Genya Ayumu glanced briefly around Miyamoto Miyabi’s room before looking away. Still, he couldn’t help but feel impressed—her place was seriously upscale.

Miyamoto Miyabi soon emerged, apparently changed into cozy home wear. But the document folder in her hand caught Genya’s attention. *Could this be the written test?* he wondered.

He’d expected a test from the start. Miyamoto wasn’t fluent in Chinese, and he hadn’t taken any official proficiency exam. Trusting words alone was impossible—there had to be standards. A written test made perfect sense: she’d prepare questions with answer keys, then grade his work.

After leading him to the study, she handed him a printed report from the folder. “This work report’s in Chinese. Might have technical terms. Try translating it into Japanese,” she said calmly.

Genya accepted it naturally, skimmed the pages—and blinked. Gaming-related content? *So she probably works in gaming… maybe at a multinational,* he deduced. *No wonder she needs a Chinese tutor. I even assumed she was hiring for her kid. My thinking was too narrow.*

While he read, Miyamoto offered a pen and paper. “Not long. You can handwrite it, right?”

“Mm! No problem!” Genya agreed readily—then instantly regretted it. His spoken Japanese was flawless, but his handwriting? Embarrassingly messy. Still, no backing out now. He’d write as neatly as possible.

The translation flowed smoothly—flawlessly. *Way better than machine translation. If I don’t get into Todai later, maybe this path…* He double-checked for typos or awkward phrasing, then handed it to Miyamoto.

Her eyes widened. She gave him a meaningful look. “You finished already?”

“Mm.” Genya replied with quiet confidence.

She picked up the “answer key”—a software-translated version—and compared. Same gist, but his read naturally, colloquially Japanese.

*This high schooler actually has real skill,* she thought.

“Your translation’s accurate… it’s just the handwriting…” She left it tactfully unfinished.

Genya caught the implication instantly. Even with his composure, a hint of embarrassment crept in.

*Yeah… I should practice my penmanship.*

“How’s your spoken Chinese?”

Naturally, she’d test further. For Genya? No challenge at all.

“Perfectly fine!”

Since she was handing him a chance to showcase his “cheat skill,” why refuse?

Miyamoto dialed a number, exchanged a few Japanese words, then passed the phone to him.

“Hello, I’m Ye Ziyun,” came a crisp, fluent Mandarin voice.

*Definitely Chinese,* Genya realized. A rare chance to speak Mandarin—and warmth bloomed in his chest, like meeting kin abroad.

“Hello! I’m Genya Ayumu, interviewing today for Ms. Miyamoto’s Chinese tutor position.”

“I *told* Miyabi I could teach her! Wait—*what*? You’re Japanese?! Your Mandarin’s *that* standard?!” Ye Ziyun’s muttered complaint turned into an astonished exclamation.

“I’ve loved Chinese culture since childhood. Self-taught.”

*They barely know me. Making up a reason is easy,* he mused.

“Which part do you like?”

“‘I examine myself three times a day’ from *The Analects*, ‘Are kings and generals born to rule?’ from *Records of the Grand Historian*, ‘Heaven has given me talents for a reason’ from *Invitation to Wine*, the ‘Great Sage Equal to Heaven’ from *Journey to the West’… Too many to list.”

“Wow! Even *I’m* ashamed as a Chinese person! You can’t be a real Japanese!”

Genya knew these were middle-school basics. He recognized her exaggeration—just polite flattery.

Listening to their effortless Mandarin banter, Miyamoto suddenly felt like an outsider eavesdropping on old friends. The sensation unsettled her strong-willed pride.

So just as Genya and Ye Ziyun were hitting it off—she cut in.