The distance between my property in Tokyo and Gakushuin School was considerable. A journey that, in the 21st century, would take about twenty minutes by car, consumed just over an hour in Meiji-era Japan. Although inconvenient, it was something I had to get used to. All I could do was hope for the arrival of the first automobiles in Japan. However, even that seemed far beyond my reach. It wasn't as though I could simply use my fortune to purchase a car. Any such decision would require the approval of my uncle, Uzuhiko. All I could do was gradually try to convince him to replace our family's carriages with motorized vehicles.
Classes at Gakushuin were intense and carefully structured to mold Japan's future leaders. There was a strong focus on the study of Western languages, especially English, as well as scientific disciplines and Confucian ethics. The school aimed to prepare its students to occupy modern positions in the government or the armed forces. After several years of studying there, my uncle Uzuhiko received an official letter from Gakushuin's administration requesting the family's decision regarding my future career. It was a crucial moment, as the last years at the school would be geared towards specialization, preparing us for the careers we would pursue at university.
Initially, the choice seemed already decided. My late father, along with my mother, had planned for me to follow the family's military tradition. Our lineage had a long history of military leadership, both in the army and the navy. In the past, we were lords of Kyushu and the Ryukyu Islands, with our own armed forces and fleet. However, unlike them, I didn't feel ready to tread this path. The weight of family expectations was immense, but my determination to pursue a different route was even greater.
It marked the beginning of a true verbal battle. I argued with my mother and uncle, using my father's words in my favor. He had always valued the changes that were transforming Japan, so I insisted that he would certainly support my decision to focus on a field that reflected this modernity. I explained my intention to study mathematics and administration, areas I considered essential for understanding and shaping the country's future. After much resistance, I managed to convince them.
With the decision made, I abandoned the path of military training and dedicated myself to the sciences. Makoto Tokugawa, who had already become my close friend, also chose to follow this path. Together, we delved into our studies, finding in numbers and administrative theories a new way to think about the Japan that was emerging before us.
Mathematics had always been a straightforward subject for me. With the knowledge accumulated during my education at a 21st-century university, where I studied agricultural engineering, concepts that seemed challenging to others were banal to me. However, given the unique opportunity to graduate once again, I decided to follow a different path. I chose mechanical engineering, a field that had always fascinated me and, at the time, represented the forefront of technological development. My destination would be the Faculty of Engineering at the Imperial University of Tokyo, a place that promised to broaden my horizons and deepen my understanding of a field I had already mastered in my previous life.
This decision was not merely a whim. Studying mechanical engineering in the context of the Meiji era meant exploring the foundations of a discipline that, by the 21st century, had reached unimaginable levels of sophistication. More than that, it was an opportunity to see the world from the perspective of those who built the foundation of this progress. I planned to absorb everything, from the most rudimentary fundamentals to the practical applications that would shape modern Japan.
Although my studies were my primary focus, I understood that physical health also needed attention. I decided to adopt a routine of physical exercises at home, not with the intention of preparing for a military career, but as a way to care for my body and mind. The property in Sodegazaki, with its vast gardens and trails through the trees, was perfect for this. Whenever I had a break between readings or classes, I would dedicate part of my day to running around the mansion's grounds. The fresh wind on my face, the sound of the rustling leaves, all of it contributed to a sense of renewal that few understood at the time.
This new routine, however, did not go unnoticed. My mother and uncle Uzuhiko began to express concern. At that time, the concept of physical exercise as a health benefit was not widely recognized, and my slender, fragile-looking body only heightened their worries. To them, my runs seemed an unnecessary effort, something that could endanger my health rather than strengthen it.
It took some persuasion to get them to let me continue. I promised both of them that I would dedicate myself even more to my studies and achieve the highest grades at Gakushuin if they allowed me to train in peace. Reluctantly, they agreed but imposed a condition: I would always have to be accompanied by one of the house servants. I agreed immediately. Although I didn't like the idea of being observed, I admit it was convenient to have someone nearby to offer me water or help if something went wrong.
The first days under supervision were, to say the least, uncomfortable. I could feel the watchful eyes of the assigned servant following my every move as I ran through the garden. Over time, however, I managed to ignore his presence and focus on the benefits those moments brought me.
As the weeks passed, the results of my new routine began to manifest subtly but noticeably. My legs, which had previously been thin and devoid of any sign of strength, began to gain definition. My calves, once resembling fragile twigs, started to display a rounded shape, a clear sign that my efforts were paying off.
This progress, though small in the eyes of others, represented a personal victory for me. It wasn't just about physical appearance but about feeling my body respond positively to daily effort. The transformation did not go unnoticed by my mother and uncle Uzuhiko. Although they still maintained some skepticism about my routine, their worried looks began to give way to a discreet curiosity.
The small results I had achieved through physical exercise did not satisfy me. I knew that if I truly wanted to transform my body, I would have to go beyond running and the basic routines I was already doing in the property's gardens. That's when I decided to venture into weight training. However, before embarking on this new challenge, I realized there was a fundamental issue I needed to address: my diet. If I wanted real and consistent gains, I would have to adopt a protein-rich diet, something I had neglected until then.
