It was supposed to be the peak of his life.
Twenty-six years old. Self-made billionaire. The founder of Kanzaki Dynamics, a tech empire so vast it whispered through the wires of global influence. Nations owed him favors. Enemies feared his name. And when he spoke, the world listened—because everything Reo Kanzaki said turned into gold or fire, depending on his will.
His mind was a weapon sharper than any sword. And his heart?
Colder than the steel he built satellites from.
He didn't believe in fate. He believed in leverage. Control. The game.
So when his private jet exploded mid-air, right after he closed a black-ops deal with a silent European syndicate, he didn't scream. He didn't beg. He didn't pray.
He simply thought:
"Tch. Who sold me out?"
Then came the blinding flash.
And then…
Nothing.
---
Warmth.
Sunlight? Birds chirping?
The scent of toasted bread?
His eyes fluttered open.
The ceiling was too low. The paint, cracked. The fan, ancient and humming. Posters of cartoon astronauts and superheroes lined the walls like the relics of a forgotten childhood.
Reo bolted upright, instincts on fire.
His hands—small. Fingers stubby. Feet too short. The body? Weak. Young. And very much not the product of high-protein meal plans and midnight boxing drills.
"What… the hell?"
Before he could inspect further, the door slammed open.
A woman with an apron rushed in holding a slipper in one hand and a slice of toast in the other.
"Nobita! You're going to be late! The teacher called again! If you don't get out of bed right now—"
Reo stared, silent, brain buffering.
Then came the voice that made his stomach drop.
"Calm down, Mama-san. I'll help Nobita get ready today."
Reo turned slowly.
Standing at the door was a round blue robotic cat—short, pudgy, and holding a bag filled with what looked like half the technology museum.
A loud gulp escaped his throat.
"No… freaking… way."
Doraemon blinked. "You okay, Nobita? You look pale."
Reo collapsed back into bed, heart pounding.
This isn't a dream.
This isn't a joke.
He staggered to the mirror beside the bookshelf.
And what stared back was a messy-haired, bespectacled kid with watery eyes and a face permanently etched with defeat.
Nobita Nobi.
The kid who failed at everything. The one who cried every episode. The punchline of a cartoon he barely remembered from his own childhood.
"I reincarnated into a… joke?"
---
The next few hours were surreal.
He was still Reo inside. His memories, his logic, his experience—all intact. But the body? Clumsy. Awkward. Weak. Every step felt like dragging a sack of wet sand.
He got dressed in a ridiculous yellow shirt and blue shorts. Ate burnt toast with some weird jelly he couldn't identify. Then walked to school with lead-heavy legs and a backpack stuffed with comic books and crumpled test papers.
Everything irritated him. The sunlight. The chirping kids. The pointless talk about toy cars and ice cream.
But worse was the classroom.
Reo sat quietly in the second row. The teacher looked like he hated his job. The lessons were basic, insulting even. But "his" notes were trash. His handwriting was garbage. The textbook had his name scribbled on it in childish, ugly letters.
Then came the social hell.
Jaian picked a fight with him over a pencil. Suneo mocked his shoelaces. Shizuka gave him a pitiful smile when he stuttered during roll call. And worst of all, he got smacked with a chalkboard eraser for falling asleep during math.
But Reo didn't fight back. Not yet.
He studied.
He observed.
He learned.
Because beneath that childlike skin, behind those cracked glasses, sat a man who once built an empire with nothing but his mind.
And even now…
His mind was working.
---
By the time he was back home, Reo had confirmed it: This world was Doraemon's timeline. Futuristic gadgets. Time machines. Robotic pets from the 22nd century. All of it real.
That night, he locked himself in his room. Doraemon was snoozing, soft-snores echoing from his cat-like nose. The Time Cat trusted him, even with his weird behavior.
Perfect.
Reo dug into the closet and pulled out Doraemon's 4D Pocket.
He didn't take anything. Not yet.
He just looked.
> "If even one of these gadgets is real, then this world is an untapped goldmine of technological anomalies. I could rebuild everything I lost. No, even more. I could own everything."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, breathing slowly.
But even as his mind flooded with plans—patents, companies, long-term investments, blackmail strategies, tech startups—another voice rose in the back of his head.
A whisper. Fragile. Regretful.
"But what's the point, Reo? You died once. Betrayed. Alone. Empty."
His hands trembled slightly.
> "Do you really want to play that game again? Fight. Win. Die?"
He looked down at his small, clumsy hands. Nobita's hands. And for the first time since waking up… he smiled. A real, calm, almost peaceful smile.
"No," he whispered. "This time, I'll do it differently."
"I won't chase power."
"I'll chase peace."
"I'll become so rich that even fate won't be able to afford to touch me."
---
The next morning, something had changed.
Not in his body. But in the way he walked.
He stood a little straighter.
He didn't cry when Mama yelled.
He took notes during class. No one noticed—why would they? It was "just Nobita."
But Reo Kanzaki was awake.
He found a part-time online tutoring gig using Doraemon's Transcription Notes. Began reading economics through a gadget that made time freeze. He discovered the stock market from the future and plotted how to mimic it in this era.
He kept it lowkey. Lazy on the surface. Dull in school. Pathetic in games.
But in secret?
He was building the blueprint of a quiet empire.
One that started with one goal:
Be so wealthy… that not even destiny could afford your time.
---