Pathway to Japanese Literature

I The steam whistle echoed hollowly through the deserted station grounds. The train carrying me departed Wakamatsu Station at 3 AM, still enveloped in darkness.

“Well then, goodbye.” “Since you’re graduating this year too, study hard.” “I’ll do my best this year for sure, so…” I said to my younger brother, who had come to see me off outside the window, my voice thick with emotion. Wearing his middle school uniform with the fifth-year emblem on its collar—he who had grown markedly more mature of late—my younger brother bowed his head in silence, his expression like compressed vigor pooled at its depths. No doubt he too had found no words adequate for this send-off of his good-for-nothing elder brother embarking on yet another futile journey. When I considered it, I had already been overtaken by my younger brother. Though my departure for Tokyo preceded his by three months now, once he too cast off that middle school uniform come April, he would be joining me in the capital. With renewed and peculiar emotion, I fixed my gaze upon my brother’s motionless figure.

I wanted to say something more to my brother. But the train had already begun moving slowly, utterly indifferent to everything. From my eyes that had involuntarily filled with tears, the hazy lamplights tinged with approaching dawn and the platform where station attendants stood like bats receded further into the distance with each passing moment. The diminished figure of my younger brother had already started walking away. And he didn't seem to be looking this way. Still I tried to cast one final parting glance, but at that moment a dark shadow—likely piled lumber—blocked the space between me and the platform. When that darkness cleared again, the train had already traveled far from the cluster of lamplights—the lingering remnants of my hometown.

I finally withdrew my head from the window. And struck by vague traveler’s emotions, pressing down on eyelids that threatened to grow hot, I began contemplating how I had come to this point.――

For me, this journey was nothing short of a desperate gamble. The humiliating failure from last year's First Higher School exam—this year's attempt following it had to succeed at all costs. Yet why hadn't I applied myself more thoroughly last year? The primary cause lay in my belated move to Tokyo. I'd placed too much faith in my brilliant brother-in-law's counsel, mistakenly trying to spend those crucial post-graduation months studying in the uninspiring countryside. Had I relocated to Tokyo sooner and steeped myself in that urgent atmosphere, my studies might have gained sharper focus, my exam strategies grown more sophisticated. Then perhaps I could have passed like my friend Mishima. But really—whether Mishima or myself, there couldn't have been any real disparity in mental capacity. Not only that—my graduation marks had even been superior. During our pre-exam discussions too, I'd clearly possessed greater knowledge. Yet when results came, while he passed with flying colors, I failed utterly. Where on earth had that difference between us taken root?

It seemed that difference had arisen from nothing more than whether he or I knew a single English vocabulary word. At least, that's what I thought. The divergence between his fate and mine had come down to how we each translated that accursed word "Promotion" in the first English question. I hadn't known this term. So I'd pieced together a plausible translation from the surrounding context. (Even now, remembering this fills me with shame.) That interpretation turned out wrong when I later checked. In all other problems—across every subject—we'd always compared answers on our way home and reached consensus, but this one alone stood as my undeniable failure.

There may have been other failures on my part as well. And perhaps an invisible disparity had taken root between us. Yet in selection exams decided by paper-thin margins, knowing or not knowing a single vocabulary word could instantly determine one’s fate. No—it must work that way. They say passing and failing hinge on differences no greater than five points.—At any rate, in my case, I feel certain everything turned on that one word. Because of it, I endured six months of humiliation beyond description. Father rebuked me. Mother wept over me. Even my brother-in-law and sisters regarded me with contempt. Only Sumiko-san—my brother-in-law’s cousin toward whom I harbored secret feelings—showed sympathy, even sending a consoling letter, though surely she too must have privately scorned me. Yet even so, her kindness remained my sole glimmer of light until now.

Even this early departure for Tokyo—Father had not been at all inclined to permit it. But because I swore that if I didn’t get in this year, I’d ruin myself, he finally relented. Therefore, in any case, if I didn’t get in this year, I couldn’t go home alive. And then there was my brother. Now I ended up sharing the same exam period as him. When I thought about that, I felt unbearably ashamed for no clear reason.

In any case, once I went to Tokyo, I had to study diligently. Thinking this made my heart leap. And now, within today, I was already in Tokyo. From the gloomy, humiliating seclusion at home, I had emerged into that glittering metropolis where I could study freely. Moreover, in Tokyo awaited my beloved Sumiko, whom I hadn’t seen in six months since last August. When I went to Tokyo, she would undoubtedly come to visit my brother-in-law’s house with her usual bright smile as always. How much that would encourage me—and yet, why hadn’t I managed to enter First Higher School last year in front of her? If I had gotten in, I’d be wearing a white-striped cap by now and could meet her with my head held high. When I thought about that, I grew vexed. But this year—this year was it. If I got in this year, everything would be fine.—“This year—this year is it,” I muttered once more. And as time passed, I found myself absentmindedly listening to the drowsy clatter of wheels that seemed to murmur, “This year—this year, this year.”…

When I suddenly noticed and looked, the train window on my right had abruptly taken on a silvery light. The train had already passed several stations unnoticed and was now running along Lake Inawashiro at dawn.

The lake surface appeared uniformly dotted with small ripples, pale despite being dawn. Beyond the widely spread water, the mountains around Nunobiki were wrapped in clouds racing toward daybreak, their border with the sky dissolving into ambiguity. To my eyes, only Asakayama-hana stood out sharply where it divided the panorama's left side, making the entire lakescape feel vaster and more desolate than usual.

A cold wind blew in through the window. Yet struck by something beyond myself, I gazed fixedly at this lakescape. I felt there was some ineffable suggestion lingering there. It seemed to me that the true dawn of my being—the dawning of a newly unfolding fate—was being intimated in that vista. Tears rose unbidden to my eyes.

Dawn broke over the mountain-fringed lagoon.

The train was supposed to arrive at Ueno before dusk. The train still carried me and my musings, swaying yet frantically hurrying toward that destination—

II

Since becoming part of my brother-in-law’s household here once again—it had now been about a month since yesterday or today—nothing particularly noteworthy had occurred in the interim. Whether it was due to my own perspective, both my brother-in-law and sister had already reverted to their usual attitudes. Though they might occasionally touch upon my last year’s failure with sarcastic jabs, those remarks were entirely spontaneous and did not seem to indicate they held me in complete personal contempt.

Truly, failing an exam once was almost a matter of course. If they made such a big deal of it every time, we examinees would never survive. The room remained identical to last year's—my brother-in-law had lent me the same six-tatami-mat space in the second-floor corner adjoining his study. There I found the same shabby desk draped with its blue cloth cover. On the wall still hung the framed photographic print of Millet's painting I'd mounted the previous year. Though these objects had once felt dear to me, their constant reminders of last year's failure grew unbearable. I replaced the desk cover with a russet-brown one and swapped out The Angelus for a portrait of Napoleon. With this, my life as an examinee had been restructured.

As for my studies, during the first week after arriving in Tokyo, the stimulation of the changed environment had kept me on edge—my spirits taut despite lacking settledness. But when I considered there were still six months until the exams, an unconscious sense of the long road ahead crept in, along with a complacent notion that slacking off just a little more wouldn’t hurt. Lately I’ve simply been flipping through reference books without purpose. The only properly exam-taker-like thing I’ve done was devise a slightly grandiose plan to collect every past exam question from the last ten years—scouring used bookstores during my walks. I’ve already gathered seven years’ worth. Once I’ve collected them all, I plan to go through the entire set at my leisure. Because I believe doing so will let me grasp the knack of these problems at least a little.

Since most people read Minamihi’s English Interpretation Method at least five times, I supposed I really ought to start reading it before long. Last year, I had only managed to read it once—and even that had been a struggle.

But since I had free time, I decided to at least attend the preparatory school. The lectures there placed greater emphasis on how to utilize one’s abilities rather than building foundational skills—on how rather than what. As an institution, I thought it was truly irregular. But the lectures were interesting. Even when I listened absentmindedly, they remained engaging. A preparatory school is a place one should attend half in play. Even so, it proved sufficiently effective. Unconsciously stimulating examinees’ minds, honing their shrewdness, and—most crucially—serving as an institution that imposed discipline upon their lives, so prone to irregularity, by first providing them with school-like structure. In any case, for me, the preparatory school had to be nothing more than an ideal place to kill time.

In my free time, I would often visit my fellow examinees. They too seemed to be idling about listlessly. Asanuma was lodging in Kanda Nishikichō, but whenever I went to see him, there was only an algebra textbook laid face down on his desk—ostensibly as an excuse—while he himself was invariably playing a game of Go with someone. As for Sasaki—who was staying with a senior from our hometown at an amateur boarding house in Nezu—though I visited him frequently, he was usually out. Of course, since his intended major was humanities, he was probably being carefree—but according to the people at his lodging, he was constantly going to places like the Ueno Exhibition, theaters, and vaudeville halls. Even so, this person’s idleness was still of a better sort.

When it came to the art of play, Sato of Shinbana-chō in Hongō was the prime example. He was said to engage in bad pastimes—rumors that were rampant among his friends. Among his peers, there were even those who worried about him for that reason and attempted to offer advice. However, he—who had come to Tokyo under the pretext of taking exams to begin with—paid no heed to such words. Last year as well, despite having applied to Kōkō, he arrived a mere twenty minutes late on exam day—and when denied entry to the examination hall, he—having paid the exam fee—demanded they at least give him the questions, leaving with nothing but those in hand—a story so notorious it had become legend. The reason for his lateness that time was rumored to be something like having drunk too much the previous night. I too had once dropped by while out for a walk. He was puffing away at white plum tobacco with a long pipe. And he appeared slightly drunk.

“Oh! Rare visitor—you actually made it.” “Still, good you came today.” “You hardly ever come around—wouldn’t do for me to be out when you finally show up.” “Truth is, I’m broke today—special-like reason for staying in.” “Tokyo’s a drag without cash.” “With money, I wouldn’t be stewing in this boarding-house attic on such a fine night.” “But since I was stewing anyway—perfect timing.” “Well, take your sweet time talking.” “Even you crammers deserve one night’s fun now and then.” “What’s that? ‘Haven’t even started studying yet’?” “Bullshit—but whatever. Make yourself at home.” “Want me to treat you?” “No dough to take you out—if you can stomach this dump’s slop, name your poison.” “Hell, I’m just using you as an excuse to eat something myself.” “Quit being so damn polite.” “How ’bout we crack open some sake?…”

After saying such things one after another, he left me flustered. And even as I earnestly declined, he persisted in saying such things with a teasing look. “You’re as rigid as ever, I tell you.” “Most people gain some worldly wisdom once they fail an exam, but you’re truly exceptional.” “Well, despite being in Tokyo of all places, you lot deliberately avoid the interesting spots.” “In that city, I’d absolutely like to show you at least one fascinating place.” “But for that, you’d probably need to fail your exams once or twice more and become properly desperate first.” “If you’d like, come by anytime—I’ll happily guide you around. Oh, don’t go getting all serious and indignant like that.” “Either way, everyone’s bound to visit those places eventually.” “I’ve just stepped into that world sooner than the rest of you.” “So if it’s that sort of place you want, I’ll gladly serve as your guide anytime.”

At first, I listened to what he said with some curiosity, but gradually grew uncomfortable. After enduring it for about thirty minutes, I finally announced my leave and stood up.

“Oh? Leaving already?” “That’s quick.” “Then do come again.” “If I’ve offended you in any way, I beg your pardon.” “I’m not always like this, you know.” “But I’ve really gone to ruin, haven’t I.” Having said that, he suddenly let his eyes fill with tears. I saw him here too as one of the most fearsome shipwrecked casualties in the exam world—the most typical among them. While returning home, I thought that becoming like him would spell my end. I told myself there was no way I could possibly end up that way. I resolved I must strive not to become so. I felt a terrible dread somehow. And after that day, I never visited him again.

Matsui, on the contrary, was one of the more serious ones among our peers. He was renting a room at a temple in Koishikawa Kohinata. It was a gloomy west-facing room, but precisely because of that, quiet and pleasant. Matsui always seemed to spend his days sitting there—having pulled his desk close beneath the dim shoji screens, one cheek propped motionless in his hand—neither reading nor thinking. In reality, he was no studious person. His mind, if anything, tended toward dullness. He was merely clamped to his desk, trying by any means to put his exam preparations in order. But regardless, he remained the most diligent. And he contemplated the exams with utmost earnestness. Thus I visited this Matsui most frequently. The two of us would invariably talk about our preparation progress.

“It’s about time we started getting serious, don’t you think?” “Yeah, I guess so.” He would often give simple responses. “Have you made any headway?” “No. I’ve only just started working on algebra. I’m just no good with algebra. I failed algebra last year too, you see,” he said with a furrowed brow.

