Seishun Buta Yarou Series - Volume 8 - Chapter 1.2

2

Two days later, Sunday, January 18.

The intercom rang exactly at one PM, as promised.

Sakuta met Miwako Tomobe at the door and led her into the living room, where his father and Kaede were waiting.

“Hello, Kaede.”

“Hi.”

“Sorry to take time out of your Sunday,” their father said, bowing.

“Not at all. I’m the one imposing on your weekend.”

“Please sit.”

He waved her to a chair, and she took a seat at the dining table. She’d started to hang her coat on the back of it, but Sakuta brought it over to the rack at the door. He’d cleaned up that morning, but Nasuno’s hair just would not stay off winter clothing. Nasuno was their calico cat, currently observing events from on top of the kotatsu. Two strangers were in the house, and she was very curious.

When Sakuta finished up at the rack, he went right past the table to the kitchen, where he got a pot of tea ready.

While he was busy with that, Miwako was talking about Kaede’s test results. Or rather, explaining why she was the point person on that—this was usually handled by the homeroom teacher, but since Kaede had been out of school for so long, someone had suggested it would be easier on her if the school counselor handled things. Miwako had taken that proposal to Kaede, and they’d decided it was probably the best plan.

Kaede was nodding.

Sakuta lined up four steaming cups on a tray, unpacked the dove-shaped rakugan candy their father had brought, and carried it all to the table.

“Here you go,” he said, placing Miwako’s share in front of her.

“Thanks. Oh, these look good,” she said. “Do you mind?”

And with that, she popped a rakugan into her mouth and savored the taste.

Sakuta moved a chair to the head of the table and sat next to Kaede. She was looking rather tense. Back bolt upright, hands folded on her lap, not even looking up. Her eyes locked on the teacup he’d placed before her.

“Well, I’m sure you’re aware, but I’m here today to discuss Kaede’s future.”

“Right.”

Their father nodded quietly. He had come wearing the same suit he wore to work. The jacket was off, but the necktie was crisp.

When he’d arrived at their door half an hour earlier, Sakuta had thought he was being really uptight, but now he realized it was totally the right choice.

Especially with Miwako seated opposite, in full business wear, jacket and all.

“She’s only just returned to school, so ideally, we wouldn’t be having this conversation until she’s fully adjusted, but the deadline for most high school exam applications is at the end of January. That’s why I suggested we meet to discuss it.”

She took a thick A4-size folder out of her bag, pulled several documents out of it, and put them on the table.

“This exam schedule is mostly prefecture-run high schools. Applications must be turned in between January twenty-eighth and the thirtieth. The exams themselves are on February sixteenth, with interviews taking place over a three-day period from the sixteenth to the eighteenth. Results are announced on February twenty-seventh. Private schools might be a week earlier, and many have already begun.”

“Um,” their father said when she paused for breath.

“Yes? Anything unclear?”

“No, er…”

Their father hesitated, eyes turning to Kaede. Clearly, this was something hard to say. Trying to refocus, he said, “Excuse me,” and had a sip of tea. Once he’d swallowed, he turned back to Miwako and took a deep breath.

“Will Kaede actually be ready for high school?”

His meaning was clear, and Kaede’s shoulders twitched. That question got right to the heart of the matter and was definitely crucial. That’s why he said it out loud, even though it was hard to do with her here. No hemming and hawing, no beating around the bush.

“I’m sure everybody knows, but just so we’re clear—junior high is part of the mandatory education system, so regardless of attendance, she will graduate in March.”

“Right.”

“As far as attending high school goes, Kaede’s academic abilities are certainly one concern,” Miwako said, pulling another page out of her thick folder.

This was a graded answer sheet. With Kaede Azusagawa at the top.

“This is a copy of last year’s prefectural entrance exam. I had Kaede take it last Friday.”

Having her test results on display made Kaede go even stiffer. A brief scan of the marks showed it was an even split between right and wrong.

“The minimal cutoff will certainly limit her prospects, but if she can replicate this performance, not only are there schools that will take her, but she’ll have a selection available.”

Kaede had said she understood a solid portion of junior high material despite having no memory of learning it. Her dissociative disorder had left her with amnesia, and the other Kaede had spent two years studying for her. It was proof that the other Kaede had existed. Every right answer on this sheet was a gift from her. That realization put a heat behind his eyes, a sting in his nose. Sakuta took a loud sip of tea to hide it.

Kaede glanced at him in surprise. Their eyes met, and she quickly looked away. He was about to ask why, but Miwako and his father were talking again, and he didn’t want to interrupt.

“But with prefectural schools, aren’t her grades a major factor?”

“They are,” Miwako said, nodding. “The exact ratio varies by school, but the transcript is usually forty to fifty percent of the evaluation. The interview is twenty percent. That means the exam itself is only thirty to forty percent of the decision.”

“The exams are less important than I imagined, then.”

Sakuta felt like he really hadn’t understood the system when it was his turn. All he’d really cared about was going somewhere far away.

