The Remake Project: Five Spares

The bell went, and chairs scraped back around him. His pen kept moving.

“Kurosawa, it’s your break time. We can finish the rest of the work later.” The teacher walked over and reached out for the boy’s paper.

“No, I’m not done…”

She sighed before collecting the other papers from the desks around him and leaving.

He enjoyed being easy to ignore, as that meant he would be left alone. Left alone to do as he pleased, and left alone to keep his own peace. But trouble had started to find him.

And today, trouble arrived in a group of five.

He didn’t look up, but he knew who was standing there just from the sound of their footsteps.

One set was light and slow, almost calm. Another was fast and loud, definitely not calm. The other three fell somewhere in between, except for one who dragged her feet.

“Look at him,” one of them said. “Break time started five minutes ago and he’s STILL writing.”

A chorus of identical giggles followed.

“Talk about a nerd, am I right?”

He kept his head down and paused for a moment before continuing to write.

“I bet he has no friends.” The voice was softer this time. There wasn’t much of a reaction from either party.

A pair of footsteps got closer. Arata looked up.

One of the girls was facing him directly, her fists clenched.

“WHAT? THINK YOU’RE TOO GOOD TO SAY ANYTHING?” Her voice startled Arata, and even her friends were taken aback.

Just as his mouth opened, the girl hurled the paper away.

Of course, it being a piece of paper, it took an eternity to reach the ground.

Arata glanced at the girl’s wide eyes before letting out a deep sigh. He bent down to grab the paper. “Why do you do this to m—”

Bang.

A searing pain shot through his head and spread across the rest of his body.

He forced his eyes open, but the classroom had dissolved into an overexposed smear of white.

As his vision cleared, he realised he wasn’t leaning over the floor anymore. He was pinned against the front wall.

But how?

He was already leaning forward, his balance compromised, when the force hit him from behind. It wasn’t a powerful push per se; it didn’t need to be. With only a few steps between his desk and the front wall, his own momentum did the rest.

He clamped his palm over the throbbing wound on the left side of his head, like holding in the pressure of a shaken soda bottle.

“Teacher…”

One of them approached him, leaned over, and tried to rip the pen out of his hand. He kept his grip on it.

“Let go, you dork!” She yanked harder.

He gritted his teeth and pulled the pen closer to himself, its tip hovering just inches away from his left palm.

…

That smug grin.

Strangely, the rest of her face would blur first.

She stopped pulling. For half a second, he thought she had given up.

Then she threw her entire body weight in the opposite direction, wrenching the pen with her.

“ARGHHH!!!”

He rolled to his left, trying to physically escape the torment radiating through his palm.

One glance was enough.

Blood. Not an insignificant amount.

His hand was stained with it, the blue ink bleeding into the red. Every heartbeat sent another sharp pulse through his palm, deep enough to make his fingers twitch.

No one was laughing now.

“D-Don’t you think that was too much!?” The girl at the back covered her eyes.

Arata looked back at the girl responsible. Her grin had vanished, and her gaze was fixed on his hand.

“Is someone still in there?” A voice came from the hallway, followed by footsteps rushing towards the classroom door.

“Shit—!” The girl glanced at the door before snatching the bloodstained pen and flinging it across the room.

CRACK!

________

“AH—huh?”

He sat up so fast that his vision went blurry for a second.

The second-term midterms were around the corner, and autumn had finally brought enough of a chill to make the courtyard pleasant again.

Today, he’d planned to study. Tests wouldn’t study for themselves, even if he wasn’t struggling. Still, a wise man once said, “If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.” Of course, the recipient of Arata’s explanation would just be himself, but it was better than nothing.

There was a stray bench at the far end of the courtyard, which was practically his annexed territory now. It was the only place he’d sit. Studying during break was new, though. Only nerds did that.

The first fifteen minutes had gone according to plan, but in the sixteenth, his eyelids had grown heavy. The afternoon sun was warm on the back of his neck. The breeze was cool and gentle. It was, unfortunately for him, a very cosy day. He had been sleeping poorly for weeks now, and apparently, his body had picked the middle of a perfectly productive study session to make up for it.

His left hand kept a tight grip on the pen. It was that nightmare again, wasn’t it? The same one, over and over again.

