It was barely past three in the afternoon, yet Genya Ayumu was already out of school—a happiness unimaginable to Chinese high schoolers. Back then, he’d wander aimlessly with fair-weather friends after class, returning home late. Now, he felt such abundant free time would be a waste without planning.
Genya recalled his days as Zhang Chufan in a Chinese high school. Even with ten-plus hours of daily classes, he’d squeeze moments like wringing a sponge—snatching time after lunch or evening self-study to hit the internet cafe. Weekends didn’t exist; breaks came monthly. When that rare holiday arrived, he’d rally friends for marathon gaming sessions. Though Zhang merely coasted through school, prioritizing fun over grades, he held no regrets. Recalling it now brought a faint smile. No regrets—but given a second life, Genya would plan ahead, not just chase the moment. Besides, his current family situation offered little room for indulgence.
This thought reignited his worry: he urgently needed a part-time job. He had ideas, but execution was tricky. Becoming a UPer on Japan’s Niconico or China’s Bilibili, like creators such as Shanxia Jibo? He lacked editing skills and equipment—reluctantly abandoned. Forming a team? Impossible now; third-year high school left no time. Maybe in university, with like-minded friends, he could bridge cultures through videos. But not yet.
Related paths—internet celebrity, live streamer—also crossed his mind. He felt confident about his current looks, a vast improvement over Zhang Chufan’s overweight shut-in days. Still, he wasn’t sold on streaming. No standout talent? Awkward small talk wouldn’t cut it. And none of these gigs promised quick income—a key criterion for him.
Beyond flashy options, he considered coding simple mobile games. After all, as Zhang Chufan, he’d worked on Android development and large-scale gacha games. Solo now? Still feasible. WeChat mini-games were perfect references. The more he thought, the better it seemed: zero cost, low time commitment. With a solid idea, he could finish in under a month. Still, not reliable as main income—more pocket money. Spending a month only to be ignored? Too risky. He needed something stable, preferably hourly-paid. Simple enough: download a local job app.
Saitama Sakae High School was a thirty-minute walk from home—better than students commuting by train or bus. Halfway, he paused at a park. *Might as well sit and check nearby gigs.*
A quick search revealed multiple job apps. He downloaded the top-rated ones, confident he’d find something. But after registering, his worry shifted from *finding* to *choosing*. Listings flooded the screen—too many options left him paralyzed.
Then, one category sparked intense curiosity: Chinese tutoring. It felt tailor-made. As a native Chinese speaker (from his past life) and now fully immersed as a Japanese teen, his fluency in both languages was top-tier. Teaching Chinese in Japan? Likely the easiest, highest-paying gig available.
Target locked, filtering became simple: time, pay, requirements, location. He zeroed in on Ms. Miyamoto’s listing—close to home, 1,500 yen/hour (≈90 RMB), two hours nightly (6–8 PM). Modest by Japanese standards, but far above convenience store wages (800–1,000 yen). Two easy hours daily meant 90,000 yen monthly (≈5,400 RMB)—enough to be a taxpayer back in China!
Ideals were rosy. He hadn’t considered she might reject a high schooler. *Getting ahead of myself.* Composing his excitement, he dialed her number.
After a few rings: “Moshi moshi?”
A pleasant yet cool voice. Adult—likely hiring for her child.
“Hello, Ms. Miyamoto. I’m Genya Ayumu. I saw your Chinese tutor listing on the Saitama job app and wish to apply. May I ask your requirements?”
He spoke respectfully. She held the key to this near-perfect opportunity.
“You… you’re Japanese?” Genuine shock. Such roles usually went to Chinese international students. She’d never encountered this.
“Though I am Japanese, my Chinese matches any native speaker from China. And precisely because I’m Japanese, communication is seamless—I can explain concepts clearly and effectively!”
Outwardly Japanese, his heart remained steadfastly Chinese. *Survival demands this.* Silence stretched on the line. She was wavering.
“If available, come tomorrow at 6 PM for a written test. Address is on the app.”
True to hope, she’d been swayed.
“Yes! Thank you for this opportunity, Ms. Miyamoto!”
He barely suppressed a triumphant laugh. The moment he hung up, he nearly jumped for joy. *This call marks the start of my long-term plan.*
*Interview tomorrow—I need a haircut first!*
His blonde hair lacked credibility. Dye it black. Besides, typical Japanese high school hairstyles clashed with his Chinese aesthetic: thick bangs, overly long sides and back—hair covered two-thirds of his head. By early May, this “hair helmet” was already uncomfortably warm.
Genya couldn’t help but wonder: *Don’t Japanese boys with long hair swelter in summer? And don’t girls in short skirts freeze in winter?*
