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In March, Tokyo's cherry blossoms were on the verge of blooming, marking the start of the hanami (flower-viewing) season. Streets across the city bustled with tourists from all over the world, eager to witness the fleeting beauty of sakura in full bloom.
At the same time, schools in Japan were preparing for a grand wave of new enrollments, as this was the traditional season for academic beginnings.
Fujiwara Tōru woke up at just past five in the morning. He began his day with a thirty-minute jog around his neighborhood, returning home to prepare a simple breakfast. As he ate, he browsed the news on his iPad.
The system's stat boosts had only raised the upper limits of his physical abilities; how far he could push those limits depended entirely on his own efforts. In other words, prolonged training was necessary to reach peak performance and achieve capabilities beyond that of an ordinary person.
This discipline revealed Tōru's deeply ingrained self-control. He didn't rely solely on the system's enhancements—it wasn't a shortcut to success. Everything he had achieved so far came through sheer determination and hard work.
By six-thirty, after a quick shower, Tōru changed into casual attire and left his house. Climbing into his Porsche Panamera, he set off toward Bunkyo Ward, where the University of Tokyo was located.
Today was the opening ceremony at Todai, and as the top scorer in the entrance exam, Tōru had agreed to deliver the inaugural speech as the representative of the freshman class. Opportunities like this—one that put him in the spotlight—were not something he would ever turn down.
It wasn't about seeking fame for its own sake but rather understanding that if he wanted to enter politics, visibility was crucial. While internal party elections required negotiation and backroom deals, public elections demanded name recognition. The more famous someone was, the easier it became to secure votes.
Democracy, as it stood, was often little more than theater. Candidates weren't chosen freely by everyone, and most adults voted without much thought—often following gut instincts or superficial impressions.
Take local assembly elections in Japan, for example. Campaign slogans were often bizarre, bordering on absurdity—a source of amusement rather than serious deliberation. When the majority of people voted based on impulse, democracy itself became a hollow concept. Elections were nothing more than performances staged for public consumption.
The title of "Todai Freshman Representative" alone carried enough weight to overshadow most others. It served as undeniable proof of one's elite status and potential for success. For someone like Tōru, who planned to climb the political ladder, this opportunity was too valuable to pass up.
Fifteen minutes later, at seven o'clock sharp, Tōru arrived at Todai's main campus. The short drive—only about five kilometers—indicated that his current residence was relatively close to the university.
As Japan's most prestigious institution, Todai's opening ceremony was a grand affair. The campus was festooned with decorations, and throngs of students and their parents filled the grounds. This day symbolized not just the beginning of higher education but also a rite of passage into one of the nation's most esteemed universities.
Early in the morning, the campus buzzed with excitement. Both parents and students wore proud smiles, basking in the shared achievement. Even those admitted with the lowest qualifying scores were still among Japan's brightest minds. Though success wasn't guaranteed, they were undoubtedly steps away from reaching it.
In the president's office, Tōru met with Todai's president, Fujii Teruo, who had been waiting since early morning.
"President Fujii."
"Ah, Mr. Fujiwara. Please, don't stand on ceremony—have a seat."
Fujii Teruo greeted Tōru warmly. The fifty-something-year-old president was lean, with a long face that exuded scholarly wisdom. A professor of engineering himself, he embodied the intellectual rigor associated with Todai.
"I've read your speech draft," Fujii said, pouring a glass of water. "Though some parts are quite pointed, remember that this is Todai—the highest academic institution in Japan. Academic freedom is cherished here."
"The entire speech will be delivered in English. Will you have any trouble with that?"
Tōru chuckled slightly. "President, did you forget my background? I attended school in America until my second year of high school. English is practically my native language. Delivering the speech entirely in English won't be an issue."
Fujii slapped his forehead, laughing sheepishly. "Apologies, my memory isn't what it used to be. Given your grades, you could've easily gotten into Harvard or Yale. Why choose Todai instead?"
