Takizawa jolted awake, dreaming he was a bandit, stabbed in the side during a smoky raid—a long blade, fit for chopping wood.
He sat up on the floor mat, scratching an itch under his arm, still groggy, thoughts muddled.
Matsuoka's place was nearby. The tiny apartment meant two people sleeping on the floor took up too much space. Nighttime bathroom trips required tiptoeing to avoid stepping on each other or the heater's cord.
Their single-worker squad had shared over twenty days and nights, evolving into a bond where they swapped embarrassing teenage stories. They made the best of tough times: splitting an apple on Christmas Eve, huddling under blankets during a New Year's Eve power outage, listening to a radio show in the dark, exchanging 100-yen red envelopes for festive cheer, and late-night math marathons where Matsuoka bought walnuts to "boost brainpower."
The dream's kidney stab felt too real. No going back to sleep—better to dodge a bloody sequel. He washed up, boiled water, and stood by the stove, chin in hand, sensing something off.
Everyone's had that moment: a thought on the tip of your tongue, gone the next second.
Takizawa felt that now.
His soul's "solid-state drive" And "memory museum" gave him near-perfect recall, but only when actively searching. Otherwise, his memory was average, needing a playlist to pick a song.
Here was the paradox: his memories were stored perfectly, but he couldn't recall what he'd forgotten to recall. No vague hint, no search trigger. Was it forgotten or not?
He dubbed his power "Schrödinger's Life Corridor."
Right now, the corridor was lagging. He didn't dare overclock it—his nutrition couldn't keep up.
What was he missing? Why the heavy dread?
The knight's recording was delayed to next quarter, no rush. The realtor's viewing wasn't today. The national exam was done two weeks ago—825 points, perfect, leaving his homeroom teacher and vice-principal in tears. He'd recorded that late-night adult show.
A lone guy like him—what else could it be?
Wait. The national exam?
The corridor unclogged like a cleared drain, thoughts flooding back. Takizawa froze, struck by lightning.
"Tokyo U's score combines the national and entrance exams!" The principal's icy voice, baring his iron educator fangs, grabbing his collar, replayed vividly in his mind.
Damn it! The entrance exam!
He roared inwardly, his leisurely morning expression twisting.
Today's the entrance exam!
The dread's source hit—not fear of failing, but the stack of cash aid tied to passing, now at risk of vanishing like foam.
"Matsuoka! Lend me your bike!" Takizawa shouted, adrenaline surging, shutting off the stove, scrambling for clothes. Two seconds later, he realized—he couldn't ride a bike.
Two more seconds, and fiery determination flared. This body's instincts better know how!
Brown trench coat, Gryffindor-style scarf, mismatched socks—one black, one yellow. He hopped like a zombie to the door, hunting for shoes.
The doorknob clicked. Matsuoka, holding convenience store rice balls and milk, blinked at his frantic friend. "You're up?"
"Big trouble! No time to explain!" Takizawa said, breathless.
"I know, it's your Tokyo U exam. I booked you a taxi last night," Matsuoka said calmly, kicking off his shoes. "It's only 7 a.m. Eat breakfast first."
The room went quiet.
"How'd you know?" Takizawa asked, holding a shoe, stunned.
"We were eating after work one night, and you mentioned applying to Tokyo U. I noted the exam date. I woke up at 5 a.m. today," Matsuoka said, then faltered at Takizawa's odd look. "Uh… did I mess up?"
"Nope, let's eat," Takizawa said, exhaling, dropping the shoe, wrestling with his scarf's knot.
"Cool."
…
Tokyo, Bunkyo Ward.
Today, the Oedo Line's Hongo-Sanchome Station and the Ginza Line's Ueno-Hirokoji Station were likely packed. Nervous candidates and anxious parents clustered, prepared for this fateful day.
University of Tokyo 's main gate, for such a prestigious school, was understated, lacking grandeur or even a sign.
The Hongo campus gate, once the "Akamon" (Red Gate) of the Maeda family, allies of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, was painted vermilion, a tradition for feudal lords' daughters' weddings. Built for a Tokugawa marriage, it predated the university by half a century. Damaged Akamon gates couldn't be rebuilt—this was the last.
"A relic, heavy with history," The vice-principal said, adjusting his glasses. "Newspapers call passing through the Akamon 'getting accepted.'"
The usually serene campus buzzed with people. Staff held banners, darting to manage the crowd.
Led by the principal, their group passed through the gate.
Beyond the ginkgo avenue, Yasuda Auditorium stood silent, a university landmark funded by the Yasuda zaibatsu. Western marks scarred the school, but its eaves held Japan's soul. Principal Kozumi Yusaburo's gaze grew complex.
"My bond with this place began with Yasunari Kawabata, a writer who pierced my soul," He said softly, breath fogging. "One summer night, finishing The Dancing Girl of Izu, I cried carefree like its hero, craving peaceful sleep. I learned sorrow and romance, which took root in me, guiding my dreams. Ten years ago, I came here for the exam, strolling Sannomiya Pond, where literary giants—Akutagawa, Oe, Dazai, Natsume, Kawabata—left their mark. I walked quietly, afraid to disturb the beauty frozen in time."
