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Chapter 24: Farewell Speech Controversy
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2025-04-17 17:15:16
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The Accidental Rebirth: The Troubles of a Three-Year-Old CEO Chapter 25: The Ambitious Time Capsule – A Farewell to Kindergarten
The sun dipped lazily behind the kindergarten’s chain-link fence, painting the playground in golden hues and casting dramatic shadows across the well-worn sandbox. Here, kingdoms had risen and fallen. Toy trucks had fought epic battles, plastic dinosaurs had left their mark, and fruit snacks had served as both currency and bribe. But today, the sandbox was not a war zone.Today, it was sacred ground.It was the day of the Great Time Capsule Burial, a hallowed tradition at Little Sprouts Kindergarten meant to immortalize the final moments of early childhood. In ten years, the children would return as awkward teenagers and unearth these boxes, rediscovering tiny treasures from a time when math was counting jelly beans and emotional crises were mostly about who sat next to whom during snack time.For most of the children, the contents were predictably adorable.Scribbled crayon drawings, half-finished and wrinkled.Handprints pressed into clay, accompanied by uneven letters spelling “I L
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Takuto Kimura stood in front of the full-length mirror for the third time that morning, adjusting the knot on his miniature navy-blue tie. The knot had to be just right—tight enough to convey gravitas, but not so tight it wrinkled his pre-shrunk shirt collar.His reflection stared back, stern and composed: the face of a child preparing for battle. Not finger-painting or recess—not today. This was war. And the battlefield was an elite private primary school’s entrance interview.Tucked into the breast pocket of his tailored blazer—cut from imported fabric and tailored by his reluctant grandmother—was a gold-plated fountain pen. Real ink. Real nib. Paid for with his red envelope money from New Year’s.Behind him, his desk was a paper battlefield. A dog-eared copy of "100 Interview Questions for University of Tokyo MBA Candidates" lay open, marked with sticky notes. Next to it sat several sheets of thick paper, densely packed with diagrams, color-coded pie charts, and handwritten titles
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Lunchtime in Mrs. Tanaka’s first-grade class was a daily spectacle—a chaotic symphony of squished sandwiches, rogue pudding cups rolling across the floor, and the occasional fruit cup launched into orbit by an enthusiastic elbow. The air was thick with the scent of rice crackers and the unspoken tension of impending snack trades.Amidst this culinary battlefield stood Takuto Kimura, a six-year-old with the demeanor of a seasoned trader on the Tokyo Stock Exchange. His uniform was impeccable: a crisp white shirt, a perfectly knotted tie (a gift from his grandfather, who still didn’t understand why a six-year-old insisted on formalwear), and a blazer that seemed to weigh more than his entire body. His lunchbox, a gleaming steel fortress, was secured with a combination lock—a precaution against the volatile snack market.Takuto surveyed the classroom with the intensity of a venture capitalist evaluating startups. The variables were clear:Supply: Limited by parental generosity and nutrit
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The morning sun cast long shadows across the elementary school playground as the bell rang, signaling the start of recess. The children of Class 1-A burst out of the classroom like a herd of wild antelopes—some sprinting toward the jungle gym, others huddling around the hopscotch grid, and a few already negotiating the exchange of snacks. But in the far corner of the yard, one student had a far more ambitious plan in mind.Takuto "Wolf of Wall Street" Kimura (self-proclaimed) stood before a meticulously drawn grid of colored chalk lines, his tiny hands planted on his hips in a pose eerily reminiscent of a certain cinematic stockbroker. The grid was no ordinary hopscotch court—it was a fully operational Pencil & Eraser Futures Market, complete with price indexes, trend arrows, and a crude but functional "Big Board" displaying the day’s most traded stationery."Ladies and gentlemen!" Takuto bellowed, clapping his hands to gather attention. "Welcome to the First-Grade Financial District!
