Seishun Buta Yarou Series - Volume 8 - Chapter 2.3

3

Two days later. Sunday, January 25.

He told Kaede he was off to work and left at nine AM, with the sun barely risen.

He took the ten-minute walk to Fujisawa Station. With three lines headed through it, it was busy even on a day like this.

The restaurant he worked at was on the far side of the station from his apartment, but his feet stopped in front of the station building.

He used his train pass at the gates to the Odakyu Enoshima Line and stepped onto the platform. There was a rapid express bound for Shinjuku waiting on the first line, so he walked all the way down and boarded at the far end.

On a weekday, it would be packed with commuting office workers and students. On a Sunday, there were plenty of seats left, and he found one right away.

When it was time, the bell rang, and there was a hiss as the doors closed.

As the train pulled away, Sakuta opened his bag and took out the vocabulary book. He was memorizing the contents one page at a time. After a few pages, he used the red filter to hide the definitions and review. If he remembered everything, he moved on; if he didn’t, he went back and started over.

He kept that up for a good hour, getting through forty pages of words. Then the train finally reached Shinjuku, the end of the line.

He put the book away and got off.

Crowds to his right and crowds to his left.

He found a sign, checking the directions to the south gate exit.

As he neared that destination, the lady he was meeting saw him across the gates. She had on a pastel jacket and a matching tight skirt. Like a fashionable mom at school for teachers’ day. This was Kaede’s school counselor, Miwako Tomobe.

“Find your way okay?”

“It’s a single train.”

“I mean in the station. You deliberately miss the point sometimes, don’t you? This way.”

She was laughing, though. Without waiting for an answer, she walked off. Outside the station, she headed toward Yoyogi. Sakuta followed, saying nothing. The crowds were dense enough that it was hard to walk side by side.

He finally caught up with her once she turned onto a back road.

“Thanks for joining me on your day off.”

“No problem,” she said. “I wanted to attend the orientation anyway, so your request was actually quite helpful.”

This was why he’d spent a whole hour riding in here.

An orientation…

But not for Minegahara High.

One of the remote-learning centers Miwako had suggested the last time they met.

“It would really be best if Kaede came herself.”

“Of course it would. But you want her focused on the prefectural exam, right?”

“Weren’t you against her taking that, Ms. Tomobe?”

“As a school counselor, yes.”

Miwako gave him a sidelong look, then smiled sheepishly. She hadn’t wanted to be mean about it. But grown-ups sometimes had to say the realistic thing.

If Kaede could get into the school of her choice, Miwako knew that was best. If she could fit in at a normal school and enjoy her time there, then great. She thought both those things but also knew what she had to say, and she clearly voiced her objection.

“And that’s why we trust you, Ms. Tomobe.”

“Thanks. Your saying that makes me feel like I’m actually helping.”

When there was a break in traffic, they crossed the street. Sakuta didn’t know his way around, so he was simply going where Miwako went.

“Kaede’s making good progress with her studies?”

“She’s working hard. Was up late last night, too.”

She’d been studying when he got back from his shift, and the date changed before she’d stopped. He’d made a late-night onigiri snack around ten, but when one AM rolled around, her light was still on.

At two, he’d finally said something—and there was no answer. He’d opened the door and found her asleep on her desk.

He’d somehow managed to pry her free and put her to bed, then went back to his room and slept himself.

“Worried she’s trying a bit too hard, really.”

There wouldn’t be much point if she got sick on the big day.

“Then you should probably talk to her.”

“She’s not gonna listen.”

Being dedicated and diligent was extremely important to Kaede right now. The downsides were obvious, but Sakuta was sure that discouraging her would benefit nobody.

There was value in letting her do things her way, as she saw fit, and finding out where that got her. If someone told her not to and she gave up before getting anywhere, she’d never achieve anything on her own. It would take away her chance to learn how to dig in when she needed to. And he didn’t want Kaede to lose that.

“And that’s why you’re supporting her choice?”

He felt Miwako’s eyes on him. Scanning his face. Testing him.

“You think she’ll get in?” she asked, taking it one step further.

“I hope she can,” he said, not backing down.

“You really never give anyone the answer they want, do you?”

But she was laughing pretty hard, shoulders rocking.

“I’m sure you know how difficult it’ll be for her.”

“Yeah.”

“You just think unless she takes a run at it and sees where it takes her, she’ll be stuck on it for ages?”

Sometimes your head understands the harsh reality, but your emotions refuse to fall in line. If you don’t try—and fail—you never stop clinging to maybes. No matter how slim the chances, human emotions are always snarled up in hope.

