At some point, Tokyo had gotten a bit warmer.
Not that it was anything like the brutal heat of July and August—noon highs were around twenty-four degrees. Apart from his thick spring uniform from private Jōsei High feeling stifling, nothing else was affected.
May 26th—three days since Aoki had taken Shuchiin Private High's entrance test.
The results came out the very next afternoon. Hiratsuka Shizuka had called in a voice full of surprise to tell him he'd aced it—perfect scores across the board.
Aoki wasn't shocked. Between work and self-study he had almost no personal life. If his grades weren't excellent under those conditions, he might as well quit school and work full-time.
After getting the green light to transfer, he went to Jōsei the next morning and filed the paperwork. The teachers and administrators were regretful, but he'd made up his mind.
That same day, he rode the train to Shuchiin, paid tuition, and finished admissions.
He had to admit—Hiratsuka moved fast. The very next morning he got the call to start attending.
He put on Shuchiin's uniform, slung on his bag, grabbed the trash, and left his apartment.
A twenty-minute ride later, around eight, he reached the campus he'd only visited once before.
He took a deep breath at the sight of that absurdly long hill.
Shuchiin was better than Jōsei in every way—except one: the never-ending slope at the gate, unfriendly to the lazy and low-stamina alike.
…
Even as he waited at the gate for Hiratsuka, he still didn't know what class he'd be placed in.
When she arrived and led him inside, he finally asked, "Ms. Hiratsuka, you never told me—what class am I transferring into?"
She blinked. "I didn't? Huh… Well, since you know me, I asked the head teacher to put you in my class—2-F."
"…," he fell silent.
For a second he regretted transferring. If he'd stayed quietly at Jōsei, he might at least live to graduate. Now…
Remembering how she'd man-handled him the other day, a chill crawled up his neck.
He took a deep breath and spoke earnestly, "Ms. Hiratsuka, I'll share some of my part-time income with you, so please stop resorting to violence. I'm not very sturdy…"
"Hey! What do you take me for?!" Her brow twitched.
"I was only asking if you have a boy—"
She turned and glared.
Under that older-single-lady mix of shame and "say one more word and I'll kill you," he shut up.
They walked on in silence. He followed her into the building.
It was between classes; the hall was noisy.
Checking her watch, she winced at the din. "Seven minutes till the bell. Next period's mine—come wait in my office."
"Okay."
He sat by her desk. He figured he'd just wait it out, but she suddenly lowered her voice. "So, Aoki-kun… About that job at a bar off-campus…"
He looked over, leaning back a little.
Shuchiin, like Jōsei, banned students from working in bars and other age-restricted venues—stricter, even. In serious cases, it meant expulsion.
He'd memorized all that before enrolling. The topic made him tense.
"When I handled your admission, I saw your family situation… I'm sorry about what I said the other day."
She apologized again, then added, "As for the bar… Given your circumstances I can't forbid it. I'll cover for you with the school. But after seeing your scores, I really… hope you can focus more on studying."
He sighed. "I know you mean well. But there's really no solution—"
"The best-paying, least draining job I could find is the bar, and even that has me there till one in the morning. And the pay barely covers living costs."
"You said 'no solution'—not 'none at all.'" She swiveled to her desk, rummaged, and handed him a grade sheet.
"Shuchiin isn't Jōsei. Here, top ten in the year gets a decent scholarship. Top three get even more. First place… eight hundred thousand yen."
"E-eight hundred thousand?!"
Minimum hourly wages in Tokyo were about a thousand yen. Even working eight hours a day, that was roughly 240,000 a month.
Shuchiin's first-place scholarship was 800,000.
Even quitting school to work full-time, he'd need more than four months to make that.
He silently did the math. If he could snag that scholarship, plus his part-time eighteen-man per month, his income would shoot up—several times over.
He looked at the grade sheet—a recent ranking, by the look of it.
His eyes went straight to 2nd-year's top spot: nearly all perfect scores.
Name: Yukinoshita Yukino.
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