He put the pen down and forced his hand open, one knuckle at a time. Four small crescent-shaped indentations stared back at him, deep enough to sting.

He blinked. His skin was filling the little crescents in, acting like nothing had happened.

Naturally, his gaze dropped.

The scar had faded to a pale silver, barely noticeable now. If there was one upside to that whole ordeal, he’d basically become ambidextrous.

Maybe there were others.

He shook his head and picked the pen back up, completely unaware that he’d just spent a good thirty minutes knocked out on a bench.

A bell sounded.

Arata blinked.

He frantically checked his phone.

Wednesday, 30 September
1:28 p.m.

“For fuck’s sake…” He got to his feet and stuffed his notes into his bag with far less care than he had taken getting them out. Some of them were definitely going to have creases on them now, and he was already annoyed at the thought of that.

________

He did make it to class, just about.

“You’re usually back before the warning bell, Kurosawa.”

“I’m aware.”

“Did you fall asleep—”
“—No.”

His classmate stared at him for a moment, but had the social awareness to leave it there.

The lesson resumed, and Arata went back to his notes.

He was generally well-liked in his class. Well, something close to it. If you needed to borrow a pen, he always had a spare.

Make that five spares.

In group projects, he was the man to get for every ambitious student. He wasn’t warm company, but at least the job would actually get done. There was a comfort in that, even if it wasn’t exactly friendship.

The separation was harder to explain. It wasn’t hostility, or even coldness, really. It was more that the longer you spent around Arata, the harder it became not to notice the difference.

He could comprehend a lesson in minutes and then spend the rest of the hour complaining about how dull the teacher was. He could show up on exam day with four hours of sleep, tell everyone that he’s going to fail, proceed to get a ninety-seven, then shrug and fall asleep on his desk.

He could… you get the idea.

A few of his classmates actively sought him out when exams were approaching. He didn’t mind. He would explain something once, and if they understood, great. If they didn’t, he would explain it differently. If they still didn’t get it, he’d consider them hopeless and tell them to cut their losses. He had a talent for finding the exact angle from which a concept needed to be approached, and he didn’t pretend otherwise.

That last part was probably where the ego came in.

It wasn’t arrogance in the loud, obvious sense. He didn’t talk over people or dismiss them outright. But there was an unwelcome thought in the back of his mind, though he considered it mostly correct: he was just better.

He did not go around telling people this, of course. He wasn’t at that level of arrogance yet.

His classmates had mostly made their peace with this. That’s Kurosawa, he’s like that. You got used to it, or you kept your distance.

“Hey, Kurosawa!”

“Huh?” He turned around in his seat.

“Got a pen?”

Arata reached for his pencil case on his desk and unzipped it. “Why’d you not bring your own?”

The boy tugged at his collar. “Left it at home.”

“Yep.” Arata picked out the pen with the least amount of ink and tossed it to him. “Give me it back at the end of the lesson.”

“Thanks!” The boy clasped his hands together and nodded.

Arata nodded back and faced the front again.

Knock knock knock.

The teacher gestured for the person to enter. A staff member leaned in and scanned the room for half a second.

“Kurosawa Arata, could you come with me?”

Me?

Arata’s mind began rewinding to see if he had made any offhand comments that could have led to disciplinary action.

After an awkward two seconds, he decided to see where life would take him and stood up.

________

The hallway was quiet. The staff member walked at a pace that suggested this wasn’t urgent, which calmed his nerves.

“You’re not in trouble.”

“Yeah.”

She glanced at him and opened her mouth slightly, but where are you supposed to go with a “yeah”?

The vice-principal’s office was at the end of the second-floor corridor. Arata had been inside it exactly once before, just a few months ago. A teacher had referred him for an academic assessment he hadn’t asked for and hadn’t particularly needed.

He remembered sitting in the chair across from the desk and watching the vice-principal read through his file with an expression that moved slowly from professional neutrality to mild discomfort. That had been a fine meeting.

He entered without knocking.

“Kurosawa, good to see you. Sit down, please.”

