Chapter 34
Back then, our lives were filled with increasingly frequent quizzes and increasingly difficult mock exams. Test papers marked with red numbers covered the podium. The moment the classroom door opened, a gust of wind would rise, its fluttering motion like a sudden, cold rain in late autumn, as if it wanted to pierce through people's flesh and hearts.
A girl in the front row, her eyes red, picked up the test paper that had fallen at her feet, clutched it in her hand, and walked out without looking back. Although the class bell would ring in half a minute, no one found it strange; everyone just lowered their heads and did their own thing.
The class representative got up, tidied up all the test papers, put them back on the podium, and covered them with the blackboard eraser. Then I saw him pull out the bottom one, fold it into a small square in a few quick movements, and throw it into the drawer expressionlessly.
This was akin to a desensitization therapy; even though it always felt cruelly outdated in its execution, it was surprisingly effective. I could clearly sense that everyone in the class went from being tense at the beginning to being indifferent later on, but whether this was a positive or negative thing was hard to say.
Every year before the Christmas holidays, Rikkai University organizes a highly competitive mock exam for graduating students, with the National University of Tokyo forming a separate group, while the other universities are divided into three categories based on their question styles.
Perhaps the frequent quizzes beforehand had served as a buffer, because when I arrived at the classroom that day, I even heard the boys in the back row discussing where to go for Christmas. The atmosphere was very relaxed, and I remember that two of them wanted to get into the top-ranked major in Northeast China, which is no easy feat.
Seeing that it was almost time, I locked everything in the drawer into the storage cabinet, grabbed my pencil case, and prepared to go upstairs.
The classroom for the overseas study preparation class was used as the examination room for the University of Tokyo group. I stood at the door and took a look. The original desks had been rearranged. I remembered that the window seat in the back left row was Yagyu's seat. Niou and I used to play Othello here, and I even got to eat a homemade cheese tart that a second-year junior gave to Yagyu.
However, after Yagyu received his offer, I didn't see him at school for a long time. In addition, the student council had changed leadership, and I also lost the opportunity to meet him in the office. Not long ago, although we chatted briefly on Line about the new serialization of the mystery magazine, he was probably busy, and our conversation ended abruptly without a conclusion.
Find my seat according to my exam number, sit down, rest my chin on my hands, stare blankly at the blackboard, until a familiar figure came into my view. Sanada reached out and pulled out the chair next to me, glanced at me slightly, and didn't say hello.
Because of the fainting incident, I still harbored some resentment and couldn't shake the feeling of humiliation I'd felt in front of him. Since he wasn't going to say anything, why should I take the initiative to greet him, just to show I was being polite?
This mock exam used the university application preferences from the beginning of the semester to select candidates, so there were fewer people present than on the list. However, most of them were from the arts and sciences' university application group A. I only saw one person, Katakura Tomokazu, who was in Niou's class. Actually, I encouraged Niou to try, since he would have a hard time failing if he took the exam.
However, he chose to start his vacation early after the regular final exams. Yesterday, I saw a post of him shoveling snow in Sapporo with the caption "Wandering in the North".
I commented to him, "Are you some kind of samurai?"
He replied, "No, I'm a homeless person."
Sometimes I'm really curious about his thought process, and sometimes I envy his freedom. I know I'll never live like him, because all I do is sit here thinking about exam questions, my fingertips getting cold in the not-so-warm room, and if I don't force myself to grip the pen tightly, the words I write will be crooked and messy.
When I turned to the last page, I put down my pen, took three deep breaths, and then rubbed my fingers while looking at the words on the paper. Perhaps my little movements were too obvious, because I noticed Sanada's gaze, but when I looked up, I found that he didn't look up.
After lunch break, I returned to the exam room and saw a tennis team uniform jacket on a chair. The kind person hadn't left their name, but this act, which seemed like a "good deed of the day," reminded me of Yagyu. So, without thinking much about it, I simply covered my lap with gratitude and began answering the questions in the afternoon.
The final bell rang, the teacher collected the exam papers and left the classroom, and then a chorus of sighs rose and fell. I was infected by it too, not knowing whether I was relieved or wanted to sigh over the exam questions.
I got up and folded my coat. I turned around and asked the girl in the back seat if she had seen who put the coat there. She shook her head. At the same time, I noticed Sanada's gaze. This time, he didn't have time to look away.
"Did Yagyu come to school today?" He asked directly when his eyes met mine. "He should have brought it."
Hearing my question, Sanada suddenly became serious. I didn't know why he suddenly got angry. He abruptly stood up, grabbed the stationery on the table, threw down the words "I don't know," and turned to walk out the door.
Two seconds later, I realized the problem. I had been guessing based on my own habits, simply because I knew Yagyu knew how much I feared the cold in winter, and thus had drawn a conclusion without any reasoning. I reached up and pulled up the collar to check the size; it was a size larger than Yagyu's, and among the tennis club members I knew who needed to wear this size—
Thinking of this, I immediately rushed out of the classroom and saw his shadow at the corner of the stairs. After hesitating for a moment, I still called out.
"Sanada!"
The figure indeed stopped in its tracks.
Here's your clothes back.
