I am a simple man leading an honest life. However, as I was making my way back home, a sudden and unfortunate event occurred: I was struck by a truck.

The memory of that moment remains vivid in my mind—I was suspended in mid-air, my gaze fixed upon the breathtaking expanse of the azure sky. Time seemed to decelerate, allowing me to even catch sight of the truck that had collided with me from the periphery of my vision. My view was hindered by the truck's tinted windows, rendering the interior a mystery to anyone outside, unless they peered closely. Regrettably, this meant that I was unable to discern the identity of the individual responsible for my untimely demise.

A sensation of weightlessness enveloped me as I floated through space, an experience both captivating and sorrowful. My thoughts raced at an extraordinary pace, leading me to muse that if only my physical body matched the speed of my mind at that instant, I could rival the velocity of the superhero known as the Flash.

Subsequently, I descended and collided with the ground. The impact reverberated through me, and I sensed my consciousness gradually separating from my body .

In those fleeting moments, my final cogent thoughts took shape: "Why has this befallen me? Truck kun... You were meant to be confined solely to Japan's otaku culture..."

...

I have no idea how much time had elapsed, but when my consciousness returned, I found myself in the form of a baby.

Precisely three months old, if we're counting. My initial thought? "Could it be... I've been isekai'd?"

I mean, what did I even do to deserve this? Sure, I wasn't leading the most exciting life—single, virgin, and all that—but I hardly thought I was the poster child for otaku culture. Did they somehow lower their standards or something?

But then there were these new parents of mine, both in their twenties, treating me like some kind of plaything.

"Ken-chan and his father look oddly alike, don't they, mama?"

And then my new father chimed in with Japanese, of all things. Hold on a second... Didn't I get transported to another world? Did I actually get reincarnated into a Japanese baby's body? I've seen enough anime to figure out that much.

And then my mother jumps in, "Papa, quit being delusional. Look at Ken-chan's eyes, nose, and lips. All those cute features clearly come from me."

As my mother spoke, I could practically feel the smug pride radiating from her tone and expression, as if she had just pulled off the greatest deed of all time.

Wait a minute, are they arguing about something? Seriously, can you two save your domestic disputes for when I'm not present?

Argue in the bed or something! Um... Maybe not... I don't want a sibling when I needed your assistance as a baby.

Maybe when I've grown up a bit more...?

Ah well, they're Japanese, so I probably don't need to worry too much about suddenly having a bunch of siblings. Although, who knows, maybe I won't have the chance for any siblings at all.

...

Fast forward six years. Yep, just like that, time flew by in the blink of an eye. More like a lightning bolt, really. But everything had been going relatively smoothly for me.

The name's Ken Hayashi, by the way.

Six years have raced past, and I'm still scratching my head over why Truck kun decided to whisk me away to Japan. Seriously, couldn't you just ask nicely? "Hey, we need people in Japan, wanna come over?" I could've booked a flight, no problem. Did you really have to go with the whole truck collision method? Oh well, no use dwelling on it now. At least my new life isn't all that bad, if I'm being honest.

My new parents take good care of me and seem to genuinely love me.

My dad, Hiro Hayashi, is your run-of-the-mill white-collar worker who's devoted to his job, just like any other Japanese office drone.

Then there's my mom, Ruri Susaki, a housewife who's practically mastered the art of looking after me. Think of her as the epitome of your average yet exceptional housewife.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Mom, I'm off to school." I slipped on my shoes and slung my backpack over my shoulder.

I can go to the school on my own since it's not too far from our place. It seems my parents want me to learn to be independent from a young age, and they're pretty proud of it. Even though it's my first day, I already know the way there and back by heart. Thanks to my mom dragging me along when she went grocery shopping or to the market, I've got the street layout practically memorized. So, walking to school is a piece of cake.

"Take care, Ken-chan. Do your best in school, okay?" Ruri, who'd just finished washing the dishes, hurriedly came over, giving my head a gentle pat.

"No worries, Oka-san." I nodded and headed out of the house.

Our new home isn't half bad. Sure, it might seem a tad small, but it's cozy and comfortable enough for us.

Japanese commoner houses are like that—just enough space for the folks living in them. In our case, with three people—me, Mom, and Dad—our house is around 150 square meters or so. It might sound snug, but being a two-story house, it suits our little family just fine.

...