The vice-principal folded his hands on the desk. “I’ll be straightforward with you. We’re running a new programme. It’s still in its early stages, but the premise is simple enough. We identify students who are performing well academically and place them with students who are struggling, with the participants sharing a living environment for a set period of time.

“The hypothesis is that academic habits are largely environmental, and that consistent proximity to discipline, structure, and a functional study routine can produce measurable improvements in students who have otherwise failed to develop those habits on their own.”

Arata nodded.

“We’d like you to participate as one of the high-performing students. The project will run until the end of the academic year, with the first formal review taking place once the midterm results come in. We’ll then assess the struggling students’ progress and decide whether any adjustments are necessary.

“If the project is completed successfully, there’s a stipend involved, and the programme will also be noted on your academic record.”

He slid a single sheet across the desk. “That kind of thing tends to stand out, you know.”

Arata skimmed through the paper. It was basically everything the vice-principal had already said, plus a request for consent at the bottom.

He lifted his eyes back to the vice-principal. “So, how many of them?”

“Five students. You won’t be managing a whole classroom, if that’s your concern.” The vice-principal chuckled to himself.

“I wasn’t expecting to.” Arata slouched back and let his eyes drift upwards.

…

“How are their results?”

“Not good.”

Arata leaned forward and looked the vice-principal straight in the eye. “Yeah, obviously. That’s why they’re in the programme.”

“Yes, that’s true. They’re… significantly below passing in most cases.”

“Hmm…”

Arata picked up the pen, held it for a moment, then set it back down.

“I have a condition.”

The vice-principal raised an eyebrow. “A condition?”

Arata propped his elbows onto the smooth wood of the desk. He interlocked his fingers, resting his chin against his hands so that his mouth was masked behind them. He looked more like a corporate executive than a student.

“I want a fixed bump to my internal marks across every subject. Regardless of how the programme goes.”

The vice-principal leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Kurosawa, your academic record is already exceptional. The stipend alone is a considerable incentive for a student in your position, and the programme itself would reflect very well on you in any future recommendation. I’d encourage you to consider whether an additional grade adjustment is really necessary, given what’s already on the table.”

“I didn’t ask if it was necessary, did I?”

…

“Look,” Arata said, putting his palms flat on the desk. “You came to me because I’m probably your best option here. Wouldn’t hurt to give me a little more of an incentive, would it?”

The vice-principal held his gaze for a moment, then exhaled slowly through his nose.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Kurosawa. That would be falsification of your academic record, which would be a serious violation of the—”

Arata stood up. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested.” He headed for the door.

“Wait!”

He turned around.

The vice-principal was standing now. “There is discretionary credit attached to the programme. Under normal terms, it would be awarded on successful completion.”

“Uh-huh.”

The vice-principal lowered his glasses slightly. “I may be able to have it applied to your internal assessment across all subjects, regardless of the project’s success or failure.”

“Across every subject?”

“Potentially.”

“Regardless of their results?”

“…Yes.”

“Hm.” Arata took his seat again.

The vice-principal did the same, then cleared his throat and looked down at the consent form. “Give me a moment to… think about what I can give you.”

“Alright.” Arata waited for him with his arms folded, slowly rotating back and forth in the swivel chair. He had nowhere else to be. Well, he had class, but that wasn’t the point.

Eventually, the vice-principal reached for a slip of paper, wrote something on it, folded it once, and slid it across the desk. He turned his head away. “That’s all I can offer, Kurosawa.”

Arata unfolded it.

“Eh… It’s okay, I guess.” He folded it back up and reached for the pen. “I’ll take you up on the offer, then.”

“Before you sign, one more thing, Kurosawa.”

He looked up. “What is it?”

“The arrangement is binding for the full duration of the programme. If you wish to terminate early, that requires mutual agreement from both registered parties.” He clasped his hands together. “Just so you’re aware.”

“Yeah.” He signed the consent form, then shook the vice-principal’s hand. “See you.”

Arata stood up, opened the door, and walked out.

HAH. I played him so well.

________

To: Shiraishi Ibuki

Re: Application (Group Slot, 5 Participants)
Date: 2026/10/02

Dear Ms Shiraishi,

We are pleased to inform you that your application to The Remake Project has been formally accepted.

