March 12th - Main Meeting Room, Advanced Nurturing High School Selection Room.
Interviewer Report: "The student demonstrates a disturbing apathy toward academic rigor. Throughout middle school, he scraped by with the bare minimum—showing neither ambition nor any sense of consequence. No extenuating circumstances seem to explain his disengagement. Academically, he falls well below standards; his physical abilities are only slightly above average, and he remains socially detached. He does, however, meet the requirements for Class D, yet unverified rumors linking him to criminal gangs, together with a reported incident in Shibuya, could bump him into a Class C placement—pending further investigation."
Two managers sit across the table, their foreheads creased in annoyance as they pore over the evaluation, letting the silence stretch for a heartbeat. The stale scent of coffee lingers in the air, mixed with the metallic tang of ambition.
"This is not just negligence—it's mediocrity incarnate," one manager spits, nostrils flaring as he snaps the file shut onto the polished mahogany. "No initiative. No talent, nothing. Even his physical scores are a hair above average at best. Why waste a spot on him?"
The second manager nods curtly, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the table. Outside, the distant bustle of the city blends with the shifting light through the window, silently marking the passage of time.
"And these rumors—gang ties? Shibuya incidents? Unverified and fraught with risk. If word gets out, the school's reputation—"
Before the words can fully escape, the door slams open. Chairman Sakayanagi strides in, every step confident, a faint, knowing smile already playing at his lips. Shadows coil around that smirk like cobwebs on an old portrait.
The managers snap to attention, hands flat on the table as if bracing for impact. The unfinished accusation dangles in the air, cut off mid‑breath.
"Chairman Sakayanagi," they blurt in unison, their voices tripping over surprise.
"Apologies for the intrusion," the Chairman says, gaze drifting over the room as he smooths a wrinkle in his suit sleeve.
"Chairman, this is... unprecedented." The first manager catches himself, clearing his throat.
"We were in the middle of evaluating this candidate's admission. As you requested, we're reviewing every application thoroughly. We suggest waiting until we've assessed all profiles before your personal review." His tone is polite, but the edge of tension lingers.
"Ah, yes. I understand. But I have come to scrutinize this file personally before a decision is reached—"
"Scrutinize?" the second manager blurts, failing to mask his bewilderment. "After everything we've just seen?"
"Precisely that." Sakayanagi inclines his head, unfazed. "While the records indicate a lack of drive and below‑average performance, I believe there may be untapped potential in this student—qualities these scores simply can't capture."
"But the report is damning. He barely scraped through middle school, showing minimal effort and no talent. The decision was unanimous. Why, then, revisit this case?" The same manager retorts, his tone unyielding.
"Because," the Chairman responds, his voice gaining a subtle edge, "we must consider the bigger picture and judge his performance in light of his circumstances, not in spite of them. I simply don't expect miracles. This is merely a fair opportunity."
Sakayanagi locks eyes with each faculty member, unwavering. At his side, the nearest manager's jaw tightens, irritation flickering across his features.
And then, the first manager taps the folder against the polished wood, the sharp click echoing his unspoken dissent.
"Chairman Sakayanagi, the file shows how little this student offers to our academic environment. Is the risk worth it? We can't decide on abstract 'qualities beyond numbers.' We need concrete evidence."
Sakayanagi's finger lingers on the candidate's photo, his smile deepening. "Our criteria go beyond the surface and the apparent. If we shy away from unorthodox candidates, we stagnate—and that's a risk we won't take."
He doesn't take his eyes off the photo, a spark of something unreadable flickering beneath his composed exterior.
The two managers trade a measured glance, skepticism creasing their brows. The first one leans back, folding his arms in a deliberate barrier.
"With all due respect, Chairman, poetic phrases won't mitigate risks. Stagnation is a theory. Scandals, however..." He lets the words fade, eyes flicking toward his colleague.
The second manager strokes his moustache thoughtfully, the gesture buying time. "What my colleague means is... how do we measure this so-called 'potential'? What exactly are we nurturing when there's no proven track record—only rumors and a student who won't even try?" He fixes Sakayanagi with a fierce glare.
The Chairman returns the gaze, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his eyes like a chess player recognizing a gambit.
"This institution is not a factory churning out polished gems. Sometimes the roughest stones hide the sharpest blade." He lets silence stretch, watching the metaphor cut deeper than any file could.
"Keep those words in mind. I'll leave his evaluation to your open-minded discernment." Despite the change in tone, there's an undeniable sense of authority in the Chairman's words.
The managers exchange cautious glances as a heavy silence settles over the room, each trying to read the other's thoughts. After a long pause, one gives a stiff, barely perceptible nod.
"Very well. We acknowledge your resolve, but let it be clear: there are limits. This is the second time you have pushed for a student like this..."
He glances at his colleague before returning his gaze to Sakayanagi.
"You can't keep routinely disregarding protocol. Rules exist for a reason—and violating them sets a dangerous precedent. It's crucial that you respect the established guidelines and processes, instead of circumventing them at will."
Sakayanagi inclines his head, acknowledging the point. "I understand your reservations. They are entirely natural, and you are fully entitled to uphold our standards. However, allow me to clarify one more thing..."
He lets the managers sit in that moment of hesitation—chest rising and falling in silent tension as he gathers his next words.
"This decision is not made lightly. My endorsement of Ayanokoji also stems from rigorous analysis, not impulse. Yes, unconventional candidates present risks, but if Advanced Nurturing High School truly commits to cultivating potential, we must occasionally sift through rough sediment. Trust in my judgment: we'll move forward cautiously, but with faith in what we might uncover. After all, education's highest purpose is to transform disorder into excellence."
The Chairman's words linger in the air, the final sentence echoing with the resonance of a challenge or a promise, depending on who was listening. For a moment, the room is so still that you could hear a pin drop.
Then, the first manager clears his throat, breaking the silence once again. "Your confidence is noted, but you seem unusually invested in this particular student. May I ask why?"
Sakayanagi smiles faintly, observing the managers with a calmness that reminds them who is in control. "Patience. Everything will become clear in due course."
The managers' eyes meet in mute agreement, their resistance finally crumbling under Sakayanagi's relentless rhetoric. Thrice now, the Chairman has hammered home the idea of "unseen potential," a circular argument that appears impossible to dispute due to his confidence and persistence.
The room holds its breath; neither of the managers dares to challenge him further, aware that contradicting him can have consequences.
"Understood... we trust your judgment, Chairman Sakayanagi," concedes the mustachioed manager at last, exhaling in resignation. He studies the grain of the mahogany table rather than meet the Chairman's gaze.
Meanwhile, the first manager, defeated, picks up a pen and reluctantly begins signing the document, wanting nothing more than to end this argument.
"Fine. We'll process the admission. But mark my words—if this backfires, the board won't just ask questions—they'll demand accountability. And it'll fall on you."
Despite the threatening words, Sakayanagi makes no move to protest.
"Answers are fragile things, don't you agree? They tend to... crumble under the weight of results."
The Chairman leans against the window, his silhouette stark against the fading light. He clasps his hands together, the only sign of tension a slight clenching of his intertwined fingers, as though the weight of his secret might shatter the glass.
"...But by all means, let the board ask their questions. I've always found... unorthodox strategies rather enlightening."
His reflection in the glass betrays a smile that never quite reaches his eyes as the last ray of sunlight slips behind Tokyo's towering buildings.
Final Decision: Admission approved.