“Is that so.” “In mathematics, my weakness is trigonometry.” “So if I start working on it now, it would be fine—but I just can’t muster the motivation.”

Our conversations tended to be nothing but a continuous string of such exchanges. Even so, when we talked about exams, I somehow felt invigorated and strengthened. When parting, we would surely say such things to each other.

“Well then, I suppose I’ll finally start tomorrow.” “Yeah, let’s both do our best.”

However, when the two met next, neither had studied much. And upon realizing each other’s lack of preparation, we each found ourselves privately relieved.

Matsui was aiming for the Second Division. And this year too, before taking the Higher School exams, he was supposed to take the Higher Technical School exam in April. Speaking of April, there were only about two months left. Yet there was no sign he was studying in any noticeable way. “You’re making good progress, aren’t you? We’ve really got to start now. Are you sure you’re all right?” I finally ventured to ask so bluntly. “Yeah... I’ve been thinking the same thing, but... My head just isn’t working right, and it’s really getting to me. At this rate, I might not make it this year either.”

“Don’t say things like that—I’ll get serious.” “Well, I mean to do what I can, I suppose.”

Having said this, he lowered his dim and unfocused eyes onto the geometric diagram he had drawn earlier. I felt sorry for his condition. Yet at the same time, hearing that others' preparations weren't progressing stirred a certain pleasure within me. I found myself wishing every last one of my competitors could stay exactly like this. Even so, my own studies made no progress either. With this, my early move to Tokyo had ultimately been for nothing.

III

Sumiko continued to visit her brother-in-law’s house every Sunday without fail. Before I knew it, I came to eagerly await Sundays and had even come to believe that she was coming to visit me at my place.

Her house was in Shirokane, Shiba. That was the house of my brother-in-law’s eldest brother. My brother-in-law’s household was entirely composed of high achievers. Among the five siblings, the first, third, and fifth—every other child—were male, and each had distinguished himself in society. The eldest brother was an established engineering graduate. He now served as chief engineer at a textile company. Sumiko was his eldest daughter. The second brother was an agricultural graduate. He had since gone to America. My brother-in-law, being the youngest brother, had only just become a medical scholar the year before last and remained an assistant at Aoyama Internal Medicine. Sumiko had made it her custom to come here—that is, to this uncle’s house in Sendagi—nearly every Sunday. And it was there that I lived as a dependent.

Sumiko-san was not what one would call beautiful in any strikingly noticeable way. The overall impression of her face was well-proportioned yet lacked any striking features, but there was an indefinable vivacity about it; the expressions that would fleetingly surface at certain moments made the area around her eyebrows appear exceptionally beautiful. This was especially striking in her eyes. When she suddenly glanced up obliquely, or when she gazed while laughing, from beneath her double eyelids—opened so wide it seemed deliberate—her clear, dark-dominant pupils burst forth with a radiance like wet sunlight after rain.

Even now, I still remember the first time I saw her. It was last June, shortly after I had come up to Tokyo for the exams. Up until then, I had gradually come to know through my sister’s mentions that there was a niece called Oto-san, but even in those conversations, I had never been led to imagine the figure of a young girl. Perhaps it was because, deep down, I had thought that Tokyo women—especially beautiful city girls like that—could never even become acquaintances to someone like me.

It was indeed a Sunday around my third day in Tokyo. With exams fast approaching, I had no time to grow accustomed to my room before being chained to my desk. That morning found me again besieged by anxiety and impatience as I grudgingly flipped through physics pages I still hadn't properly reviewed. Not a single memorization task had been started yet. Such oppressive gloom weighed on me that even sitting became unbearable. Yet there was nothing to be done. Reluctantly planting myself before the desk, I stared exhausted at the textbook spread open. But even this soon grew intolerably dull. At last I threw myself back in the chair and listlessly surrendered to listening—half in despair—to every sound inside and out.

Suddenly, there was the sound of the front door opening. Following that, mingled with a high-pitched girl’s shout, a beautiful mid-high voice rang out clearly. Soon, those voices seemed to be greeted by my sister’s composed greeting. And so, the commotion downstairs subsided. And after that, no particularly noticeable voices leaked through. And so, before I knew it, I fell back into a restful state of suspension.

After a while, there came the intermittent thudding of someone ascending the stairs at measured intervals. Judging from the sporadic and distant sound, it became immediately clear that this was a child’s doing. With a kind of curiosity, I strained my ears. Then suddenly came that same clear, ringing woman’s voice from earlier,

“Oh Miss Akiko, where are you off to?” “You mustn’t do such mischief.” “Upstairs!” A girl’s voice, putting on a grown-up air, responded. “I’m going to see Brother upstairs.” “You mustn’t go up there—you’ll disturb his studies.”

“It’s okay!” As she said this, the girl kept climbing with measured thuds. Then, as if someone had come pursuing her, restrained yet swift footsteps arose near the staircase steps.

I waited with nervous curiosity to see what sort of girl would appear at that sliding door. My heart began to flutter inexplicably. I deliberately kept facing my desk. With a swish came the sound of the entrance’s sliding door opening. I whipped around instinctively. There stood a girl of five or six—bangs cut straight across her forehead—wide-eyed in the dim doorway, perfectly still. Her face wore an expression that seemed to say she’d burst into laughter if only propriety allowed.

I turned back around and beckoned, “Please come over here.” I was glad that the Tokyo dialect I had used for the first time with someone else—though it caught in my throat—had at least come out smoothly. Akiko-chan was still fidgeting. That seemed to stem less from a sense of shame than from an artifice that city girls instinctively possessed. “Please come in.” I repeated it again. And this time, I thought to myself that it was a clumsy way of putting it.

At that very moment, a quiet purple shadow swept behind the girl. And there emerged the pale face of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl with her hair tied in braids. Though feeling abashed, I gazed at that flower-like face. When I took in her well-defined features in an instant, her eyes were already smiling enchantingly. She offered a graceful bow. I also hurriedly returned the bow. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry for disturbing your studies." "Now, Akiko-chan, greet Big Brother properly." "And then let us take our leave over there." She spoke smoothly, like the ringing of a bell.

Miss Akiko fidgeted and once again silently bowed her head. And, turning somewhat away, she clung to her sister’s hand and glanced back at me sidelong.

“No, it’s quite all right. Because I was just idling away out of boredom.” As I said this, I once again beckoned to Miss Akiko with my eyes. “Now really—do come in.” Miss Akiko didn’t answer me; instead, while rubbing her cheek against her sister’s crimson obi, she said, “Sis, let’s go over there.” For an instant, I detested this child’s affectation. “Yes, let’s go. I’ll come again when Big Brother has some free time. —I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she said as she drew her younger sister close and quietly closed the sliding door. And the faltering footsteps of them descending the stairs faded into the distance. In my chest—as I gazed blankly after them—lingered something like a springtime resonance—.

That was my first meeting with Sumiko. After that, whenever she came to visit on Sundays as usual, she would also stop by my room. She never stayed long at my place. Mostly she would return after having quiet conversations with just her sister - women talking between themselves. But even those brief moments became irreplaceably precious to me. And if by some chance she missed even a single Sunday, I felt unbearably lonely.

Last year's exam period had been short. And immediately following it came a shameful failure. Ah—there's nothing more to say about that. At that time, I was too ashamed to even meet Sumiko and fled back to my hometown. Later came a letter from Sumiko. It spoke of resentment over my silent return and admonitions like "never lose heart over one failure," all written in strangely mature prose. How many times did I kiss it! How grateful I felt! And during my long seclusion in that humiliating household—how often did it comfort me!

Be that as it may, during those days I could meet her every Sunday.

IV

Today was March 1st, the day of the memorial festival at First Higher School. I had long heard about its celebrated bustle, but naturally felt no desire to go witness those confident students reveling in their glorious triumph. Yet when my brother-in-law—an alumnus of First Higher—procured tickets from somewhere, and since my sister and Sumiko insisted on attending while demanding I absolutely accompany them, I reluctantly resolved to go see for myself.

As soon as afternoon arrived, Sumiko came from Shirogane. She was dressed in resplendent attire. Her face seemed even more beautiful than usual, I thought. With a feeling both joyous and sorrowful, I gazed at her dazzling adornments. I could not help but admire—and resent—the First Higher School that had compelled her to groom herself with such meticulous care.

While waiting for my sister to get ready, we two talked about several matters concerning the Memorial Festival we would soon attend. Sumiko spoke thus.

“Next year, you’ll be showing me around, won’t you?” I caught my breath. “Well… I can’t say for sure.” “I’m hardly dependable.”

“It’ll be fine. I’m sure it will be.”

I did not answer. And somehow, I felt as though my chest were being pressed down. Over and over, I thought how much better it would have been if I had gotten in last year. If I had gotten in, today of all days I could have marched proudly and shown around this young lady in such finery. How delighted Sumiko would be if that were the case. And how my friends would have looked on with envious eyes…

Since my sister was ready, the three of us decided to set out together. The early spring sun hung at the zenith veiled in a faint haze, though afternoon had already come. During my prolonged absence from the outdoors, spring had quietly risen from nowhere across the earth. The weather seemed custom-ordered for the memorial festival. Given these conditions, one could only surmise how densely crowded it must be.

In front of the school gate was indeed packed with people. Moreover, the majority of them were dressed-up women. However, looking around, there were few who surpassed Sumiko. I felt somewhat proud. A committee member with yellow cloth wrapped around their arm checked our tickets with an arrogance that seemed to declare, “I’ll let you in.”

Since last year’s exam—since coming to view the posted lists that never bore my exam number—this was the first time I had passed through this school gate again. Along the road to the dormitory, posters were pasted in every empty space—whether classroom walls or storage room tops. And on them were various cartoons and advertisements decorated with unconventional phrases. The innocent jests displayed were a good touch. Yet when I saw the blatant self-confidence in phrases like “genius” or “athlete” among them, I couldn’t help but feel envy even while scorning them. Sumiko kept exclaiming “Oh!” at each one as she looked. I urged her on and walked toward the dormitory.

At the entrance of South Dormitory, someone tapped my shoulder. When I turned around in surprise, it was my classmate Tanaka. Tanaka had effortlessly entered Class A of the First Division without exams last year, and the Melton uniform looked enviably good on him. His face twitched with barely contained self-satisfaction. “Well, you came,” he said. “Alone?” “No,” I replied. “With my sisters.” “I see,” he answered. “Then shall I show you around? If you like, why not rest a bit in my room first?”

“Thank you.” “Well, I’ll just take a quick look around.”

“Is that so?” “Well then, I’ll be off.” “The West Dormitory’s costume parade should start any minute now—do make sure to watch it for conversation fodder later.” “There are some properly wild ones in it, I tell you.”

“Thank you.” “Well then, goodbye.” For some reason，I found him unpleasant. So saying this，I hurriedly left him to catch up with my sisters who were waiting. “Who was that you were with?” Sumiko asked.

“Oh, just a friend who got in through recommendation last year.” “That guy’s putting on airs like he passed on his own merits.” “He offered to guide us, but I refused.” “Oh, wouldn’t it have been better to accept his guidance?”

A flicker of discontent surfaced on Sumiko’s face. “Oh, I can figure most of it out myself,” I declared resolutely, though deep down I felt rather displeased. The three of us began our tour from the South Dormitory. Spectators were out in full force. The corridor hung with artificial wisteria and cherry blossoms was so crowded that we could barely walk without being jostled. In the midst of this, my sister took the lead. Sumiko followed. I trailed from the very back like a guard. The three of us advanced, now separated, now reunited.

The decorations of the rooms were fewer in splendor than I had anticipated. Yet among those that had been cleverly simplified through wit, there were some that proved unexpectedly amusing. Such displays included a pawnshop curtain hung beneath a sign reading "All things flow—the principle of Bergson’s philosophy," or a medicine pot suspended upside-down in a dark room’s center labeled "Nighttime Loop-the-Loop Flight," where pulling a string would switch on a tiny bulb—these being representative examples. Other decorations—somewhat exaggerated depictions of dormitory life—included squalid bedrooms with perpetually unmade beds whose pillow areas were piled high with peanuts, or absurd picture scrolls like *Twelve Hours at Koryo* displayed in sequence; these devices often caused Sumiko to turn to me and emit startled exclamations of “Oh!”

The corridor of the old dormitory was dark, and the spectators were packed even more tightly. Especially in front of a certain room near the middle, the crowd had come to a standstill due to the intricacy of its decorations. That appeared to have been devised by engineering students and was titled “The Driver’s Dream.” A small toy train emerged from a tunnel ahead and ran along iron rails laid through a flower field, then approached a river with no bridge. Then, suddenly from the water, an iron bridge conveniently rose up. The train dashed across it, then came upon a steep mountain. However, after finally climbing to its summit, it would then leap into the mouth of a full moon that had emerged above it—such was the mechanism. This was truly well-crafted. And because it departed every three minutes, people pushed and jostled each other in front of the room to watch it.

