I forced the last clump of rice into my mouth, chewing as little as possible, my throat dry, my stomach twisting. Doraemon had already left earlier without saying much, and that absence felt like a curse. Without him, there was nothing between me and the suffocating tension burning in my shorts, the HUD numbers glowing in my head like they were carved into my skull.
I mumbled something about being tired, stood up abruptly, and started walking. I didn't look at anyone, didn't dare raise my head. If I could just make it to my room, shut the door, and bury myself under the covers, maybe I could survive this humiliation.
But I felt it before I even heard it—the weight of their eyes.
Chiyo's voice came first, light and curious, though it carried a sharp edge of mischief. "Um… Nobita? What's that?"
The world froze. My body stiffened.
I didn't have to look. I knew. The dark patch of wetness at the front of my shorts had spread, the tent still straining forward, the fabric clinging lewdly to me. My cock throbbed painfully, dripping, making every step heavier and more humiliating.
Mrs. Tsubaki chuckled softly, her polite voice barely concealing her amusement. "Oh my… did something spill?"
Heat seared my face. My throat locked up. I stammered the first thing I could grab onto. "S-soup! Just… soup spilled earlier, that's all!" My fingers clawed at my shirt, yanking it down desperately, but the shirt was too short, the shape too obvious.
Chiyo tilted her head, smiling faintly. "But you didn't eat soup."
The words stabbed through me like a knife. My stomach dropped, my chest tightened, and I couldn't breathe. My body moved before my brain could catch up. I bolted, stumbling forward, my feet pounding against the wooden floorboards, the wet fabric clinging tighter with every step.
As I ran, I heard it. My mother's voice cutting sharp through the hallway, casual and unknowing, but every syllable stabbing into me like fire.
"Nobita! Change those shorts right now! You can't walk around like that in front of guests!"
The shame was unbearable. My cock throbbed harder, betraying me with every pulse. I slammed my door shut behind me, leaned against it, and tried to breathe, but my chest only heaved faster. My face burned as though I had been slapped.
Her voice carried easily through the walls, the words blurring together with the faint laughter of the others. I could hear her speaking to them, my humiliation laid bare in her cheerful, scolding tone.
"Honestly, that boy… still careless, even at his age. He's always so clumsy with food. Always spilling, always making a mess of himself."
The laughter of the women joined her voice. Chiyo giggled lightly, Mrs. Tsubaki's hum of amusement carried warmth, and Ms. Hanabira added a faint chuckle. My skin prickled with every sound.
"I tell him so many times," my mother went on, "he has to be more mindful. How embarrassing for him to come to the table like that… poor Nobita."
The word "poor" twisted the knife. They thought they were being kind, understanding, but to me it was torture. Every gentle laugh, every casual word carried the weight of my disgrace. They had seen. They all knew.
I pressed my face into the pillow, my body trembling. My cock refused to soften, twitching violently, leaking more, staining the fabric of my shorts further. The wetness clung hot against me, making me squirm, making it impossible to ignore.
The HUD flickered to life behind my closed eyelids, mercilessly clear.
[Tamako: Masturbation: 54 | Intercourse: 132]
[Mrs. Tsubaki: Masturbation: 25 | Intercourse: 57]
[Ms. Hanabira: Masturbation: 14 | Intercourse: 32]
[Chiyo: Masturbation: 3 | Intercourse: 0]
Tamako. Not "Mother." Tamako. Her name hung over me like a curse, glowing in cruel red light, branding itself into my thoughts. My cock twitched hard at the sight, my body betraying me even as my mind screamed in shame.
The laughter from the dining room grew softer as they moved on to other topics, but every so often, I caught my mother's voice again, speaking warmly about me as if I wasn't upstairs suffocating with embarrassment. "He's always been like this since he was little. Such a sweet boy, but always getting himself into silly situations. He tries, though… he really does."
Each word burned hotter. Sweet boy. Silly situations. Trying his best. They were talking about Nobita. About me. About the person I was pretending to be but wasn't.
I dug my fingers into the sheets, trembling. My head filled with conflicting noise—Nobita's memories insisting that this was my home, my family, my mother's voice as familiar and warm as it had always been. But my own memories cut through like blades. I wasn't him. I knew these people from somewhere else, from the other Earth, from the shows and movies I had watched countless times. And now I was inside this body, staining his shorts, humiliating him, and no one—not even Nobita himself—could stop it.
"I'm Nobita. I'm Nobita. I'm Nobita," I whispered into the pillow. But the words sounded weaker each time, collapsing under the weight of my cock throbbing wetly in the soaked shorts, the HUD glowing Tamako's name brighter than ever, and the muffled laughter of three women downstairs who thought they were laughing at something innocent when in truth they had witnessed my ruin.
The dampness spread further, sticky and humiliating. My cock refused to obey, straining against the clinging fabric, pulsing in time with every echo of laughter from the dining room. My mother's voice floated up again, gentler now, filled with maternal affection that twisted painfully inside me. "He'll grow out of it. Nobita just needs time."
But I knew I wouldn't. Not with this body, not with these numbers, not with the memories fighting inside my skull.
I pressed my face harder into the pillow, trembling, hating myself, hating this cursed HUD, hating the way my cock still dripped and ached as though it was mocking me. The room spun with shame, the walls closing in, and all I could hear was my mother's voice and the soft laughter of the guests who had already seen too much.
I'm Nobita. I'm Nobita. I'm Nobita.
But the HUD refused to let me forget the truth.