As a weirdo, I like being a Kamen Rider.

In the late autumn evening, the twilight bathed the streets outside Tokyo in a warm orange hue. The evening breeze swirled the shadows of ginkgo leaves along the roadside, gently brushing against the windows of family cars and making a soft rustling sound.

A silver Toyota Corolla was driving smoothly up the slope of a residential street. There was no noise in the car, only the soft conversation of a family of three in Japanese, as gentle as the sunset shining through the car window at that moment.

Kenta Sato, in the driver's seat, gripped the steering wheel steadily, his face showing the weariness common to office workers, but his eyes softened instantly when he looked at the passenger. He was a technician at an electronics factory in Tokyo, and today he had left work early to take his wife and son to the nearby station shopping street to buy the taiyaki his son had been craving, as well as ingredients for his wife's favorite Chikuzen-ni (stewed fish stew). "We'll be home in two more turns. Tonight I'll make miso soup that you and Yuto like, and grilled mackerel," he said, turning to his wife in the passenger seat, his voice gentle, with the understated elegance typical of Japanese families.

In the passenger seat, Misaki Sato was adjusting her son's school uniform collar, her fingertips gently stroking his soft black hair. She wore a simple off-white cardigan, her features gentle and kind, a faint smile playing on her lips. In a soft voice, she said, "Don't go to too much trouble. Yuto's tired from playing today. Just make something simple." With that, she took a paper bag from her canvas bag and handed it to the back seat. "Yuto, eat slowly. The taiyaki is still warm; don't burn your tongue."

In the back seat sat Sato Yuto, just ten years old, a fourth-grade student at a nearby elementary school. His soft hair clung to his forehead, and his round eyes sparkled like they were bathed in the setting sun. He wore a dark blue elementary school uniform, clutching a taiyaki (fish-shaped cake) tightly in his hand, but didn't take a bite immediately. Instead, he looked up at his parents in the front row, his eyes full of dependence. "Dad, tomorrow is Saturday, can we go to the nearby park to fly kites?" His voice was soft, carrying the unique innocence of a child.

Kenta Sato ruffled his son's hair in the rearview mirror and nodded with a smile: "Of course, we'll go buy the prettiest kite tomorrow morning."

Misaki Sato smiled and gently patted her son's hand: "But Yuto has to finish his homework first, okay? After you finish your homework, Mom and Dad will play with you all day."

"I know!" Yuto nodded vigorously, his little face beaming with joy. He finally couldn't resist taking a small bite of the taiyaki. The sweet and sticky red bean paste melted in his mouth. He squinted his eyes, smiling to reveal two small tiger teeth. "Delicious! Even better than the ones sold outside the school!"

Laughter drifted softly from the train window, mingling with the rustling of ginkgo leaves by the roadside and the clinking of convenience stores in the distance, creating a simple yet warm scene of a Japanese family. No one could have predicted that this delicate happiness would be utterly crushed in an instant by a sudden disaster.

Just as the car turned a corner and was about to enter the residential area, an out-of-control heavy truck suddenly rushed out from the side road on the left. The driver was obviously fatigued, his face full of panic. The screeching of the brakes shattered the evening's tranquility, but there was no time to stop.

Kenta Sato's pupils contracted sharply, and his heart jumped into his throat. He instinctively jerked the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes. The tires left long black marks on the asphalt, and the car shook violently.

But it was all too late.

"boom--"

A deafening crash suddenly rang out as the front of the heavy truck slammed into the left side of the sedan, the immense impact instantly wrecking the small family car beyond recognition. The creaking of twisting metal, the shattering of glass, and Misaki's instinctive scream mingled together, exploding in the quiet residential street.

The car was spun twice after the impact before crashing heavily into a cherry blossom tree by the roadside and slowly coming to a stop. The car was severely deformed, and shattered glass was scattered all over the ground. The setting sun shone through the broken windows into the car, revealing a shocking patch of blood inside.

