Takuto Kimura knelt in the sandbox, his small, determined face set in a deep scowl as he watched helplessly. The very foundation of his startup—his pride and joy, the "Logistics Headquarters" he'd spent the past three days building with nothing but blocks, his lunch break, and sheer willpower—was being dismantled in front of him.
Ryutaro from the Sunflower Class, along with his loyal (if somewhat unruly) "Dinosaur Squad," had invaded his territory, tearing down his operation with the gusto of a pack of wild animals. They were tossing his meticulously crafted company logo—no, his bee logo—into the trash, a logo that had been carefully drawn on a piece of cardboard that was starting to smell faintly of peanut butter.
"According to Article... whatever of the Sandbox Convention," Ryutaro announced, dramatically stepping on Takuto's most beloved toy truck, the one he'd gotten from the charity sale—"This place now belongs to the Dinosaur Clan!"
Takuto's tiny fists trembled with the fury of a thousand corporate raids. "This is a hostile takeover! You didn't even make a tender offer!" he yelled, his voice a mix of shock and outrage.
Ryutaro, in a move that would be considered a violation of business etiquette in any serious negotiation, stuck his tongue out. "Meh-meh-meh~ Well, it's your fault your 'employees' are all napping!" he said with a swagger, pointing in the direction of Takuto's workers: Kenta, who was sprawled out on the ground like a lifeless potato, and Ai-chan, who was busy crafting a delicate flower crown for the caregiver, completely uninterested in the corporate wars unfolding around her.
Takuto's heart sank. This was worse than the time he had been shorted on Wall Street in his previous life. No, this felt like something more. It felt like betrayal. The kind of betrayal only a sandbox could deliver.
Retreating to a nearby bathroom stall, Takuto sat on the cold floor, his short legs dangling helplessly. The bathroom smelled faintly of soap and defeat. But he wasn't going to give up. Oh no, he wasn't going to let Ryutaro and his Dinosaur Squad walk all over him like some common sandbox tycoon.
As his mind churned, a brilliant counterattack plan began to form.
Public Opinion War: First, he would draw cartoons on the classroom graffiti wall.
Panel 1: Ryutaro picking his nose. The picture would be a real photo of Ryutaro's most embarrassing moment in kindergarten, the one where his finger had accidentally made it all the way up to his brain.
Panel 2: The Dinosaur Squad's true identity revealed as the Bedwetting Team. Artistic license was going to make this so much worse for them.
Panel 3: Takuto Corporation's stock would skyrocket—pure fiction, but nothing too elaborate. Maybe he could include a pie chart with rocket ships or something.
Financial War: Next, Takuto would issue "Honey Bonds" to the Dinosaur Squad members.
Face Value: 1 tissue = 5 minutes of toy usage.
Redemption Condition: Betray Ryutaro.
These bonds would be invaluable, the most coveted currency in the sandbox economy, a blend of wet wipes and desperation.
Physical War: Finally, he would secretly fill Ryutaro's dinosaur hat with itching powder. He had no idea how he was going to acquire the powder, but if there was one thing Takuto knew, it was how to improvise. If anyone could turn suspicious particles in the nap mats into a tool of warfare, it was him.
With his plan set, Takuto waited for the perfect moment: the showdown at the sandbox after naptime.
Takuto suited up in his finest attire: suspenders with a bear print on the crotch—an unfortunate but necessary accessory for any CEO trying to command authority in kindergarten. Ryutaro, meanwhile, was decked out in his signature glowing Tyrannosaurus rex headgear. The two rivals stood facing each other, the tension thick enough to slice with a plastic spoon.
"Last chance," Takuto said, his voice low and gravelly, like a seasoned corporate lawyer. "Either accept my joint venture proposal, or—"
"Or what?" Ryutaro spat, flicking dirt at Takuto's feet in an utterly uncouth manner.
Takuto squared his shoulders. "Or I'll expose the fact that you wet your bed last week!"
