Today is another class reunion for Kaito.
As the years have gone by, class reunions seem to have changed their tone. They are no longer about catching up or reminiscing but have turned into platforms to boast about success. Discussions are dominated by income, careers, and achievements, with the underlying intention of proving superiority.
And Kaito, who was perceived as the least successful among his classmates, was invited every year without fail. The reason? He was the perfect comparison point—an example of mediocrity that made others feel superior. His presence allowed his classmates to flaunt their achievements more effectively.
Despite all this, Kaito always attended, if only for the free food and drinks. As he sat through the gathering, he listened to his former peers boast about their accomplishments, under the guise of casual conversation or concern.
"Hey, Kaito, how's work going these days?" someone asked with a patronizing tone.
Kaito would smile faintly and respond vaguely, "Oh, it's fine."
But deep down, he felt the sting of envy and frustration. He hated how these reunions made him feel—a mix of resentment and self-doubt. After every gathering, he'd resolve to work harder, to prove himself, but the motivation never seemed to last long.
This time was no different. After a few drinks, Kaito mustered a smile and
Today is another class reunion for Kaito.
As the years have gone by, class reunions seem to have changed their tone. They are no longer about catching up or reminiscing but have turned into platforms to boast about success. Discussions are dominated by income, careers, and achievements, with the underlying intention of proving superiority.
And Kaito, who was perceived as the least successful among his classmates, was invited every year without fail. The reason? He was the perfect comparison point—an example of mediocrity that made others feel superior. His presence allowed his classmates to flaunt their achievements more effectively.
Despite all this, Kaito always attended, if only for the free food and drinks. As he sat through the gathering, he listened to his former peers boast about their accomplishments, under the guise of casual conversation or concern.
"Hey, Kaito, how's work going these days?" someone asked with a patronizing tone.
Kaito would smile faintly and respond vaguely, "Oh, it's fine."
But deep down, he felt the sting of envy and frustration. He hated how these reunions made him feel—a mix of resentment and self-doubt. After every gathering, he'd resolve to work harder, to prove himself, but the motivation never seemed to last long.
This time was no different. After a few drinks, Kaito mustered a smile and said, "I think I've had enough for today. I'll be heading out early. See you all later!"
His classmates waved him off, their laughter and chatter continuing behind him as he walked out into the night.
Sitting alone on the roadside, Kaito stared into the distance, his mind clouded with thoughts. He felt empty as if the weight of his failures was pressing down on him.
Just as he was about to get up, a strange, mechanical voice echoed in his mind:
"Would you like to accept the professional specialization system?"
Before Kaito could react, a bright light enveloped him, and a loud explosion threw him into the air. As his consciousness faded, he managed to mutter, "Yes," before everything went dark.
Jingle bell, jingle bell!
Dekisugi groaned as he heard the incessant ringing of an alarm clock. Wasn't he supposed to be dead? Why could he still hear that annoying sound?
He opened his eyes abruptly. "Wait, I'm supposed to be dead. How am I still alive?" he mumbled, hitting the alarm clock to silence it. Rubbing his aching head, Dekisugi looked around.
The room he was in was small but cozy. The bed he lay on had a green, plaid-striped blanket, and a world map hung above the headboard. Nearby, a small desk held a neatly arranged Japanese-style schoolbag. A bookshelf crammed with books stood against the wall.
Dekisugi blinked. He could read the titles—Man and Nature, Science Magazine—despite never having studied Japanese before. Something felt oddly familiar about this place.
Before he could piece things together, a soft female voice called out from downstairs.
"Dekisugi! Breakfast is ready. Don't be late for school!"
Without thinking, Dekisugi replied, "Coming!" He froze mid-step. Wait, Dekisugi? Is she calling me Dekisugi?
Dekisugi glanced at his hands—they were smaller than they should be. His heart raced as he rushed to the bathroom mirror.
Staring back at him was a young boy wearing a light blue shirt and light gray shorts. His wide, bright eyes sparkled with intelligence.
"This... this can't be real," Dekisugi whispered. Bits and pieces of memories that weren't his began to flood his mind.
"I've... I've become Dekisugi? This is the world of Doraemon!?"
Dekisugi stared at his reflection in disbelief. The light of wisdom in his eyes, the neat room, the Japanese books—everything pointed to one conclusion. He was now living as Dekisugi, the gifted and kind-hearted character from the Doraemon series.
Memories continued to flood in, and Dekisugi began to understand how this happened. The professional specialization system must have brought him here, giving him a chance to start over.
Downstairs, breakfast was waiting.
Dekisugi's parents were seated at the table. His father had a tough yet kind appearance, with a mustache and sharp features. His mother, though showing signs of age, had a gentle smile.
"Eat quickly, or you'll be late," his mother said, placing a bowl of rice in front of him.
Dekisugi nodded, trying to act natural as he wolfed down his food.
With his lunchbox in hand, he rushed out the door, still trying to process everything. The memories of this world merged with his own, and he began to understand his new life.
This isn't just a chance to live as Dekisugi. It's a chance to rewrite my destiny, he thought, determination building within him.
As he walked to school, he made a silent vow. The failures of his past life would not hold him back. He would embrace this new beginning and make the most of it.
"I may have been Kaito before, but now I am Dekisugi. And I will not waste this second chance!"
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Editor: I wanted to read a Doraemon Fanfiction and there was no good translated Doraemon fanfiction so I thought let's edit one to be readable.