I stepped forward without saying anything else, simply handing him my coat. He glanced at me, took it with one hand, and said, "Take care of yourself."
Those words, once spoken, stirred up that "undignified" memory, leading me to mistakenly believe they were a sarcastic remark directed at me. With only three months left until graduation, I even thought this was our last argument.
But just two days later, I stared at the grade on the mock exam results. The shocking letter C was slapping my cheeks again and again. I didn't know what expression my homeroom teacher had or how he was looking at me at that moment, because he had long given up on discussing my choices with me.
Standing silently in front of him, I think I just didn't want to admit that I wasn't as outstanding as I had expected, and I didn't care whether Katakura Tomokazu, who had the same aspirations as me, only got a D grade.
I just realized that, given the increasingly difficult situation where the application-to-admission ratio is gradually shrinking, not being able to get into the third category of science at the University of Tokyo has become a given fact for me.
I know it's difficult, but I never thought I couldn't do it.
I took the report card with both hands. The tinnitus in my left ear triggered a throbbing pain in my temple. I tried my best to control my tone, smiling as if nothing had happened, and said thank you. I turned to open the door, but the person outside opened it first. I didn't stop in time; instead, the person grabbed my shoulders with both hands, and I instinctively took a half-step back. I looked up and saw the face of the last person I wanted to see at that moment.
"Sanada, you've arrived."
The teacher sitting at the next table was from the humanities A group; she should have his grades there, but strangely, I wasn't curious at all.
"Move aside," I said rudely, looking up at him.
Sanada then moved aside to make room for me, my arm brushing against the button of his coat, and I walked out the door.
Just a few steps later, I heard slightly hurried footsteps behind me. He gently put his hand on my shoulder and called out to me, "Okada."
"What is it?" I turned around, the ringing in my left ear drowning out his voice, and gestured for him to take his hand away.
Sanada took a half step back and said to me solemnly and sincerely, "I really hope to see you at the University of Tokyo."
Looking into his eyes, I remained silent for a long time before letting out a cold snort and walking towards the other end of the corridor.
Perhaps we've had many opportunities to communicate like friends, but often, due to one side's taciturnity and the other's immaturity, it has turned into one unpleasant parting time and time again.
Even many, many years later, he and I still couldn't escape the strange cycle of being eighteen. Just like I never considered what Sanada was feeling when he heard about the incident at the judo gym and rushed over. Of course, I never considered what he was thinking when he said those words to me while holding a transcript that indicated a 90% chance of being accepted into university.
Fortunately, the shadow cast by the mock exam failure didn't linger for long. Aside from the persistent tinnitus, I tend to deal with emotions by solving specific problems, so I put it behind me. Considering I hadn't attended any form of tutoring, my research on application information was somewhat lacking, and the only person around me who could provide this kind of help was Katakura Minami, who comes from a family of doctors.
She was somewhat surprised to receive my call at this time. I could also hear Shinobu's voice on the other end of the line, although it was covered by a hand covering her mouth the next second.
"Those who attend tutoring classes to get into the Science 3 program are aliens. If someone can get into the Science 3 program without ever attending tutoring classes, they're a Super Saiyan," Princess Nan said bluntly. "There's nothing shameful about taking the human path."
"Is Shinobu an alien?" I asked.
"The children of medical professionals can go to private medical schools," Nan Nan smiled, and the voices of resistance on the other end became even louder. "I'm not joking and wasting your time. Although you may think I'm being presumptuous, my suggestion is that you choose the second category of science."
As soon as he finished speaking, I heard that it was Shinobu who took the phone. He shared with me the information he had gathered at the cram school in his not-so-pleasing Kansai accent—the science category 1 had the most openings, but the application-to-admission ratio was the lowest, and it was basically all fresh graduates applying. The science category 2 had fewer openings, but the application-to-admission ratio was high, especially since the proportion of repeat students was large, which greatly reduced the difficulty of the competition.
"Those who are determined to succeed in the Ryūzō school would probably look down on this kind of misaligned competition, but Okada," Shinobu paused, "I heard that your dream is to become a detective."
I understood his unspoken meaning. After all, I knew I was just using getting into the Science 3 program as proof that I was better than everyone else. Not wanting to delve into the matter, I thanked him and quickly ended the consultation.
Actually, what difference would it make whether I switched to the science stream (first or second category)? What I couldn't get over at that moment was that changing my application meant losing to my homeroom teacher who thought I was naive, and also meant I hadn't won against Sanada. Making the decision wasn't difficult; it just required my stubborn self to let go of that worthless pride.
That New Year's Eve, I was engulfed in the crowds heading to Yushima Tenjin. When the bells rang, there was no one around me except for strangers. Suddenly, I remembered Tezuka and me at Ebisu Plaza last Christmas Eve. We were watching lovers, families going on blind dates, and friends, feeling the joy of being immersed in a high concentration of happiness.
Finally arriving at the shrine, like hundreds of thousands of other test-takers who had come here before, I clasped my hands together, closed my eyes, and prayed for passing the exam.
When I looked up, snowflakes landed on my shoulders, and the roaring sound disappeared from my ears. This was my eighteenth New Year.
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