In a quiet corner of Tokyo, nestled between modern apartments and cherry blossom-lined streets, a young man sat by the window of a hospital room, watching the rain fall like silent tears on the glass. His name was Raghuveer, and though only twenty-three, he had lived lifetimes in emotion, ambition, and suffering.
Born in India, raised by his grandmother, and orphaned at the age of three, Raghuveer had grown up with a shadow in his heart and a dream in his eyes. His parents had left behind a vast fortune—properties, stocks, art collections—enough to set him up for life. But wealth had never been what he craved.
What he wanted… was belonging.
And he had found it in the unlikeliest of places: a childhood television show—Doraemon. While other children idolized superheroes or action stars, Raghuveer fell in love with the warmth of Nobita's world—the gentle scoldings of his mother, Shizuka's kindness, the nostalgic calm of the neighborhood. That cozy, hand-drawn world of Tokyo had wrapped around his heart like a second home.
As soon as he was old enough, he moved to Tokyo. By nineteen, he had transformed his bilingual skills and business mind into a booming cross-cultural startup that connected Indian artisans to the Japanese luxury market. The press called him "The Bridge Boy." Investors called him a prodigy.
But life, cruel and unpredictable, didn't care for titles.
A persistent cough. Blood in the sink. Fatigue that no sleep could cure.
Stage four cancer. Terminal.
The doctor's words were gentle. "We can make you comfortable."
Comfortable. As if that could make death less bitter.
And yet, Raghuveer didn't rage. He didn't beg. Perhaps because he'd always known his time was borrowed. Perhaps because he'd never feared death—only regret.
In his final month, he gave it all away. Every yen he didn't need, every share, every patent. Millions poured into orphanages, children's hospitals, and anonymous charities and left enough income for her grandma . His grandmother cried, but she understood. "You were always too big for this world, Raghu," she whispered, brushing his hair as she had when he was a boy.
On his last night, the city slept as Tokyo's neon lights shimmered against the storm-soaked sky. Raghuveer, thinner than ever, smiled faintly at the ceiling. "Tokyo," he murmured, "I wish I could live there for real…"
And then, the world went black.
There was no pain.
No fear.
Just stillness.
Then—light.
Blinding. Endless. Pure.
A vast emptiness stretched before him like a blank canvas, and from it emerged… something. Not a figure, not quite. More like a presence, formless and radiant, as if the concept of existence had taken shape.
"Raghuveer," it spoke—not with words, but directly into his being.
He felt no fear. Only awe. "What… are you?"
"I am what comes after. The thread between endings and beginnings," it replied. "And you… are a soul who gave everything when you had nothing to gain. You embraced life, and let go with grace."
"I didn't think that mattered," Raghuveer whispered.
"It does. And for your karma, you are granted three wishes before your next life begins."
The words hung in the air like music.
Three wishes.
His thoughts raced—but not with greed. Not with fantasies of power. No, Raghuveer knew exactly what he wanted. He had known it for years.
"My first wish," he said carefully, "is to be reborn at age five, in Tokyo, as a child whose parents died young—leaving behind a large inheritance. I want to live with a kind grandmother. Not in luxury, but in comfort. And the world… I want it to feel like Toyo—the peaceful, vibrant world I grew up watching."
He choose 5 years because till that time he will be good enough to handle himself unlike other isekei protagonist who were born baby
"Granted but second wish will also be included ."
Then Raghuveer nooded.
"My third wish… I want a system—a tool to grow. Not cheats. Not magic. A framework that rewards effort, discipline, and training. Quests, stats, goals. Let me evolve through my own will."
A pause.
Then the presence whispered:
"So be it."
And everything shattered into light.
Breath.
Air rushed into his lungs. Warm. Sweet.
He gasped and sat up.
Sunlight spilled through white curtains. The smell of miso and rice filled the room. Tatami mats beneath his legs. Wooden walls. A low table with tiny sandals at the door.
He was in a home. A real one.
His hands—small. His voice—higher. He stumbled toward the mirror on the dresser and stared.
A five-year-old boy looked back.
Then a voice, soft and warm.
"Satoshi-kun, breakfast is ready!"
He turned.
A slender woman in her sixties stood by the doorway, gray hair in a neat bun, wearing a floral apron. Her eyes crinkled with kindness.
His throat tightened.
"O… Obaasan?" he whispered.
She beamed. "Yes, sweetheart! Come now, before it gets cold."
His legs moved on their own, heart pounding as he stepped into the sunlit kitchen. The table was low, food steaming, and outside the window—Tokyo buzzed to life. Children ran by in school uniforms. A delivery drone zipped through the air. Yet it all felt… familiar.
Like Tokyo.
And just then—
Ding!
A translucent blue screen popped up in the corner of his vision.
[SYSTEM BOOTED]
Welcome, Raghuveer(Satoshi Rin),
Age: 5
Residence: Nerima Ward, Tokyo
Legal Guardian: Grandmother (Yamamoto Fumi)
Inheritance: ¥430 million in assets
— BODY STATS —
Strength: 2
Agility: 3
Intelligence: 10
Charisma: 5
Stat points :5
— DAILY QUEST —
"Morning Stretch & Jog" – Reward: +1 Stat point
— SIDE QUEST —
"Make a New Friend at the Park" – Reward: +1 Charisma
Effort equals reward. No shortcuts. No cheats.
[SYSTEM ACTIVE]
He nearly laughed.
It was real. All of it.
The second chance he never dared believe in.
He sat down across from his grandmother, who smiled and served him rice.
"Let's make today a good day, hmm?" she said.
He nodded.
"Yes… Obaasan."
As he picked up his chopsticks with his tiny hands, Raghuveer glanced out the window. The world was wide open now, bursting with possibilities.
And this time…
He would live it right.