Prepare for War

Arata’s grandfather looked up from the small, flickering television, his eyes narrowing as he watched the news. 

"Would you look at that, Arata-kun?. It's as if the institute's calling for you to join," he said.

"Grandpa, I'd be once again rejected due to my family situation. Unless.." Arata spoke as his lips stopped mid-sentence, and his brows furrowed in thought. 

"Unless it's a public stunt where if you win Arata-kun, they won't be able to reject you in front of the whole world." said Grandpa as his lips curled into a subtle smile.

The old clock on the wall ticked over to 9 p.m., breaking the quiet. Arata headed to the attic where he studied , and sat on his worn-out futon.

He murmured to himself, "I... want to get into that Academy, let it be for my parents or my supportive Grandpa or..." he froze mid sentence comtemplating why he was so focused on that institute.

A small part of him hoped to meet and talk to people like Fuyumi on equal footing. Arata smiled softly as he found the courage to take on the exam.

Arata took out his old phone and stared at the cracked screen, his thumb aggressively swiping through a dense PDF of advanced calculus. The heat from the overworked battery began to sting his palm.

"I know, Grandpa. I shouldn’t let this chance go to waste."

Arata murmured to himself, his voice calm but sharp. Yet his lips curved into a subtle smile at the thought.

"But one day, I might share the same world as her. And I don’t plan on being the one at the bottom." as he remembered how Kujo-san looked at the bridge.

The word "study" didn’t seem big enough anymore. It was an academic battle between tens of thousands of students in the country.

He glanced at his stack of scrap-paper notes and reached for an old white notebook a shop had thrown away because its pages had yellowed.

Gripping his pen tightly, he began jotting notes and solving questions.

He glanced at his reflection in the small mirror on his wall and declared,

"Prepare for war, Arata. A war against every single high schooler in this country."

Meanwhile, in the Kujo mansion,

Miss Bertha called from outside Kujo-san’s room.

“May I come in? Fuyumi-sama, you’ve been studying all day ever since the exam announcement.”

“At this rate, you’ll burn yourself out.”

Receiving no response, she gently opened the door and stepped inside.

Miss Bertha saw Fuyumi sitting at her modern wooden desk, its built-in lamp casting a harsh light over a tall stack of newly purchased exam-preparation books.

She also noticed the leather-covered notebooks from her family’s own company, its pages filled with dense notes and scribbled answers.

Fuyumi Kujo wore a simple, plain dress, which contrasted with her usual elegant demeanour. Her fingers drummed restlessly against the edge of the desk, the pen cap chewed almost flat between her teeth. She turned to Miss Bertha and spoke in an exhausted voice.

“This is my final chance to prove myself, Bertha.”

“To make Father proud… and to at least compare to my sister’s endless achievements.”

Her thoughts faltered as a blurred memory of the boy on the bridge flashed through her mind, and she quickly brushed it off as insignificant.

She clung to one hope: if she could get into Kyousei, she might finally be acknowledged by her mother. The same mother who hadn’t even come to her birthday and always preferred her elder sister over her.

“I… I don’t want to end up alone,”

Whispered Kujo as her shaky voice echoed through the walls of her room.

Miss Bertha replied,

“You’re already working hard at your cram school, Fuyumi-sama.”

“Don’t make me think about that school,” She muttered in retaliation.

“It’s where the ones who missed their shot end up. A place for high-profile failures who gave up on real institutions,” Fuyumi added quickly, remembering the slothful students of her class.

The rumours about her echoed in her mind, each word like a quiet slap.

As she recalled, everyone she knew in that cram school only knew her because of her sister. Her vision blurred as the lines on the page wavered. Yet she didn't loosen her grip on the pen.

She knew well enough she was nothing compared to Sayaka Kujo.

The elder prodigy. Sayaka excelled at everything she did and made headlines so often that she’d already been entrusted with overseeing the publishing division of the Kujo family business.

“You’re worrying too much, Fuyumi-sama.” Miss Bertha reassured her.

