News that Toujou Kaisoku had actually gotten into Tōdai spread through the entire school with suspicious speed—someone had clearly been fanning the flames.
And once the whole school knew, it was only a matter of time before the entire Tokyo umamusume community found out.
They say you’re only ever six degrees of separation from anyone, and umamusume were a demographic particularly enthusiastic about sharing information.
So when Kaisoku walked into her classroom, virtually every pair of eyes swiveled toward her in a kaleidoscope of expressions, and the startled girl instinctively ducked behind Satono Diamond as if she’d stumbled into a wolf den.
“What’s going on?”
“Everyone knows you got into Tōdai.
Once you finish your middle school coursework, you can go straight to enrollment.
I think they find it fascinating—you’re the first umamusume to ever get into Tōdai, in a sense.” Diamond obligingly blocked the collective gaze like a wall of iron, shielding Kaisoku behind her.
She’d anticipated this, honestly.
She just hadn’t expected everyone to be quite this enthusiastic.
“Ahem—class is starting, everyone.
Please take your seats.” Though the umamusume were still buzzing with curiosity about the girl who’d gotten into Tōdai, the teacher’s command settled them down.
They retracted their craning necks with visible reluctance, and Kaisoku finally let out a small breath of relief.
“I thought I was about to be interrogated…” Kaisoku carefully slid into her seat in the back row.
Her original desk neighbor hadn’t been Diamond, but at some point her seatmate had decided the window seat suited her better and applied to swap with Diamond.
Since having Diamond nearby was nothing but beneficial, Kaisoku hadn’t questioned the sudden change of heart.
“Thanks, Dia.”
“It’s nothing—I’m Kai’s first friend, after all.” Diamond tested the waters carefully.
“That must make me pretty important to you, right?”
“Mm, Dia really is a very important friend to me.” Kaisoku nodded without hesitation.
Diamond was pleased, but the probe hadn’t yielded the intel she’d wanted.
“A very important friend” could apply to multiple people.
It didn’t rule out this mysterious “Deep” person also being an “important friend.”
But there’d be other chances.
Diamond wasn’t in a rush.
If anything, Kaisoku was guaranteed to end up at Tracen Academy for training.
Despite being nominally a Tōdai student, the two of them could absolutely share a dormitory, attend the same classes—even share a room, if it came to that.
None of these thoughts reached the currently-spacing-out Kaisoku, though.
After getting into Tōdai, middle school material had become child’s play.
The lectures were putting her to sleep.
If not for needing to maintain her attendance record for graduation purposes, she wouldn’t have come to class at all.
Up at the front, the teacher was lecturing until her mouth went dry.
Inside Kaisoku’s head, she was already replaying Journey to the West.
Her head bobbed and drooped, as though Sun Wukong himself were pressing down on her skull with some effortless technique.
Her eyelids weighed a thousand pounds, and the teacher’s droning had become the world’s finest ASMR, guiding her consciousness toward a reunion with the Duke of Zhou in dreamland.
But before she could so much as exchange pleasantries with the Duke, a tap on her shoulder snapped her back.
Bleary-eyed, she raised her head and looked toward Diamond, but her seatmate-slash-roommate was shaking her head firmly—wasn’t me.
When Kaisoku turned the other direction, a magnificently gleaming bald head commandeered her entire field of vision.
“…Holy crap, that’s a shiny dome.” Her foggy brain couldn’t support normal judgment, so pure honesty tumbled straight out of her mouth before she could even think of softening it.
“…” The entire classroom went silent.
The middle-aged man who’d quietly made his way to the back row had been quite satisfied watching the students pay attention—until he’d spotted the dozing girl in the last seat.
He’d only meant to give her a gentle nudge.
Then she’d opened her eyes, taken one look at him, and said that.
He reached up and touched his gleaming scalp, lost for words.
“…Principal, sir, I believe Toujou Kaisoku had no ill intent.” The teacher stepped forward valiantly, trying to rescue Kaisoku from the abyss.