The three of us could no longer move forward there either. There was no way to retreat backward. Instead, we found ourselves being relentlessly pressed forward by the crowd behind us. I stood right behind Sumiko. Before I knew it, I was seeing her neck far too close. The faint scent of her hair brushed softly against my nose. I felt her labored breathing right beside me. “Sumiko, are you uncomfortable?”

“It’s quite crowded.” She turned just her face to reply. “Make sure you don’t get separated.”

“No way! But I don’t want us to get separated.” As if by chance, I took her hand as casually as possible. She too remained silent and let me keep holding it. Within my trembling palm I felt something soft and resilient, damp with sweat. The crowd showed no sign of moving. She peered over her shoulder into “The Driver’s Dream” as though unaware of anything. And with each slight shift of her body, she returned the faintest pressure of her hand—so subtle I might have imagined it.

Even amidst this, the crowd continued shifting forward while being jostled back and forth. We finally managed to extricate ourselves from that dense area. I released her hand as naturally as I had taken it moments before. The sister who had taken the lead strode out briskly. After touring through the dormitory and stepping outside, we found the Toyama School’s music band had arrived in the spacious garden there. They were playing “The Blue Danube”—a melody I recognized. The three of us moved closer toward them. My heart felt unusually buoyant. Somehow it all seemed like a triumphal march being performed solely for my sake. The sumo drums being pounded on Higashi Dormitory’s third floor, the group of university students stationed on the entrance roof shouting with boisterous abandon—none of it irritated my nerves anymore.

When we departed on our return journey, a dimly slanting spring sun still lingered upon the stiff-budded tips of the schoolyard cherry trees.

When I thought about it, today had been a succession of alternating pressure and stimulation. When I returned home, I was exhausted and dazed. But beneath it all lay a quiet happiness. And the excitement lingered like sediment.

"I must study. This year, no matter what, I must get in," I thought. I truly meant it with all my heart.

When I sat down at my desk, my mind seemed clearer than usual.

I wanted to thank someone anew for having attended First Higher School’s memorial festival.

V

A letter came from my brother. Since he had already finished his graduation exams, he wrote saying he wanted to come to Tokyo immediately after the graduation ceremony. I was somehow taken aback. Though I knew my brother was graduating, I found myself thinking that such a time had already arrived. I felt it as a warning from the young next era—one that would come to overwhelm us. That’s right—starting this April, those spirited younger brothers would emerge as our formidable competitors. I truly could not afford to dawdle any longer. Somehow, a feeling as though I wanted to prevent my brother from coming to Tokyo lurked in the depths of my heart. But I couldn’t write that in my reply. "I have everything prepared here, so come to Tokyo whenever it suits you," I wrote.

My brother finally came to Tokyo. It was early April, and Ueno was blanketed with cherry blossoms. The crowd trailed through the streets. The station teemed with more people than usual. Among them mingled cheerful groups with cherry-blossom-patterned towels wrapped around their necks. The world now swelled with spring’s fullness—and amidst this, I welcomed my brother who had reached the capital.

Standing near the dim ticket gate, when I spotted my brother’s vigorous face for the first time in ages amidst the disorderly stream of passengers spilling from the newly arrived train, I felt a momentary lump rise in my throat. Almost the instant I recognized him, my brother caught sight of me too. Even across my habitually reserved brother’s sun-darkened cheeks, there lingered an unmistakably wistful expression.

“How’ve you been holding up? Is everyone at home keeping well?” I offered this in place of a proper greeting. “Yeah,” my brother replied simply, looking around at the bustling station grounds at dusk with a surprised air. For the first time, I regarded my brother’s rustic appearance with brotherly—senior-like—emotions.

The two of them received their luggage, hired a rickshaw, and headed toward the house in Sendagi. The rickshaw passed along the edge of the pond. The flower-hazed sky darkened early. Across Shinobazu Pond’s surface—veiled in a pale mist stretching from Ueno’s grove where blossoms faintly glowed—the exhibition’s decorative lamps shimmered like fragments of a dream. Compared to my last year’s self, I thought my brother in the rickshaw must surely be feeling his heart flutter.

At my brother-in-law’s house, as was customary, a celebratory dining table had been prepared for this first visit to the capital. Last year’s had been for me. This year’s was set up for my brother. With a peculiar emotion, I gazed intently at the tablecloth—so white it hurt my eyes—spread over the specially laid dining table, and at the small branch of crimson peach blossoms that my sister had arranged with such care in the vase at its center.

Brother-in-law was as cheerful as ever. My sister was single-mindedly trying to show her brother the affectionate warmth befitting an older sister.

“Kenji, since you’ve loved sweet chestnut paste since childhood—it’s not quite Western cuisine, but I made this specially for you.” My sister said this and urged him to eat.

Brother-in-law offered a beer cup and began speaking. “Since you’ve graduated middle school now, it’s all right to have a drink.” “After all,I’ll be supervising you.” “But this older brother here’s quite the slacker.” “Couldn’t possibly handle supervision properly.” “I’m thoroughly committed to non-interference.” “In return—” (he glanced at me) “—even if you fail,I won’t feel responsible.” “Still—do work hard if at all possible.” “There’s luck involved.” “But give your utmost,and things generally work out.” “Forgive my bluntness—I believe Kenkichi-kun’s failure last year combined misfortune with incomplete effort.”

Somehow, out of both discomfort and humiliation, I wanted to say something. So I added, “Well, besides, I’m not smart by nature anyway.”

“No, that’s absolutely not the case. “From what I observe, you brothers both have fine intellects.—There’s something about Kenji in particular. They say you excel at mathematics, don’t they?” Brother-in-law turned again to address Kenji directly.

“No. It just looks that way because I can’t do the others.” My brother said with false modesty.

“What rank did you graduate from middle school with?” “Because I slacked off, I was sixth.” “Have you settled on your intended department for the Higher School? Which section are you choosing?”

“I still don’t understand which would be best.” “If I do it, it’ll be either Section II or III anyway, but Father says since our family has doctors—no matter how many physicians we produce—I should go with Section III.” “But since my older brother is also in Section III, it would be strange for us brothers to both focus on Section III, so I’m at a loss about what to do.” “That’s certainly true.” My brother-in-law said this while directing a glance toward me that seemed to seek my opinion. “Well, if you’re going to become a doctor,” I said, “I’ll leave that side of things to you. I’d rather go into humanities.” “If that’s how it’ll be, I’d be off the hook.” “After all, I’d be best off doing philosophy.”

Partly out of resignation and partly from some natural inclination I’d always had, I had said that. But I knew it couldn’t be done that way. “But since my older brother has to do Section III anyway, I plan to take a different path.” “Since even Higher School would be tiresome if it’s the same, I intend to choose somewhere different.”

“That’s certainly true.” Brother-in-law kept making noncommittal responses, carefully avoiding any sensitive topics. “Well, we’ll leave that matter for you two to discuss later. For today, please eat your fill. You must be tired and hungry.” “Yes, I’ll have plenty,” said Kenji. “I’m a country bumpkin, so I won’t hold back.” “But it’s precisely in that country bumpkin where the flower blooms, you see,” Brother-in-law replied. “Students who grow accustomed to Tokyo are done for. They say you take entrance exams.” He leaned forward slightly. “The first year—when you’re not yet tainted by the ways of the capital—is when you must be most vigilant. That’s why it’s crucial to get in during the first year.” His eyes flicked toward me before adding with deliberate emphasis, “Not that Kenkichi-kun here is like that.”

I felt antipathy toward that contrived excuse instead. After a while, I silently rose from my seat. I understood perfectly well that tonight’s hospitality existed solely for my brother’s sake. I understood perfectly well how words meant to encourage him instantly became words that rebuked me, and recognized my brother-in-law’s awkward position—I never took it as sarcasm. Yet ultimately, I couldn’t overcome my discomfort.

I went up to the second floor alone. Then I opened one of the shutters I had already closed. The cold night wind gently brushed my face. Faint hazy stars dotted the sky, while beneath them Tokyo’s city lights shimmered with a distant murmur. From what was likely a bathhouse chimney one or two blocks away—a dark line firmly etched into the indigo night sky—white smoke trailed off in intermittent wisps before vanishing. As I stared fixedly at this sight, tears began flowing down my cheeks……

My brother ended up living and sleeping with me in this six-tatami room. The two of us placed our desks in opposite corners—his in the far one and mine in this one—as far apart as possible. At night, due to the electric light, we moved our desks to the center. When laying out our bedding, as the space was cramped, we pressed it into the corner of the room. The fact that the books on my brother’s desk and those on mine were identical was disheartening. I endeavored to study subjects as different from my brother’s as possible.

Competition naturally took shape between us. At least that was how I felt. As I pored over my own books, I gauged how much progress my brother had made in his studies. And whenever his progress stalled, I would feel a furtive sense of relief.

Yet for my part, my studies had not progressed at all. Every day, my head felt heavy for no clear reason, and I couldn’t maintain my focus. The more I rushed, the more exhausted I became, until eventually there were many days when my mind became completely foggy. This couldn’t go on—I lashed myself. And though I forced myself to sit at my desk, there was no sign that my grades were improving at all. At night, I often had dreams. Even when I tried not to think of Sumiko, I found myself thinking of her far too often.

My brother slept soundly and studied diligently. He had already finished mathematics once through and found a collection of difficult problems from somewhere to work on. The way he methodically conquered them one after another looked brisk and efficient even from the outside. I envied that. And I began feeling a vague oppressive sensation. To me, my brother kept steadily advancing through his studies with maddening composure. Watching this filled me with something like jealous terror. Somehow, sharing this room with my brother had become unbearable.

Perhaps I was suffering from a nervous breakdown.—

VI

The six-tatami room at my brother-in-law’s house felt cramped for two people. What’s more, being with my brother grew more agonizing by the day. At times I even felt hatred toward him. I finally resolved to move my lodgings elsewhere. The worry that relocating would mean fewer chances to meet Sumiko made me hesitate somewhat. But since she usually visited on Sundays, I reasoned I could simply go to my brother-in-law’s house then to see her. And so I steeled myself to move. Just then Matsui—staying at Saikōji Temple in Suidōbata—invited me to take the vacant room next to his. I decided on the spot. Brother-in-law approved with a “That might be for the best.” My brother offered no comment. Naturally he showed no sign of loneliness.

I had thought that if my environment changed, I might be able to study a bit more. But even after moving here, my mind found no peace. Yet the temple stood serenely quiet. As the room faced west, the setting sun filtered through planted cypresses and bitter orange trees to cast shadows on the shoji doors. The engawa remained spacious and perpetually cool. Stepping down from its natural stone entryway, I found the garden damp as if freshly watered. At times the scent of moss would linger. When weariness came, I would go there to breathe in the cold air.

In the mornings and evenings, from the main hall came the voice of the elderly temple servant who looked after us, chanting sutras.

“Old man’s at his duty again, eh?” With that, we unconsciously turned it into a demarcation for our study periods. “Hey...” Whenever I grew weary, I would often call out to the adjacent room. Then, as always, Matsui’s listless reply would come. “Yeah...” “Are you studying?” It was my habit to ask again. “Nah, just spacing out.” “Then shall we chat a bit?”

Having said that, I slid open the paper door to the adjacent room. Yet even when we talked, it was as if cursed by the shadow of exams—and afterward, not a shred of gratification remained. Matsui had just failed the Higher Technical School entrance exams again. But there was no particular sign of discouragement about him. He either no longer possessed the energy for disappointment or even appeared to have lost the capacity to feel it, as if numbed through repetition. I felt neither any stimulation nor any pressure from him.

At times, the two of us would find difficult mathematics problems and compete to solve them. Then, usually I was the one who figured them out faster. At such times, I somehow felt as though I had gained confidence. However, I also knew that the reassurance of using Matsui as my benchmark was extremely dangerous. Even while knowing this, I found myself growing arrogant in that confidence without realizing it.

One time, something like this occurred. Matsui went to a friend’s place and brought back a difficult geometry problem. That was a problem even that mathematics-skilled friend had struggled and failed to solve. “How about it? Why don’t you give it a try? If you can solve this, your mathematical skills are solid, I tell you.” Matsui said, inviting me. His face clearly showed the expectation that I too probably couldn’t do it.