She kept studying late into the evening, the scratch of her pen and the soft rustle of pages echoing through the grand, empty halls of the Kujo mansion.

On the day of the exam,

Sato Arata left the old-age home early. His grandparents and the other residents had spent the morning cheering him on, turning the place into a small festival with handmade decorations just for him.

On the other side of the city, Fuyumi Kujo arrived at the examination centre in her car. Miss Bertha greeted her with a small, approving nod—no speeches, no encouragement.

She knew Fuyumi-sama didn’t need comforting words; what the girl craved was the quiet kind of acknowledgment she never received from her mother.

A few weeks passed. As the two continued to live their vastly different lives, they each received a certain letter.

“Arata! You got a fancy letter in the mailbox!”

His grandpa shouted excitedly, then added with a playful grin, “Is it from that Kujo girl you met on the bridge? Don’t tell me you’re already that famous with the girls.”

Arata came down the stairs. He wasn't even going to question how his grandpa knew about that. Arata's face burned red as he heard the “awws” and chuckles of the other elderly residents in the old-age home, while his grandpa laughed in delight.

He took the letter from his grandpa, carefully opened it, and began to read.

[You have shown great competence in the Merit-Entry Exam held by the Kyousei Institution, and you are hereby invited to attend the announcement event on campus.]

Arata blinked twice, then turned to his grandpa, who was already standing on a step stool, reading the letter over his shoulder with a magnifying glass. The old man met his eyes and nodded proudly.

But Arata wasn't happy yet.

He could already picture himself sitting in the audience, clapping as someone else was named the top student in the country, as he pictured himself in the crowd, like always.

The mere thought made his confidence waver. His imagination was cut short by his grandpa, who said,

"You should go, Arata-kun. Even if you don’t win, at least you’ll get to experience what it’s like to be on that campus.”

“And who knows? You might even meet someone as famous as a Kujo there,"

He added, softening the advice with a joking tone.

In Fuyumi’s room,

“You’ve received a letter, Fuyumi-sama,” said Miss Bertha in her usual monotone voice.

Fuyumi carefully opened it, immediately recognizing the prestigious Kyousei seal stamped on the envelope. She took a deep breath and unfolded the page, only to find the same letter inside.

She wasn’t sure whether she should attend. She knew it would draw a lot of attention from the media.

She turned to Bertha. “When’s Sis coming back from her trip?”

“Sayaka-sama isn’t returning until late this month,” Bertha replied. “Too bad. She would have been thrilled to attend her little sister’s admission ceremony.” She held back her chuckle, thinking of the free-spirited nature of Fuyumi’s elder sister.

“It’s not time to celebrate yet, Bertha,” Fuyumi muttered.

“I might not be the one who gets admitted to Kyousei,” she added, wary of the consequences of a public rejection.

Miss Bertha added, “Shall we contact Mr. Kyousei for your admission, then?”

The very mention of his name made Fuyumi recoil in disgust. She remembered all too clearly the first time she had tried to approach that man.

“Oh, you’re Sayaka Kujo’s sister, are you?”

He had said, his tone dripping with false interest. “If you fail to get into my institution through the usual route, I can still help you on one condition.”

“You’ll have to make Sayaka-san attach Kyousei’s name to every single academic article in the news section.” As he spoke, a crooked smile spread across his face, calculated and insincere.

She could see it in his eyes that he viewed her only as an heir of the esteemed Kujo family and nothing more than a tool he could exploit.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,”

She snapped. “If my father were here, he’d make you regret talking to me like that.”

“But he isn’t here, is he?” Mr. Kyousei had replied smoothly.

“Too bad he’s off on a business trip with your sister, the one he clearly prefers over you.”

Those words had cut deeper than Fuyumi wanted to admit.

Shaking herself from the memory, she turned back to Miss Bertha.

“I won’t use that kind of underhanded method,”

She said quietly. “No matter what happens.”

Days passed quickly, and soon,

The Day of the announcement had arrived.