And once those feelings take hold, you can’t just let go of the possibility, not until you’ve done something. Not until you’ve at least tried.

That wasn’t just true for Kaede. It was how Sakuta did things.

Realistically speaking, trying to get into Minegahara might be a futile effort. But she wanted this, and Sakuta had to respect that.

He didn’t know if that was the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn’t. But he felt sure it was better than just doing what the grown-ups said you should do, especially when you weren’t remotely convinced they were right. He figured that making her own choices, stumbling, and picking herself back up would be valuable experiences and help Kaede in the future.

“The result may hurt her.”

“Then I’ll be real nice.”

“So you’re prepared to handle the fallout.”

“I dunno about that, but I can do what brothers always do.”

“I think you do a lot more than most boys your age could. Are you sure you’re a teenager?”

“Of course. I’m a fresh-faced high school second-year.”

“I don’t think any real teenagers call themselves ‘fresh-faced.’”

It was a boomer word.

“You’re a good brother, Sakuta,” Miwako said, still laughing.

“If I was any good, I wouldn’t need your help here.”

“You ever think about being a teacher?”

That came out of nowhere.

“Hah?”

He didn’t mean to react quite that hard, but it was a pretty huge leap.

“You’re going to college, right? Why not aim for a teaching license?”

Miwako was just pressing right ahead, heedless of his confusion. She seemed to think this was a totally natural conversational progression.

“Why me?”

“I think you’d be good at it.”

She made that sound obvious, but it sure wasn’t to him.

“Never.”

“Why not?”

“Sounds like a huge pain.”

What could be worse than trying to get through to students who wouldn’t listen?

“Is there a job you’d rather do?”

“I was planning on leeching off my girlfriend.”

“Ah, the gigolo life. That does seem very you,” she cackled.

He’d been joking, but Miwako sounded weirdly convinced.

“Oh, wait up, Sakuta.”

“Enough about my future.”

“Not that. This is the school.”

She stopped in her tracks. They were outside a standard commercial building; the first floor housed a café and a soba restaurant. It was made of red brick and was maybe three or four stories tall.

It didn’t look like a school at all, but the class door had a SCHOOL ORIENTATION VENUE sign taped on it.

They stepped into the extremely un-school-like building. Still deeply unconvinced this was the right place, he and Miwako rode the elevator to the third floor.

There, they found a sign saying THIS WAY TO THE ORIENTATION with a big arrow on it, pointing them down the hall to the right. A dozen yards down the hall, they saw a big open room, brightly lit by fluorescent lights.

A young woman in a suit was at the door. “Right over here,” she called with a pleasant smile. She looked to be in her midtwenties. Her name tag read Instructor, but she sure didn’t look like a teacher.

“Sit right here,” she said, leading them to a pair of empty seats. “We’ll be getting started in approximately ten minutes.”

And with that, she headed back to the door.

“Awfully young for a teacher.”

“Your type?”

Miwako was teasing him again, so he ignored the question.

“Our school’s staff is mostly middle-aged. Must be nice.”

He made sure to keep his voice emotionless.

Maybe it was the lack of age gap, but that instructor hadn’t felt uptight in any way. But she wasn’t too friendly, either. She was welcoming a new family now, maintaining exactly the right level of warmth.

Sakuta and Miwako were seated at a long desk built for three. A man in his forties and a boy Kaede’s age sat down next to them.

This hall was a good three to four times the size of a normal classroom, and there were maybe thirty pairs in that age range. Mothers or fathers with their kids, boys and girls.

All the kids looked like totally ordinary junior high school students. Stuck in a new place with their parents, not sure where to look. It didn’t feel like the kind of room where you could start futzing with your phone, so they were all sitting still. Age-appropriate immaturity and stress levels showed on their faces.

But if they were here, they must all have had some reason why they might need to consider a remote-learning option, good or bad.

And that’s why the room’s silence seemed to have an extra layer of tension.

As Sakuta looked around, the ten-minute wait sped right on by. The clock hands hit the hour on the dot.

And the young woman who’d seated them stepped forward.

“It’s time, so let’s get this orientation underway,” she said.

There was a stir as everyone sat up.

“We’ll begin with a greeting from the principal. He’ll be explaining how our school was founded and the principles upon which it operates. Mr. Tarumae, if you’d be so kind?”

The young woman bowed, and a man in a dark gray suit stepped forward. At a glance, he looked pretty young, but there were a few gray hairs there—probably late forties or early fifties.