“Then I’ll give it a try.” Having said that, I took up the problem. It was indeed a difficult problem where I couldn’t tell where to begin. I came to my room alone and worked through it all afternoon. Of course, the heaviness in my head hadn’t subsided, so after expending considerable time in thought, I grew utterly dazed. So I wandered out for a stroll. Even so, the problem lingered in my mind. I walked along Edogawabata and attempted to ascend from Suidōbata to Kohinatadai. At that moment, on the slope leading back to the temple, the first thread of a solution suddenly surfaced in my mind. I bounded up. And when I hurried back to my room, I tried drawing a new diagram. I finally solved it!

I hurriedly called out to Matsui in the next room.

“Hey! I did it! I finally figured it out.” “I see,” Matsui said without any particular surprise as he entered. “How did you do it?”

I proudly explained it to him. Matsui listened, murmuring "Mmm, mmm." And when I finished solving, "I see. It’s quite involved," he murmured, still not fully grasping it, his eyes darting between me and the diagram. My spirits were uncharacteristically buoyant.

It was two or three days later. I stopped by my brother-in-law’s house during my walk. My brother was sitting at his desk as usual, silent and sullen. “How’s your studying going? Keeping at it hard?” I asked. “Yes.” “Somehow I’ve been feeling a bit sluggish lately—it’s been troubling.” “I made a strict twelve-hour daily regimen starting the other day, but since I can’t stick to the schedule properly, my sister laughed at me.” “At best, I manage ten hours.”

“You think you can manage that much?” I retorted, not a little surprised.

“But try getting up at six and working until eleven at night. Even if you subtract meal times and walks, you still have a solid fifteen hours. So there’s no reason you can’t manage twelve hours each day.” “That’s true, I suppose. If you can stay completely focused during that time, it would be quite something.” “After all, I have to put in fifteen hours each day now; otherwise, I won’t have enough time to go through all the subjects twice.” I once again felt the unconscious pressure from my brother. There was an English book on his desk.

“Have you finished math already?”

“Yes. I’ve completed one full pass.” “From now on, I believe I’ll be fine as long as I steadily work through the problems I’ve underlined before the exam.”

I was surprised for the third time. But I wanted to test whether my brother truly possessed that level of ability. At that moment, the difficult problem from two or three days ago suddenly surfaced in my mind. "I came across a problem like this two or three days ago, you know. Can you solve it?"

I said this and explained the problem. My brother listened in silence. Then, drawing the diagram himself on a separate sheet of paper, he unconsciously tapped the tip of his nose with the end of his pencil, stared into the distance with vacant eyes, and pondered intently for a minute or two. While hoping he couldn't solve it, I waited with a smile that concealed my malice.

Two or three minutes passed. I waited, thoroughly resigned to the idea that Kenji would ultimately give up and say something like, "I'll think it over by next time." Five minutes passed. I was already nonchalantly flipping through the Union Volume 4 that lay there, not really looking at it. Then suddenly, my younger brother began busily moving his pencil. And with shining eyes, he quietly turned toward me.

“I finally figured it out. I didn’t recognize it because the shape was altered, but this is an example problem in Nagasawa’s Collection of Difficult Problems. It was the inverse of that one. Wouldn’t this be the way to do it?” Having said this, he began explaining it to me. That was, of course, not much different from what I had thought. But it was more concise and direct. I was inwardly quite taken aback. What I had spent three or four hours pondering, my brother accomplished in about five minutes. Once again, I was overwhelmed by the concrete example before my eyes.

I felt completely discouraged and left my brother’s place.

VII

Even during such times, I could not forget about Sumiko.

Every Sunday, I too would invariably go visit my brother-in-law’s house from morning onward. And then from afternoon, I waited for Sumiko to arrive. Yet I grew self-conscious about visiting Sendagi so frequently while aiming specifically for the days she came. So I began visiting on other days occasionally instead. Even on Sundays, I forced myself to skip one out of every three visits. But on those restrained days, I couldn’t focus on my studies at all even when staying home. Sometimes I miscalculated the days entirely and missed two chances in a row to see Sumiko. One day, I arrived too late.

“Sumiko was here until just now,” Sister added softly with a smile, looking at me. “But she said she had to go to a friend’s house from three o’clock. She stayed about an hour before leaving.” “How unfortunate for me…” “Don’t be silly—” I turned red and couldn’t say a word.

“Sumiko mentioned she hadn’t seen Kenkichi-san in quite some time lately and was asking if something had happened.”

Sister seemed to find amusement in my falling silent and pressed further. I was inwardly glad about that. “Even I have been studying lately, you know.” Even as I said this, I felt ashamed of my own lack of diligence up until now. I resolved to study diligently from now on.

Sister persisted in pressing the same topic. “But you ought to keep an eye on Kenji too.” “That girl’s utterly guileless in such matters.” “She makes friends with anyone in an instant.” “Why, she and Kenji have grown as close as siblings already.”

I started. It was because I had dimly feared my sister's warning all along. But I answered casually: "I don't think anything of it at all, so there's no problem." "No matter how much you tease me, Sis, it won't work."

Sister laughed with her eyes and did not answer.

In reality, since I had moved to the temple, it seemed to me that my brother and Sumiko had grown particularly close. Yet I had been dismissing that perception as my own jealousy. Since my brother was always at home while I remained outside, I had rationalized it as an ordinary closeness arising solely from their circumstances—a natural consequence of their increased opportunities to meet. However, I also thought that love might precisely arise from such positional advantages. And I felt somewhat anxious.

As for instances that corroborated their closeness, I too had encountered one or two by now.

It was a certain day. When I went to my brother-in-law’s house, Sumiko had already arrived. And she was in my brother’s room. When I went up to the second floor, I could hear voices mingling with her bright laughter and blending with my brother’s mirth. I felt a kind of jealousy and hurriedly slid open the fusuma door. Then they abruptly stifled their laughter. And exchanged meaningful glances. “Is there something amusing going on?” I cut in between them and asked. She was sitting on the right side of my brother’s desk.

“No, it’s nothing.” Her reply was curt. “But you two were laughing together, weren’t you? There must’ve been something.” I pressed harder.

“So what if we laughed? It’s nothing.” “Hey, Kenji.” “It’s really nothing.” She tilted her head and peered into Kenji’s face. There was somehow an air of satisfaction on my younger brother’s face. “It’s really nothing,” he said.

“Once we finished laughing, I’d already forgotten what it was about.” With that, she kept smiling brightly. At a glance, they truly seemed to be sharing some secret between themselves right before me. Along with jealousy came awareness of my own pettiness. Thus I couldn’t muster the courage to press further. That day I managed little conversation with her.

There was another time when something like this occurred as well.

That day, I set out for Sendagi as soon as afternoon arrived. Since she usually came in the afternoon too, I went there convinced I would finally meet her at leisure. Then after getting off the streetcar, at the alleyway leading to my brother-in-law’s house, I spotted a familiar green parasol. It was approaching from afar. At first I thought I might be mistaken. But though her face remained mostly hidden beneath the tilted parasol, the outline from shoulders down and her distinctive gait held features I couldn’t possibly misrecognize. When I saw this from a distance, I walked forward nonchalantly while acutely aware of my pounding heart. At five or six ken apart, she noticed me too. Then she whirled around to look behind her. She made a gesture like signaling to someone back there. In that instant, I saw my brother following her with an uneasy expression. I gasped involuntarily and froze. All the blood in my body surged toward my heart at once. Yet the next moment found me advancing with forced composure. The three of us—she and I closing the distance face-to-face, my brother trailing one or two ken behind—came together abruptly at the road’s center with her as our focal point. The early summer day cast its quiet light, shadows lying thick upon the earth.

“Are you leaving already?” I asked her, steadying my voice. My lips spasmed of their own accord. “Yes, I’ve been out since this morning.” She answered calmly as usual. “Besides, I have errands at home today—so just as I was about to leave, Kenji said he was going shopping and had him accompany me this far. But Kenji’s such a peculiar person.” “Even though he insisted on properly escorting me, once we stepped outside he started walking behind at a distance!”

“I hate walking together. “Because we might run into someone we know.” My younger brother explained even more innocently. “Where are you going?” I asked my younger brother. My tone unintentionally became interrogative. “Just to that street over there.” “I see. “Go on ahead—well then, Sumiko, goodbye.” With my heart pounding, I casually bowed to the two of them. “Goodbye, then. Let’s meet again next Sunday.” Sumiko tilted her head slightly coquettishly beneath her umbrella.

I walked away, leaving the two behind. But those steps were hasty. In the bustling midday streets, my heart was filled with jealousy. Outside of the blinding sunlight, I saw nothing else.

By the time I arrived at my brother-in-law’s house, my mind had somewhat settled. And when I heard my sister’s words, I became completely calm. When my sister saw my face, she said.

“You didn’t run into Sumiko and the others just now there?” “Yes, I met them. “Yes, I met them. My brother was with them.”

“Is that so? Then I suppose I don’t need to pass along the message to Kenji-san after all.” “You must have heard it from Sumiko.” “No, I didn’t hear anything at all. We just met on the roadside, you see.” “—What exactly was the message?” “This coming Sunday, you know. If you have time, please accompany her to the Household Exhibition.” “Since she couldn’t stay to meet today, she specifically asked me to pass on this request to you, you know.”

“To me?” I felt as though I were being manipulated, yet couldn’t help voicing the joy in my heart. “Yes. “You could spare about a day for me, couldn’t you?” “I don’t have that kind of time.” “Let me see... “Though this is a crucial time when such things can’t be done, I suppose I’ll have you accompany me.” I immediately crumbled.

My younger brother returned right after. And after that, he didn’t appear to have spent any particularly meaningful time with her either. I regretted my earlier jealousy. Moreover, the fact that the very object of that jealousy was my younger brother made me feel profoundly ashamed within.

On the way home, I resolved not to doubt her.

VIII

The day of the exhibition arrived.

In the morning, I went to the barber shop and shaved my beard. After that, I felt somehow refreshed. And to a degree that was embarrassing even to myself, I felt confidence in my own face. For a little while until noon, I tried to pick up my books, but they wouldn’t stay in my hands.

When afternoon came, I headed to Senzoku earlier than usual. When I opened the lattice door, there were geta I recognized. Sumiko had already arrived. “I heard you’re going today.” “Thank you.” When she saw me, she said that. They were ordinary words, but to me, that gratitude felt genuinely heartwarming.

My sister was in the middle of getting ready. My younger brother came down from the second floor. He had said from the beginning that he wouldn’t go.

“Kenji is really stubborn. Even though your sister and I tried so hard to persuade him together, he absolutely refuses to listen and won’t go. Even if he took half a day off to enjoy himself, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all. Hey, Kenkichi-san.” “Well...” I deliberately tilted my head.

My younger brother made an excuse. “It’s not that I don’t want to go because I’m pressed for time.” “Even if I went, it wouldn’t be interesting—that’s why I’m not going.” “Why don’t you find it interesting?” “Why? Because it’s not interesting—that’s why it’s not interesting.” “A Household Exhibition? Isn’t it just fooling women and children?”

“That’s just how it is.” “But even if it’s not an interesting place, I think it’s all right if you come along.” “Well now—I must beg your pardon.” “I—” My younger brother’s words could almost be taken as mocking me. I was slightly nettled by having a vulnerable spot touched, but more than that—on the threshold of greater happiness—I said nothing. Because today I thought myself the victor.

At that moment，my sister emerged，having finished getting ready. Leaving my younger brother behind，the three of us set out for Ueno. The weather was faintly clear，so we decided to walk all the way there. I adjusted my pace to match their slow gait—these women—and savored how passersby looked upon my dressed-up sisters. The happiness of my companions—I even felt that it would be nice if someone they knew could see it. Between me and Sumiko，my sister inserted herself. As a result，I didn’t speak much with her along the way.

Though out of season, it was a clear Sunday, so there was quite a crowd at the venue. I bought tickets for them. The interior of the venue was just like any ordinary exposition. Only the display shelves for cosmetics and sundries stood out with their particularly vivid colors. From the start, the women meticulously touched each glass door one by one and peered inside. From behind, I prodded them along while making remarks that sounded like critiques. When they reached the shelf with dolls, they stopped and exclaimed, “Oh my!” The textiles section especially kept them lingering for a long time. I, too, was frequently asked to evaluate these items. With no other choice, I assessed each piece based on whether it suited Sumiko or not.

After we had made our way through half the venue, even the women who had been so intrigued began to tire. There, we went out into the courtyard and drank black tea at Seiyōken’s pop-up stall. Then, this time at Sumiko’s suggestion, we entered the amusement pavilion. The amusement pavilion featured motion pictures and magic tricks performed by the Ten'yo Troupe. When we entered, the magic tricks had just begun. We chose the empty seats at the back and settled into them. My sister led the way and entered. I was the last one. When we sat down, Sumiko and I ended up side by side.