Kenta Sato's forehead slammed against the steering wheel, blood streaming down his face and staining his shirt. He struggled to turn his head to look at his wife in the passenger seat, his voice barely audible: "Misaki... Yuto... are you alright...?"

Misaki's body was tightly bound by the seatbelt, her face was as pale as paper, and blood was spilling from the corner of her mouth. With her last bit of strength, she turned her head to look at her son in the back seat, her eyes filled with despair and reluctance. Her fingers twitched slightly, as if she wanted to touch her son's face, but she was too weak to lift them. Her head tilted to the side and she became completely still.

Yuto, sitting in the back seat, was thrown under the seat by the tremendous impact, his forehead hitting the metal frame of the seat, blood blurring his vision. He could feel excruciating pain all over his body, as if countless needles were piercing his flesh. The roaring sound in his ears grew louder and louder, and his parents' voices became increasingly indistinct.

He struggled to lift his head and, through the shattered car window, saw the blood on his father's forehead and his mother's motionless figure. Overwhelmed by immense fear and despair, he cried out, "Dad... Mom..." He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Tears mixed with blood streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto the cold shards of glass.

He didn't want to die. He hadn't gone to the park to fly kites with his parents, hadn't finished eating his mother's miso soup, hadn't had time to grow up, and hadn't had time to protect his parents. A strong will to live and extreme despair intertwined, burning like a fire within his small body.

Just as Yuto's consciousness was about to completely dissipate, something long dormant within him was suddenly awakened by this extreme emotion. A scorching power spread wildly through his veins, instantly engulfing his entire body, stronger than ever before.

He could clearly feel his bones emitting a deep hum, as if they were being reshaped and strengthened; an itch came from beneath his skin, followed by his muscles taut and swelling, silver-black scales slowly emerging from under his skin, his fingertips transforming into sharp claws, his ears becoming sharp like a tiger's, and his pupils being dyed amber. He could even hear the shouts of people in the distance clearly.

In a brief moment, a small but wild tiger cub named Orphnoch slowly emerged from the deformed carriage.

However, this power was too great for a ten-year-old child to withstand. The tiger form lasted only a few seconds before slowly dissipating as the power faded, and Yuto reverted to his small human body.

Yuto's body slumped limply under the seat, his eyes closed, his breathing weak, the blood on his face still wet. But his closed eyes were devoid of their former clarity and liveliness, only a deathly stillness remained. His soul, in this irrational transformation, had been utterly exhausted, like a candle flickering in the wind, slowly extinguishing.

The distant sirens and ambulance horns grew closer. Uniformed police officers and paramedics quickly arrived at the scene, carefully dismantling the mangled vehicle and lifting the seriously injured Yuto into the ambulance. No one noticed that in Yuto's slightly curled palm, a smooth, warm five-cent coin, worn smooth by countless touches, gleamed faintly in the setting sun.

The ambulance sped towards the nearby hospital, its piercing siren shattering the evening's tranquility and taking away the last warmth of this ordinary Japanese family.

After an unknown amount of time, Lin Chen slowly awoke to a pungent smell of disinfectant.

He struggled to open his heavy eyelids, and what came into view was a pure white world—white walls, white lights, a white ceiling, and a white hospital gown covering him. He could hear the regular "beeping" of the medical equipment, mixed with the sound of nurses talking in Japanese in the distance, which strangely he could understand completely.

"Where...where am I?" Lin Chen's throat was dry and sore, and his voice was so weak that it was almost inaudible. He tried to move, but found that his whole body felt like it was falling apart, and every inch of his skin was aching, especially his forehead and chest, which were throbbing with pain.

He rolled his eyes blankly, taking in his surroundings. It was a typical Japanese hospital room. On the bedside table was a glass of warm water and a small fruit bowl with a few fresh strawberries. There was nothing else. The unfamiliar environment and the unfamiliar language filled him with a strong sense of unease.

