Chapter 1: Whose dog’s name is Shuchiin?

The day I was born, newspapers and broadcasters were flooded with stories about me.

They called it, “The birth of a next-generation sports star inheriting the DNA of the century!”

It’s understandable why.

My father was a soccer player from Real Madrid, a national team veteran of over a decade, hailed as the “eternal captain” and “national treasure striker.”

My mother was the undisputed greatest volleyball empress of her time, a national hero who led a golden era, winning gold medals at the Olympics and Asian Games every time she competed.

But despite my parents’ achievements, I hate sports.

Around the time I finished elementary school, I quit sports entirely.

Instead of attending a prestigious sports academy, I enrolled in an ordinary middle school in Tokyo, far from my hometown in Gifu Prefecture.

It felt nice to take it easy, but the passion I once poured into sports had nowhere to go.

It wandered, then evaporated.

Days passed, and laziness seeped into my bones.

I became the master of energy conservation, avoiding unnecessary tasks and finishing essential ones as quickly as possible.

Except when hanging out with the few friends I had, I was always buried in novels.

My grades were neither good nor bad, always hovering in the middle.

It was a gray, uneventful middle school life—neither exciting nor particularly flawed.

Back then, I thought high school would be the same, just coasting through an ordinary humanities track.

But…

“Next! Number 931!”

“…Yes, sir.”

At the examiner’s booming call, I stepped forward.

Why am I standing in the testing hall for Shuchiin High School’s elite sports program?

The story goes back about a month.

***

Middle school was nearly over, and it was time to choose a high school.

One day, while sucking on an ice cream at a convenience store bench, I asked the guy next to me.

“Where are you applying for high school?”

Miyuki Shirogane, a boy with a sharp gaze and cold demeanor that often got him mistaken for being aloof, sighed deeply at my question.

“It’s gotten a bit complicated.”

“What happened?”

“I was planning to apply to a decent public school, but my d*mn father submitted a scholarship application to Shuchiin behind my back.”

A scholarship application sounds like a bonus, so aiming high makes sense, but there’s a limit.

Shuchiin?

“You’re set then. You’ll probably fail, so just focus on other schools.”

I said it with the tone of someone stating the obvious.

Miyuki, his pride clearly stung but unable to deny it, muttered back.

“…What if I pass?”

I couldn’t help but scoff.

“Not funny enough to laugh that hard…”

Miyuki bristled, but reality is harsh.

I decided to snap my friend out of his delusional hopes.

“Your grades aren’t bad, sure. But they’re not Shuchiin level, are they?”

“Ugh, hard to argue with that…”

Even Miyuki, considered a top student at our middle school, lacked confidence for a reason.

Shuchiin is a prestigious academy, originally founded to educate aristocrats and samurai heirs.

Even now, after the abolition of the aristocracy, it’s a school for the wealthy elite, grooming future leaders of the nation.

Most students are “purebreds,” those who’ve climbed from Shuchiin’s elementary and middle schools.

For “mixed” outsiders like us, the cutoff is insanely high.

You’d need to be in the top 0.1% academically to even stand a chance.

A school where even the top student from a prestigious middle school barely makes it?

Miyuki, who’s scraping by as second or third in our class, thinks he can get in?

Unless the additional admission cutoff miraculously tanks this year, it’s impossible.

Thinking he’d fail anyway, I tossed out a casual remark.

“No way that’ll happen, but if you get in, I’ll apply as a sports candidate—”

“Seriously?!”

Before I could finish, Miyuki lunged at me.

It was just a throwaway comment, but his reaction threw me off.

“What’s with you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I know about your past, and I’d love to see you get back into sports.”

His voice carried a mix of hope and concern.

He’s the only friend who knows my full story.

I appreciate the sentiment, but—

“You know I’m done with that. I only said it because…”

I needed to shift the mood back, so I cleared my throat and continued.

“It’s to show how slim your chances are. Besides, Shuchiin’s sports program is practically a sham.”

Shuchiin’s sports candidate exam has had zero successful applicants since the school’s founding.

Every year, athletic prodigies from across the country flock to it, but not a single one passes.

It’s Shuchiin, after all—a school where only the top 0.1% get in.

The bar for athletic admission is absurdly high.

The requirement is an A or higher in all ten physical performance categories.

I remember a TV show where last year’s pro soccer rookie of the year said he got five A’s in middle school and still failed Shuchiin’s sports exam.

Even someone with the potential of a pro sports rookie only scored half.

There are reasons why athletic prodigies keep applying to Shuchiin.

The special exam is held a month later than regular admissions, so it doesn’t take up an application slot.

There’s also the allure of being the “first-ever sports candidate to pass” and the connections to pro teams, generous athletic department funding, and top-tier facilities.

Plus, modern sports value intangibles like mental strategy and discipline, which Shuchiin’s reputation guarantees.

Pro teams reportedly prioritize Shuchiin athletes for these reasons.

Of course, the catch is that those truly aiming for Shuchiin’s athletic program don’t bother with this impossible exam.