On the stage, a man in a tailcoat wore a faint smile on his thoroughly bored face as he manipulated playing cards. Then he made the usual red ball appear and disappear between his fingers. After that, a woman clad like a bird in a blue satin outfit placed an empty bowl on the table, covered it with a cloth, and fired a pistol with a bang. From the bowl emerged a live dove, its eyes wide as it fluttered down with a flap of its wings.

Sumiko showed exaggerated surprise at the pistol’s report. And turning toward me, she smiled radiantly. She covered her ears at the second pistol shot. She often laughed at the magician’s offhand remarks. Every time she laughed, the tremor of her body seemed to reach me sitting right beside her. At times, her shoulder bumped against mine. My shoulder, which had bounced back with a dull elasticity, felt as though it throbbed like a dream. By some movement, her face came quite close to my eyes. The faint scent of jasmine from her hair gently brushed past me.

The hall was somehow dark despite its shining electric lights. I unexpectedly recalled the Memorial Festival events. Though unseen by my eyes, I knew her hand lay within three inches of my left. I felt a crawling itch of attraction toward it. “Don’t play at being some delinquent,” came a whisper by my ear. Yet I also heard something murmur from my heart’s depths: Now—a chance never to return. While still ostensibly watching the stage, I saw none of the magic tricks.

Over and over—"Now"—the whisper insisting "a chance that won’t come again" prevailed. I quietly moved my hand and brushed against hers once or twice as if by accident. On the third attempt, steeling myself, I unmistakably clasped the back of her hand firmly. Yet her soft yet cold hand remained within my palm for scarcely more than a few seconds. She abruptly turned her gaze—which had been fixed on the stage—toward me as if reproaching me. All while keeping my eyes rigidly forward, I keenly sensed every nuance of that movement. And I thought—Oh? She peered into my face for an instant as though hesitating before suddenly wrenching her hand away.

Everything was filled with resentment. I became aware that my face burned with unspeakable disgrace and pain. After that, she never moved her hand near me again. From then on, I felt I couldn’t bear to stay there another moment.

After a while, my sister suggested leaving. I agreed. Sumiko seemed to want to stay a bit longer, but she stood up without protest. The three of us went outside. I was avoiding looking at Sumiko.

Because my sister and the others were rather worn out, we decided to quickly glance through the remaining parts of the hall before heading home. I followed behind with my head hung low. Though they claimed they would only take a cursory look, their steps kept halting before beautiful ladies' goods. There happened to be a stationery vendor's stall. She had merely glanced at it and begun walking past when Sumiko—for reasons unclear—said, “Wait a moment please,” and turned back. “Are you shopping?” We found ourselves returning to that storefront without any real intention.

“Yes. Since Kenji-san must be feeling lonely home alone, I’ll get him a little souvenir. Sis, please take this to him.” Having said this, she deliberated between wooden pen cases with pyrographed arabesque patterns.

I was subjected to twofold anguish. And in this moment alone, I cursed my brother’s existence from the depths of my heart. Yet I had to conceal that and feign composure.

“Isn’t this one better?” I picked up the one at hand and examined it. “This one here’s better,” she said. Without so much as a glance at my suggestion, she purchased the one she had selected herself.

The three of them finally set off on their return journey.

On the return journey too, I felt her cold, mocking gaze. I could no longer endure this pain. When we reached the front of the Sendagi house, despite their attempts to stop me, I said goodbye and walked away alone—I was barely holding back tears.

Today’s events filled me with shame over my own despicable actions and an indescribable disappointment. Every last one of those happy memories from the Memorial Festival day had been completely wiped away. The sole basis for her goodwill toward me had been completely overturned from its foundation. Bearing this deep sorrow, when I trudged back alone to the temple, I envied my brother’s happiness that I could not reach. A scene rose vividly in my mind: Sumiko cheerfully recounting today’s events while taking out the pen case before my brother, and my brother listening with a faint smile brimming with delight. I frantically shook my head to dispel it.

When I returned to the temple completely dejected, Matsui called out from next door. "So how on earth did things go today?" Matsui knew some of the circumstances from my own account. "Bad, worse, worst," I spat out in a sneering tone. "Had I known it would turn out like this, I wouldn't have gone. I should've stayed home studying English grammar instead." "After all, love and exams don't mix." Even Matsui—uttering such uncharacteristic words—seemed to me to be doing nothing but mocking.

I no longer had the strength to retort. And lowering my head, I turned to my desk.

Now that things had come to this, I resolved to devote myself entirely to studying. Even so, with my mind in this state, I couldn't help but dread what lay ahead. Thinking of this and that, there was only a bleak future before me.――

Nine

June had already begun. At long last, the exam period had drawn near.

Today was the day to go submit the exam registration card. I applied for Division III, Class A. My younger brother had also finally settled on First Higher School. And as a result of their discussions, it was decided that he would apply for Division II. In truth, my younger brother had wanted to apply for Division III. But since that would have meant being grouped together with me at First Higher School, he had no choice but to select a different academic track. If he were to enter the same First Higher School as me, there was no choice but to change academic tracks. Therefore, he finally compromised by choosing First Higher School and going to Division II.

My younger brother seemed somewhat resentful. He seemed convinced his older brother had blocked his path. But if I were to speak my mind, I wanted him to attend a different higher school. Whether he entered or not, I didn’t want him at First Higher School, in Tokyo, here. Yet I couldn’t possibly abuse my authority as an older brother to insist on such a thing. My younger brother’s studies appeared to advance steadily. He radiated confidence. But when I looked inward, I found no trace of confidence myself.

I went to submit my registration card separately from my brother. Since it was said that an earlier number would be better, I went early in the morning. However, the sequence number I received at the gatekeeper’s post had already surpassed two hundred. They said there were even examinees waiting for the gates to open from before dawn. I once again learned through actual fact how death-defyingly desperate they were. I thought deeply that someone like myself still hadn’t applied enough diligence.

Beside the old brick main building stood the exam registration desk. There, an office worker and janitor waited before a simple wooden desk. As gatekeepers of the first barrier determining our lifelong destinies, they seemed pathetically unremarkable. Yet despite this, they appeared terrifying. The janitor took my exam photo and began ruthlessly trimming the thick mount’s edges to standardize it while remarking, “Hah—Division III? You’d better not slack off now.” “This year’s especially packed with Division III applicants—at this rate, maybe one in fifteen’ll make it.” “Last year was about twelve, but—” he added.

I was completely intimidated by this man. My exam number was 129. Somehow, this number struck me as an auspicious omen. Last year I had failed with an even number. This year’s odd number made me feel it portended the opposite outcome. Moreover, since the Book of Changes considers three the root of all numbers, its clean divisibility by three seemed doubly fortunate.

I began heading back while absently pondering these things when someone behind me shouted loudly, “Hey Kuno!” Turning around, I saw it was Sato—that notorious hedonist. “Oh, you’re here too?” I said, pushing aside my lingering discomfort from visiting his Shinbamachi boarding house days earlier. Even encountering someone like him stirred an odd sense of camaraderie that felt almost comforting. “My apologies about last time,” he began. “Got carried away being reckless back then.” He spread his arms theatrically. “But I’ve turned over a new leaf lately—see?”

“So you’re applying here too, huh?” “If I’m gonna flunk anyway, saying I failed at First Higher sounds better to people’s ears.” “Even so, you came early, didn’t you?” “Well, even someone like me has to handle basic things like submitting the registration card.—So, which division are you applying to?” “Division III. Because there seem to be an absurd number of people this year, I’m overwhelmed.” “I see. Well, I’ll give it my all. I thought the one with fewer applicants would be better, so I went with Division I-B, but…” “Even so, it’s already number thirty-eight.”

“Mine is number 129. It’s surprising, isn’t it?” “Even so, yours is on the earlier side, right?—How about this? Let’s go have that fortune-teller at Yushima Tenjin divine our numbers now. They say he’s uncannily accurate.” “No thanks. Imagine if he told me I’ll fail—I’d just get discouraged.” “Then come to my place instead. You ought to relax sometimes. To make up for last time—I’ll show you proper hospitality. It’s no vocabulary list, but I’ll be hospitality itself.”

“I’ll pass for today. It’s an important day, after all. And lately my mind hasn’t been working right—my studies aren’t progressing at all. At this rate, even if I pull all-nighters until July, I won’t manage to cover everything properly.” “You’re just being modest. Me, I’m starting fresh today with no illusions. Strange how I’ve actually gotten into the mindset to take it now.” “I’m exactly the same way.” Even as I said this—knowing full well it was foolish to measure myself against such a person—I felt reassured by his lack of diligence. And as we talked, my mood gradually brightened.

The two left the school gate while continuing their conversation. Sato, evidently starved for company, kept pressing me to visit his boarding house. But even I had no intention of humoring him further. “Let’s talk again after exams or something.” “Do drop by properly then.” “So you’ll finally show me that interesting place you promised?” I retorted sarcastically, having never meant to follow through. “Absolutely! I’ll host you royally.” “Passing calls for a banquet—failing demands drowning sorrows.” “Either way you’re coming along, so steel yourself.”

With these words, he laughed and walked away.

Now that I had submitted my registration card, the exams had truly entered their combat phase. Yet I still couldn't manage to study properly. I sat at my desk nearly the entire day. But I was only restlessly fretting; even if I made some progress, I forgot things as fast as I memorized them. Even so, I had to go through it at least once, so I let my eyes skim over the book.

Even when I tried not to think of Sumiko, memories of her would surface in my desolate heart on quiet evenings when swarms of insects like swirling pillars hovered beneath the main hall’s eaves. Whenever they rose up, I tried to crush them through sheer study. Despair had not yet taken hold. Once exams were over, I told myself, things would somehow work themselves out if we kept meeting. And so I plunged into studying alone.

In the midst of all this, I finally began to feel as though I could concentrate my mind. The accumulation of daily studying had, one way or another, brought stability. Lately, thinking that if I could keep up this pace, I regained my composure.

But, but—June was already nearing its end.……

10

Even though I had anticipated it, July arrived far too quickly. And now today, only three days remained until the exams. No matter how much I cried or raged, there was no way to catch up now. I resigned myself. Still, at any rate, having finished reviewing everything once through was my sole comfort.

Matsui in the neighboring room had departed for Kanazawa a few days ago. He chose the Fourth Higher School this year. The poignant resolve with which he had ultimately chosen the Fourth Higher School was something I understood all too well.

“I can’t stay in the capital this year either.”

When we went to a nearby soba shop and shared a modest yet heartfelt farewell, he said with deep emotion: “Compared to that, it’s admirable you still have the courage to take the First Higher School exam.”

“Me? My courage’s just desperate.” “Mine’s desperate courage.” As I spat out these words, I thought how I too should have fled to Second Higher instead. What had kept me shackled to Tokyo in that daze was nothing but an illusion—this love for Sumiko. Now I regretted it bitterly, but with things having come this far, there was no help for it. Thus both Matsui, departing the capital, and I, remaining in the capital, gloomily raised two or three cups. Neither of us grew even slightly drunk.

After Matsui had departed, the loneliness was especially acute.

The tranquil days before and after the rainy season lingered on, and the pale yellow evening sun quietly tinted the room. The temple servant’s morning and evening sutra chanting echoed through the walls. By day, a deep silence reigned. The sounds of the town were absorbed by the cypress hedge there, as though they never reached this side. Occasionally, small birds that were not sparrows would come to stir the branches with faint breaths of air before moving on. Afterward, only the early summer sunlight—like powdered chalk—kept scattering down.

In the midst of that stillness, I studied desperately, tears streaming down my face. My efforts of late were as if I were someone fighting against death itself.

“Victory lies in the final five minutes.” I tried with all my might to believe it.

The day of battle was drawing nearer with each passing moment.

At last, the day of the exam arrived. And in the blink of an eye, they were gone. It was four days that seemed long yet were short. Yet they also seemed short yet long—likely equivalent to half a year of ordinary life—as if they were the very quintessence of time itself. For four days, I remained in a state of constant excitement. I hardly slept at night.

Every time I returned from the exam hall, I looked into the mirror and examined my eyes. My eyes grew more bloodshot day by day. My brain began to throb from its very depths—I feared it might burst if things continued this way. Yet before reaching that extreme, fortunately, the four days passed.

