I used to laugh at Isekai stories.
The whole "I died and woke up as a child in another world" thing? Too cliché. Too unrealistic. Too... stupid.
But now, walking down the sunlit streets of Kasukabe in the body of Shinnosuke Nohara, wearing a ridiculous red shirt and yellow shorts, I had to admit—
The joke was on me.
The sunlight was bright. Too bright. The colors of this world were vibrant, unnaturally saturated, like someone cranked the contrast to maximum. Yet everything still felt real.
The air. The ground. The ache in my legs from walking too fast.
Beside me, Kazama strutted like the pompous little genius he was, arms behind his back, nose slightly in the air. Bo-chan trailed behind, mouth half open, eyes empty as usual. Nene-chan scolded someone over the phone—it was probably her imaginary bunny doll again. Masao clutched his lunchbox like a lifeline.
I didn't say a word.
I was too busy trying to understand what the hell was going on.
Was this a dream? A coma? A punishment?
The world was too detailed to be a dream. Too repetitive to be real.
A simulation.
I'd noticed it already—too many things happened at the exact same time each day. The old lady watering her plants near the vending machine? Same floral kimono. Same smile. Same wave. Every. Single. Morning.
The dog across the street barked exactly three times.
The mailman tripped on the same step outside the store.
Every day.
Like a game running on script.
I narrowed my eyes at the sky. Still cloudless. Still painted blue. Still unmoving.
Kazama nudged me with his elbow. "You're quiet today. That's… weird. Are you sick?"
"Huh?" I blinked.
"You didn't pull your pants down once on the way to school."
Bo-chan sniffled. "Shinchan's not dancing…"
"I think he's dying," Masao muttered darkly, clutching his lunch tighter.
I gave a forced laugh. "No, no, I'm just… thinking."
Kazama frowned. "Thinking?"
"Yeah."
The group stared at me like I'd just spoken in Latin.
Kazama leaned in closer. "Are you really Shinchan?"
My heart froze.
"What?"
"I mean… it's weird," he continued, voice hushed. "You used to be an idiot. Now you're using words like 'thinking.' You haven't said a single perverted thing today. You walked in a straight line. You didn't even try to eat Nene-chan's snack."
Nene narrowed her eyes. "Wait… he didn't?"
Bo-chan blinked slowly. "Did the aliens finally take him?"
"Maybe he has a clone!" Masao whispered, shivering.
"I'm not a clone!" I snapped, louder than I meant to.
The group froze.
Kazama's eyes didn't leave me. "Then prove you're Shinchan."
I laughed nervously. "How?"
Kazama narrowed his eyes and suddenly pulled out a lollipop from his bag. "I brought this for after school. Shinchan always tries to steal it."
He waved it in front of me.
I reached for it.
But not like Shinchan. Not in his usual slapstick way. I just reached like a normal human being.
Kazama pulled it away.
"Wrong," he said coldly.
Nene gasped. "That's not him."
Bo-chan nodded. "Shinchan would've dived and screamed 'Yatta!' with his butt in the air."
Masao looked like he was about to cry. "Who are you?!"
This was going sideways fast.
"Okay, okay! Chill!" I said, waving my arms. "Look, I'm just… tired. Maybe I hit my head. I'm still me."
Kazama wasn't buying it. "No. You're different. Your voice, your posture. You called my pencil mechanically impractical yesterday. Shinchan can't even say 'mechanical.'"
He grabbed my shoulders.
"What did you do with the real Shinchan?!"
People were starting to stare. The sidewalk shimmered under the heat. Everything felt... stifling.
I sighed.
"Kazama," I whispered. "I need to tell you something. But not here."
His eyes lit up.
"Meet me after school behind the slide. Alone," I added, glancing at the others.
Kazama nodded seriously. "I knew it. You're hiding something."
---
Later, behind the slide.
The sandbox was empty. The sky above remained unnaturally perfect, like it had been painted and then frozen in time. No wind. No movement. Not even a single bird.
Kazama crouched beside me, arms folded. "Alright, spill it."
I exhaled. How was I supposed to explain this?
"I'm not Shinchan."
He blinked.
"I knew it!" he whispered, eyes wide.
"I'm not from this world. I died. My name was… doesn't matter now. I was a 34-year-old man. An analyst. I lived in a completely different place. And then—I woke up here. In this body. As Shinchan."
He stared.
Silence.
Then—
"Cool," he whispered.
I blinked. "What?"
"That's awesome! Like in that anime!" Kazama's eyes lit up. "You mean you died and got reincarnated?!"
I nodded slowly. "Yeah."
"And you have your old memories?"
"Every single one."
"Can you do taxes?"
"…What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "This is amazing. But if you're not Shinchan… where is the real Shinchan?"
I hesitated. "I don't know. He's either… gone. Or maybe—trapped somewhere else."
Kazama rubbed his chin. "So the Shinchan we knew is either erased or hiding?"
"I don't feel him in here," I said, tapping my forehead. "But sometimes… sometimes my body moves on its own. Like it remembers things I don't want to do."
Kazama nodded slowly. "That explains this morning's butt-dance."
"Exactly."
Kazama looked thoughtful. "If this world's a simulation… maybe it's testing you. Or maybe the real Shinchan's soul is buried under all that memory."
A chill ran through me. "What if it wakes up?"
Kazama looked serious. "Then we might have two minds in one body. And I don't think this version of reality can handle that."
---
We sat in silence for a while.
Then he said, "So what now?"
"I want to understand this world. See how deep the simulation goes. If I'm really trapped here, I need to know the rules."
Kazama's eyes gleamed. "I'm in."
"Seriously?"
"I always knew there was more to this world. Everyone does the same thing every day. No one questions it. But you—you're awake."
He extended a hand.
"We're going to crack the code of this world. Together."
I took it.
And in that moment, I realized something.
This wasn't just a twisted joke of reincarnation.
This was a game. A puzzle. Maybe even a trap.
And if I was going to survive—hell, if I was going to escape—I needed to play smarter than the script.
---
Later That Night.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Misae and Hiroshi had long gone to sleep. Himawari made gurgling sounds in her crib, dreaming of shiny things to steal.
I held a crayon in my tiny hand, sketching symbols on a notebook I stole from Hiroshi's drawer.
Patterns. Time loops. Behavior repetition.
Every detail, every glitch, I'd write down.
Tomorrow, I'd start testing.
The simulation had rules.
And I was going to break them.
---