He took the microphone and bowed to the crowd. He made sure it was turned on, then raised it to his lips.

“Thank you for attending today’s orientation. My name is Tarumae, and I’m the principal here.”

With that straightforward opening, he began by explaining that this school had opened a mere two years before. He made it clear they were still working out the kinks and had no intention of trying to hide that fact.

He was perfectly aware that their lack of clear results was a source of concern for potential students and parents.

But with that in mind, he proceeded to make the case that the school’s newness was both an asset and a selling point.

“Because we’re a new school, because we’re so young, we believe we are well equipped to create an educational program aligned with this day and age. Things are changing all the time. Twenty years ago, nobody could have imagined how online we’d all be, that we’d all have smartphones in our pockets. Today, if we don’t understand something, we can just look it up. We can easily do our shopping no matter where we are. We can stay in touch with friends and family over social networks. Our lives have changed dramatically in the past two decades. But has school? The way we teach has barely changed. Not since your parents’ time. Not since their parents’ age. Both now and then, educational approaches have remained static. That’s just ‘how it’s done.’ How ‘everybody does it.’ And nothing ever changes. Conventional schools cram thirty or forty kids in a classroom, running through the same lectures at the same times every single day. Even though those thirty or forty kids have thirty or forty different personalities and comprehension skills. Naturally, there are people who thrive in that environment. It’s just a fact that some students were built for conventional schooling. We have no intention of discrediting that approach. We simply want to offer additional options for further education. New educational approaches. The school of the future. And this institution was founded to do just that.”

Occasionally slowing to choose his words, or rephrasing when he felt an expression was lacking, the principal spoke on, eyes focusing on one future student or parent after another. Sakuta included.

“Our school provides all the basic education required for a high school diploma but allows each student to learn it at their own pace. Our classes are prerecorded videos that can be watched on your computer or phone, so students can learn at home, the café, or a family restaurant. Our specialized curriculum allows students to graduate by watching lectures for only an hour and a half a day and completing relevant assignments. There is no need to spend half of every day cooped up in a school building, and the students are always in control of their own progression speeds.”

Sakuta was jealous already. An hour and a half at Minegahara would mean going home after second period.

“I’m sure there are students and parents who are wondering if they can maintain that discipline, but rest assured, you do have teachers monitoring your progress, even remotely. When your homework deadlines approach, they will be using phones and e-mail to stay in touch. With our video learning system, your instructors are not conducting classes. But that gives them more time to communicate with each student on an individual basis. And they talk about more than just study progress; they’re happy to discuss all kinds of things, up to and including the student’s hobbies and passions.”

That certainly explained the warm vibe the teacher who’d seated them had. If she spent every day talking to students about their lives, you would wind up a good deal closer to them compared to normal teachers.

And that teacher was standing by the principal, nodding emphatically.

“By allowing them to acquire the knowledge necessary for graduation at their own pace, we give them additional time for what they really care about and let them try their hands at elective fields of study. If you’re interested in English, we have short-term study abroad programs. If you’re looking to get into an elite university, we have a specialized curriculum prepared in tandem with a prep school. We have courses on fashion, design, cooking, and programming, all provided through partnerships with specialty schools. Providing this new system of learning allows today’s children to learn the skills they need for the lives they want. We believe it is the way of the future.”

From what he’d said, it wasn’t at all clear what parts of the program were working and what parts weren’t. But there was a lot to agree with in the philosophy he’d outlined. A school that changed with the times and with the students’ individual needs.

Sakuta remembered that Miwako had talked about how there were always students who couldn’t fit in at school, in class, in those social systems. Everyone knew that, yet they still forced everyone into the same classrooms, gave them the same lectures, and had them attend the same functions. Perhaps that was because educational methodology wasn’t evolving with the times.

The idea that those who couldn’t fit in were to blame was definitely backward, and it made no sense that your life hinged on whether you could adapt to the current approach.

Social groups unconsciously generated malice and pressure, invisible to the naked eye but no less real. And the hormone-fueled environment of a school class was extra potent.

Everyone had long since worked that out, but nothing had been done. One false move, and anyone could end up like Kaede. Buffeted by jeers from your “friends” until you stopped going to school, stopped thinking you could do what everyone else did. Once that happened, it was no small task to pick yourself back up. It took a ton of courage and willpower. Yet few could understand that agony.

Nobody could understand until it happened to them.