The first day was mathematics. Though I had devoted myself most earnestly to preparing for it, algebra remained an insurmountable challenge for me. Looking back now, I realized I had no confidence in it at all. Tormented by these worries, I erred on the side of caution and left home at seven. Though still early, the schoolyard already teemed with examinees. The morning sun grazing the clock tower radiated unexpected heat. Candidates tilted their summer hats low as they clustered beneath cherry boughs. Groups formed by shared middle schools or hometowns traded anxious whispers everywhere. Every conversation revolved around exam strategies or preparatory methods. When one know-it-all began lecturing on likely questions using past years' examples, listeners unconsciously gravitated toward him. Yet others—solitary figures at the lawn's edge—still bent over textbooks away from the crowds. I too sought a quiet patch of shade to review mathematical formulas. They seemed mostly memorized, yet an uneasy restlessness churned in my chest. Abandoning this effort, I wandered toward the plaza hoping to find acquaintances. Rounding the main building's corner, I met my younger brother approaching from the gate. He had just arrived at school.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Yeah.” My younger brother’s attitude remained as reticent as ever, with confidence lurking beneath. With just a “Yeah” in response, he walked off in the other direction. Under the cherry trees in the wide side garden, I spotted a group of friends. They were all fellow alumni, but in terms of grade levels, there were those one or two years senior and even some who had just graduated this time. “Hey!” “Hey!” we all greeted each other in unison. I felt as though I had met a compatriot in a foreign country.

“Kuno, you’re guaranteed to pass this year, aren’t you? Looks like you’ve got everything completely prepared.” A classmate named Shimooka, who was aiming for the First Higher School, said. He was a born political schemer who always declared he wouldn’t enroll anywhere except the First Higher School even if begged. I normally couldn’t stand him. But today, “No, no—I haven’t even finished a basic review.” “I’m truly just hoping for a one-in-ten-thousand miracle.” I refuted with a straight face.

“No, that doesn’t seem to be the case at all.” “Your preparations must be advancing splendidly if you’ve got time to stroll with a beauty even before exams.” “You went to the exhibition the other day.” “Come now—confess properly!” “Who exactly was accompanying you then?” “What absurdity!” I felt my face grow hot. “I saw you on my way back from the library.” “Here I was at the library wrestling with phrasebooks until my spirits withered, while you—playing at ‘leisure amidst busyness’—took someone sightseeing. It made me keenly feel life’s transience.”

“It’s not like I’m that laid-back!” “I’ve truly thrown in the towel this year.”

“I hear your brother’s aiming for First Higher School too.” “Since your brother likely won’t make any mistakes—as those classmates of his keep saying—if both brothers pass, it’ll be a true honor for your family.” “That person would surely be delighted as well.” “Ridiculous!” My heart darkened. And I could no longer endure this man’s mockery, whether out of malice or goodwill.

Just at that moment, someone behind me— “Oh no! I’ve forgotten that important formula again.” When I looked, it was Sasaki—the humanities-bound class clown since middle school. “What? Which formula?” “The formula for (a + b) squared,” he said with a straight face.

Everyone burst into uproarious laughter.

“a² + 2ab + b²… Is this right? For some reason, it doesn’t feel quite correct.” “Is that really right?” “I must have made a mistake somewhere—it just doesn’t feel right at all.” Sasaki continued with a perfectly straight face. “I’m starting to feel the same way.” “Even though I thought I’d memorized it thoroughly, somehow I feel like I’ve remembered it wrong.” “That’s why I say I hate entrance exams and all.” Someone chimed in with such a remark.

There, the conversation shifted back to exams, and tales of last year’s and the year before’s failures, along with predictions about the questions, were animatedly discussed. I listened in silence, but the wound from earlier still remained in my heart. In the midst of this, Shimooka—the de facto leader—checked his watch and said, “Hey, only fifteen minutes left on the clock. Shouldn’t we head into the classroom?” “Well then, I guess we’re being led to the slaughterhouse.” “It feels exactly like ascending the guillotine.” Sasaki responded with reckless cheerfulness.

I also went to the restroom and then entered the designated classroom. As usual, the annex classroom was dim and dirty. Having grown accustomed to it from last year, I didn’t hurry when going in or out. Suddenly, I wondered how my brother was doing.

As I sat at my desk steadying my restless mind, the bell clanged. My heart began pounding again.

The exam proctor entered. It was the same balding, large-eyed old teacher I had recognized from last year—seemingly kind yet somehow still frightening. He appeared to be a gymnastics instructor and spoke with startlingly loud volume. Last year, that voice had terrified me. As usual, the exam proctor first compared entrance exam photos to their living counterparts. When under inspection, every examinee adopted an oddly strained expression. Wearing a faint smile, the proctor briskly examined them before moving on. His manner of scrutinizing documents rather than people struck me as absurd.

Once that was done, the exam questions were distributed. I received it impatiently and immediately looked through the questions. Geometry was mostly familiar, it seemed. But algebra—the algebra I had been so worried about—when I read the problems while trembling with apprehension, I felt as though I didn’t know a single one. I was considerably flustered. This won’t do, I steadied my nerves and read through them again, but there seemed to be no way to make sense of it. Amidst this, time seemed to march on with a heavy thud. So I began by tackling geometry first. Though geometry presented numerous difficulties, I managed to solve all three problems in the end. Relieved, I checked the time and saw that nearly half of it had already passed.

I took up the algebra problems again. Then, this time, I finally discovered that although the third problem’s form had changed, it felt familiar. So I started with that one first. When I began working on it, like a tangled skein unraveling from its end, before I knew it, one solution led to another until it was done. At that, I regained my composure. And then, I began to deliberate carefully once more from the beginning. Strangely enough, I suddenly hit upon a solution to the first problem. And then, the answer came out surprisingly easily. The second problem too, upon closer examination, turned out to be nothing more than a straightforward quadratic equation application problem. I was somewhat flustered by the calculations, but eventually managed to work through them as well. I let out another sigh of relief and checked the clock. Time crept up on me before I knew it. Algebra had one more problem left. It also seemed to be a difficult problem. Twenty minutes wouldn’t be enough to make any headway. I frantically concentrated my final efforts there. This time, it didn’t prove so easy. While I fumbled around, five minutes passed. The exam proctor announced that there were fifteen minutes left. By now, some people were already standing up to submit their exam papers.

Thinking I might stumble upon something, I tried random solving methods from every angle. I suddenly recalled how Matsui had once brought a similar problem. But no matter how hard I tried to devise a solution, it refused to take shape properly. Five minutes vanished in an instant. I felt a queasy churning deep in my gut. To leave even one problem—just one—completely blank would be mortifying. Yet no amount of frantic worrying made any difference—it only made things worse. Another five minutes slipped away. The exam proctor barked out a warning: “Prepare to submit your papers now.” I absorbed this blankly. It was hopeless already, yet I scanned my work again with desperate attachment. Then, disastrously late, it came to me—that solution might work after all! I scrambled to set up the equation. The formula held together! In my frantic elation, I dove into calculations—only for the bell to clang through the hall midway through.

All was lost. I had no choice but to submit my exam paper still unfinished.

When I stepped out of the classroom, the sunlight outside blazed blindingly into eyes still dazed from the tension. I walked with my head hung low. My heart brimmed with regret. When I thought how just five more minutes might have sufficed—how those same five minutes could have dictated my fate—that regret surged through my chest. But now, nothing could be done.

As I was about to exit the school gate, I happened to look ahead and saw Sato, that notorious slacker, walking with his usual nonchalant expression. I wanted to grab anyone—it didn’t matter who—and pour out my regret.

“Hey, Sato.” I called out. “How was today’s exam? You didn’t show up where everyone was this morning, did you?” Sato grinned and laughed in response. “Same as usual. This morning I was almost late again. Examinees like me are such a nuisance. Since there’s no point in leaving early, I just stay at the exam hall as long as there’s time. Whether I get them right or not is another matter, but I just write something down on the exam paper. There are examinees like me, after all. ――So how about you?”

“Since there wasn’t enough time, I only wrote down the equations for one problem. As for the rest, I think I somehow managed to get through them. I’ve already completely lost all spirit.” “You’re complainin’ about luxuries! Getting discouraged over just one problem? If the rest are right, you’ll be fine, ain’t ya? As long as things go well from here on, there’s no doubt you’ll pass. You could even treat me as a pre-celebration, you know.” “Don’t talk nonsense. At the very least, if I can’t solve all the math problems, it seems I’m done for.”

“But I heard Yamashita turned in one blank problem last year and still got accepted.” “Though they say after getting in he developed pleurisy and nearly died, so I wouldn’t envy him.” “Is that right? “That Yamashita?” Using my illness as pretext, I wanted to probe deeper about the exams too. “No need to rush your way in then.” Sato deliberately forced a laugh. Then true to form, he tried tempting me again.

“How ’bout it? Let’s go grab a bite somewhere together.” “I can’t just do that. But did Yamashita really get in even after skipping one problem?” “That’s how the story goes anyway. So quit worrying. You’ve got prospects—I’ll send you home to study proper today. But once exams end, you better come relax properly.” “Why d’you keep inviting me like this?” “Wanna see what kinda face a sheltered kid like you’d make. Later.”

With that, he briskly walked off toward the tram stop there.

I felt somehow encouraged by his words. Though Yamashita’s example—coming from Sato—left its truth uncertain, it made me cling to a thin thread of hope. I pulled myself together and returned home.

The next day was English.――

Last year, English had been the primary cause of my failure, so I approached the exam hall with trepidation. As per usual, the problems were handed out along with the exam proctor’s instructions. Because I had panicked and mismanaged my time yesterday, today—after skimming through the questions once—I immediately started drafting answers from the ones I could solve. Fortunately, there were no words I didn’t understand in the English-to-Japanese translation. There were indeed one or two ambiguous parts within, but when I read through them again, I managed to grasp their meaning. I was able to write my exam paper with some composure.

In the midst of this, the dictation teacher arrived. It was Professor Kurokawa, with his burly shoulders, whom I had become somewhat acquainted with at the preparatory school through one or two encounters. As per usual, he read it through once quickly for us to hear. I was glad his pronunciation wasn’t overly precise. I felt that I could mostly understand it. But when I finally tried writing it down during the second pass, around the middle part, I somehow couldn’t catch "every day" at first. I felt nervous again. During the review, I finally managed to get a sense of what it should be. I breathed a sigh of relief. I believed there were no other mistakes.

The Japanese-to-English translation wasn’t beyond my comprehension. But whether my own work was good or bad, I couldn’t quite judge for myself. I believed there were no grammatical errors, but it certainly wasn’t polished English. I considered my English performance passable. At this rate, I might actually pass—this thought began to gradually rise within me. I contemplated stopping by Sendagi on my way back to check on Kenji, but not wanting to see his superiority in such trifling matters, I faint-heartedly gave up the idea.

The next day was National Language and Classical Chinese.——

National Language and Classical Chinese had never been my weak subjects. Composition, in particular, was where I excelled the most. The problems were mostly ones I remembered reading. Even in dictation, there were no kanji I didn’t know. Today, from start to finish, I was able to write my exam paper smoothly. I left the exam hall triumphantly. Today, I thought, even my younger brother would not surpass me.

When I stepped outside with a lightened mood, I felt the urge to stop by Sendagi for a moment. I had been too preoccupied with exams to notice, but today was the thirteenth day of Obon. The streets were strangely bustling with people. Women too could be seen dressed in their finest attire. I suddenly remembered Sumiko. But since tomorrow was full of crucial memorization tasks, I resolutely put everything aside and went straight home.

Finally, the final day had come――. It was the day for physics and history—the subjects I was least confident in—but thinking that today would mark the end, whether for better or worse, I felt oddly uplifted. Among all the exams, today’s results were the worst. As for the first physics exam, since I had managed to solve three problems, it was somewhat passable. But when it came time for the history exam, my mind was utterly exhausted. Moreover, with just last-minute cramming and rote memorization, there was no way I could produce a proper exam paper. The topics I had banked on all missed the mark. Out of the four problems, I somehow managed to solve two. I glossed over one of the remaining problems quite ambiguously, but the final one was something I couldn’t even begin to approach.

The exam paper was a long sheet with problems printed intermittently, leaving blank margins for writing. And that sheet of paper easily hung down from the edge of the desk. I was struggling with a problem I couldn’t understand when I even conceived the desperate notion of stealing a single hint from the answer sheet of the person next to me, whose paper hung down over the edge. Then, at the very moment I teetered on making that decision, the exam proctor's low but stern voice resounded. “I’d like to give you all a brief warning—as you can see, the exam papers are quite long.” “So please do your best to keep them from hanging over the edge.” “I trust you understand the reason without me having to spell it out,” the exam proctor said with deliberate politeness. That was a small-statured professor with a stern face.

It was a tense moment, but the final sarcasm in those words grated slightly against the examinees' nerves. Someone in the far corner stifled a laugh. Then, spurred by that sound, most of them burst into laughter. Amidst them, one person emitted a strange giggling noise—"hee hee hee"—like air escaping from a punctured bellows.

