Japan Private School

I wake up to the sound of my mum shouting my name, her voice growing closer with every call. I sigh and slowly open my eyes, sunlight slipping in through a narrow gap in my curtains. I yawn loudly so my mum knows I’m awake; she finally stops yelling but still decides to enter my room. She turns the knob carefully and steps inside, then quickly crosses to my curtains and yanks them open, making it perfectly clear I shouldn’t even think about falling back asleep.

“Morning, Mum.” Those are about the only words I can manage right now. My mother beams at me, and I notice she’s holding a letter, which she hands to me as I sit up in bed. She places the letter in my hands before speaking excitedly, “Nagi dear, that letter is from the most prestigious school in the entire country!” I look down at the envelope and nod silently. Why would I have a letter from “the most prestigious school in the entire country”?

My mum speaks up again. “Well, come on, Nagi, open it!” I give her an emotionless look before finally tearing open the letter. Here’s what it says:

“Dear Nagi Kazuki,

We would like to formally invite you to our school, as we have identified you as one of Japan’s most talented students. We have reviewed each of your exam reports since you began your education and although your scores are far from perfect, we have noticed that you always receive a 50/100. The only way to consistently answer exactly half of the exam correctly is by knowing all of the answers, which is how we have identified you as a skilled and intelligent student, even though you have tried to hide it. If you accept our offer, please be at Tokyo Station on Monday, August 29th, 2022. The train to Japan Private School will be train number 17. Kindly reply with your decision as soon as possible.”

I look at my mum and speak in my usual quiet, nonchalant tone. “This school... has offered me a place.” My mum grabs me and hugs me tightly, absolutely over the moon for me, even though, if I’m being honest with myself, I couldn’t care less about this school.

She speaks up again, “Nagi dear, you’re going to accept the offer, right? This is a huge opportunity for you, and who knows, you might even make friends there.”

I frown at her and reply coolly, “Mum, this school just doesn’t interest me in the slightest. If I went, it would only be out of curiosity—to see if I can finally find something that gives me motivation, excitement, a reason to live, a goal, ambition.”

My mum looks at me sadly and hugs me again, even tighter than before. “Oh, Nagi, I know you feel detached from almost everything, but if you take this chance, who knows what could happen? Maybe the impossible will.”

I sigh and rest my head gently on her shoulder. After a few minutes of quiet hugging, she finally lets go and gives me a supportive nod before leaving.

I walk to my door and close it slowly, my mind focused only on getting dressed so I can go to the arcade, as usual. I open my drawer and pull out a simple black-and-white tracksuit. My gray eyes drift to the mirror next to my bed, and I stare at my reflection—almost bored. Even after a night’s sleep, my wavy white hair never gets messy. I quickly change out of my pyjamas and put on the tracksuit, glancing once more at the mirror to see the same lazy, unambitious, and unmotivated fifteen-year-old boy staring back at me. I leave my mum’s house and head for the arcade.

After spending about half the day at the arcades—where I’ve just been playing shooter games, moving from one machine to another and breaking the all-time records (all of which are already mine; the last time someone else held a high score was at least three years ago)—I start wandering home. I always try to beat my own records, just to give myself some kind of goal, even if it doesn’t make me feel anything.

As I walk home, for the first time since seeing the letter, I think about the school’s offer. Should I accept it? My mum is right: it’s a massive opportunity. Since it’s Japan’s most prestigious school, all the country’s most talented and brilliant teenagers will be attending, which could be interesting. Maybe if I go, I’ll finally find something that gives me a sense of purpose, a reason to use my abilities, to feel ambition, to escape this dull and lifeless state. I look up at the sky and make my decision.

After accepting the offer from Japan Private School, the next two weeks blur by in a routine of sleeping, eating, and going to the arcade. Suddenly, it’s time to leave home and see what this “prestigious” school is really like. The school hasn’t mentioned anything about a uniform, so I assume they’ll provide professional clothing once I arrive.

I wake up to an alarm my mum set on my phone, just in case I overslept—which I often do, but not today. I get out of bed and go through my usual chores: brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and eating the pancakes my mum made for me. Every time I look at her, she’s grinning with excitement, while my own face stays blank.

After I finish eating, my mum hurriedly escorts me to the door. I sigh, step outside, then turn to her one last time and ask, “Hey, Mum, if I don’t like it there, I can come back, right?”

She nods quickly. “Of course, Nagi dear. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I hope you have a great time there, just know I’ll miss you!”

I nod silently and turn away, waiting for the taxi to arrive.

Eventually, the taxi pulls up. I get in the back and tell the driver to head for Tokyo Station. During the entire ride, I stare out the window, my mind empty—no excitement, no nerves about who I’ll meet or whether I’ll succeed at Japan Private School, just the same numbness as always.

At last, we reach Tokyo Station. I pay the driver and get out, scanning the terminal for train number 17. As I walk, I spot a group of teenagers about my age heading for a train. I look up, see the number 17, and quietly follow behind them. The teenagers show a letter to a tall, somewhat intimidating man who looks to be in his early thirties. After the group boards, I approach the man and ask, “Excuse me, is this the train for Japan Private School’s new students?”

He nods briskly and asks, in an impatient tone, “Yeah, it is, kid. Do you have the letter Japan Private School sent out?”

I quickly pull out the letter and show him. He nods, takes the letter, and gestures for me to board.

Inside the train, I notice it’s already crowded with students—it seems they’ve been waiting quite a while. I find a quiet spot and sit down, turning my head to gaze out the window. After a few more minutes, the man shuts all the train doors, and I hear the engine rumble to life. The journey is long and... loud; I can hear all the students talking, exchanging names, and discussing their former schools. Eventually, I turn my head away from the window and glance around the train. There are already small groups forming, laughing, and chatting together. Is it really that easy to make friends?

