Chapter 1: Shuchiin the name of your dog?

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

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

And why not? My father, a former Real Madrid soccer player, captained the national team for over a decade, earning titles like “Eternal Captain” and “National Treasure Striker.”

My mother, the undisputed queen of volleyball, led a golden era, clinching gold medals at the Olympics and Asian Games, a national hero in her own right.

But despite my parents’ greatness, I hate sports.

By 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 good to be free from physical strain, but the passion I once poured into sports had nowhere to go. It wandered, then evaporated. Day by day, laziness seeped into my bones.

I became a master of energy conservation: skip what’s not essential, finish necessities quickly. Except when hanging out with the few friends I could call my own, I buried myself in novels. My grades? Always average, never standing out.

My middle school life was gray—neither exciting nor particularly flawed.

Back then, I assumed high school would be more of the same, at some ordinary humanities-focused school.

But…

“Next! Number 931!”

“…Yes, sir.”

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

Why am I standing in the sports scholarship exam hall of Shuchiin High, one of the most elite schools?

The story goes back about a month.

Middle school was nearly over, and it was time to choose a high school. Sitting on a bench outside a convenience store, sucking on an ice cream, I asked the guy next to me.

“Which high school are you applying to?”

Shirogane Miyuki, a boy with sharp eyes and a cool demeanor often mistaken for coldness, let out a deep sigh.

“It’s gotten complicated.”

“What happened?”

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

A scholarship application sounds like a bonus, so aiming high makes sense—but Shuchiin? That’s next-level.

“You’ll probably fail, so just focus on other schools,” I said, my tone implying it was a done deal.

Miyuki’s pride seemed stung, but he couldn’t deny it. In a small voice, he muttered, “I could pass, you know?”

I couldn’t help but scoff.

“Not funny…” Miyuki snapped, clearly annoyed.

But reality is harsh. I decided to snap him out of his delusions.

“Your grades aren’t bad, sure. But good enough for Shuchiin? No way.”

“Ugh, hard to argue with that…”

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

Shuchiin Academy.

Founded long ago to educate aristocrats and samurai offspring, it’s a prestigious institution with deep roots.

Even now, after the abolition of nobility, it’s a haven for the wealthy and elite, grooming future national leaders.

Most students are “pure” Shuchiin graduates, progressing from its elementary and middle schools. External applicants—“mixed” students—face an insanely high bar. Academically, you need to be in the top 0.1% to even have a shot.

A school where even the top student from a prestigious middle school barely makes it? For a guy scraping by as second or third in our class? Impossible, unless the cutoff miraculously tanks this year.

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

“No way it’ll happen, but if you get in, I’ll apply as a sports scholarship student and follow you—”

“Seriously?!”

Before I could finish, Miyuki pounced on my words. It was just a throwaway comment, but his reaction threw me off.

“What’s with you?”

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

His voice carried a mix of hope and concern. True, he’s the only friend who knows my full story. I appreciated the sentiment, but—

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

I needed to shift the mood back. Clearing my throat, I continued.

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

Shuchiin’s sports scholarship 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.

As expected from a school where only the top 0.1% get in academically—the athletic cutoff is absurdly brutal.

The requirement? Score an A or higher in all ten physical ability tests.

I once saw a TV show where this year’s pro soccer rookie of the year said he got five A’s in Shuchiin’s exam as a middle schooler—and still failed. He was praised for even getting that far.

A pro-level talent only managed half? That’s the kind of test this is.

Yet, athletes swarm Shuchiin’s exam for several reasons.

It’s a special admission held a month after regular exams, so it doesn’t conflict with other applications. The title of “first-ever Shuchiin sports scholarship recipient” is tempting. Plus, the school’s connections to pro teams, generous athletic support, and rigorous management are unmatched.

Nowadays, sports value intangibles like strategy and discipline, and Shuchiin’s reputation for producing well-rounded athletes makes its graduates top picks for pro teams.

