Shin Chan paused mid-wiggle, looked at the camera (or the stars, or the reader), and said:

Shin Chan tilted his head. "Señorita, ¿tu novio te ha dicho hoy lo bonita que eres? Porque si no, yo puedo hacerlo. Y también puedo mostrarte mi colección de piedras con formas raras."

In flawless, machine-gun Spanish, he announced: "¡Buenos días, señora! Soy Shinnosuke. Tengo cinco años. Me gusta bailar el chiki-chiki, mirar tetas y comer churros. ¿Tiene usted churros?"

And so, the little samurái of Calle de la Naranja became a Seville legend—proof that chaos, kindness, and a well-timed butt wiggle are universal languages.

Inside, Hiroshi Nohara, a salaryman who had been transferred to the Seville office, was sweating profusely. "Mitsi, are you sure about this?" he asked his wife.

One rainy afternoon, Shin Chan got lost in the labyrinthine alleys of the Santa Cruz district. He wasn't scared. He simply walked into a small, dark bar, hopped onto a stool, and ordered, "Un zumo de naranja, por favor, y cuénteme un secreto."

Shin Chan was doing his "Elephant Walk" (his infamous hip-wiggling dance) on the table, singing a mangled version of the Macarena mixed with the Chichibu no Uta .

The class erupted in laughter. His new teacher, Señorita Rosario (a dead ringer for his beloved teacher Miss Yoshinaga, only with more fire in her eyes), turned crimson.

Shin Chan nodded wisely. "Pues báilalas con otra. O conmigo. Pero no pongas cara de culo."