Yin Ze woke up in a panic.
In his dream, he'd been a bandit who got stabbed in the back during a cigarette raid. The blade was long—easily enough to chop firewood. He sat up on the floor mat, instinctively scratching his side as his groggy mind tried to reboot.
Matsuoka Yoshitsugu's futon was just a few steps away. The room was too cramped to fit two guys comfortably on the floor, so midnight trips to the bathroom required a careful dance to avoid stepping on wires or limbs.
Their "single working man's alliance" had lasted over twenty days. They'd grown close enough to share their most embarrassing, cringeworthy middle-school tales. Laughing through hardships was their coping mechanism.
Like sharing one apple on Christmas Eve. Or huddling together under blankets in the dark on New Year's Eve because the fuse blew, listening to a New Year's special on the radio. On New Year's morning, they exchanged ¥100 red envelopes to pretend they were celebrating. Matsuoka even bought him half a bag of walnuts once, claiming they'd boost his brainpower before a long night of solving math problems.
That dream—the gut-piercing pain—felt too real. Yin Ze didn't dare go back to sleep. He wasn't about to take the risk of getting "stabbed" again.
After washing up and boiling water, he stood at the stove, rubbing his chin, feeling like something was off.
Most people have had moments like this—on the tip of your tongue one second, gone the next.
Yin Ze felt that exact kind of fuzziness now.
Sure, he had a freakish ability—his so-called "mental solid-state drive" and a museum of memories in his brain. But it was an active skill. Unless he consciously browsed the "folders," his recall wasn't much better than a normal person's. Even remembering song names meant checking his playlist.
So here came the paradox: all his data was there, but if he couldn't remember what he was trying to remember, was he actually forgetting... or not?
Thus, he dubbed this power: "Schrödinger's Corridor of Life."
And right now, the system was lagging.
He couldn't push the memory too hard either—overclock it, and his nutrition wouldn't keep up.
Something was wrong. A heavy sense of dread clung to him.
His voice-acting gig for the support-knight character had been postponed due to production delays—no urgency there.
He wasn't supposed to view any rental apartments today.
The standardized entrance exam ended two weeks ago. He'd scored 825. Right on target. The homeroom teacher and the academic director had even cried tears of joy.
He'd already recorded that risqué late-night variety show.
He was just a lonely guy with no strings attached. What could possibly—
Wait. The entrance exam?
And suddenly, like unclogging a toilet, his mental corridor snapped into focus. Yin Ze froze in place like he'd been struck by lightning.
"The University of Tokyo uses a combined score from the national and individual exams!"
He could see the memory clearly now: the principal gripping his collar, baring his fangs like a battle-hardened educator.
Crap. The school-specific exam!
His relaxed morning expression crumpled in an instant.
Shit! It's today! The massive wave of panic now had a name. It wasn't just failure he feared—it was the loss of a potentially massive financial reward that came with meeting the target score.
"Matsuoka! Let me borrow your bike!" Yin Ze sprang to life, shutting off the stove and scrambling for clothes. Two seconds later, he stopped, face falling.
…He didn't know how to ride a bike.
Another two seconds. His determination reignited like battle flames—fine, he'd rely on Takizawa's muscle memory!
Brown trench coat. Gryffindor scarf. Mismatched socks—one black, one yellow—because he couldn't find a proper pair. He zombie-jumped toward the door.
Just then, the doorknob turned with a click. Matsuoka stepped in, holding milk and rice balls from the corner store. He blinked at his frantic roommate.
"You're up?"
"Something big! No time to explain!" Yin Ze shouted.
"I know. You've got the UTokyo exam today. I scheduled a taxi for you last night." Matsuoka kicked off his shoes, calm as ever. "It's only 7 AM. Eat breakfast first."
The room fell silent.
"…How did you know?" Yin Ze asked after a long pause, still holding his shoes.
"We were eating after our shift one night, remember? You said you were applying to Todai. I jotted down the exam date. I even woke up at five today." Matsuoka scratched his cheek nervously, seeing Yin Ze's stunned face. "W-Wait, don't tell me I got the date wrong?!"
"No, no… Let's eat." Yin Ze finally exhaled and dropped his shoes, working at the knot in his scarf.
"…Okay."
Tokyo, Bunkyō Ward.
Today, the Hongo-sanchome Station on the Oedo Line and the Ueno-hirokoji Station on the Ginza Line would be packed to the brim. Anxious examinees and their equally stressed parents crowded together—everyone had spent months preparing for this day.
Despite its prestige, the University of Tokyo had a humble main gate—no grand archway or flashing signs. At the Hongo Campus, the gate was originally a "crimson gate" from the Maeda clan, gifted as part of a marriage alliance during the Edo period. The name stuck due to its deep vermilion color. Once damaged, such gates couldn't be rebuilt. This one was the only surviving original.
"This is a cultural relic," said the academic director, adjusting his glasses. "The papers often describe 'stepping through the crimson gate' as a metaphor for passing the exam."
The once-quiet area was now bustling. Staff ran around holding banners, organizing the chaotic flow of people.
