My respectful greetings to Nobita Nobi.

If I had Doraemon, I would install traffic lights at every railway crossing—exclusively for trains. The moment a car, an e-bike, a bicycle, or even a pedestrian approached, the train would be obliged to halt.

If I had Doraemon, I wouldn't go to the supermarket anymore. Instead, the products would take turns parading before me, vying for my attention.

If I had Doraemon, the general manager would greet me with deference each morning as I arrived at work.

If I had Doraemon, there would be no need to wait at bus stops—the bus would be waiting right outside my door.

If I had Doraemon, I would sculpt a massive truck from clay, drive it to work daily, and give all my colleagues a lift on the way home. Even rogue traffic police would be powerless—I'd rev the engine and leave them choking on exhaust fumes.

If I had Doraemon, I would use the Growth Ray to stretch myself to any height I wished. Then, just for amusement, I'd pat Yao Ming on the shoulder and quip, "Hey there, little bro, stunted growth much?"

If I had Doraemon, I would shrink myself with the Shrink Ray and zip around the house in his toy airplane—smacking mosquitoes one moment, flies the next, crashing into walls and furniture all the while.

If I had Doraemon, I would use the Anywhere Loop to phase through walls, popping in and out as I pleased—perhaps slipping into nightclubs to catch a glimpse of Russian dancers, or sneaking into five-star hotel kitchens to sample freshly seared Australian steaks.

If I had Doraemon, I'd summon the Snowfall Machine to blanket the entire city in snow, only to leisurely melt it away with a blow dryer.

If I had Doraemon, I'd bring out the sleepwalking pills and invisibility gadget, slip them to a hundred unsuspecting people, and summon them all to play games with me at night—line them up for a session of Counter-Strike where I mow them down with a toy machine gun, or have them form a circle while I go around poking them with a rubber dagger. When done, I'd simply say, "Let's go again!"

If I had Doraemon, I'd take out the obedience machine, charge into a hospital morgue, and shout, "If you've got guts, stand up!"—and the dead would rise. Then I'd follow up with, "You may lie down now," and they'd obediently return to stillness.

…

Beneath the soft amber glow of his desk lamp, Wang Qiu leafed through the now-yellowed pages of his childhood diary. A wistful smile played at the corners of his lips as he read through those wild and whimsical dreams.

—Ah, what an audacious little dreamer I once was!

…

As a child, Wang Qiu was a passionate fantasist.

For five consecutive years, he had kept the central drawer of his writing desk empty, waiting for the day a chubby, round robot cat would crawl out from it.

Every Christmas Eve, he would hang up a stocking by his bed, hoping to find gifts from Santa the next morning—only to be disappointed time and again.

He and his friends often embarked on 'expeditions' across their city, exploring abandoned factories, old bomb shelters, secluded reservoirs—mystical realms in the eyes of children. He was even known to bring home strange artifacts from these adventures, earning himself more than a few scoldings.

But as he grew older and life taught him its lessons, those vivid childhood fantasies gradually faded from his heart.

By the upper grades of primary school, he had come to accept a harsh truth.

—In these concrete jungles, no druids roam. There are no vampires lurking in rusted skeletons of half-finished buildings. The man-made lakes of city parks will never give rise to mermaids, and neither superheroes nor grand wizards dwell atop the towering TV masts. The dank air-raid shelters hide no necromancers or skeletal armies. And certainly, within the narrow, filthy strips of roadside greenery, one would never find a unicorn bathed in sacred light.

He, like everyone else, was just an ordinary person. He would not suddenly become an Ultraman or a legendary hero. The most likely future was a life of unremarkable routine—attend school, take exams, get into a decent university, marry an average wife, have a child or two, take out loans for a house and car… and fade into the anonymity of society.

And so, he stopped leaving the drawer empty. He no longer hung stockings on Christmas Eve—until that fateful day arrived.

Now a third-year university student, Wang Qiu found himself caught in a storm of emotion—confused, melancholic, torn.

—Right beside him, within arm's reach, was the dimensional pocket on Doraemon's belly.

Although he had tested it and found himself unable to retrieve any gadgets—likely due to some restriction set by Doraemon allowing only authorized users access—the exit on the other side was visibly clear. It seemed that with one bold leap, he could pass through to that fantastical realm that had once filled his dreams.

But should he go? What if it wasn't the Doraemon world awaiting him—but a deadly trap?

—His harrowing experiences in the infinite worlds had already shown him how often reality outstripped even the wildest fiction in strangeness.

Wang Qiu leaned in, poking his head into the dimensional pocket once more. As the swirling lights dazzled his eyes, he fell into deep contemplation.

In the very next instant, a hand reached through from the other side, grabbed his hair, and yanked him through!

…

No one, it must be said, enjoys being dragged out of their house by the hair.

Least of all when the culprit is an elementary schooler.

Such indignity would enrage most people.

But at this moment, seated in a familiar yet alien room, glancing at the sleeping Doraemon beside him and the stunned, bespectacled boy across from him, Wang Qiu felt not anger—but an overwhelming, explosive excitement.

"...It's an honor to meet you. Might you be… Nobita Nobi?" he asked, bowing politely.

"Ah—pardon me, yes, I'm Nobita Nobi…" the boy stammered, scratching his head sheepishly. He had intended to sneak a gadget while Doraemon napped, but to his shock had pulled out a living human instead. "But… how do you know me? Did Doraemon tell you?"

"Come now, Nobita-kun, don't be so modest!" Wang Qiu replied with a grin. "Your name is nothing short of legendary—reverberating across the multiverse like thunder!"