University of Tokyo 's undergraduate program has a quirk: the first two years focus on general education before students pick their majors. So, a law student might pivot to philosophy's embrace, or an ancient literature buff might chase dreams of engineering giant robots instead.
Theoretically, you could aim for the elite medical school without passing the Sciences III exam… but with a success rate under 1%, it's practically a myth. Still, that doesn't stop a parade of stubborn academic daredevils from trying.
Takizawa, content to coast, just wanted to graduate.
Competing with brainiacs was a no-go. He'd stick to history, culture, or literature—playing cards, slacking off, maybe bird-watching—to keep life manageable.
Recalling past lives, he could charm professors with world history, banter with international students about classic essays, or riff on modernist thinkers to rack up credits. Wasn't that sweet enough?
As for grad school and master's or PhDs? Ha.
The key to life is staying happy.
Fresh into his first year, campus buzzed with vibrant chaos. Upperclassmen eyed freshmen like hawks, hunting for cute prospects.
At Tokyo U, just off the train. Thanks for the club invites, but I know no one, so I'm lying low.
To celebrate Kentaro-san from the Cosmic Research Institute snagging a Nobel Prize, the cafeteria offered katsu curry at a 10% discount with free iced lemonade.
Eating alone in a quiet corner, Takizawa was mistaken for a friendless loner and got a warm check-in from the passing dean.
The old scholar sat with him, offering encouragement and tales of his student activist days, saying youthful struggles were treasures to be opened patiently.
They traded shallow insights on primate evolution and civilization's cycles. The dean, impressed by Takizawa's fluent recall of 28 volumes' worth of history, praised his knowledge and invited him to an afternoon volunteer event.
A former class leader and model student, Takizawa couldn't say no to a good deed.
That afternoon, he joined a team on a bus to an elementary school to guide kids on career planning. My God, he thought, sixth graders here are already plotting their lives?
Shocked by the pressure, he gave a class rep a candid rundown on surviving the corporate grind, minus the groveling bits. Still, the adult world's darkness spooked the kid to tears. Takizawa mimicked a cheesy anime hero's catchphrase to calm them, narrowly avoiding parental wrath.
Back on campus, eating alone again, a photography club senpai snapped him unasked—moonlight and lamplight filtering through glass, casting a crystalline glow on his sharp profile as he gazed at his katsu, exuding icy solitude.
"Snow-Hued Loneliness Lingering in Life's Cracks," The senpai thought.
"Man, this katsu's juicy with killer sides," Takizawa thought.
She wanted the shot for a campus photo contest.
After some haggling, he took a portrait fee over her useless contact info.
Post-dinner, strolling near the dorms, he reminisced about his junior college days as top dog. Even the morning cleaners at the local internet café knew the studious kid who slept on keyboards.
He'd planned to live on campus for some reckless fun.
World-class courses? Skipping them would be a thrill.
But then he saw: second-floor guys in drag planning a cross-dressing retreat; third-floor med students simulating dissections, smeared in fake blood for realism; sixth-floor hosting a multilingual roundtable, each person speaking a different language, one guy signing so fast it looked like ninja jutsu; a student carrying a dried-out Kamen Rider suit; and another in a purple suit and clown makeup admiring the night view.
Takizawa quietly left the dorms.
He rode the packed train back to his apartment and crashed.
What's it like being a Tokyo U student? Those in the know get it. Outsiders can't grasp it. Online, you see what others let you see. The real stuff stays in the circle. You either get it or you don't.
He eyed his schedule. Work already ate his 24 hours, and now classes with big-name lecturers dissecting reality would carve out more.
Gotta get a car. This commuting's a hassle. Maybe a moped for now?
Next morning, he grabbed a Moped License Guide from a bookstore, flipped through it while munching pastries and milk, then hit the DMV for the exam. He aced the physical.
The 50-question written test was all multiple-choice. Pen flashing, he finished before others settled in, submitting early.
Results came: perfect score. He paid for the driving course, filled forms, waited, trained… and walked out with a 50cc moped license.
The pristine guidebook? He gifted it to a woman who failed and needed to retake.
License in hand, time to shop!
Women love shopping, but men can't resist gear either. Upgrading it? A wallet's nightmare.
He spent half a day at a secondhand market, snagging a 60%-new Honda moped—curvy frame, pink paint, wide seat, a red shrine charm tied to the handle.
The seller said its former owner, a college girl, got the charm working as a shrine maiden.
Takizawa pondered, then bought it on the spot.
Perfect. My first steed in this parallel world. I'll call you Pink Lady.
He nodded, satisfied.
Cruising streets on Pink Lady, breeze in his face, he passed pedestrians, kindergartners in yellow hats and red backpacks, and the clatter of train tracks. Seeing packed train cars, commuters' faces squished, he felt a rare joy.
But 50cc was too tame—speed-capped, no passengers allowed.
He patted Pink Lady's headlight fondly. Barely an hour in, he was already dreaming of a fiercer ride.
To trade up, he'd need cash.
Cue the burning urge to work.
Right then, his agent called.
What a nose for capitalism.
"Hey?"
"Takizawa-kun, the radio show was a hit! You nailed it!" Kashiwai Ippei laughed.
"Oh."
"Got some prime audition slots. Get over here—I'll cover transport!" Kashiwai knew his buttons.
"That's not right, is it?" Takizawa said, feigning modesty.
"Quit stalling. I'm paying—move it."
"Alright, I'm coming. Don't forget my 40,000 yen."
"Forty grand?! You fall in the ocean?!" Kashiwai gasped.
"Just bought a moped. You said you'd cover transport. So generous," Takizawa said politely.
Beep beep beep.
Call ended.
No chance for more sweet talk.
Kashiwai had his number, alright.
***
Every 100 Power Stones and 5 Reviews will earn you a Bonus Chapter.
And if you want to read up to 50 chapters ahead, don't hesitate to visit our patron: pat reon . com / XElenea (remove space)