While Todai was prestigious, it lagged behind America's top-tier institutions.
"If I plan to develop my career in Japan, Todai might suit me better than studying abroad," Tōru replied matter-of-factly.
Fujii nodded thoughtfully, recalling details about Tōru's background.
As a descendant of the Fujiwara family, if Tōru intended to make a mark in Japanese society, Todai was indeed the ideal choice. The connections forged here inevitably led to influential figures in finance, economics, and politics.
For instance, graduates from the law department often rose quickly through the ranks of the police force. High-level gatherings within the National Police Agency resembled Todai alumni reunions, as the university virtually monopolized leadership positions in law enforcement. Figures like Director-General Hakuba and Superintendent Fubuki Heijiro were both Todai alumni.
Without a Todai degree, climbing the ranks in the police system was nearly impossible.
"I'm confident you'll handle today's ceremony effortlessly," Fujii said with a smile. "Get changed, and we'll head to the auditorium together."
"Yes, President."
Tōru readily agreed. From his bag, he pulled out the prepared graduation gown and cap, changing in the office's private alcove.
When he emerged, Fujii gave him a thumbs-up. "With looks like yours, half the female population of Todai will probably fall for you."
Tōru smirked wryly. "I've heard there aren't many beauties at Todai."
The president sighed awkwardly. "It's true. Even among those who qualify for admission, many women prefer Waseda or Keio over Todai. And once they're here…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
Finding romance as a woman at Todai was notoriously difficult. Being labeled a "Todai girl" often meant being stereotyped as overly studious and incompatible with traditional gender roles like homemaking. Men, meanwhile, tended to feel intimidated.
Similarly, Todai men rarely showed interest in their female classmates. With such a small pool of women—and even fewer considered conventionally attractive—many opted to seek partners elsewhere.
Walking alongside the president, Tōru couldn't help but chuckle inwardly.
Inside the auditorium, upperclassmen were busy organizing the event. Conducting Todai's opening ceremony was a significant responsibility, offering valuable experience. Additionally, the influx of freshmen provided the perfect opportunity for clubs to recruit new members. Enthusiasm ran high as seniors worked tirelessly to attract promising recruits.
"Yōna, look at the guy walking in with the president—isn't he the freshman representative?"
"Wow, he's so handsome! Totally different from the usual bookworms we see around here."
One female student tugged excitedly at her friend's arm, pointing toward Tōru.
Snowfield Yōna glanced in the direction indicated, her lips curling into a flawless smile. She wanted to say, "Even if he's handsome, it's none of your business." But unlike her somewhat eccentric younger sister, Yōna excelled in social graces and tact.
Instead, she teased lightly, nudging her friend playfully. "Miyuki, why don't you give it a shot? Go try to win him over!"
Miyuki hesitated, then shook her head. "No way. Someone like him probably wouldn't even glance my way."
Despite her modesty, Miyuki wasn't unattractive. Among Todai women, she was undeniably beautiful.
Yōna encouraged her further. "You never know unless you try. Besides, you're gorgeous, Miyuki."
Flattered, Miyuki blushed. Indeed, Yōna had a way with words.
"Yōna, you're our campus goddess. Shouldn't you go after him?" Miyuki joked, though she quickly corrected herself upon seeing Yōna's nonchalant expression.
"Well… someone like him will definitely attract attention. If we can get him to join our karate club, it'll boost our reputation!"
Seeing Yōna's interest piqued, Miyuki pressed on. "Come on, do it for me! Just think, I'd finally have a chance to meet a cute underclassman. Please, Yōna?"
After some persuasion, Yōna relented. Truthfully, Miyuki had a point. From a pragmatic standpoint, recruiting a prominent figure like the freshman representative would benefit the club immensely.
"Fine, I'll do it. After the ceremony, I'll approach him directly."
True to her decisive nature, Snowfield Yōna wasted no time deliberating.