Most admitted athletes are top-tier in both academics and sports.

Miyuki knows this, but he smirked, goading me.

“Oh? Scared? It’s been, what, three years since you quit sports? You’re basically washed up.”

“Washed up? Me?”

Fine, if that’s how he wants to play.

“Shuchiin’s sports exam is still just sports. There’s no way I’d fail.”

“Then prove it by taking the test!”

Got him.

“But if I do this, I’m the only one losing out, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve got no reason to go to Shuchiin. If you pass, I’d have to follow through, but I get nothing out of it.”

“Hmm, true…”

“So, if you fail, you should put something on the line to make it fair.”

He realized things were spiraling, but it was too late.

“Wait, you’re the one who said you’d go if I passed—”

“Scared?”

“…Fine, I accept your challenge.”

Miyuki’s eyes gleamed with determination.

That’s more like it—our usual dynamic.

“So, what’s your stake?”

“Uh…”

He asked, but I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

What would really get under his skin?

Oh, perfect.

“How about introducing me to your little sister—”

“You wanna die?!”

The moment I mentioned Kei, he grabbed my collar.

Wow, what a siscon.

I’ll admit Kei’s cute, but she’s not my type.

I know her well enough that if I were interested, I’d have made a move already.

Still, riling him up is too fun.

“High school’s a big deal for me. Can’t you at least set up a meeting? Just once.”

“Ugh, that’s…”

He flinched at my logic.

Time for the finishing blow.

“No confidence?”

“D*mn it, don’t back out later!”

Smack!

We slapped hands, sealing the deal.

If Kei saw this, she’d probably yell, “What about my opinion?!”

Don’t worry, Kei, it’s your brother’s fault for being so fun to mess with.

I tossed my empty ice cream stick in the trash, stood up, and grinned.

“Looking forward to it, brother-in-law.”

Before I could finish, I bolted.

“I’m gonna kill you!”

After a thirty-minute chase, I took a few hits.

Whatever, I’ll win this anyway, so it’s no big deal.

Little did I know, that careless promise would flip my life upside down.

***

One week later

“What… is this?”

My hand trembled, clutching a piece of paper.

“Can’t you tell?”

Miyuki, grinning smugly, leaned in and whispered.

“…My Shuchiin acceptance letter.”

No way.

“Forging official documents is a crime, Miyuki. You did a good job, though.”

I desperately searched for signs of fraud, but it was real.

I heard the cutoff was lower this year, but this guy actually got into Shuchiin?

“Hey, my memory’s a bit fuzzy. What was our deal again?”

My hands started shaking.

God, why let a guy like him into such a great school?

“…I’ll take the test.”

“What was that?”

“I said I’ll take the d*mn test!”

I stood up, fuming.

Miyuki flashed a grin and gave me a thumbs-up.

After parting ways, I checked my phone.

‘One month to go…’

I pocketed it and stretched.

‘Been a while since I worked up a sweat.’

I hadn’t broken a sweat since quitting sports.

Just one month.

I’d give it my all.

***

Shuchiin Gymnasium

The gym was packed with athletic prodigies, some recognizable to anyone following middle school sports.

But the Shuchiin examiners weren’t impressed.

They shook their heads, stamped “fail” on applications, and dismissed candidates without mercy.

“Number 36! Two-point deduction, fail!”

“Fail! Faaail!”

The word “fail” echoed everywhere.

‘Another bust this year…’

Tetsuo, the head of Shuchiin’s athletic department, sighed.

Shuchiin’s sports candidate test is divided into ten stages.

It’s not that they want to fail everyone, but Shuchiin’s founder decreed that athletic admission requires near-perfect physical ability.

The cutoff is an A or higher in all ten categories.

Shuchiin’s A is pro-level, so it’s no easy feat.

There was talk of lowering the bar to passing half the categories, but the chairman shot it down.

Apparently, dozens of students hit that mark every year, and compromising would tarnish Shuchiin’s prestige.

A student entered Tetsuo’s office, holding a document.

His office is the final checkpoint, only reachable after passing all subjects.

He’d never seen a candidate make it this far, except those who got lost.

“You’re in the wrong place, kid. What subjects do you have left?”

“They told me to get a stamp here.”

“No need to explain a fail stamp; they’ll handle it—”

Then it hit him.

There’s only one reason someone’s sent here for a stamp.

‘No way…?’

Tetsuo grabbed the document, his hands shaking.

And there it was—

“No… way…”

All A’s in physical evaluation.

In nearly ten years of overseeing Shuchiin’s sports exam, he’d seen all kinds of prodigies, but never this.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then—

Bang!

[Pass]

The boy, unfazed as if it were expected, turned to leave.

Tetsuo leapt up, stopping him.

“Hey, you!”

“Me?”

“What’s your name?!”

The boy glanced at the paper, as if to say, “Isn’t it written there?”

“…Hotaro Suzuki.”

With that, he walked out.

Tetsuo’s hands trembled.

‘A monster has entered Shuchiin. A monster who’ll shake the sports world!’