But one look at the principal’s stern expression and she retreated half a step—a half-step that felt like a chasm, snuffing out the faint spark of hope that had briefly lit Kaisoku’s eyes.
“Ahem.
Miss Toujou Kaisoku, please come to my office.” The principal said it with a smile, his polished dome glinting with an ominous light.
Kaisoku suddenly grasped the true meaning of “your mouth writes checks your body can’t cash.” She stood in silence, apologized to everyone for disrupting class, then shuffled out of the room behind the principal like a wilted daikon radish.
Diamond wanted to intervene, but on one hand, Kaisoku was clearly in the wrong, and on the other, this particular principal had a connection to the Satomi family—it was why she attended this school in the first place.
This rare all-girls middle school in central Tokyo was led by a principal who was himself a Tōdai alumnus, with standing in both literary and political circles.
He was one of the few genuinely top-tier school administrators in the Tokyo area.
Diamond’s words probably wouldn’t carry much weight with someone like that.
“I’m done for…” Kaisoku hadn’t imagined that a little nap could land her in trouble with the one person in the entire school you absolutely did not want to offend. New chapters come out on g.com first.
She’d gotten into Tōdai through early admissions, sure, but the acceptance letter technically didn’t take effect until after middle school graduation.
Which meant that as long as she was enrolled here, she was subject to this school’s authority.
If the principal decided in a fit of pique to confine her to her dorm, that was entirely within his rights.
The principal led Kaisoku to his office—a clearly well-maintained space, its display cases filled with the school’s honors and his personal accolades, including several literary awards of considerable prestige.
In this environment, even the bald principal seemed to radiate an aura of refined intellect.
“Toujou Kaisoku.
You’ve become quite famous lately.” The principal sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, his tone surprisingly mild.
Kaisoku relaxed slightly, though she remained wary of whatever he might be plotting.
“About what I said earlier… it really was just an accident,” she tried pre-emptively.
“I was half-asleep and it slipped out.
I sincerely, deeply apologize!”
“…Oh?
You think I brought you here over that?” The principal smiled.
The smile was three parts dismissive, two parts cool detachment, four parts wistful, and one part wry.
The man projected an aura of authority that was hard to resist.
“Am I really so petty?”
“Yes yes yes—”
“Hmm?”
“No no no!” Kaisoku backpedaled frantically.
She’d only meant to agree reflexively, but somehow she’d walked right into it.
“The principal is magnanimous and would never take offense at a child’s slip of the tongue!”
“Hmph.
Indeed.
I shouldn’t be squabbling with a child.” Only then did a trace of satisfaction cross his features.
“In truth, I didn’t bring you here over that trivial matter.
I heard you successfully passed Tokyo University’s early admissions and leaped through the dragon gate into Tōdai’s embrace.
I’m delighted.
You are, after all, the first umamusume ever to gain admission.
I’d originally planned to find a suitable occasion to commend you—”
Having a Tōdai-bound student in his school was, of course, excellent bragging material.
And not just any student—the first-ever umamusume to get into Tōdai.
If the principal passed up promotional gold like this, he had no business running a school.
This wasn’t something to merely publicize.
It demanded conspicuous publicity.
He wanted everyone to know that his middle school produced students who could skip grades into Tōdai.
Right now, the principal’s mood was like a fisherman who’d just hooked a thirty-pound carp.
He practically wanted to strap Toujou Kaisoku to the back of his old bicycle and parade her around the city to announce his school’s magnificence.
Even in retirement, he could mine this story for a solid decade of boasting.
“Ahem.
Here’s the thing.
I’d like to arrange a press conference for you.
As the school’s outstanding representative, you’d appear in the newspaper and share the story of your journey to Tōdai—how your teachers inspired you, how the school’s learning environment contributed to your success.
Authenticity and sincerity are key, naturally.” The principal laid his cards on the table.
“I trust you have strong feelings about this school, so if you could go back and draft a speech, we’ll present it at the school-wide assembly, in front of the press.