Of course, serious athletes skip this impossible exam. Most who join Shuchiin’s sports programs get in through stellar academics and athletics. That’s the trap.

Miyuki, knowing all this, switched tactics. With a sly grin, he provoked me.

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

“Washed up? Me?”

Oh, he’s playing dirty. Fine, I’ve got a move.

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

“Then take the test and prove it!”

Got him.

“But if I do, I’m the only one taking a risk, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve got no reason to go to Shuchiin. If you pass, I’m stuck following you. I get nothing out of this.”

“Hmm, true…”

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

Miyuki realized the conversation had taken a weird turn.

“Wait, you’re the one who said you’d go if I got in!”

“Scared?”

“Fine, I accept your challenge!”

His eyes gleamed with determination. That’s more like it—our kind of friendship.

“So, what’s your stake?”

“Hmm…”

He caught me off guard. I hadn’t thought that far. What would really get under his skin? Oh, right.

“How about you introduce me to your little sister—”

“You wanna die?!”

The moment I mentioned Kei, he grabbed my collar. Wow, what a sister complex. I’ll admit Kei’s cute, but she’s not my type.

I’ve known Kei long enough that if I were interested, I’d have made a move already. Still, teasing him is too fun.

“Look, high school’s a big deal for me. Can’t you set up one meeting? Just one.”

“Ugh, that’s…”

He flinched at my logic. Time for the finishing blow.

“Not confident?”

“Fine, don’t back out later!”

Slap!

We shook hands, sealing the deal. If Kei saw this, she’d probably yell, “What about my say?!” Sorry, Kei, your brother’s too fun to mess with.

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

“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. Worth it, though—I’ll win this bet. Little did I know, that impulsive promise would flip my life upside down.

One week later

“What… what is this?”

My hand trembled, clutching a piece of paper.

“Can’t you tell?”

Miyuki, smirking triumphantly, leaned in and whispered in my ear.

“My Shuchiin acceptance letter.”

No way.

“Forging official documents is a crime, Miyuki. Nice try, though.”

I desperately searched for signs of tampering, but it was real. I heard the cutoff was lower this year, but this guy? At Shuchiin?

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

My hands started shaking again. God, why let this loser into such a great school?

“…I’ll take the test.”

“What was that?”

“I said I’ll take the d*mn test!”

I stood, fuming. Miyuki gave me a thumbs-up with a smug grin.

After parting ways, I checked my phone for the date.

‘One month to go…’

I pocketed my phone and stretched.

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

I hadn’t broken a sweat since quitting sports.

For the next month, I’d give it my all.

Shuchiin Gymnasium

The gym was packed with athletic prodigies—familiar names 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 year, no luck…’

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

Shuchiin’s sports scholarship test was split into ten stages.

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

The cutoff? An A or higher in all ten physical tests. Shuchiin’s “A” is pro-level, far from easy.

Some proposed lowering the bar to passing with half A’s, but the chairman shot it down. “We get dozens of those every year,” he said. “Compromise, and Shuchiin’s prestige falls.”

A student entered Tetsuo’s office, holding paperwork. This was the final review room—only those who passed all tests could enter. Tetsuo had never seen a candidate here.

“You must be lost. Which test do you have left?”

“They told me to get a stamp here.”

“No need to specify for a fail stamp; they’ll do it—”

Then it hit him. There’s only one reason to get a stamp here.

‘No way…?’

Tetsuo grabbed the papers, heart racing. He looked at the results.

“No… impossible…”

All A’s across the board.

In nearly a decade of overseeing Shuchiin’s sports exam, Tetsuo had seen countless prodigies, but never this.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then—

Bang!

[Pass]

The boy showed no reaction, as if it were expected. With a calm face, he turned to leave.

Tetsuo shot up, stopping him.

“Wait! You!”

“Me?”

“What’s your name?!”

The boy glanced at the paper, as if to say, “It’s right there.” Then he spoke.

“Suzuki Hotaro.”

With that, he walked out. Tetsuo’s hands trembled.

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