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Takuto Kimura sat in the classroom of First Grade, Class 3, his fingers gently tapping the desk as his sharp eyes scanned the lunchboxes of his classmates like a hawk surveying the savannah.“Supply and demand imbalance,” he murmured under his breath.Kobayashi’s deluxe three-tiered bento was packed with golden fried chicken, tamagoyaki, and cheerful octopus-shaped sausages. Meanwhile, Nakamura had nothing but a lonely umeboshi rice ball, and across the aisle, Sato’s lunch was an overflowing container of green salad—clearly his mom had recently converted to the gospel of healthy eating.“This... is a natural commodities market!” Takuto’s eyes sparkled with ambition. He swiftly pulled a small notebook from his backpack and began scribbling notes:Kobayashi’s Bento: AAA-rated asset (fried chicken—highest liquidity)Nakamura’s Onigiri: Low-liquidity asset (safe haven in market downturns)Sato’s Salad: Junk bond (demand virtually nonexistent)Pushing up his imaginary glasses, Takuto let a
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Takuto Kimura’s father, Kenichi, stared at his son's report card with trembling fingers. His eyes flicked across the sheet, confusion and disbelief growing with each line.Math: 100 — next to it, a hand-drawn golden currency symbol.Life Skills: Excellent — followed by the comment: “Recommended: mandatory financial literacy curriculum.”PE: Pass — with a red note scrawled underneath: “Physical ROI too low. Consider acquisition of athletic talent assets.”Kenichi turned to his wife, Yukiko. “This… this is a first grader’s report card?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Are you sure this isn't a business school term paper?”Yukiko didn’t even look up as she stuffed documents into her bag. “Dear, I’m more concerned about this.” She handed him a neatly bound stack titled:“1st Grade, Class B: White Paper on Financial Activities”The cover bore a childish but meticulous signature:“Published by Kimura Financial Group, Inc.”When Kenichi opened the door to his son’s classroom, for a moment he thought
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Takuto Kimura lay sprawled across his desk, sketching intricate matrix diagrams in his notebook with colored pencils. It was only his third week since transferring to this new elementary school, and he had already completed a detailed “Classroom Business Environment Analysis.”"Based on my observations," he scribbled, "this class suffers from severe information asymmetry."Beside the text, he drew stick figures of classmates scratching their heads during tests.He was particularly intrigued by the fluctuating grade chart of the math monitor, Nakajima:"Last unit test score dropped 15 points. Mother is PTA president... High willingness to pay."He had secretly borrowed the English monitor Sato’s mistake notebook for research:"Verb tense error rate: 37%. A clear-demand market!"Even homeroom teacher Ms. Yamada's lesson schedule had not escaped scrutiny:"Application problems taught three days before midterms—optimal marketing window!"During lunch break, Takuto hid in the last stall of
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Takuto Kimura walked into his new classroom with heavy steps, his backpack stuffed with perfectly sharpened pencils, carefully labeled notebooks, and a self-designed five-year academic roadmap. Morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a glow across the spotless desks. The air was thick with the scent of fresh textbooks and the chatter of excited children."This semester, I must devise a flawless social strategy," he muttered, pushing up imaginary glasses. "Maintain optimal interpersonal relationships... but keep a low profile."His eyes swept across the room—then froze.Second row, by the window.A girl with twin pigtails, licking a lollipop and swinging her legs idly, waited for the teacher.Takuto's pupils contracted. His fingers loosened.The academic roadmap slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a smack.“Yama... Yamada Section Chief?!”The girl turned at the sound of his voice and gave him a sweet, innocent smile.“Just call me Miu~!”Time stopped.And in tha
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On 10:15 AM, Kimura Trading Corp Headquarters, Executive Boardroom, Yamada, Executive Director, pinched the crumpled envelope between her scarlet-painted fingernails like it was something contagious."What is this junk mail now?" she sneered, preparing to toss it into the shredder.Just then, something tumbled out—several crayon drawings and a small pile of coins.“Wait!” Vice President Sato lunged and snatched the envelope. “Are these... kid drawings?”The board members leaned in, forming a tight circle. On the first page, in clumsy, lopsided handwriting, the title read: “Kimura Trading Corporation Revival Plan”—next to a cheerful smiling sun.The second page showed stick figures. One wore glasses (labeled: IT guy) and another in a delivery uniform (labeled: Courier) holding hands.“Merge Logistics with IT?” the CFO chuckled, almost choking on his coffee. “That’s playground logic…”But Sato suddenly sat upright.“Wait a m