Led by the principal, their group entered the campus.
They passed under the ginkgo trees, gazing at the solemn silhouette of Yasuda Auditorium. The architecture bore Western touches, but its spirit remained uniquely Japanese. Vice Principal Koizumi Yūzaburō's expression was hard to read.
"My connection to this place started with Kawabata Yasunari," the principal murmured, white breath escaping his lips. "The man whose words pierced my soul."
"One summer night, I read the final lines of The Dancing Girl of Izu and cried like the protagonist—without restraint, just wanting to fall asleep in peaceful satisfaction. That was when I understood sorrow and romance. They've echoed inside me ever since. Ten years ago, I came here to take the exam and strolled by Sanshiro Pond, where generations of literary greats have walked—Akutagawa, Oe, Dazai, Soseki, Kawabata... I walked quietly, afraid to disturb the beauty trapped in time."
The students watched as their principal sank into poetic melancholy.
"Go. Follow in the footsteps of the wise. We'll be waiting right here."
Yin Ze turned to go, but paused. "One last thing I never said."
"Hm?"
"To the director, principal, and Professor Yasui—thank you for your support and belief in me."
He stepped back and gave a deep, sincere bow.
"If it were up to me, I wouldn't have chosen this path. Your guidance led me here, and I'm grateful."
"Heh, good kid. Then bring back top marks from Humanities Track III. Give me bragging rights next time I drink with the other schools," the director laughed, patting his sparse hair.
Yin Ze nodded and took off, stationery bag in hand.
"Watching students head into exams always gets me," the director sighed. "Even adults take these tests. Maybe you should try again, Principal?"
"Some dreams are sweeter with a hint of regret," Koizumi said with a smile. "Student days are the most beautiful. If I actually passed, I'd only obsess over money and returns. Better to keep dreaming."
Yin Ze sat in a corner of the exam room, gripping his pen case. The students were spaced far apart. Most weren't fresh grads—more like repeaters and older adults. Everyone wore poker faces. The room was so quiet, he could hear the heater blowing.
It felt like another world.
The air was so dense it felt solid. As the examiner silently unwrapped the papers, a few unshaven older men trembled under the weight of past failures.
It was nothing like the standardized exam. That felt like a friendly exchange.
This? This was a bloodbath.
He felt a mix of respect and guilt. These people had been grinding for years, while he'd stumbled into this.
The college entrance exam marked the end of youth.
After that, the world opened up. Some went abroad, others struggled north.
Years later, in the working world, he realized: solving problems in a warm classroom with friends nearby was the purest kind of job. No rented room ever felt like a dorm. No online romance beat a handwritten note slipped into a desk drawer.
Back in high school, Yin Ze had been cannon fodder. His proudest feat? Scoring 15 on math—second-worst in his grade. The worst got 10 from blind guessing.
Normally he'd nap after the multiple choice section, but not that day.
The sun was warm. The breeze was soft. Golden light passed through ivy and spilled across a chalk-dusted podium.
After handing this in… school's over.
So he'd leaned on the desk, studying the students, the teacher, the classroom.
Just wanting to remember that moment—when his youth ended.
"Begin!"
The examiner's voice echoed.
Students bowed their heads. Pens unsheathed.
Yin Ze exhaled onto his cold hands.
Blessings and misfortunes came hand in hand.
One more chance to live out the end of youth.
Schrödinger's corridor booted up. Power output: 200%.
The boy's pen flew across the page like lightning.
Matsuoka rubbed his hands by the heater. He'd taken the whole day off.
This was Takizawa's big day. The odds weren't great, but Matsuoka wanted to be there no matter what.
A broken family, no real home—and yet Takizawa never gave up. Late nights under a desk lamp, burning bright like a moth chasing flame.
If he failed, Matsuoka would comfort him. If he passed, they'd celebrate.
He'd even rehearsed both speeches.
Knock knock.
He's back!
Matsuoka stood up, steeling himself.
"It's freezing out," Yin Ze muttered, brushing snow from his shoulders.
"H-How'd it go today?" Matsuoka asked carefully.
"Cold."
"No, I meant… the exam?"
"Oh, that? It's done."
Done? What did that mean?
Was it disappointment? Confidence?
Matsuoka's brain spun.
"Hey, let's go out for dinner tonight—my treat. That skewer place we liked. I really owe you this month."
"…Sure. But I already bought groceries and prepped some dishes."
"You're splurging?"
"I… well, I wanted to be ready. Takizawa, if I may ask—how do you feel you did today?"
"Pretty well, I think?" Yin Ze blinked, caught off guard. "Why?"
"That's great. Congratulations!" Matsuoka deflated in relief. "I'm happy for you."
"The results aren't out yet. Why do you look more nervous than I do?" Yin Ze chuckled. "Rest up. We're going out tonight."
Heisei Year 22.
The University of Tokyo released its results.
Liberal Arts Track III: 1,487 applicants. 469 slots.
Takizawa Satoru, first-time applicant. Center Score: 825. Individual Exam: 351. Total: 451.
—Accepted.