An island nation.
The Neon District.
A small two-story villa with a red roof.
Inside the second-floor bedroom, a young man about 1.6 meters tall slowly emerged from beneath the bedsheet spread across the tatami mat.
"Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling."
The alarm clock by the bed was obnoxiously loud.
Nobi Hiroshi suddenly opened his eyes, poked his head out from the blanket, and casually slapped the very traditional alarm clock silent. He rubbed his head, still a little disoriented.
Looks like it's time for school.
What a painful… yet oddly nostalgic period of life.
"Nobita! How long are you going to sleep?! If you don't get up right now, you'll be late!"
A loud shout echoed up from downstairs.
Judging from the voice, it was a woman.
A middle-aged woman—still charming—stood in the kitchen holding a spatula, yelling toward the second floor like this was an everyday occurrence.
"I know, I know! I'm coming right away!"
The sound of a door being yanked open rang out as someone rushed down the stairs.
Nobi Nobita, half-dressed and flailing, dashed downstairs while complaining loudly—about Nobi Hiroshi, who apparently also hadn't gotten up yet.
Everyone oversleeps sometimes, so why am I always the one getting yelled at?
This is so unfair!
"Oh no!!!"
A scream echoed from the stairwell.
As expected, Nobita fell again today, landing flat on his back.
Truly a perpetually unlucky fellow.
"Nobita, why are you always so clumsy?" Doraemon said, standing on the stairs and looking down at him. "When will you make people worry less?"
Despite his disappointed tone, Doraemon still turned around obediently and went back to the room to fetch medicine, preparing to treat Nobita's injuries.
"Pfft… good morning, Doraemon."
Fully dressed now, Nobi Hiroshi stepped out of his room and greeted the blue robotic cat.
He tried his best to suppress his laughter as he glanced at the bruised and swollen Nobita beside him.
Doraemon was something he had wished for most during his childhood.
Actually seeing him in front of his own eyes…
It felt strangely different.
"Hmm, good morning, Hiroshi," Doraemon replied warmly, raising his fingerless hand. "The weather is really nice today."
There was also a hint of pity in his eyes—sympathy for this poor child.
That's right.
Nobi Hiroshi was an outsider who had transmigrated into this world.
He had died young in his previous life after eating far too many preserved vegetable and pork belly rice meal kits, then generously rewarding himself with expired drinks from a bubble tea shop.
A truly glorious death.
Fortunately, coming to this world wasn't bad.
At least he didn't have to serve as a human garbage disposal anymore.
The problem was that his parents had passed away almost immediately after he arrived, leaving him completely alone.
Thankfully, his family had been relatives of the Nobi household, and he was adopted by Nobita's father, Nobisuke Nobi.
A genuinely kind man.
And so, Nobi Hiroshi moved into this house.
Today marked the first day of his new life.
(Don't ask why there's an extra room on the second floor. There's obviously a storage room or something—just like in Crayon Shin-chan, where two rooms magically exist on the second floor.)
Stepping carefully down the wooden stairs, Hiroshi made his way downstairs—unlike Nobita, he didn't fall.
He went to the bathroom to take care of business. As expected, his stuff was far more impressive than that of his peers.
Standing in front of the mirror, he examined his reflection.
A slightly innocent-looking face.
A white top paired with light-gray shorts.
Bright eyes that carried a glimmer of intelligence.
Honestly, his looks were quite outstanding.
…Was he really from the Nobi bloodline?
"Hiroshi, you're up. Hurry and eat, then go to school with Nobita. Don't keep thinking about what happened before."
In the hallway, Hiroshi ran into Nobi Tamako, who gently rubbed his head the moment she saw him.
Her maternal instincts were overflowing—especially toward a child who had lost both parents.
"Mm, thank you, Aunt Tamako."
He didn't resist the head-pat. Hiroshi didn't feel any attachment to parents he'd never met anyway. His expression was distant, his mind wandering elsewhere.
Still, his eyes couldn't help but secretly glance at Tamako.
Large dark glasses.
A pink top.
A beige, form-fitting skirt.
Very traditional housewife attire… but all that beauty was sealed behind those glasses, waiting to be unleashed.
Her skin was fair, and her legs were straight and beautiful.
Ahem.
Madam, you wouldn't want to—
Hiroshi snapped back to his senses and nearly slapped himself.
What the hell am I thinking?!
She was his kind aunt—the woman who had taken him in.
And besides, Nobisuke was still alive and well… even if he wasn't exactly strong in that department due to constant work stress draining him dry.
But then again…
At Tamako's age, she was basically a tigress.
No, no—stop it.
At the familiar square table, Nobita and Doraemon were already eating breakfast. Nobisuke sat leisurely nearby, reading the newspaper.
When he saw Hiroshi arrive, he smiled and pulled out his wallet.
"Hiroshi, welcome to our home. This is your pocket money. You must use it carefully."
"Ah—Uncle, that's too much trouble for you!"
"It's fine. Take it," Nobisuke said gently. "From now on, you can just ask Nobita's mom every month."
Although supporting another child would strain his salary, Nobisuke still insisted.
"…Alright. Thank you, Uncle."
Hiroshi accepted it.
Nobisuke really was a good man.
Don't worry.
If anything happens in the future, I'll take good care of Tamako.
"Damn it, Hiro! That guy's pocket money is 100 yen more than mine!" Nobita suddenly shouted. "Dad! I want a raise too!"
Children were always jealous over the smallest things—especially Nobita.
"Ahem," Tamako said calmly from the kitchen doorway. "Nobita, how have your grades been lately? Have they improved?"
Instantly, goosebumps erupted all over Nobita's body.
That zero-score test paper is still hidden under my bed.
Do you really think my grades improved?
"Ah—ah! I'm leaving!"
To escape the topic, Nobita bolted toward the door.
"Wait, Nobita! Hiroshi hasn't finished eating yet!" Tamako called.
"It's fine, Aunt Tamako," Hiroshi said, finishing his milk. "I'll eat on the way."
He grabbed a piece of bread and chased after Nobita.
After all, he still didn't know the way to school.
"Oh dear… why is this child always so restless?" Tamako sighed, shaking her head as she returned to her housework.
On the way to school, Nobita continued his legendary streak of misfortune—stepping into puddles, tripping over nothing, and getting chased by stray dogs.
He was like a walking disaster magnet.
Beside him, Hiroshi silently rejoiced.
Thank god I didn't reincarnate as Nobi Nobita.
With that kind of luck, how the hell did he survive this long?