Your group has been assigned one high-performing student. The programme will begin on October 5th and remain in effect until the end of the academic year.

Your request to house the assigned student at your current residence has also been approved, provided that a separate room is made available before their arrival.

The necessary parental or guardian approvals for all participants and the residential arrangement have been obtained.

Your continued enrolment remains subject to the academic conditions previously communicated.

Regards,
Academic Support and Development Office

________

The letter had arrived that morning, slipped through the door sometime between Nagisa leaving for her shift and the rest of them waking up. Ibuki had almost missed it.

She stood at the kitchen counter and read it once. Then she read it again, slower, starting from the top.

One high-performing student.

One? Really?

She lowered the letter slightly and stared at nothing.

She had assumed there would be at least a few of them. Two or three, maybe. A small group of “high performers” spread across a small group of struggling students, everyone paired up neatly, the whole thing running like a study group. She wasn’t a massive fan of the idea, but she was willing to give it a shot.

But one? For five of us? Who exactly is this…

Well, we could easily fit one more person in here, and if this person knew what they were doing, it shouldn’t be a problem. This is a school programme, it’ll be fine.

She folded the letter along its existing crease and slid it into her jacket pocket.

________

A few nights before she applied, she had gathered her own results first, laid them out on the dining table, and then gone around asking each of her sisters for theirs.

Mizuki had handed hers over without being asked twice, surprisingly. The maths paper was at the bottom of the stack. There were two dried droplets on the front page, enough to warp the paper slightly. Ibuki didn’t ask her about it.

Homura had given her everything too, though she asked an alarming number of questions regarding Ibuki’s intentions. Well, for Homura, it was expected.

Nagisa had only three. Maths, social studies, and Japanese. She said she didn’t know where the others were, which may or may not have been true. Ibuki had decided not to push it.

Kasumi had nothing. When Ibuki asked, she had looked up from whatever she was staring at and said she thought she’d scored somewhere between ten and twenty in most of them. She then went back to whatever she was doing.

By the end of it, she had copied all the results onto a single sheet:

Mizuki: Maths 34, Social Studies 36, Japanese 31, English 28, Chemistry 33

Homura: Maths 22, Social Studies 27, Japanese 39, English 24, Chemistry 27

Nagisa: Maths 16, Social Studies 20, Japanese 40, ???, ??? (thanks a lot sis)

Kasumi: “10–20s” (whatever that means??)

Me: Maths 32, Social Studies 36, Japanese 34, English 39, Chemistry 29

She had sat with it for a while after the others had gone to bed. Fifty was the passing mark, so that meant…

0/25(?). Impressively atrocious.

The quiz results from a few weeks prior had confirmed that it wasn’t a fluke.

She didn’t sleep too well that night.

________

The application had been submitted days ago, which was the easy part. Telling them would not be as easy.

She waited until everyone was home that evening, then called each one downstairs on her phone. It’s not like anyone would hear her shout anyway.

Eventually, they were all there.

“Please sit down, girls.”

“This better be important.” Homura reluctantly sat down, while Nagisa was already settled. Kasumi sat on the far end of the couch, and Mizuki followed suit.

Ibuki put her glasses on and gripped the letter with both hands.

“So…” She cleared her throat. “There’s something I need to tell you all.”

No response.

“I’ve already told you that the school sent out a letter saying that… if we don’t get our grades up soon, we could face disciplinary action.”

“Just say we’re going to get expelled,” Homura cut in.

Ibuki sighed.

“I-I’ve been looking into this thing the school has been running. They call it the Remake Project. So basically what they do is, th-they take students who are struggling, and they pair them with students who are doing really well, and they all live together for some time. The whole idea is that, if you’re around someone with better study habits, eventually those habits sort of… transfer. Yeah.”

She had a look at each of their faces.

“What are you suggesting, sis?” Nagisa asked. It wasn’t much of a question.

“I’ve just… I’ve been really worried about it because like, we all saw the numbers, and the quiz results weren’t any better. So I just kept thinking, okay, something has to actually change, you know? Like ACTUALLY change, not just us saying we’ll study harder next time.”

“Yeah…” Mizuki’s voice was faint.

Ibuki took a deep breath.

“I’ve signed us up.”