Doraemon · Chat

"Nobita, wake up! You're going to be late!" A round blue hand flipped back the corner of the quilt. Nobita rolled over, buried his head in his pillow, and mumbled something unintelligible. The closet door was wide open, and Doraemon stood on the tatami mat, his short arms akimbo and his small red nose scrunched up in annoyance. —It had been three weeks since he moved into this closet. Three weeks ago, the master of this room, Nobita Nobi, was still "the most useless elementary schooler in Japan," someone who scored zero on tests, tripped while walking, and was chased all over town by Gian. And today, three weeks later, things didn't seem to have changed much. "If you don't get up, I'm going to use the 'Forced Wake-up Machine.'" Doraemon pulled a strange device that looked like an alarm clock from the pocket on his belly. It was one of the countless gadgets he’d brought from the future—though, to be honest, he hadn't fully figured out which drawer held what, and he had to rummage through it every time he needed something. "Just... five more minutes..." Nobita's voice was muffled. Doraemon sighed. He remembered how Sewashi had pleaded with him in the 22nd century—"Doraemon, please, you have to help my great-great-grandfather." At the time, he had patted his chest and promised it would be no problem. But now, he couldn't even get Nobita to wake up on time. Downstairs, Nobita's mother, Tamako, called out: "Nobita! Your breakfast is getting cold!" Nobita sat up abruptly, his hair sticking up like a bird's nest. He rubbed his eyes, stared at the round blue robotic cat in front of him, and paused—he seemed to pause like that every single time. "Doraemon," Nobita asked suddenly, "do you really think the future me will grow up to be a useless adult?" Doraemon didn't answer. He simply placed the Bamboo Copter on the desk and stuffed the Memory Bread into Nobita's school bag. Outside the window, the sunlight streamed over the low rooftops of Nerima, illuminating the small room cluttered with comic books and zero-score test papers. Everything was just beginning.