Implementing this change, however, would prove more complicated than it seemed. Convincing my mother and uncle Uzuhiko to completely modify the household meals was a daunting task. Not only would it require breaking deeply ingrained dietary habits, but many of the ingredients I wanted to include were expensive and consumed only by the elite. Even as part of this elite, my uncle's meticulousness about expenses made everything more difficult.
Determined, I began planning my strategy. I took one of my notebooks and carefully outlined the meal plan I envisioned. Each meal had to be calculated to provide the necessary nutrients without compromising flavor or presentation, as I knew this would help make it more acceptable to the other members of the household. The main dish, lunch, was the centerpiece of my plan. I meticulously listed the components of each part of the meal, using ingredients that could be found in Meiji-era Japan.
The main course would consist of rice, accompanied by chicken breast roasted in sesame oil, a choice that balanced flavor and health. To complement the meal, I included a glass of cow's milk enriched with a spoonful of ground sesame seeds and a touch of honey, creating a surprisingly pleasant texture and taste. Additionally, a fresh salad of lettuce, onions, and spinach, lightly seasoned to preserve the natural flavors, would provide essential nutrients. To complete the plate, two boiled eggs, lightly salted, would serve as an additional source of protein.
With the plan well-defined, I sat down with my mother and uncle to present my proposal. I calmly and patiently explained the benefits this new diet would bring, not only to my health but also to my ability to maintain the academic and physical performance they had begun to admire. It was a challenging negotiation, filled with questions about costs, the logistics of acquiring the ingredients, and the need to alter the household's cooking routines.
Still, my determination prevailed. The promise to continue leading my classes at Gakushuin with impeccable grades, combined with well-founded arguments about the advantages of a protein-rich diet, finally convinced them. The days that followed were marked by adjustments and adaptation, both for me and for the servants responsible for preparing the meals.
With the combination of physical exercise and a carefully planned diet, I nurtured the hope of increasing my height. I knew my ambition was not a simple one. East Asians, especially in the 19th and early 20th centuries, were not known for their tall stature. Genetics already tended to produce individuals of shorter height, and the dietary habits, lacking in animal protein, only exacerbated this characteristic. However, understanding the implications of nutrition on physical development, I saw a unique opportunity to challenge this historical tendency.
My personal goal was anything but modest. I aspired to reach at least 1.80 meters, or 5'11" inches, something extraordinary considering that even modern Japanese men rarely achieve such height. That number, however, was not arbitrary. It represented my height in my previous life, despite being of entirely Japanese descent.
When I reached adolescence, I noticed something intriguing, a peculiarity I had never observed before. My face, slowly shedding its childlike features, began to resemble the one I had in my past life. There was a familiarity there, like a distorted reflection of something I knew well, yet still different. It wasn't just the genetics of this body, but a curious, almost deliberate fusion between the physical traits of Tadashige and those of my previous self. It seemed as though the universe, or perhaps the entity responsible for granting me this second chance, had blended our features, creating a face that carried a bit of both.
The transformation was subtle but striking. While Tadashige, in his original form, had an unremarkable face by the standards of the time, this new combination resulted in something more noteworthy. By 21st-century standards, I had always considered my face and body quite attractive, and it seemed that this aesthetic advantage had been transferred to this new body, enhancing what was once average.
This realization brought me a mixture of surprise and relief. In the rigid and hierarchical world of the Meiji era, where appearance could open doors or attract critical gazes, this advantage was not insignificant. Even more, it served as a spark of optimism regarding my goal of achieving my past life's height. If even my appearance carried traces of that existence, why couldn't my body follow the same path?
With the diet already established and approved, I faced my next challenge: acquiring weights to begin weight training. However, convincing my uncle to order custom metal weights from a blacksmith was out of the question. I didn't let this discourage me. Instead, I decided to improvise with the resources available on the property. It was yet another opportunity to apply creativity and turn limitations into possibilities.
In one part of the property, there was a small bamboo grove, a versatile plant that immediately caught my attention. I picked up a small hatchet from the mansion's yard and headed there. Carefully, I selected the thickest stalks, those that would withstand constant use, and began cutting them into pieces of different sizes. I worked patiently, experimenting with proportions and weights to ensure they were suitable for my intended exercises.
One particular piece, about a meter long, stood out to me. I realized I could use it as a bar for bicep curls and other movements aimed at strengthening my upper muscles. However, bamboo, while sturdy, was too light to provide the necessary challenge. That's when I decided to fill its hollow compartments. With a small knife, I made holes along the stalk, allowing the water naturally contained in the bamboo to drain. Then, I carefully filled the empty spaces with soil, compressing it as much as possible. The result was an improvised yet functional weight, dense enough for my training.
I didn't stop at that single piece. Using other bamboo stalks of various sizes, I created additional weights for different exercises. Some were cut into smaller sizes and filled in the same way, ideal for isolated exercises. Others remained longer, allowing for movements that required greater range. It was a rudimentary but efficient solution.