I always thought death would be peaceful.
A gentle fade into darkness, maybe a soft choir of angels if the universe was feeling poetic. But what I got… was chaos. Pain. And then, the high-pitched voice of a child shouting:
"Mou—Mommy! My undies are on my head again!"
I opened my eyes to fluorescent lights, a familiar ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. My heart thundered in my chest—no, not my chest. This one was... small. Too small. My arms were stubby. My voice—
"W-What the hell?"
It came out high-pitched. Cartoonish.
I stumbled out of the bed, tripping over a plush toy shaped like an elephant's butt. The room looked like a tornado of toys and crayon drawings. My reflection in the mirror stopped me cold.
That face. Those beady little eyes. The chubby cheeks. The eternally smug smile.
Shinnosuke. Freaking. Nohara.
"What the actual f—" I began, but before I could finish, a door slammed open.
"Mou, Shinchan! You're going to be late for school again!" came the all-too-familiar voice of Misae—Shinchan's mom, holding a towel and looking annoyed.
I froze.
My body acted before my mind could catch up. I saluted and shouted automatically:
"Presenting, the handsome and mysterious butt-dancer of Kasukabe!"
And then… I pulled down my pants and wiggled my ass.
No. No, no, NO. What the hell was I doing?!
Misae didn't even blink. "Not again… Get dressed before I spank you, Shinchan!"
She slammed the door shut. I fell to my knees.
"Why… why the hell am I Shinchan?"
---
Rewind twenty-four hours.
I was an overworked systems analyst, thirty-four years old, living off convenience store meals and cheap beer. My biggest thrill was watching anime reruns while questioning every life decision I'd made. I fell asleep at my desk, woke up gasping, and saw a blinding white light before—
Boom. Blackout.
That's all I remember. Until this.
Now I was five years old. In the body of an anime character known for being obnoxious, perverted, and weirdly wise in the dumbest way possible.
But here's the thing.
This world felt real. Too real. The sheets had weight. The toothpaste actually burned my mouth. When I stubbed my toe against the bedpost, I felt pain. Sharp. Unforgiving.
This wasn't just some parody.
I was in it.
---
Later that morning, I walked with Kazama, Bo-chan, and Nene-chan toward the kindergarten. The streets of Kasukabe buzzed with life, but something about it was… off.
The same old lady was sweeping the sidewalk. Again.
Same exact motion. Same exact smile.
And that dog across the street? Barked at the same second it did yesterday.
And the day before.
I narrowed my eyes. Was this… a loop?
Was I the only one who remembered?
"Shinchan," Kazama said with a frown. "You're acting weird today. Did you hit your head?"
"I might've hit more than that," I muttered, looking up at the sky. It was cloudless. Unmoving. Perfectly blue like a painted backdrop.
A shiver ran through me.
This world wasn't just a cartoon.
It was a simulation.
And I was awake inside it.
---
That night, lying in the Nohara family's tiny bed with Hiroshi's snores echoing through the house and Himawari chewing on my ear in her sleep, I stared at the ceiling.
There were two possibilities.
One, I'd gone completely insane.
Two… I'd died and was reborn in the body of one of the world's most iconic animated characters.
But the biggest question wasn't how.
It was why.
And as I closed my eyes, one final thought crept into my head:
What happens to a cartoon when it starts remembering the script?
----