A dull ache pulsed behind his eyes.
He groaned softly, raising a hand to his forehead as he sat up.
Everything felt… wrong.
Heavy.
Fuzzy.
His body didn't respond the way he was used to. His arm felt lighter shorter. His joints moved strangely, like they weren't his.
He blinked several times, trying to steady the dizziness swirling in his vision.
"…Where… am I?"
The room that greeted him felt quiet and warm, but unfamiliar.
Wooden floor, low desk, bookshelves stacked neatly, a faint smell of old paper.
This wasn't his apartment. This wasn't even close.
A strange uneasiness ran down his back.
He looked at his hand again.
His breath hitched.
"What the… is this… my hand?" He lifted both of them, turning them over.
No way.
These weren't the hands of a grown man who spent years drawing manga.
The calluses he'd gotten from endless inking… gone.
His chest tightened.
"What's happening…?"
Still trembling, he pushed himself off the futon, his feet unsteady as if the floor was tilted. He looked around again, more slowly this time scanning every corner of the room for something familiar, something to tell him this wasn't insane.
Nothing.
He swallowed and walked toward the shelves. There was a mirror attached to the side.
His reflection was blurry.
Completely out of focus.
For a moment he thought the mirror was dirty until he realized the room itself was also slightly hazy at the edges of his vision.
His heart skipped.
"My eyesight…? Why is everything so blurry?"
He leaned closer. So close his breath fogged the glass.
And then he froze.
A teen's face stared back at him.
Round cheeks, soft features.
Big innocent eyes, black hair slightly messy from sleep.
He stared.
The reflection stared back.
He felt his legs weaken.
"…No… way…"
This wasn't a hallucination, this wasn't a dream.
Shaking, he raised his hand, the reflection raised its hand.
He touched his cheek, the boy in the mirror did the same.
His pulse hammered in his ears. Desperate, he pinched his arm.
"—Ow!"
The sting was sharp... Real.
Absolutely real.
His mind went blank, he wasn't looking at himself.
He was looking at… someone else entirely.
Before he could process any further, before panic could fully settle the door slid open with a soft clatter.
His whole body stiffened.
Someone stepped in.
A figure… round… blue… blurry in his vision… like a chubby person wearing a full-body costume.
He squinted, but couldn't see details. Only the silhouette and color.
The figure spoke.
"Nobita, breakfast is ready."
The voice was gentle, familiar.
But he didn't respond.
He couldn't. His mouth had gone dry as sand.
The figure paused.
"…Nobita?"
He forced himself to breathe.
His thoughts were in chaos.
Did… did that blue shape… just talk?
Who is that?
What is happening?
Yet, under the confusion…
A terrifying possibility began to crawl into his mind.
A possibility he wasn't sure he was ready to accept.
The blue figure's voice echoed faintly in the room.
"Nobita…? Are you okay?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but only a shaky breath came out. His heart pounded too loud in his ears. His vision wavered. The edges of the room seemed to pulse in and out, like the world itself was breathing.
The blurry figure took a step closer.
"…Nobita?"
Something inside him snapped.
A sudden, violent spike of pain shot through his skull.
"—gh!"
His knees buckled.
His hands flew to his head as white-hot agony crashed over him without warning. It felt like someone had opened up his skull and was drilling memories directly into his brain sharp, relentless, merciless.
"Ah—!"
The force drove him down until he hit the floor, his palms pressing against his temples.
Images flashed behind his eyes.
A cramped manga studio, stacks of drawings. His editor's voice, late nights with cold coffee. A collapsing body.
Then—
A different set of images, a childhood he had never lived. Schoolyard bullying, Shizuka's smile, Gian's fist, A blue robotic cat stepping out of a drawer.
Memories that weren't his, yet somehow were.
Both sets collided violently, clashing like two storms crashing into each other.
"N-Ngh… ah—"
He couldn't even hear himself over the pounding in his skull.
The blue figure, still blurry rushed toward him.
"Nobita! Nobita, what's wrong?!"
The voice was panicked now.
A pair of soft, plush-like hands gripped his shoulders.
He tried to breathe
Tried to answer
Tried to hold on
But the pain grew sharper, splitting his mind open like glass cracking under pressure.
His vision darkened.
He felt himself falling forward, weightless.
The world around him folded into darkness.
And the last thing he heard was the blue figure's trembling voice:
"Nobita! Stay with me!"
Then—
Silence.
No pain, no thoughts.
Just darkness cushioned by an unfamiliar warmth as he slipped into unconsciousness.