Semua Bab The Accidental Rebirth: The Troubles of a Three-Year-Old CEO: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Takuto Kimura stared at the glowing orange "meatballs" on his plate, his pupils vibrating like the tectonic plates during an 8.0 earthquake. The sight of these orange orbs of questionable substance triggered an instinctive sense of deep, primal suspicion—this wasn’t food, it was a puzzle wrapped in a question mark, and no one, absolutely no one, was going to get away with it.Takuto, determined to uphold his lifelong mission as the kindergarten’s unofficial food safety inspector, pulled out the only weapon he had: a napkin and ketchup. He tore off a section of the napkin and began scribbling furiously with the ketchup, like a mad scientist about to blow the lid off a food conspiracy. His "Suspicious Food Identification Report" began to take form, carefully noting each and every abnormality.Suspicious Food Identification Report (written on napkin with ketchup)Test ItemNormal ValueMeasured ValueColorBrown-RedFluorescent Orange (Pantone 158C)Elasticity10% reboundPing-Pong ball level

After 17 failed attempts at napping, Takuto Kimura was officially done with the idea of simply sleeping. The last straw had been when Kenta, of all people, had loudly announced that Takuto was “snoring like a chainsaw” while actually wide awake, plotting his next big move. The realization hit him hard—the Nap Monitoring System was unbeatable. It was as if the teachers had developed some kind of sixth sense that could detect the slightest flicker of a blink or the subtlety of a hand scratching an itch in the middle of an attempted nap.Takuto, ever the resourceful man of innovation, crouched down in the only place that could offer any semblance of privacy in the chaos that was the kindergarten: the bathroom stall. It was here, in the sacred “undisturbed laboratory,” where his brilliant mind could work unhindered, without the constant threat of nap time surveillance.Scribbling feverishly on a roll of toilet paper with a crayon (which, honestly, was a bit of a struggle given that crayon

Takuto Kimura was in the midst of a grand project. With laser focus, he was constructing a miniature version of the Tokyo Stock Exchange using nothing but Lego blocks, the blocks strewn about in various states of incompletion. Takuto wasn’t satisfied with a mere representation of the stock exchange, however—oh no, he was an artist, a financial architect. He carefully recreated every column, every trade desk, every flashing ticker. Each block was placed with the precision of a seasoned trader analyzing market trends. However, due to his tiny hands (which, let’s face it, didn’t quite have the dexterity of an adult’s), the final structure looked more like a glorified public restroom with really ambitious aspirations. But to him, it was perfect. It was his masterpiece."Perfect," he muttered to himself as he took a step back to admire his work, his little fingers brushing over the edges of a block that stubbornly wouldn’t stick. He didn’t care. To the eyes of a child who understood the co

Takuto Kimura sat hunched over at the small wooden desk, clutching his pencil like a stockbroker holding on to a volatile asset. He stared at the grid paper in front of him, the blank spaces mocking him, much like a financial report riddled with discrepancies. He had to complete his homework, and the prompt was simple enough:“An Unforgettable Day”Takuto sighed dramatically, his mind buzzing like a failing business trying to make ends meet. He was a grown man trapped in a three-year-old's body, fighting a daily battle with diapers, baby food, and temper tantrums. He had already been through a lot, and the very thought of writing something "funny" made his soul ache. How was he supposed to write about something funny when his entire existence was a slapstick tragedy?After a long pause, he decided to channel his frustration into something profound.“The Impact of Rebirth on the Modern Education System,” he wrote, the words flowing onto the page like a well-oiled machine.The essay ope

On the last night of winter break, Takuto Kimura found himself buried under a mountain of homework, his face a portrait of pure existential dread. The pile before him was a towering monolith of despair that made him feel as though he'd just discovered his life’s work had been written in invisible ink—ineffectively, and with a lot of mistakes. His eyes were filled with more despair than when he had stumbled upon a bankruptcy report in his previous life—a moment that had left him so broken he considered investing in a magic bean stock instead of starting a new company. No, this... this was worse.It wasn’t just that his homework was overdue. It was that his homework was actively mocking him, taunting him like a disloyal pet that had been fed for years and now decided to bite back. How did things come to this? Takuto wondered as he surveyed the grim landscape before him. The year-end report had predicted "success," but this—this was failure.Remaining tasks:Three math notebooks (one of