My attention shifts to a student sitting alone. He has an almost regal presence—tall and lean, with long, well-kept light-blonde hair and a strikingly handsome face. His light blue eyes radiate confidence. It’s not surprising that several girls are watching him admiringly. I look away and notice another solitary student: a girl, shorter than average, with fair black hair just past her shoulders and dark brown eyes. Her olive-skinned face is calm but serious, her gaze fixed ahead—lost in thought, perhaps. Unlike the blonde boy, she’s attracting attention of a different kind: students are giving her odd looks and quick, judgmental glances. She’s clearly not Japanese; she looks foreign.

Suddenly, someone sits next to me. I turn and frown slightly, but the boy seems unfazed. He grabs my hand, shakes it enthusiastically, and says, “Hi there, buddy! I’m Nawo Tyrent, and who might you be?”

My frown deepens as I take in his over-the-top energy. He’s a bit shorter than me—maybe 5'10" to my 6'1". His black hair is cropped extremely short, his light brown eyes are comically wide, and his face is round and babyish, lit up with an enormous smile. I sigh and reply in my usual bored tone, “Uh, hello, Nawo. I’m Nagi Kazuki... I guess it’s nice to meet you.”

Nawo throws an arm around my neck and grins. “Hey, Nagi, I have a feeling you and I are going to be great friends!”

My lifeless gray eyes drift away as he launches into a monologue about his life. For the rest of the ride, I just nod occasionally, pretending to listen while I stare at the floor or out the window.

Finally, after what feels like ages, the train stops and everyone falls silent—even Nawo—as a speaker clicks on, and a sweet, girlish voice addresses us: “Good morning, my little treasures. I hope the ride wasn’t too long or tiresome. Once you step off the train, take a moment to look at the Japan Private School building. Afterwards, I, the headmistress of this esteemed academy, will lead all first-years to the assembly hall, where the school system and much more will be explained.”

All the students cheer, except for me, the foreign girl, and the handsome blonde boy.

Everyone pours off the train to get a look at the school. Nawo drags me along with him. I take a long look at the building—it isn’t especially large, but it’s not small either, and it looks modern and impressive. At least the place where I might spend the next three years of my life doesn’t resemble some crumbling, ancient castle.

Nawo leans in and whispers excitedly, “This place looks amazing, Nagi! Can you believe we’ll be here for the next few years? I can’t wait to see how the education system works!”

I nod silently. Nawo seems to get excited about everything—the exact opposite of me, who hasn’t felt genuine excitement in years.

The headmistress approaches us—a young, cheerful woman in a neat, professional suit. Her skin is tanned, her green eyes bright, her dark blonde hair tied in a bun. She’s both charming and strikingly attractive. She quickly gestures for us all to follow her to the assembly hall. Inside, I notice that seats have already been arranged for each of us. Nawo hurries to the back and waves for me to join him. I sigh and reluctantly follow, hoping he won’t talk through the headmistress’s speech.

Once everyone has arrived, the headmistress claps her hands to get our attention and addresses us in a more serious tone. “Settle down, my gems. My name is Miss Sandra, and I am the headmistress of Japan Private School. As I’m sure you know, this is the most prestigious school in the country—a place where only the top students come to excel, develop themselves, and meet other talented individuals. The Japanese government and I have reviewed secondary schools across the country and identified you sixty fifteen-year-olds as those with the most potential to become outstanding geniuses who will thrive in any career you pursue.

“Before I explain how our school system works, let me give you one piece of advice: only the strong-willed and most ambitious students succeed here. Only those with the boldest goals can reach the top.”

I frown at her words. If only the “ambitious” students can survive, maybe this isn’t the school for me. Then again, maybe this level of competition is exactly what I need to develop a goal—something to strive for, something to bring back a feeling of excitement.

Miss Sandra gives us a moment to absorb her words before continuing. “As of today, there are 120 students enrolled at this school. The system is competitive and cutthroat: there are four classes—Class A, Class B, Class C, and Class D. With 120 students, there will be thirty in each class. Those with the highest average exam scores will start in the elite Class A; those with the lowest will be in Class D.”

A ripple of excitement runs through the hall. Nearly everyone seems either thrilled or anxious, while I feel neither.

The headmistress clears her throat and goes on. “For every lesson in which you actively participate, you will receive 10,000 yen, which is added to your value. All students are ranked by their yen total. Scoring a perfect mark in an exam will earn you 100,000 yen. If you don’t participate, you get nothing. If you score below ten in an exam, you also get nothing. Climbing to a higher class is simple: the student ranking system is based on yen earned through various achievements. To rise in the rankings and move to a higher class, you must surpass others in yen. The students ranked 120th to 91st will be in Class D, while those ranked 1st to 30th will be in Class A.”

An unfamiliar feeling stirs inside me as I absorb Miss Sandra’s explanation. What is this? Nervousness? Tension? Excitement? I’m not sure.

Suddenly, several adults in professional attire begin handing out simple black phones. When I receive mine, I turn it on and see all my details—my name, date of birth, current yen value (zero, like everyone else), and my average exam score of fifty. Nawo, beside me, laughs with excitement.

Miss Sandra claps her hands again to draw our attention. “Let’s conclude by showing you which classes you’ll all start in. As I said, your initial ranking is based on your average exam score from previous schools. Check your new phones—they also display a map of the campus, among other things. I wish you all the best of luck and hope you develop into extraordinary people.”

Miss Sandra walks away, leaving us to examine our rankings. I scroll through my phone and find an app called “Student Rankings.” I tap it and look for my name... and stare blankly at the screen as I see the number 120 beside it.

I’m dead last.