“That’s all from me. Next we’ll be showing you a video that features the voices of students who’ve completed a year with us. What could be better than hearing it direct from the source?”

And with that, he nodded at the female instructor. There was a large screen on the wall, connected to a laptop.

Cheery music played, accompanying a video about the school itself.

It began with the same things the principal had just enthused about. Why the school was founded, how credits were earned, an average student’s schedule. After that, it was just what the principal had said—interviews with real students.

Q: After a year here, how do you feel?

The question appeared silently on-screen.

“At first, I wasn’t into remote learning or online classes. I thought, ‘That’s not a real school.’” The speaker was a uniformed boy with short hair. “But we’ve got uniforms and morning homeroom, and the teacher takes attendance every day in the chat room. We don’t have to be there every time, but it’s become part of my routine. In the beginning, I just watched other students talk, but slowly I started to join in. Even made some friends.”

He seemed pretty tense at first, but by the end, there was a smile on his face, albeit a sheepish one. Especially on the last line.

The video moved right along, switching to the next student. A smaller boy, with glasses.

“We can make clubs, too. When I first started, it was just someone I met in chat who was into the same things. It turned out we both played instruments, so we figured we might as well start a band. We found enough people that we’re thinking about playing a concert. We live all over the place: Kanagawa, Chiba, Saitama, and Hokkaido. We all got jobs so we could go visit the Hokkaido member. It was the first time we’d all met up in person, but we’d been talking online so much, it was really easy to adjust. We’re gonna meet up again soon.”

Next up was a studious-looking girl. She was really into English, and wanting to improve it, she’d done the short-term study abroad program that summer and apparently had a very good time. She said, “I want to go back!” and added, “But maybe I’ll try a different place next summer,” as she leaned forward.

The video was an ad for the school, so naturally, it was all positive. But everyone interviewed was clearly excited about their time here and eager to share. None of it rang false.

Sakuta could never talk like this about Minegahara. If he was asked about life there, he would never speak with this glow.

At best, he’d mention the view. That they weren’t too strict with the students. And that the Mai Sakurajima went there. There wasn’t much else to write home about.

As these thoughts ran through his mind, another girl showed up on-screen.

Long black hair. Tall and slim. She had her legs crossed, and her back was bolt upright.

Mm? Sakuta thought. She looked familiar. But he couldn’t quite place her.

“I started out at a conventional school. But I never really found a place in the social circles there, so I didn’t last long.”

That was rather grim, but she seemed fairly upbeat. And there was a distinctive bounce to her voice that finally helped Sakuta connected the dots.

She was in the same idol group as Nodoka, Sweet Bullet. At the concert he’d been to, she’d been in the center, getting the most attention. Her name was Uzuki Hirokawa. The fans called her Zukki.

He had a vivid recollection of her midskit claim that idols don’t wear panties. It was a hard thing to forget.

“People are forever telling me I don’t know how to read the room, so I ended up all on my own. I mean, rooms don’t have any words—what is there to read? Come on! So school got boring fast, and going every day was a chore. Halfway through the year, I’d completely stopped going, but then I heard about this place, and it sounded neat. So I quit my old school and swapped over! Now I’ve got friends. They tell me the same things, but here, people just think it’s funny.”

She laughed merrily. It wasn’t only her. Everyone in these interviews was happy and having fun, eyes sparkling. Full of hopes and dreams.

Uzuki was the closer, and the screen soon faded to the ending music.

When orientation ended and Sakuta and Miwako left the venue, the sun was high above. It was twelve thirty.

They headed back the way they’d come, to Shinjuku Station.

“What did you make of it?” Miwako asked.

“Seems like the kinda school a pantyless idol would choose.”

Thanks to Uzuki’s last-minute appearance, Sakuta’s impression of the school was irrevocably tied to her.

“A what now?” Miwako said, puzzled. As well she might be. It was a statement that required context.

“Uh, never mind,” he said. “It was certainly not what I expected.”

That was his main takeaway. It was the exact opposite of what he’d assumed remote learning implied. It seemed full of vim and vigor.

“What the principal said seemed like good stuff. It made sense to me, anyway.”

“I’m definitely in favor of adapting educational approaches to fit the times. And new schools have less red tape and are able to tackle that approach better.”

New ways of learning.

A school built for today.

It was hard to tell how much of that was practical and how much of it idealized. But the core principles and desire to put them into practice was something Sakuta could respect.

He felt like the trip had been worth it just to know a place like that existed.

Now he and Kaede would just have to figure out what to do, even as they prepped for the prefectural exam.