Doraemon: I can see sex count

I woke up with a cold sweat, my heart racing as the sudden, jarring realization hit me. This wasn't my body. I wasn't *me* anymore. I was Nobita.

Nobita Nobi. The unlucky, lazy boy that everyone pitied. I had always watched his life unfold from a distance, never thinking it could be my own. But now, I was here—inside his body, with his struggles, his flaws, and... this power.

As I sat up in bed, the familiar blue shirt and shorts were just the beginning. The air felt thick, like I was surrounded by a hidden layer of reality that no one else could see.

And then it happened.

I saw it again.

Numbers.

Floating, hovering above my parents as they went about their morning routines, numbers that shouldn't be there. The faint, digital-like display just above their heads revealed things I had no business knowing.

My father was sitting at the dining table, reading the newspaper as usual. But the numbers above his head were what made my stomach churn.

[Masturbation: 11 | Intercourse: 17]

It was like a dark window into his private life, his most intimate moments laid bare for me to see. The numbers stayed there, not fading, not moving. They were so clear, so... wrong.

I quickly glanced at my mother, who was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. She didn't notice me as I watched her numbers appear, flickering like a countdown.

[Masturbation: 54 | Intercourse: 132]

My mouth went dry. The disparity between their numbers was undeniable. Why was my father's number so low? Only 11 for masturbation? Only 17 for intercourse? And my mother—132 for intercourse, 54 for masturbation?

Something wasn't right.

The numbers kept shifting in my vision, subtly, as if they were alive. But what made this more disturbing was that I wasn't just seeing these numbers. I could see *how* they had come to be. The system—or whatever it was—allowed me to replay their most recent actions, the events that had contributed to the rise of their numbers.

I closed my eyes, trying to stop myself from thinking about it. But the images came anyway.

Replay:

I saw my mother in the living room, wearing her usual apron, waiting for my father to come home after work. The scene unfolded like a movie in front of my eyes. My dad walked in, tired and stressed. She greeted him with a smile, her hands placed gently on his shoulders.

Their conversation was calm, almost routine. But then, as if on cue, the scene shifted. I saw them kiss. A deep, intimate kiss. My father's hand moved to her back, pulling her closer, and for a moment, the world around me seemed to blur out.

Then the numbers flashed once again—132 for intercourse—and I saw the act, their bodies intertwined on the couch in the soft, dim light of the evening. The entire scene played out in front of me like it had just happened.

I jerked my head back, eyes wide, trying to forget what I had just witnessed. I wanted to look away, but the numbers were always there, following me like a shadow.

Why? Why could I see this? And why did I have to *feel* it too?

I felt sick to my stomach, but the worst part was that this was only the beginning.

I turned around to see Doraemon walk into the room, his usual cheerful self, ready to prepare me for school.

"Good morning, Nobita!" Doraemon chirped.

I barely registered his presence as the numbers above his head appeared too.

[Masturbation: 0 | Intercourse: 0]

Of course. He was a robot. He didn't have such human concerns. Still, seeing the numbers for him was almost reassuring. It made me feel like I wasn't completely losing my mind.

Doraemon babbled on about the gadgets he had brought, and I nodded absentmindedly, barely listening. I was still processing what I had just witnessed with my parents. The numbers, the replaying of their activities—it was as though the very fabric of their lives was exposed to me, and I had no choice but to watch.

After a few moments, Doraemon grabbed my school bag, still oblivious to the turmoil in my mind.

"Let's go, Nobita. You don't want to be late!"

I nodded mechanically and headed out the door.

I stepped outside into the fresh morning air, trying to shake off the weight of what I had seen. The house felt stifling, and I longed for a moment of normalcy. But even as I walked down the street, the numbers followed me, dancing in the corners of my vision.

And that's when I saw her.

Shizuka.

She stood on the sidewalk, humming to herself as she walked toward me, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her gentle smile seemed to light up the world around her.

But the numbers appeared.

[Masturbation: 8 | Intercourse: 1]

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Shizuka? *Why?* Why did someone as innocent, as pure, as kind-hearted as her have those numbers floating above her head? What did they mean? How did they appear?

The numbers felt like an invasion of her privacy. And the worst part? I could see a replay of her most recent actions too.

Replay:

It was a simple scene. Shizuka had been alone in her room, the curtains drawn, and her soft music playing. I saw her glance over at a small photo frame on her desk, a picture of her and her parents. The room was quiet, peaceful. She looked at the photo, almost wistfully. And then, with a sigh, she picked up a small device—her phone, I assumed—and after a moment of hesitation, she tapped on it.

The replay blurred after that, as the numbers above her head increased slightly. I quickly shut my eyes, forcing myself to forget what I had seen.

I didn't know what to do with this information. I couldn't talk to her about it. I didn't even know if she was aware of the numbers. Were they her secrets too, hidden away from the world?

But I couldn't ignore the fact that they existed—those numbers, the replays. They were a part of my life now. They were part of my world.

And somehow, I had to figure out why.