The crowd of children gasped, their collective breath caught in the tension. Ryutaro's vice-captain, Shogo, who had up until now been a silent observer, immediately defected. "Is that true?" Shogo asked, horrified. "I'm telling my mom!"
Ryutaro's face turned red as a tomato, his eyes widening in panic. "No! I— I didn't mean—"
But it was too late. The seed of doubt had been planted. Ryutaro's carefully cultivated image as the sandbox's top dog was crumbling before his very eyes.
In a fit of rage, Ryutaro unleashed his ultimate move: The "Dinosaur Charge." It was fast, it was furious, and it was completely terrifying to anyone within a 10-foot radius. Takuto, in a desperate bid to avoid being trampled, dodged to the side—but, unfortunately, his long pants betrayed him. With an epic, almost poetic flair, he tripped over his own legs and fell straight into Ryutaro, who, in his own panic, lost control of his attack.
The battle quickly descended into complete chaos. Takuto's "Dragon-Descending 18 Palms" turned into a pitiful "Turtle Punch," his tiny arms flailing helplessly in the air as he tried to land a blow. Meanwhile, Ryutaro's "Bite Attack" resulted in him accidentally swallowing the plastic teeth from his own dinosaur headgear.
The end came swiftly. Both of their pants slid off in the midst of the struggle, and the two were unceremoniously dragged to the nurse's office by Teacher Yamada, who looked less concerned about their injuries and more irritated by the fact that she had to clean up after their mess.
While they sat in the nurse's office, receiving the most minimal treatment (a Band-Aid for Takuto's scraped knee), Takuto's eyes wandered to a poster on the wall: "Kindergarten Teacher's Code of Conduct." The signature at the bottom made his heart stop. It was his arch-nemesis from his previous life—the one who had ruined his first start-up, Mr. Matsumoto, the Tax Officer!
Could it be… the principal? Takuto gasped internally, only to choke on his own spit. No, no, this couldn't be happening again.
Just then, the door to the nurse's office swung open. Mrs. Nakajima entered with her daughter, who was holding—no way—the very mascot doll from Takuto's old company! The doll, a little bee, stared back at Takuto with an almost accusatory look.
"Mom, this uncle is so weird," the little girl remarked, pointing at Takuto, whose face was now as red as a tomato. "He keeps looking at my little bee."
Mrs. Nakajima, unfazed, squatted down and patted Takuto on the head. "Does little Takuto like this doll too? It's from your dad's company..." she asked sweetly.
Takuto felt like he was going to explode. He had to send a message! He couldn't let Ryutaro's dinosaurs win! As Mrs. Nakajima turned her attention to her daughter, Takuto seized the opportunity. In a desperate attempt to communicate his hidden plans, he drew three symbols on the temperature log:
⚡ (Urgent) 💰 (Funds) 👶 (Become small)
He eagerly looked up at Mrs. Nakajima, hoping for some sort of recognition.
She smiled, oblivious to his cryptic drawings. "Ah," she said, ruffling his hair. "Takuto's drawings are so cute."
It was official. No one took him seriously.
The final mediation meeting, however, was another matter entirely. The principal stepped forward, wearing his usual expression of grim determination. "The sandbox is now a 'Neutral Zone,'" he declared with finality. "Both sides are responsible for toy maintenance. Every Friday will have a 'Friendly Exchange Meeting'—which, let's be honest, is just forced playtime."
Ryutaro, in a bold act of rebellion (or perhaps just sheer stubbornness), intentionally signed the agreement with his left hand, even though he was right-handed. Takuto, unable to hold a pen steady with his tiny hands, used his footprint as his signature.
"This is unfair!" Ryutaro protested, pointing at Takuto's clearly more legible footprint. "His footprint is clearer than my signature!"
The principal, unfazed, smiled. "Then how about you use your foot?"
Five minutes later, the two ink-covered little devils were dragged off to the bath to wash away the evidence of their petty corporate war.
As Takuto listened to the sound of rushing water, he had an epiphany. "The essence of business," he mused to himself, "is to see who gets cleaned first..."