“The interview and exam count for more than they did when we were still using the standardized achievement test. I was the last generation to go through that, but in my day, it was fifty percent grades and twenty percent achievement test results, so before you even took the exam, seventy percent of your fate was decided. Although in my case, that meant the exam itself was stress-free.”

Sakuta vaguely remembered a junior high teacher mentioning that Kanagawa had previously had a unique system involving a test like that. It had been abandoned a while back, resulting in the current approach.

“I took that myself,” their father said.

Sakuta had never stopped to wonder, but of course their father had gone to high school in Kanagawa. A new nugget of knowledge.

Next to him, Kaede still had her head down, not joining in. Her hands were clenched. Did she have something on her mind?

Since she wasn’t talking, Sakuta spoke up.

“But all that makes it sound like prefecture admissions are stacked against her.”

And that left them with private schools. Which were much more expensive and thus a point of concern for him.

“Yes, the prefecture admissions system places Kaede at a distinct disadvantage.”

Since she had never attended classes, she essentially had no grades. And given her personality, she was unlikely to impress in an interview. Miwako was phrasing it gently, but to his ears, it didn’t sound remotely realistic.

“And in cases like that, we recommend private schools that offer open enrollment.”

“That offer what?”

He’d never heard that term before, and he looked to Miwako for explanation.

But his father answered first.

“In this case, I assume you mean schools that accept students based purely on the entrance exam results?”

“That’s correct,” Miwako replied. “Those tests also tend to be administered later in the season. We would still have a lot of work to do, but it would also give us a little more time to prepare.”

Listening to Miwako, Sakuta studied his father’s reaction. He sure seemed to know a lot about this subject. Sakuta had only started looking into it the day before and was feeling totally outclassed. His father had prepped for this. And that meant he’d been thinking about Kaede’s future for a while, aware that this day might come.

“But regardless of the admissions policy, private schools do tend to be much more expensive.”

Miwako pulled out another document and placed it before their father. A standard listing of entrance fees and three-year tuitions.

It was an eye-popping figure. Certainly not something a high schooler’s part-time job could cover.

“And these documents are for schools that Kaede’s academic abilities would permit.”

She laid out five or six pamphlets.

“I’ve limited it to schools within easy commuting distance of this address, but if we broaden that range a bit, there are other choices. At any rate, on the academic performance front, Kaede does have options for advancement.”

“Okay.”

Stage one cleared. But neither grown-up was looking any less stern. Clearly, the next stage was the real issue. Sakuta knew that himself, and judging by Kaede’s pursed lips, she did, too.

“Having said all that, from the perspective of a school counselor, it’s difficult for me to recommend that Kaede attend a conventional high school.”

She was clearly choosing her words carefully, keeping one eye on Kaede’s reactions the whole time.

“It’s unfortunately quite common for students who struggle to attend junior high to run into the same issues in high school.”

“Yes,” their father said, encouraging her to continue.

“High schools can force students to repeat a year, which can marginalize them even more. I’ve seen any number of students drop out as a result.”

Miwako’s eyes drifted to the table, her expression ambivalent. Some of those students had likely been in her care. It made sense that she felt responsible for their outcomes and regretted her inability to help them.

“If junior high doesn’t go well, and high school is the same…it’s difficult to regain confidence. And that can have a huge toll on later stages in life. Certainly, it doesn’t turn out that way for everybody, but it is a strong possibility.”

There was no way to know what would happen. Maybe Kaede would start high school, make some good friends, and enjoy herself. Maybe she’d come home every day full of stories about the good times she’d had.

But if someone pointed out that possibility was highly unlikely, Sakuta couldn’t argue with that.

He was more inclined to wonder what Kaede should do instead.

“As far as nonconventional options go, we have these.”

Miwako took another A4-size folder out of her bag. Also really thick. More high school brochures emerged, spread out on the table for them to see.

At first glance, they looked standard enough—but every school name was followed by the words remote learning.

Neither his father nor Kaede reacted to this. They knew. This wasn’t news for them. Miwako must have mentioned it to Kaede before. And their father had likely done his homework here, too.

“Each school handles things differently, but largely you’re watching prerecorded lectures and studying at home, at your own pace. You regularly submit assignments to earn the credits needed to graduate. This system avoids the issue of being unable to fit in, and the graduation accreditation received is no different from an ordinary high school.”

Sakuta picked up a pamphlet and flipped through it. He couldn’t really get a feel for what kind of school it was, but they had photographs of normal-looking field trips, school festivals, and classrooms. None of that seemed any different from the schools he knew.

The students were all smiling. They looked to be having a lot more fun than Sakuta, who spent his days in the periphery of his class.

“Kaede has only just started attending school again, so I would suggest taking the next three years to slowly readjust.”

“I’ve heard remote-learning students are less likely to last until graduation or advance to higher education afterward.”

“That’s unfortunately true. These schools are certainly not without their flaws. Since you’re not going in every day, you have to be responsible for you own progress, and that means family support is all the more vital.”