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Takuto Kimura, age ten—well, at least physically—sat at the breakfast table, meticulously spreading a layer of blueberry jam over his toast. He did it with such focused precision that one might think he was mapping out an international expansion strategy rather than preparing breakfast.Across from him, his six-year-old sister, Sayuri, was attacking her cereal with the enthusiasm of a mad scientist. She stirred it like she was brewing a potion, sending oats flying onto the table with every exaggerated swirl of her spoon.“Sayuri,” Takuto said, frowning in disapproval. “We must maintain proper table manners while eating.”His tone was firm, authoritative—eerily mature for a child. In fact, it was the same tone he used during board meetings in his
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Takuto Kimura, 10 years and 2 months old, had now entered his seventh year since his reincarnation.The torrential rain relentlessly soaked Tokyo to its core in the dead of night, a cascade of water drenching the city’s neon-lit streets. Beneath the awning of a convenience store, a small figure huddled, drenched, inside a children’s raincoat. Takuto Kimura clutched in his hands the crisp banknotes he had just withdrawn from an ATM—his precious New Year’s money, carefully saved up over the past year. This modest sum would serve as his initial capital to purchase a second-hand computer, one that could connect to the internet and help him embark on the path to his ultimate goal."Meow—"The faint cry barely made it through the torrent of rain, almost swallowed up by the sound of the downpour. Takuto turned his head and, to his surprise, noticed a small calico cat huddled beside a vending machine, its green and gold eyes glowing faintl
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Takuto Kimura stood at the blackboard, explaining the solution steps for last week’s math quiz—a routine task in his capacity as the class’s “Academic Consultant.”His analysis was precise, even incorporating elements of Bayesian probability theory. Everything was proceeding smoothly… until his gaze happened to drift toward the window-side seat in the third row.Transfer student Haruko Sato was taking notes.Sunlight danced across the tips of her light brown hair. The way she furrowed her brows slightly in thought made Takuto forget entirely what he was talking about.“Therefore, we can deduce that… uh…”His voice trailed off. He felt like his CPU had just overheated.“This... that…”The entire class stared in shock. Their usually eloquent “Little Professor” had suddenly become a stammering mess. Miu, sitting nearby,
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Takuto Kimura stood in front of the height-measuring device at the school’s annual physical, wearing a face more grim than a CEO reading a bankruptcy report.“156.3 centimeters,” the school nurse announced flatly. “That’s a 2.1 centimeter increase from last year.”The number hit Takuto like a punch to the gut. He stared at the growth chart on the health report like it was a plummeting stock graph.“Impossible!” he screamed internally.“With my nutrition and exercise regimen, I should at least be at the average line!”After school, he locked himself in his room and dove headfirst into data analysis. His walls were plastered with handmade charts:Correlation Between Daily Calcium Intake and Height GrowthGraph of Sleep Duration vs. Growth Hormone SecretionPeer Height Grow
The Accidental Rebirth: The Troubles of a Three-Year-Old CEO Chapter 43: Acne And Business Image
Takuto Kimura stood in front of the bathroom mirror, having just finished wiping the water from his face—when suddenly, his eyes locked onto something on his forehead.A single pimple.Bright red. Perfectly round. Boldly positioned right between his eyebrows like it was challenging him. It stood tall like a miniature volcano, moments from erupting.“This can’t be happening!”He sucked in a sharp breath. His finger trembled as it moved closer to the blemish, like it was pointing at a financial market crash indicator.“I’ve been meticulous with my skincare! Twice-daily cleansing, oil-control toner, moisturizing lotion, even weekly deep-clean masks!”Leaning closer, he examined the business-image-destroyer in full detail. It was plump, glossy, and somehow gleaming under the bathroom light, as if announcing:“You, Takut