Takizawa and the others watched the principal sink into melancholy.
"Go, chase the shadows of those sages. We'll wait here," Kozumi said, shaking his head.
"I'm off to the exam hall," Takizawa said, turning, then pausing. "One more thing I haven't said."
"What?" Kozumi looked up, surprised.
"Vice-principal, Principal, Yasukawa-sensei—thank you for your care and guidance," Takizawa said, stepping back, bowing deeply. "Without you, I wouldn't have aimed here. I'm grateful for your teachings."
"Hey, kid, snag top spot in Arts III. Give me something to brag about over drinks with other schools," The vice-principal said, chuckling, touching his thinning hair.
Takizawa nodded, clutching his pencil case, and ran off.
The vice-principal sighed. "Seeing kids head to exams always hits me. Plenty of older candidates try too. Principal, why not pick up the pen and chase that dream again?"
"Some things are sweeter left undone," Kozumi said, smiling. "That student-era dream—if I fulfilled it, I'd only chase endless money and status. Let the regret linger."
…
Takizawa gripped his pencil case, seated in a corner of the exam hall. Candidates were spaced far apart, faces a gallery of tension. Current students like him were rare; most were ronin repeaters or working adults, all wearing poker faces. The vast room was so quiet, the air conditioner's hum was audible.
It felt like another dimension.
The air was thick, almost solid. When proctors silently slit open test packets, some stubbled older ronin, weighed by pressure and past failures, visibly trembled.
The national exam was a friendly meetup compared to this blood-soaked slaughterhouse.
Sitting among those who'd toiled relentlessly since childhood, Takizawa felt respect and a twinge of shame.
The entrance exam marked maturity's threshold, the end of student life.
Afterward, youthful recklessness faded, paths diverged—some to distant lands, others to northern seas.
Years later, in the workforce, you'd realize classroom study was the purest job, dorms with buddies the ideal home, and online flings paled against secret notes in your desk drawer.
Takizawa drifted, recalling his past life's college entrance exam. He was cannon fodder, his proudest feat a 15/150 in math, second-to-last in his grade. The bottom scorer, luckier, got 10 from two correct guesses.
A classic exam-hall slacker, he'd finish multiple-choice in ten minutes but didn't nap that day. Not from fear of proctors or peers, but because the sunlight was perfect, breeze gentle. Golden rays filtered through green ivy, dusting the chalk-streaked podium.
After submitting his paper, student life would end.
He'd propped his hand, staring at the classroom, candidates, teachers, wanting to etch that day into memory—a failure savoring the final seconds of youth.
"—Begin!"
The proctor's voice echoed, snapping him back. Assistants took positions, candidates drew pens like swords, the overly tense forcing down nerves, eyes glinting with desperate resolve.
Takizawa breathed hot air into his cold palms.
Fortune and misfortune intertwine.
He whispered inwardly.
Didn't expect a second shot at "youth's curtain call."
Schrödinger's Life Corridor activated, 200% power!
His pen struck, swift as a dragon, electric as lightning.
…
Matsuoka rubbed his hands by the heater, having taken off work that afternoon and evening. It was Takizawa's big day—Tokyo U, a colossal goal. Failure was possible, so as a friend, he'd be there to cheer or console.
A broken family, nearly homeless, yet Takizawa never gave up, facing each day with gusto, grinding problems under lamplight. His all-in approach, like a moth to flame, stirred Matsuoka deeply.
He'd planned two scripts: one to lift Takizawa if he failed, another to celebrate if he passed.
Knock, knock, knock.
He's back!
Matsuoka's face grew serious, opening the door.
"It's freezing out," Takizawa said, pale, brushing snow from his shoulders, rushing to warm up.
"So… uh, how'd it go?" Matsuoka asked, heart sinking at his friend's pallor.
"Today? Cold as hell," Takizawa said, shedding his coat.
"No, I mean the exam…?" Matsuoka pressed.
"Oh, done," Takizawa said casually.
Done? Was that defeatist shrugging or carefree confidence?
Matsuoka's mind raced.
"Let's eat out tonight—that skewer place. Thanks for everything this month. My treat, no refusals!" Takizawa said, turning.
"Sure… but I bought ingredients and prepped some dishes," Matsuoka said.
"Why so fancy?" Takizawa asked, puzzled.
Matsuoka hesitated, then sat across from him, summoning courage. "Takizawa-kun! Bluntly, how do you think you did?"
"Pretty good, I think," Takizawa said, startled by the intensity. "What's up?"
"Great news!" Matsuoka slumped, exhaling. "Congrats!"
"Results aren't out yet. Why're you more stressed than me?" Takizawa laughed. "Rest up, then we'll hit the town for meat and drinks."
…
2010, Heisei 22.
University of Tokyo entrance exam results released.
Arts III: 1,487 applicants, 469 accepted.
Current student Takizawa Satoru: National Exam 825, Entrance Exam 351, total 451.
—Passed.