I strolled through the streets of Nerima Ward, Japan, feeling like I was wandering within the very same settings of that iconic anime. The nostalgia hit me hard, but then again, maybe that's because anime places are often inspired by real-world locations. So, it's not that surprising, really.

The architecture of the streets and houses seemed to be channeling more of a 70's vibe than the 90's Tokyo style, which was rather odd considering it's 1993 according to the calendar. Now, I might not be an expert on Japan's economics in 1993, but I do know that the country was still recovering from the bubble burst. Just your everyday, casual knowledge, you know?

After navigating my way through these musings, I finally made it to school. Lo and behold, a bunch of kids accompanied by their parents were already gathering by the gate. As I was about to walk in, a certain scene grabbed my attention.

There was a woman with glasses and short hair, comforting a teary child sporting a formal bowl haircut. It felt oddly familiar, even though I'd never met them before. Weird, right?

I shook my head to brush off these strange vibes and continued on to the school grounds. Rows of seats had been set up for the kids, each belonging to the same age group. Up front, a stage stood with an adult who must've been their future homeroom teacher, flanked by parents and their children.

Hold up... This was an entrance ceremony, wasn't it? Supposed to be an important memory for a kid. So, why wasn't my mother here with me?

A wave of confusion swept over me, but I decided to let it slide. I made my way to an empty seat, only to have someone plop down beside me.

"Ken-chan, you're quite the brave one among the boys, aren't you~?"

Wait, what? Mom? Turning towards the voice, I found my sneaky mom sitting right there beside me.

"Oka-san, what brings you here?" I asked, keeping up an age-appropriate tone even though I pretty much knew what was up.

"Hehe~ Naturally, mommy's here to capture this special moment. It's your nyugakushiki (entrance ceremony), after all!" Mom Ruri grinned and playfully patted my head, radiating good vibes.

Of course, the ritual involved my mom snapping a picture of me, immortalizing the moment. Surprisingly, Dad—Hiro—was present too, taking a snapshot of us before rushing off to grind.

After the school's anthem and formalities, the kindergarteners finally started their journey. My mom headed home, leaving me to find my seat among my classmates.

As I settled in, a child caught my attention—the same kid from earlier, with the formal bowl haircut. Seemed a bit shy, remaining quiet and all.

"Hello, everyone. I'm your homeroom teacher, Mia!"

A woman in her twenties introduced herself, quickly adding, "Since you're all big boys and big girls now, let's get to know each other, shall we?"

Big boys? Big girls? This teacher had the knack for winning over a young audience. At least, that's what I thought, observing her with an amused grin.

One by one, kids introduced themselves. As the ritual continued, it was finally the turn of a particularly adorable girl with that short hair.

"My name is Shizuka Minamoto. Nice to meet you all!"

Cute, the kid with bowl haircut couldn't help but though the little girl with the short hairstyle.

Apparently, the boys in the class shared his sentiment.

Ken also though the girl was cute until it hit him —Shizuka Minamoto? That name sounded way too familiar.

Nah, couldn't be... Right?

My heart raced, a cacophony of thumping that I tried to suppress.

Come on, Ken, calm down! It's just a coincidence. There's no way I'm actually trapped in the bonkers universe of time machines and aliens from that anime.

Yeah, ridiculous, I know.

With a chuckle and a shake of my head, I tried to dispel the looming absurdity.

But before I could get too carried away, my thoughts skidded to a halt—a voice from a chubby child cut through the haze.

"Yo! I'm Takeshi Goda!"

And then, like an innocent honest kid blurted out, "Ew! You're so fat and ugly!"

Takeshi blushed in embarrassment and then transformed into a tiny rage machine.

Just as he was about to unleash his own comeback, a melodious voice intervened, "Little Kazuya, that's incredibly impolite. Apologize to Takeshi immediately."

It was Teacher Mia, reprimanding the little troublemaker.

Kazuya scrambled to make amends, and Takeshi graciously accepted the apology.

But my attention was already spiraling elsewhere.

My thoughts had run amok the moment I heard the name "Takeshi Goda."

It wasn't that I hated the Doraemon anime—in fact, I loved it as a kid. But the idea of becoming a punching bag for the likes of Nobita and his gang in the future? That was not exactly my idea of fun.

Sure, in the animated scene, Nobita could bend reality to his whims, messing with the world's order, altering logic, and even manipulating thoughts. It was a barrel of laughs on-screen, but to live in a world where this dimwitted Nobita could meddle with the very fabric of existence? Not my cup of tea.