He remembered being hit by an out-of-control truck while crossing the street on his way home from working overtime. After the excruciating pain, there was only endless darkness. At that moment, he had only one thought in his mind: his parents were waiting for him to come home for dinner, he couldn't die, he had to go home. But now, he found himself in a completely unfamiliar place, even his own body felt unfamiliar.

Just then, the door to the ward was pushed open, and a doctor in a white coat walked in. Seeing that Lin Chen was awake, a relieved smile appeared on his face, and he said in fluent Japanese, "You're finally awake. It's a miracle. The car accident scene was so horrific, yet you still survived."

A car accident? Lin Chen frowned, his mind blank. He did remember being hit by a truck, but the doctor's account of the accident seemed different from his memory. He spoke instinctively, his voice still hoarse, but he spoke in familiar Chinese: "Doctor, I... how did I get here? I want to go home, my parents are waiting for me!"

The doctor paused, clearly not understanding Chinese, then gestured to indicate the name and found a nurse who understood Chinese. The nurse softly translated, "Little one, don't be too sad. When the accident happened, you were with your parents. They...they didn't make it. Only you survived by sheer luck."

"Impossible!" Lin Chen shook his head violently, his eyes filled with disbelief. "You've mistaken me for someone else. My parents are both alive and well, and they're still waiting for me to come home. I'm not this kind of person..." He paused, because he suddenly realized that his voice had become childish, completely unlike his voice at twenty-eight years old.

The nurse looked at him gently and translated for the doctor. The doctor sighed softly and gestured for the nurse to continue explaining: "Little boy, you must have lost your memory after the car accident. Your name is Sato Yuto, you are ten years old, and you are a fourth-grade student at a nearby elementary school. We have contacted your distant relatives, and they will be here soon. You have just woken up and are still very weak, so rest well and don't think too much."

Yuto Sato? Ten years old? Fourth grade of elementary school? Japan?

Lin Chen was completely dumbfounded. He was clearly twenty-eight years old, had a stable job in China, and his parents were alive and well, waiting for him to come home for dinner every day. How could he have turned into a ten-year-old Japanese child? He subconsciously raised his hand, and what came into view was a pair of small, slender hands with fair skin and fingertips that still had a bit of baby fat—this was not his hand at all!

He sat up abruptly, ignoring the excruciating pain, and looked down at his body. He was wearing a large hospital gown, which wrapped around his small frame; his limbs were thin, and he clearly looked like a child.

What on earth is going on? Wasn't he supposed to be dead? Why did he transmigrate into the body of this ten-year-old Japanese child? How worried must his parents be if they can't find him?

Countless questions swirled in his mind, giving him a splitting headache, and his anxiety and fear grew stronger. He subconsciously clenched his fist, and a familiar, icy touch made him pause slightly.

He slowly released his hand, and a smooth, warm five-cent coin lay quietly in his palm. The national emblem on the coin was somewhat blurred, and the edges were worn rounded. This was the coin his mother had given him on his eighteenth birthday. She said the five-cent coin symbolized peace and that he should carry it with him so that no matter how far he traveled, he could always return home safely. He had kept this coin with him for ten years. No matter how late he worked, as long as he touched it, he felt that his parents were with him, and he had the motivation to go home.

It actually followed us here too.

Lin Chen held the coin, his fingertips tracing the familiar patterns on it again and again. Memories of his past life flooded back like a tide: the home-cooked meals his parents made, the light left on at the door when he came home late from work, his mother's nagging about being careful, his father's quietly tidying up his briefcase... All the images appeared clearly in his mind, intertwining with the unfamiliar Japanese-style hospital room, the unfamiliar language, and the unfamiliar body in front of him, making his nose tingle and his eyes well up with tears.

He wanted to go home, to be back with his parents, to eat another meal cooked by them, to tell them he was alright. But now he didn't even know where he was, and even his appearance had changed. How could he get back?

The nurse was whispering something to him, but he didn't hear a word she said.

He simply clutched the five-cent coin tightly, sitting on the hospital bed, lost in thought.