A flush of anger rose to the exam proctor’s face. And then, once more polite yet sharp, a voice emerged from his mouth. “Who was it? The one who made that strange laugh just now.” Having said that, he suddenly surveyed the silent classroom and strode briskly toward the desk that seemed to be the source. There, a pale young man was watching with his eyebrows furrowed. “It was you, wasn’t it? The one who just laughed.” The exam proctor asked.

“……”

The examinee remained silent, his face turning pale around the eyebrows. “It was you, wasn’t it?” The exam proctor pressed further. “……Yes.” The examinee finally answered.

“I see.” “In that case, since your exam paper is done, please leave this place.” “You understand the reason, don’t you?” This time, no one laughed. Instead, a silence of utter deflation reigned oppressively over the examination hall. “I was just about to leave anyway.” The examinee stood up with desperate defiance as he uttered those words. And amidst the hushed gazes of the entire room, he walked out with loud footsteps.

Before long, from somewhere near the corridor, that young man’s high-pitched giggle—"hee-hee-hee"—echoed once more.

The exam proctor muttered to himself while looking at the remaining papers, “Not a single one is done properly. Students these days are so cocky—it’s a real problem.”

I had grown quite desperate myself, so I felt genuine sympathy for that young man from the depths of my heart—no, rather than sympathy, I wanted to honor that defiant spirit of his. A voice had laughed: "Hee hee hee." Wasn't that very laughter cursing this examination system down to its rotten foundations?

If I could laugh, I would want to laugh like that. Even every examinee under heaven must surely want to raise their voices in unison and laugh that way. And if we examinees—the grotesque monstrosities spawned by modern society—were to laugh this laugh together, what would the authorities possibly say? "Not a single one is done properly." "Students these days are so cocky—it’s a real problem." Would muttering such things truly settle matters?—

I sat before my exam paper, one problem still blank, lost in such thoughts.

The bell rang. My exam paper was, in the end, left with one problem completely blank.

On my way back, I stopped by Sendagi. My younger brother had already returned and was sitting blankly at his desk.

“How were your results?” I asked.

“Well, I managed passably.” My younger brother’s response remained as tersely reserved as ever.

“I seem to have failed again. Today too, I failed terribly.” I wanted to explain my circumstances in greater detail and find out about my brother’s situation. “Anyway, it’s over now, so I don’t care about the exams anymore.” My younger brother showed no desire to ask questions or speak.

Feeling disconcerted, I silently gazed intently at my younger brother’s face, which beneath the surface seemed filled with confidence. Then I suddenly felt hatred. It was directed at those younger than myself. It was almost instinctive hatred.

11

While we were being overwhelmed by exams, the world had fully transitioned into summer. The city had completely changed its appearance; in daytime, the shadows of the street trees grew dense. At night, in turn, cool lights spread out.

While bearing the exhaustion of exams and being pursued by dread of their outcome, my heart lightly roamed through the city’s summer. I frequently visited the house in Sendagi. I frequently encountered Sumiko as well. The lighthearted mood following the exams was reflected in her state of mind as well. She was more cheerful than usual. And her attitude toward me had not been so bad since that time. If anything, rather, she seemed reassured by my declaration of intent and even showed a somewhat coquettish aspect. At the same time, she also exhibited a commanding attitude. In any case, I was in a position where I had no choice but to be pleased with them.

There was no particular change in her demeanor toward my younger brother either. While I had been away due to exams, the developments I had secretly feared would emerge apparently had not occurred. On the whole, the situation was more favorable for me than before the exams.

One day, such a thing happened. Kenji had gone out after being invited by a friend and wasn’t home just then. I spent some time having various casual conversations with just my sister. While talking with an older woman—as often happens in such situations—I unwittingly grew sentimental. And finally, I brought myself to say such things.

“Sis, I think I’ve come down with a real nervous breakdown lately, you know.” “While I’m here, it’s not so bad, but when I return to my lodging, I become unbearably gloomy.” “I somehow feel as if the entire world has turned completely dark.” “What in the world is happening to me?”

My sister fixed me with a scrutinizing gaze, then deftly sidestepped my words. “It’s because you’re staying at that temple, that’s all.” “And I suppose the strain of exams has come back to haunt me as well.” “I can’t sleep at all every night, and it’s really troubling me.” “Then inevitably, I start thinking about the exams.” “And when I think that this year will also be a failure, I become completely at a loss about what to do.”

“But you don’t know yet, do you? You might have passed—no, you must have passed. When you think that way, luck actually turns in your favor.” “I wonder. It would be nice if things went that smoothly, but the world doesn’t work that way. That’s why I end up with a nervous breakdown.” “The cause is generally in those kinds of things.” My sister said with a smile.

I wanted to press further here. But to do so, I remained too cowardly still. The two of us sat in silence for a time. My sister maintained an attitude that seemed both knowing and unknowing of my inner state.

At that moment came the sound of the lattice door opening. It was Sumiko who had arrived. She carried her usual brightness from outside into the space between us. Yet my heart, having sunk into sentimentality, could not be uplifted by her presence as it usually was. After some time passed, my sister left us behind and went toward the kitchen. She and I did not need to face each other anew. A suffocating urgency pressed against my chest. I stole a glance at her. When our gazes collided, I hastily lowered my eyes. The silence—stiff like congealed air—felt artificially forced to me. I knew I must speak, yet my lips refused to part naturally. At last it was she who broke through.

“You seem terribly down today.” “Did something happen?” “No, it’s truly nothing.”

“Really, it’s nothing.” Saying this, she tilted her head and peered at me.

In my heart, something whispered again, “Now.” Now was the moment! I looked up at her through lowered eyes, hurriedly pressed down my eyelashes, and began to speak in a low voice.

“Sumiko,” “You aren’t still angry about what happened the other day, are you?” “If that’s the case, please forgive me.” “I never intended to do anything like that.” “What do you mean by ‘the other day’s matter’?” While taken aback by my sudden change in demeanor, she lowered her voice to match my tone. “It was my fault for doing such a thing at the Exhibition.” “When I think that after doing such a thing, you must surely consider me a despicable person, I want to crawl into a hole.” “Please don’t think ill of me.”

“That matter? If it’s about that matter, I don’t think anything of it at all. I was just startled, that’s all. But it was all so sudden. Really, that’s all there was to it.”

Here, she lowered her voice even further and continued.

“I was truly happy.” “So you’ll forgive me then?” My voice quivered involuntarily at the end. “I truly don’t think anything of it. “So let’s put an end to this talk already. “I can’t stand this. “You act like you know everything already. “——”

Like someone whose weakness had been laid bare, I could not take another step forward. Yet even after managing to voice even a sliver of my feelings—even if I was being maneuvered like a puppet—the moment I understood her response hinted at kindness, it felt as though a great burden had slipped from my shoulders.

In the midst of this, my sister arrived, and the two of us reverted to our usual selves.

My younger brother did not return at all. Sumiko only briefly asked about my younger brother when she arrived and then strangely said nothing more about him afterward. I even felt relief in that.

Eventually, in the gathering dusk, Sumiko returned home.

After that, it was just my sister and me again.

“Well? Has your nervous breakdown healed?” Suddenly, my sister asked with a laugh. I was taken by surprise. And without thinking,

“Huh?” I asked back. “I won’t say it again, alright?” My sister said with a teasing look. “Sister, you shouldn’t say such things.” While reproaching her in a pleading manner, I teared up from the lingering sentiment that had continued since earlier.

My sister turned toward me in surprise, but when she saw my unusual state, her face—which had begun to smile—shifted to solemnity. This time before my sister, I had no choice but to take a step forward.

“Sister.” I paused before continuing. “Sister, please stop saying such things and teasing me. “I’ve been wanting to confide in you for a long time, Sister—to make this request. I truly care for Sumiko.” “And if possible—if possible—I want to marry her eventually. Even now, I want us to become engaged. What do you think, Sister?” “Couldn’t you first ascertain Sumiko’s true feelings yourself and then convey them to her family?” “I’m not saying this out of frivolity or mischief.” “I’m saying this in all seriousness.” “So please, Sister, take this seriously and help me.” “I beg you.” “Truly, I beg you.” Carried away by my excitement, I blurted out all at once while shedding tears.

My sister wore a troubled expression and listened in silence with her head bowed. And after thinking deeply for a long time, she raised her face.

“About that matter— “Kenkichi-san.” My sister’s words were somehow choked with tears. “I’ve been thinking about that myself for some time now. “I certainly never intended to handle things poorly. “Even now, I truly sympathize with your feelings. “But Kenkichi-san—though I may sound conventional—it’s truly still too early for someone in your position. “If this were about after entering university or such, we could discuss it properly. But aren’t you still in the midst of taking entrance exams? “Still, if you’re this determined—very well. “At least wait until your exam results come out and you’ve properly entered higher school. “Then I’ll broach the subject. “I’ll do everything in my power to help. “Speaking of exam results—they’ll be announced soon enough, won’t they? “For now, please let me keep this matter to myself alone. “That would be best. “Now—promise me you’ll do this? “Do you understand my position?” There was nothing unreasonable in my sister’s words.

When told this, I could do nothing but nod, caught between embarrassment, happiness, and anxiety. After that, for a long time, the two of them sat in complete silence, as if they had said everything there was to say.

It was one of those days when my brother-in-law was due home late. My younger brother had not returned either.

The quiet evening twilight filled the house. I tried to leave too, but my sister stopped me by saying she would prepare a special meal. After finally eating dinner, I set out for home.

When I stepped outside, the rain-laden sky was dark. While burning with an indescribable excitement, I walked briskly through that darkness. Before I knew it, the rain began to fall. I walked back to the temple at long last, drenched in the midsummer night’s rain that seemed to cool my feverish head.

Now, with nothing but trepidation and expectation, all that remained was to await the announcement...

Twelve

Though I had long awaited it, the day of the announcement I had also wished would stay distant arrived. As soon as I woke up that morning, my heart was surging with hope and apprehension. The palpitations raged so violently that I couldn’t swallow a bite of food.

I was afraid to go out on purpose to look. But I couldn’t bear not to go see.

For one or two hours that morning, I frittered away the time aimlessly. As I lingered in this indecision, I felt certain someone would come to tell me the results. But no one came. At last, trapped in this limbo, I could no longer bear being gnawed at by uncertainty. And so I resolved that confronting fate's final judgment head-on would be my only path to emotional release.

Around ten o'clock, I resolutely set out for the school. As I walked up Hongo-dori, a straggling crowd of examinees came toward me from the opposite direction. Some among them, unable to contain their joy, had faintly flushed eyelids as they talked loudly or walked with heads held high. The remaining majority wore sullen faces like a crowd that had witnessed some wrongdoing. Among them were also those who exchanged what seemed like self-mocking smiles with friends they encountered, their cheerfulness clearly forced.

After walking for a while, I encountered Shimooka and Sasaki coming from the opposite direction. “Oh!” they said, touching the brims of their hats, first and foremost with forced bitter smiles, “Failed again… failed again.” “We’ll make a comeback!” they said in unison. “What about me?” I timidly asked.

“We didn’t know your number,” said Shimooka. “So go see for yourself quickly. You’re probably not mistaken. We’re already generals of a defeated army—we’ve nothing left to say.” “Just a foot soldier of defeat here,” I replied. Sasaki chuckled self-deprecatingly from the side. “Well, I’ll take my leave for today.” “Goodbye.”

I started walking again. Examinees were still trailing past in disorganized groups. A short distance before the school gate, I encountered Sato once more. Even now in his unlined summer kimono, he walked with his right hand tucked into his breast, appearing utterly absorbed in listening to the clack of his own geta. I considered slipping past him unnoticed given his complete preoccupation, but recognizing it was Sato regardless, “Hey, Sato! How’d it go?” I called out.

Sato abruptly looked up at me. There was no longer anything resembling sorrow on his face. “Oh, you’re just now getting here? Then hurry up and go take a look.—I’ve also come to see it as usual, just like everyone else. With this, I’ve more or less fulfilled my duty as an examinee. But those posted results are like checking lottery numbers for Industrial Promotion Bonds—they’ve got nothing to do with me.—Well then, goodbye. If you’d like, come visit me sometime—even if I fail, I won’t be returning to my hometown anytime soon.”

“Well, see you again.” “Take care.”

I finally reached the school gate. The yellowish-brown gate pillars with their peeling paint were also somehow terrifying today.

"I am now passing through the gate of fate," I thought. When I walked from beside the main building toward the covered walkway, the already posted notice came into view. Twelve or thirteen examinees, all uniformly tilting their summer hats at an angle, stood in dark clusters beneath them. Suddenly seized by violent palpitations and trembling, I hurriedly made my way toward that spot.