A proper account of your inspiring achievements.”
“…” Kaisoku fell silent.
She thought for a long time, then answered with visible awkwardness.
“The thing is… my getting into Tōdai didn’t really have much to do with the school.”
“…What?
What did you just say?” The principal’s jaw dropped.
“Are you telling me your decision to apply to Tōdai wasn’t driven by the patient guidance and tireless encouragement of your teachers?!”
“…Well, I barely exchanged a few words with the teachers…” Kaisoku nodded honestly.
“…Ah, I see.
Then your motivation came from the school’s culture of diligent learning!
The atmosphere of hard work here pushed you to quietly persevere, and you surprised everyone!” The principal mopped his brow, sensing there might still be a lifeline.
“…I didn’t really interact with other students much.
My only friends were Satono-san and Kitasan-san, so honestly… it didn’t have much impact…” Kaisoku carefully softened “no impact whatsoever” to “not much impact.” But even this couldn’t stop the principal’s facial muscles from twitching.
“Then… then are you saying your admission to Tōdai has essentially nothing to do with our school?” The principal slumped back in his chair, his head buzzing.
He’d assumed this was the culmination of his years of careful institutional cultivation.
But Kaisoku had honestly told him that her connection to the school was limited to the fact that she still technically lived in the dormitory.
“How is that possible…”
“Strictly speaking… yes.” Kaisoku delivered the final blow.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t read his intentions.
She simply didn’t want to lie.
Her sole motivation for applying to Tōdai had been to leverage its resources for a better shot at happiness.
From cause to outcome, the school had barely figured into it.
If she had to name one contribution, it was probably approving those two weeks of leave…
The principal’s emotional trajectory resembled a roller coaster—plummeting from the highest peak straight into the deepest valley.
He even began questioning whether something was fundamentally wrong with his educational approach.
A student this exceptional had been under his roof all along, and he hadn’t known.
He’d only learned of her existence after she’d been accepted.
That wasn’t the kind of obliviousness an educator should be guilty of.
He’d had countless opportunities to help this child, and he’d missed every one.
The principal fell silent.
As an educator, he possessed that core of professional pride.
He would never ask a student to say things she didn’t mean.
If the school hadn’t helped her—if all of this was her own achievement—then the school had no right to claim that glory as its own.
He seemed to age years in an instant, sinking back into his chair.
“Toujou Kaisoku.
Has this school given you any pleasant memories at all?” he asked.
This student—possibly the most outstanding he’d encountered in his entire career—sat before him now.
As an educator, he wanted to produce exceptional students.
But somewhere along the way, he’d retreated from the front lines of education to sit in this office, telling himself he was commanding the big picture when he was really just posturing.
He’d stood so far back he couldn’t even see the students who needed him most.
Toujou Kaisoku had taught him a lesson.
The principal sighed, almost moved to tears.
And everything he felt distilled into a single question.
“Has this school given you any pleasant memories at all?”
“Of course it has,” Kaisoku nodded.
“Satono Diamond and Kitasan Black have looked out for me in so many ways.
They were willing to reach out to someone like me and become my friends.
And the school having such a relaxed atmosphere—I think that’s thanks to the principal’s commitment.
So honestly, I do like this school quite a lot.”
More than liking the school, she likes those two girls…
The principal could read between the lines perfectly well.
Perhaps he really had been too far removed from the front lines.
But it wasn’t too late.
He rose from his chair, walked around the imposing desk, pulled up a small stool in front of Kaisoku, and sat down until they were nearly at eye level.
Looking into her still-nervous eyes, he extended his hand.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do more for you.
Congratulations on your admission to Tokyo University.
This is your accomplishment—your excellence.
As your principal, I’m proud.
As an educator, I feel the sting of my own failure.
Starting today, I’ll step out of this office and return to the front lines—to see for myself whether my students need anything from their principal.”
On the pride of an educator, he staked his vow—