Final Exams
I left the house on my bike, just like always.
It’s the middle of final exams at the end of the school year. I’ve got math today. I stayed up until one last night, studying as hard as I could.
And still, all I feel is anxiety.
Ehime highschool, I go to, is insane. Even on regular exams, they casually throw in questions that go beyond what we’ve covered in class.
Why did I even enroll here? I mean, sure, it might sound impressive to other people.
But really, it’s my mom’s fault for getting talked into it by my cram school teacher.
“Yamazumi-san has potential—you should definitely give it a try!”
She fell for that sweet talk so easily.
Honestly, what happened to the elegant high school life I was supposed to have? I know studying is important, but still. Every single day, I’m surrounded by geniuses who are way out of my league, and just keeping up with classes is a struggle.
Grumbling to myself, I cut through the chilly early-spring morning air as I pedaled along, and soon the main keep of Matsuyama Castle came into view up close. There was traffic near the north gate because of road construction, so I went around to the south side.
Crossing the moat from Minamihoribata and passing by the broadcasting station, I caught sight of the grand red-brick main gate. Beyond it stood a classic stone school building, complete with a porte-cochère. Everything about it seemed to radiate the dignity of a prestigious school. Some people probably admire it or take pride in it, but to me, it just feels intimidating—I don’t like it.
After parking my bike and stepping into the building, a girl caught my eye.
Pale skin. Healthy cheeks tinged with red. Glossy black hair, cut neatly at shoulder length.
After every exam, the rankings are posted in big letters in front of the staff room. And her name is always on the far right.
Class 1–3, Tōko Mishima.
At this elite-packed Ehime High, she’s held the top spot ever since the entrance exams.
What kind of studying does she even do? Actually—what kind of brain does she have?
Someone like her probably couldn’t understand the low-level worries I deal with.
I stepped into my classroom, Class 1–5.
About half the students were already there, but the room felt frozen through.
These days, most schools come fully equipped with heating and air conditioning, but Ehime High is unbelievably lacking in that regard.
Apparently, there was once talk of rebuilding the school, but it turned into a huge debate involving not just staff but the local community. In the end, concerns about its historical or cultural value put a stop to it. Since then, it’s become the kind of topic no one even dares to bring up. And so, in winter, students shiver with inadequate heating, and in summer, they throw open all the windows, hoping to catch the faintest breeze in the stifling heat.
I set my bag down at my seat—third from the front on the hallway side of the north-facing row—and, trying to warm myself to the core, joined a group of girls huddled around an old, well-worn kerosene heater. A cheap-looking gold kettle sat perched on top. It didn’t seem to be fully warmed up yet—the black lid remained still.
“Cold, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, freezing.”
Basically our version of “good morning.” A few of them were talking about math problems. I could’ve joined in, but… what’s the point now? It’s not like panicking at the last minute will help. And honestly, I’m afraid of finding out just how much I don’t understand.
“Zumii.”
I turned toward the voice. A girl with black-rimmed glasses and long, wavy hair was smiling and giving me a small wave. Sotoko Kinashi—the girl I’d chatted with a bit after yesterday’s exam before heading home.
“You’ll be fine today, right?”
“Huh? About what?” I stared at her blankly.
“Huh? Aren’t you good at math, Zumii?”
Wait—me? Good at math?
“What are you talking about? I’m terrible at math.”
“Really? But the way you solved that problem the other day was kind of amazing.”
The other day? Amazing…?
Ah. That brought back something unpleasant.
At this school, in math class, they call on students and make them solve problems on the board in front of everyone.
That time, I struggled my way through, piecing together the equations step by step. I somehow got an answer, but the teacher said, “That was a pretty roundabout way to do it,” and then smoothly wrote down a formula that gave the answer instantly. I’d gone bright red.
“Kinashi-san, don’t mess with me.”
“Mess with you? I’m complimenting you.”
“But it was a problem I could solve easily if I just remembered one formula. And yet I—”
“Math isn’t a memorization subject.”
“…What?”
“My brother always says that. If you don’t understand why things work and just memorize formulas thinking you’ve ‘got it,’ you’ll never really get anywhere in math.”
I found myself staring at her face behind those black-rimmed glasses. Her eyes were sparkling.
“You worked through it carefully, step by step, building the logic. I thought that was really impressive.”
Is she… trying to encourage me?
“Kinashi-san, I…”
“Oh, and also—can you stop with the ‘Kinashi-san’? My name’s Sotoko, you know.”
The bell rang. The terrifying show was about to begin again.
And yet, for some reason, I felt a strange sense of excitement welling up inside me.
The test papers and answer sheets were handed out. At the bell, the exam began. The sound of pages flipping over echoed all at once.
Ten questions in total.
Sighs leaked out from around the classroom. I looked at Question 1.
At least I’ve got to get something like this. No matter the difficulty, each question is worth ten points.
Except…
This problem turned out to be a real beast.
I wrestled with it, trying this and that, but when I checked the clock, fifteen minutes had already passed. And I still had no idea how to solve it. I could feel my face heating up.
I gave up on it.
Skipping the next Question 2, I moved on to Question 3. I stared it down for a while, but decided it wasn’t worth the time and went to Q4. Pass. Q5, pass.
Q6—this one looked doable. Ten points secured.
Next, —another manageable one. Ten more points.
I needed at least one more question, or I’d fail.
But then came the heavy hitters:
Q8—a brutal problem.
Q9—maybe solvable if I spent enough time, but that was a huge risk.
Q10—I had no clue. Seriously, could anyone solve something like this?
Less than twenty minutes left. I’d only solved two questions.
At this rate, I was definitely getting stuck with a makeup exam.
My head started spinning.
Suddenly, I thought of Tōko Mishima.
If it were her… would she breeze through even Q10?
What kind of brain does she even have?
—No, this isn’t the time to be thinking about that.
I’m completely cornered.
At this point, there’s only one thing left I can do.
Pray.
Please—just give me something. A hint, an idea—anything!
I’m probably the only one in the middle of an exam with my hands pressed together. I know it’s ridiculous.
But there’s nothing else I can do.
“Do your best, then leave the rest to fate.”
That phrase popped into my head.
…I definitely haven’t done my best, though.
I’m always losing to myself. Why is the “me” inside me so strong?
It pushes back against every bit of willpower, every resolution I try to muster.
Tap.
Huh?
I lifted my head.
It felt like someone had flicked me on the head.
What was that?
No—focus. This is an exam. I glanced at the clock. Crap, there’s less than fifteen minutes left.
I looked back at the test. The second question I’d skipped.
“…!”
To my surprise, it wasn’t that hard at all.
I checked my answer, made sure it was solid, and let out a long breath.
At least I should be able to avoid failing.
There’s about ten minutes left. It’s not exactly impressive, but… I’ll settle for just scraping by on this math exam.
I stared blankly at the very last problem.
Who even comes up with something like this?
I started reading the question from the beginning.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Less than five minutes left.
…?
It felt like I saw something.
I hurriedly set my pencil to the answer sheet. It almost felt like the pencil was moving on its own.
As if something had possessed me, the equations began to spill out onto the page.
So the answer is—
The bell rang.
“That’s it! Pens down!”
The teacher clapped their hands, signaling us to turn in our papers.
Ah… I was so close.