“……”

Their father nodded grimly. He was clearly unsure what would be best for Kaede. He knew Miwako was speaking from experience, and that carried weight. But Sakuta also knew why his father was uncertain. Both of them were thinking of Kaede’s future.

So he left the fretting to the adults and turned to his sister.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

She jumped and slowly raised her head. She gave Sakuta a long look, sensed eyes on her, and glanced toward the adults. Then she hung her head again.

Just sitting there while everyone talked about you was enough to wear anyone out. And for a girl like Kaede, it would take a physical toll as well. But this had to be Kaede’s decision. It was her life.

“I…,” she began, then cut herself off.

Nobody rushed her. They just waited for her to speak again. At her own pace.

Maybe Nasuno was worried. She came over and hopped up onto Kaede’s lap. Kaede gently petted her for a moment. Maybe that helped settle her down.

“I want…to be like everyone else,” she said softly.

Miwako reacted first. Brow furrowing, slightly lost.

Sakuta wasn’t sure how she felt, but verbally…she neither agreed nor disagreed.

“You mean you’d prefer a conventional high school?” she asked, quietly confirming what Kaede really wanted.

Kaede simply nodded. Twice, for emphasis.

“Anywhere specific?”

Her hand stopped stroking Nasuno. That convinced Sakuta she did have a school in mind.

“Well…,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. No further words emerged.

“Talking’s free,” Sakuta said. This seemed like it could take a while, so he popped a dove-shaped rakugan into his mouth. It felt like it absorbed all the moisture there, but that made the tea taste really good.

When he put his cup back down, he could tell Kaede wanted to speak. There were a lot of emotions in her eyes as she glanced up at him. He figured it out. It was obvious which school she was thinking about now. The fact that she was staring at him was the answer.

“Kaede, if you want some, help yourself,” he said, acting like he didn’t get it precisely because he did.

“That’s not it,” she groused, frustrated.

“Oh, tea? I’ll get you another cup.”

Miwako’s cup was empty, too, so he got to his feet, pretending he was getting refills. Mai would definitely have been stifling a laugh at this. But neither grown-up present said anything. And Sakuta didn’t actually move toward the kitchen. Before he could…

“Where Sakuta goes,” Kaede managed. Barely audible.

Not looking up, she spoke again a bit louder. “I want to go to Sakuta’s high school.”

She’d gotten her feelings out in the open.

Miwako looked extra lost. She’d just finished explaining the challenge prefectural schools entailed. And Minegahara’s admission standards were on the high side. Third from the top in this area. Kaede likely stood no chance of getting in, and her face made it clear she was well aware of that.

“Okay,” their father said. He took her words at face value without hesitation.

Sakuta put his hand on her head.

“You should’ve said so in the first place,” he said, grinning her fears away.

Ultimately, they decided not to make up their minds that day. They spoke a while longer, and then Miwako took her leave.

From her professional standpoint, she couldn’t offer false hopes.

“You can apply to Minegahara High, but your chances of getting in are almost nonexistent,” she said. There was no getting around it.

The reasons were exactly what Sakuta suspected. Forty percent of the admission standards depended on her transcript, and twenty on the interview. And most applicants would be able to score higher on the exam than Kaede could now. She could try to study for it, but the exam was only a month away.

Three factors, none of which Kaede could really do much about. “Almost nonexistent” essentially meant “definitely not.”

And after laying those harsh truths out, Miwako added, “I’m against applying there at all. Time is limited, and we should be focused on a more realistic option. I want to get you ready for that.”

A reasonable, mature opinion.

And that made Kaede go into her room, shut the door, and not come out, which effectively ended the meeting.

“I’m the bad guy here, aren’t I?” Miwako said, looking dejected.

“She’ll forget it once she’s had some pudding,” Sakuta assured her as they said their good-byes.

After taking the elevator back to their floor, he saw his father was at the door, getting ready to leave.

“Going already?”

“Yeah.”

Almost curt. Sakuta didn’t have to ask why he was in a rush. His father not giving a reason explained it all.

He was worried about their mother.

“Kaede is…?”

“Still in her room. I said I was leaving, and she just said, ‘Okay.’”

“Lovely.”

He followed their father out. They rode the elevator down together. Neither spoke.

When they got to the street, Sakuta said “Bye” and raised a hand.

“Sakuta.”

“Mm?”

He turned back.

“What do you want to do?”

After all that talk about Kaede’s future, his father had finally asked about his.

“College,” he said, not even thinking or worrying about it. Kaede had voiced her desires, so he had to do the same. “I’ll cover what I can myself, but it won’t be enough, so…I’ll need help.”

Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. He’d never really put on a serious face and begged for help before, and it was a little nerve-racking.

“Okay,” his father said. He looked almost happy. It felt like a long time since Sakuta had seen him smile.

“That something worth grinning about?” he asked.

But his father didn’t answer. “Look after Kaede,” he said instead.

He headed toward the station. Walking quickly. He was soon out of sight.

Sakuta watched him go, feeling like maybe he understood that smile after all.

He had been happy.

To be asked. To be relied upon.