the plan: find a free, safe place to spend the night. So, at that moment, he looked up again at the police box. Suddenly, what had seemed like a trap that could send him back to the moon world at any moment now just looked like a public information booth he could use.
He straightened his wrinkled T-shirt, tried to appear natural, and walked toward the light.
The middle-aged policeman inside had clearly noticed Steve approaching. The summer outfit looked especially thin in the cold wind, and the officer frowned a little, but as Steve approached the window and began speaking in fluent, standard Japanese, bowing lightly, the wariness melted away.
"Excuse me, could I ask a question? Is there a civic center nearby… a city hall?"
His pronunciation was so natural that the policeman's suspicion faded instantly. He probably thought Steve was just a local acting oddly, but not with any bad intentions. The officer looked him up and down, paused for two seconds on Steve's bare feet, then finally replied:
"City hall? Ah, yes… Go straight down this commercial street, turn left at the second intersection, then walk about 200 meters. It's a big white building—you can't miss it."
After a brief hesitation, he couldn't help but ask, "Young man, why are you dressed like that… Are you alright? The weather isn't warm."
Steve's chest tightened, but he forced a sheepish smile and gave the excuse he'd prepared:
"Ahaha… I lost a bet with my friends. I really had no choice."
"Thank you, officer."
The excuse was cliché, but in this Bubble Era, where entertainment was king, it made perfect sense. The policeman simply shook his head and waved him along.
Relieved, Steve followed the directions toward the civic hall. As night deepened, the number of pedestrians dwindled. It didn't take long to spot the pure-white, modern building, softly lit like a gentle harbor in the night.
Steve pushed through the heavy glass doors into warm air so comfortable he almost felt like crying. The corridor was empty except for a few homeless people curled up on benches in the corners. Not wanting to disturb them, he found a free bench on the other side and sat down, leaning against the cold backrest, surveying the strange, makeshift shelter.
The fluorescent lights overhead hummed faintly, and he could hear the vending machine whirring in the distance. It all felt unreal. Just that afternoon, he'd been in his own room—now he was homeless in Bubble Era Japan.
The vast blankness and uncertainty about the future surged into his heart again like a tide. But this time, Steve didn't panic. Because, from this cold bench on this cold night, he knew his way to survival in this world had officially begun.
…