I looked up at the posted notice. When I frantically identified the section labeled Part III at the end, I quickly focused my burning eyes on the neatly lined numbers there. 129—129 wasn't there. I still couldn't believe it. I looked again. Still nothing. Then panic began rising. Once more, I reluctantly scanned through it. Nothing. To be thorough, I checked the other list too. On that one as well, 129 was absent. Through all of Part I, Part II, and Part III, the number 129 was nowhere to be found. When this reality settled, I felt an unnatural calm. It somehow seemed right that it wasn't there. But that lasted only an instant. Then suddenly, violently, I understood my situation. Failure—Everything was ruined.

Everything was lost.—The moment I thought this, my chest churned as if boiling over.

Suddenly, I thought of my brother. Part II-A, 216! I hurriedly scanned the area. And unmistakably, there was my brother’s number. It was there, it was there! I wanted to doubt my own eyes. Here, once again, I came to know my own painful position. Rather than sadness or even suffering, I was left utterly suffocated.

The people around me who were likewise looking at the posted results all held their breath in unison and stared upward. Occasionally, someone would leave behind a brief interjection and hurriedly depart. Many wore pale, sullen expressions. But surely none who came here would feel anguish more acute than mine. They would not know disappointment more piercing than mine—I exhaustively contemplated my failure and the agonizing position it entailed. And for the third time, I cursed my younger brother’s very existence from the depths of my heart.

I could no longer see anything at all. And then, stumbling under grief and despair, I trudged out of the school gate alone.

I no longer had any desire to go to Sendagi. When I returned to the temple and sat down at my desk, tears welled up for the first time. In the room where I had tightly closed the quietly brightened shoji screens that drank in the unseasonably clouded midsummer sunlight, I cried alone from the depths of my heart—freely, unreservedly. And afterward, both body and mind were left utterly blank.

The next day, a letter came from my sister in Sendagi. It was a letter of consolation. Such trite phrases about not losing heart and ruining my health were written with feminine verbosity. I felt grateful. But imagining my sister's reluctant expression as she penned this disagreeable letter made me feel more sorrowful than thankful. And I resolved not to visit Sendagi for some time.

The next day, a letter came from Sumiko. When I hurriedly opened the envelope, it was a letter filled with the same sympathy as last year. It was merely shorter than last year’s. And there was nothing beyond sympathy. That, too, saddened me. Yet I was also comforted by the mere words: "I earnestly pray you won’t shut yourself away in despair—do come visit us in Sendagi too."

Thirteen

After two or three days had passed, I suddenly resolved to go to Sendagi. I could no longer endure sustaining my suffering in solitude; I wanted to unburden myself to someone. Moreover, there existed a desperate sort of pleasure in wanting to witness my triumphant brother’s demeanor and render my own pain even more acute. And there was another crucial reason—I yearned to bask in Sumiko’s sympathy as well.

In the Sendagi house, my sister was alone. When my sister saw me entering,

“Oh, Kenkichi-san,” she said, tears welling in her eyes as she welcomed me. “You hadn’t come for so long—I was wondering what had happened.” “I even thought of visiting you around today.” “But you came after all… You truly are a pitiful thing.” I had been starving for those very words. Without hesitation, I dissolved into tears. As if to torment myself further, I even let out a voice choked with weeping. “I’ve resigned myself to my inadequate studies, but more than that—my very mind is fundamentally flawed.” “I’m finished.”

“That’s not true at all. Luck plays half the part, you know. Don’t lose heart—stay strong. Though such a thing may not happen to you, you mustn’t do anything reckless in some trivial place.—Sumiko was terribly worried too.” “Sumiko? Please don’t talk about that person now.” I suddenly felt ashamed and said this. But deep down, I wanted to hear more about her.

My sister fell silent at that. Even though sympathy passed between us, there was an uncharacteristic awkwardness in our usual interactions. Taking advantage of my sister having moved slightly toward the kitchen, I went up to the second floor to be alone. According to my sister, my younger brother had gone to the bath. I sat before my younger brother’s desk and became motionlessly absorbed in thought. Suddenly, his face—filled with vitality, now leisurely soaking in the bathtub—floated into view. And envy and jealousy swirled around it. I panicked and began to erase that image.

When I suddenly looked at the desk, there lay a congratulatory telegram from someone. “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR SUCCESS” I unconsciously recited its wording. At that moment, I suddenly thought there must be a congratulatory letter from Sumiko. I looked around the area, but it wasn’t on or near the desk. While gnawed by a slight sense of guilt, I could no longer resist the temptation to open the desk drawer.

While keeping an ear out for any sounds from downstairs, I timidly opened the desk drawer like a petty thief. Sure enough, the letter lay in the left drawer. There it was—a pale pink envelope identical to mine, likely sent on the very same day. I hastily read through its contents. “Dear Kenji, Nothing could make me happier than this. So happy that tears spilled from my eyes. I do feel sorry for your brother, but fate cannot be helped. Yet since you’ve safely passed, I must offer my sincerest congratulations. Truthfully, I prayed every night for your admission. When I think those prayers bore fruit, I cannot help but give thanks to dear God as well.

From now on, you’re a proper First Higher School student, aren’t you? You must be carrying yourself quite grandly now. But however grand you may act, I’ll be cross if you become too splendid to keep company with someone like me. Please—forever and always—continue seeing me. It breaks my heart more than anything when I make the effort to visit your home only for you to frown at me. Lately, I’ve thought of nothing but you. Forgive me if I’ve spoken too boldly and upset you. I couldn’t bear it if you were angry.

As per our promise, I’m even sending a fountain pen as a token of congratulations in a separate envelope. I’ve used it two or three times, but since it’s still new, please do make use of it. Yours, “To my beloved Kenji-sama.”

I read through it all in one breath. With trembling hands, I neatly refolded it, placed it back into the envelope, and returned it to the drawer exactly as found. For five minutes afterward, I remained pressed down by some invisible force—utterly immobilized. My chest seethed with turmoil, yet maintained a deceptive calm. There existed an indescribable tension—a stillness transcending pain itself. I truly thought I might suffocate. Then came a groan-like sigh, wrenching me back to self-awareness.

“Everything was lost,” I thought. “Now that it has come to this, there’s no helping it.”

With a demeanor calmer than before, I went downstairs.

After a while, my younger brother returned from the bath. When he noticed me, he showed a faint look of confusion—as if unsure how to proceed—but quickly regained his composure and said:

“Brother, I’m truly sorry for you.” For my usually reticent younger brother, even saying this much seemed to require his utmost effort. “No, there’s nothing to be done about mine. But you passed splendidly.” “Congratulations.” This was the best response I could muster. And once again, I stared fixedly at my younger brother’s face—at this younger brother who was superior in every aspect. Though it was a somewhat swarthy face I had grown accustomed to over the past year or two—one with vigor deeply embedded around the eyebrows—today I recognized within it a latent force that made me jealous, made me hateful, and even compelled a certain kind of respect.

For a while, we engaged in ordinary, inoffensive conversation—discussing whether we would return home or not. Yet even so, it still felt somewhat stilted. Eventually, my younger brother seized the moment and headed upstairs.

I insisted on taking my leave from my sister, who tried to keep me until dinner, and departed.

Outside, there was not even a gentle breeze—a faintly yellow twilight. In the streets, people bathed in lingering twilight and lamplight were bustling about. I stood amidst them and reflected on my aimless self. At that moment, I suddenly realized Sato’s lodging in Shinbana-cho was closest at hand. I recalled how he had often invited me. For someone like my current defeated self, I thought that man would be the most suitable companion.

Sato was just at his lodging.

“Oh, it’s you.” “You finally showed up, huh?” “Still, you actually came.” “By the way, I hear you also didn’t make it this year, huh.” “Well, it can’t be helped.” “You just have to accept it as fate.” “You should just resign yourself and take it easy.” “You can take it easy today, I guess.”

While saying this, he pressed the bell there with a comprehending look, not waiting for my response.

Fourteen

The next morning, I found myself sitting vacantly on a bench at the high ground of Ueno Park.

When I thought about everything that had happened from last night until now, I wished it were all a dream. After that, while staying at Sato's place, his friend Aoki came by there. So the three of us went to a nearby beef restaurant. For the first time, I drank sake I couldn't even handle. And got completely drunk. When they put me in the rickshaw, I didn't know where we were going. No—it wasn't that I didn't know at all. Rather, through cowardly self-deception, I had convinced myself not to know. The rickshaw bearing me—drunk and gasping for breath—plunged headlong into the darkness. We arrived at a place ablaze with lights among towering buildings. I was carried unceremoniously into some house. Then led into a room as if being pacified. There I spent my first shameful night. The memories from then till now seemed like nothing but a dream. Yet that I had come here again this morning—that I'd woken early and slipped out alone from that unfamiliar house in some quarter like a fugitive—stood undeniable beneath the harsh daylight.

“Ah! What an unthinkable thing I’ve done. “Have I fallen this low?” I sat on the cold morning bench, on the verge of tears, and thought. The forbidden fruit I first tasted last night. The memory of that too became unbearably repugnant to recall. It had been utterly devoid of meaning for me. Is there any value in throwing oneself into such a thing? I doubted it from the bottom of my heart.

"In short, everything had been lost to me."

I muttered thus to myself and gazed at Asakusa’s morning scenery where layers of dawn mist peeled away one after another. Where the fog had cleared remained only grimy black roofs—huddled masses jutting upward and leaning against each other. Not a single hue there welcomed a glorious morning. “Well then—where should I go now?” I kept thinking. A steam whistle suddenly blared beneath my feet. I stood up and leaned against the railing, instinctively looking down. From the gray station stretched several iron tracks flowing out white and smooth. Between flat-surfaced roofs rose puffs of white smoke here and there. Then a train came surging through a gap between rooftops with a whoosh. As I watched, it crossed the tracks—shaking nearby houses with its speed—and plunged headlong through the landscape below.

As I watched that, tears welled up in my eyes. And through tears, I thought this. "The only right thing is to board that train and return to my hometown." Beyond that, there was nowhere else to go. "If I return to my hometown, things would probably work out somehow." I discreetly wiped my tears and headed toward Ueno Station. Unfortunately, there were about two hours until departure. But I no longer had the strength to go anywhere. I sat motionless in a corner of the waiting area, hung my head low, and waited…

At last, I boarded the train. The same train that eight months earlier had carried my hopes and light now departed northward bearing despair and darkness.—

From around Koriyama onward，the world beyond the window grew dim and hazy. As we neared Nakayama’s mountain path，the newly risen moon faintly tinged the train window with light. Approaching Yamagata，the surroundings had transformed into a fragrant summer night bathed in moonlight. Lake Inawashiro’s vista now shimmered in my mind，vivid as midday.

I aimlessly got off at Yamagata. And passing through the dark station road, I walked toward the lake. When the houses huddled in darkness came to an end and I emerged onto a large embankment, there already lay the vast lake surface stretched out soundlessly.

The moonlight quietly wafted down, dissolving the shapes of the mountains across the water. Endlessly vast and ceaselessly surging, the lake barely stirred at its edges—a monotonous expanse without a single flickering light or boat casting shadows. To my tear-blurred eyes and sorrow-laden heart, it seemed a dream that granted respite.

I sat down on the embankment and gazed intently at the water’s surface. When I suddenly noticed, there on my right—what appeared to be the original boat landing—a pier stretched long into the lake. Black, straight, and inviting—that form would not leave my sight this time. I was going to stand up now and walk along that pier. Straight ahead, on and on, endlessly…

(This suicide note-like memoir had been left at the end of the pier along with his other belongings. His corpse was discovered the next morning. Eventually, this memoir was passed into the hands of the brother who had rushed there upon hearing of the emergency. He had shown it to no one and kept it hidden until this very moment. Due to a certain chance conversation, he confided it to me. And he entrusted me with publishing it to the world—one reason being for the memorial of his dead brother, and the other being as a reference for the many examinees who would likely share in such suffering alongside his brother. I made some revisions to the original text and, for better or worse, turned it into a readable piece. My only secret concern is whether the editorial revisions I made have instead marred its simple and unadorned tone, thereby considerably lessening its impact.)

Incidentally, my younger brother is my friend and a university student two or three years below me. Therefore, I would like you to consider this story as something from the past, when the exam system had not yet been comprehensively improved as it is now. For the readers' reference, if I were to add one more brief afterword—the romance between Sumiko and my younger brother had also ended in failure within that context. After all, given that Sumiko was such a coquettish woman, one can imagine that this was how it should have been, but I add this just to be thorough.

—Author’s Note. (February 1918.)