Since Ayumu Genno had set his mind on taking Japan’s college entrance exams, his sole target was the world-renowned University of Tokyo—no alternatives considered. As for his major, in his previous life Zhang Chufan had studied Computer Science and Technology. Sure, every Lunar New Year back home he’d get asked, “Can you fix computers?” But this field wasn’t about hardware repair at all. The confusion mostly came from people not grasping the hardware-software divide. Computer-related majors focus almost entirely on software—hence the joking nickname “code monkeys” for those in the field.
In this life, Ayumu still planned to dive deep into computing. Not only did he hold a massive advantage here, but he also knew: the deeper he explored, the more he’d feel its power to reshape—and even create—worlds.
His ultimate goal? Returning to China for graduate studies. That could wait until senior year, achieved by entering a Chinese university’s postgraduate program. To aim for Tsinghua or Peking University’s master’s—or even doctoral—program as a University of Tokyo undergrad? Truly, his ambition knew no bounds.
But grand dreams demand steady steps. Maybe the name “Ayumu Genno” itself hinted at that path. Regardless of the distant goal, his immediate focus remained the exams.
From memory and phone research, Ayumu learned Japan’s system differed from China’s. It had three main paths: “General Admission,” “Recommendation-based Admission,” and “AO Admission” (Admission Office).
“General Admission” was the most common route, split into two exams. First: the National Center Test for University Admissions—a nationwide exam run by Japan’s National Center for University Entrance Examinations. Similar to China’s Gaokao, it assessed high school fundamentals. Held mid-to-late January, nearly all students took it. Think of it less as decisive, more as a threshold. Why? Because next came the “Second Exam”—the Individual Academic Assessment. Each university designed this to test skills matching the applicant’s strengths and intended major. Formats varied: written tests, essays, interviews. National universities held these in February or March, letting students take multiple. Final scores combined both exams, weighted per school and program. Some departments skipped the second exam entirely, admitting solely on the Center Test.
“Recommendation-based Admission” was mainly used by private universities, though public ones expanded it recently. Decisions weighed academic records, sports/art achievements, subject scores, and the “Investigation Report”—a teacher-compiled document of grades and conduct.
“AO Admission” (Admission Office), or self-recommendation admission, prioritized interviews, short essays, and holistic evaluation over exam scores. Applicants submitted the Investigation Report, activity records, study plans, and statements of purpose.
Japan’s system was a unified national exam—no regional bias, no bonus points for “special talents.” A relatively level playing field.
Ayumu realized the exams were truly hellish. With Japanese schools banning late classes and offering no on-campus tutoring, a massive industry filled the gap: cram schools (juku). Most operated nationwide. While students often attended tutoring from elementary through high school, university prep courses drew the biggest crowds. Most examinees enrolled in costly cram schools, rushing there after regular classes, studying late, then finishing homework from both places before sleeping. A Japanese idiom captured it perfectly: *“Four hours of sleep gets you in; five gets you rejected.”*
Naturally, Ayumu would take the “General Admission” path—meaning cram schools were unavoidable. He wasn’t arrogant enough to rely on hazy past-life memories. But as a single-parent household, finances barely covered daily needs. High fees were impossible. His only option? Part-time work to earn the tuition himself.
Right now, math class was in session. To Ayumu’s surprise, Japanese high schools already taught calculus—a topic that gave countless Chinese undergrads headaches. The teacher said most universities wouldn’t test it, but Ayumu was certain UTokyo would. He’d underestimated the challenge. Yet the steeper the climb, the sharper his drive.
“Genno’s actually paying attention? Did I see that right? What’s gotten into him today? He’s even nodding… I don’t get it—how could he? Probably just pretending. He doesn’t need to do this. Should I ask him? But what if he ignores me again? Even more awkward! Ugh, just thinking about it makes me mad—he actually ignored me earlier! He never did that before… Maybe he didn’t hear me. If that’s it… I’ll forgive him…”
Fully absorbed in reconnecting with calculus alongside the teacher’s rhythm, Ayumu remained deep in study mode—completely unaware Yui Asou had been secretly watching him the whole class. While he focused intently, Yui spent the entire lesson tangled in her own thoughts.
Nozomu Sakuragi, Ayumu’s former loyal follower, had also been quietly observing. Unlike Yui’s whirlwind of emotions, Nozomu simply watched the changed Ayumu with quiet, heartfelt satisfaction.
