The sun bled into the horizon, turning the shattered skyline of Tokyo into a silhouette of jagged teeth.
From a crumbling rooftop, Reo sat motionless, legs swinging lazily over the edge, as the final rays of daylight struggled to pierce the gathering night. His sharp eyes traced the broken streets below, every crack and every shadow marked deep into his mind.
A storm was coming.
He could feel it.
The encounter with the Executor had shattered the fragile mask he wore as "Nobita." The world had noticed the change — and now, like predators drawn to the scent of blood, something far worse than school bullies or disappointed teachers had begun to circle him.
Something ancient. Organized. Hungry.
---
Doraemon's Worry
Behind him, Doraemon was busy repairing gadgets, his mechanical paws moving with anxious speed.
"You're thinking too much again," Doraemon muttered, glancing at Reo. His voice was casual, but Reo caught the tightness beneath it.
"Thinking is what keeps us alive," Reo replied coolly.
He didn't mention the headache pulsing behind his eyes, the restless throb of instincts honed in a life long past — instincts that whispered danger with every passing second.
Doraemon sighed and lowered his tools. "You're different now," he said quietly. "Not just smarter. Harder. Colder."
Reo didn't answer.
Because it was true.
The real Nobita — the crying, fumbling boy — was dead.
And in his place stood a man who had clawed his way through hell.
---
A Message from the Unknown
Suddenly, a faint buzz cut through the still air.
A sleek black drone zipped into view, small as a bird but bristling with hidden tech. It hovered before them, its black surface glinting in the twilight.
Reo immediately stood up, body tense.
The drone projected a shimmering hologram into the space between them — a figure cloaked in black, face obscured by a golden serpent-mask.
The voice that spoke was smooth, unsettling.
"Congratulations, Nobita Nobi," it purred.
"You've caught our attention."
Doraemon immediately moved forward, hand reaching for his gadgets.
Reo raised a hand — stop.
This wasn't an attack.
Not yet.
---
The Temptation
The cloaked figure's laughter was low and mocking.
"So cautious. So disciplined. Not at all the useless brat we were told about."
Reo's face remained unreadable.
"I'm just a kid," he said calmly. "You've got the wrong guy."
Another chuckle.
"No, Reo," the figure said, deliberately emphasizing the wrong name. "We know exactly who you are."
Something twisted in Reo's gut.
They knew.
Not everything. But enough.
The figure continued. "The Sun Coil watches the ones who don't fit. The outliers. The monsters in human skin."
Images flickered behind the figure — Reo in the atrium, dodging bullets. Reo breaking the Executor's arm. Reo standing, bloodied but smiling.
"We offer you a future," the figure said.
"Power. Resources. Wealth beyond imagination."
"And in return?" Reo asked.
The figure leaned closer.
"Your allegiance. Your genius. Your loyalty until the world burns."
---
Doraemon's Warning
Doraemon had heard enough.
"No way!" he barked, stepping forward. "Reo, this is bad! These people — they're—!"
BZZZZT!
The drone released a high-frequency pulse. Doraemon staggered back, circuits temporarily scrambled, eyes dimming.
Reo barely moved.
He stared straight into the hollow eyes of the serpent-mask.
Then, slowly, he smiled — a small, cold smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"I'll think about it," he said.
The figure nodded approvingly, as if expecting nothing less.
"Good boy," it said.
And with a flicker, the drone zipped back into the shadows and disappeared.
The rooftop plunged back into silence, broken only by Doraemon's quiet groaning as he rebooted.
---
No Rest for the Wicked
"You're not seriously thinking about joining them, are you?" Doraemon asked, his voice crackling.
Reo shook his head slowly.
"No," he said.
His voice was soft.
But deadly.
"I'm thinking about destroying them."
He stood there, silhouetted against the broken sky, a boy in shape but a storm in spirit.
They thought he was a pawn.
A tool to be used.
They had no idea what kind of nightmare they had awakened.
Reo Nobi — or whoever he had once been — was no longer running from the world.
He was about to remake it.
With blood if necessary.
---
Meanwhile: A Rising Star
Across the city, the lights of a luxury penthouse glowed like a false sun.
Inside, Arisa Kisaragi, Japan's brightest new actress, lounged on a velvet couch, tablet in hand.
Her long black hair cascaded over one shoulder. Her violet eyes were sharp and alive with interest.
On her screen, footage of the boy called Nobita played on a loop — the footage the Sun Coil had distributed to select parties.
She watched it carefully.
Studied it.
A smirk danced across her lips.
"So that's the famous loser everyone mocks," she murmured. "Interesting. Very interesting."
Her assistant shifted nervously nearby. "Miss Arisa, is it really wise to—?"
"I'll decide what's wise," she said sharply, cutting him off.
She leaned forward, tapping the screen.
A new fire burned in her gaze — one of ambition, hunger, curiosity.
She wasn't just a pretty face.
She wasn't just a rising star.
She was a shark in an ocean of fools.
And Reo — Nobita — was a mystery she had to unravel.
"Prepare everything," she ordered. "I'm going to meet him."
Her voice was soft.
And filled with danger.
Because Arisa didn't believe in fate.
She created it.
---