"Typically, students entering my office are tense, reserved, sitting stiffly, if not steely-hearted," Dean Onishi said, setting down his pen, his gaze deep. "They've either broken rules, carry guilt, or chase fame and glory, restless with ambition. You, however, seem untouched by such worldly desires, calm and at ease."
Takizawa faced the summons of the College of Arts and Sciences' head honcho with poise, neither servile nor arrogant.
This was the dean's office at the University of Tokyo.
The spacious room boasted two wall-to-wall bookshelves, brimming with hefty tomes and files—renowned classics alongside obscure works, likely the dean's prized collection. A wooden desk sat beside a bird perch, where a docile parrot tilted its head, parroting "Hello" without a cage, never straying far, always returning from the window's branches.
Snow-white walls displayed vintage black-and-white photos—snapshots with literary giants, academic conference mementos. At the center hung a bold calligraphy scroll, its flowing strokes proclaiming, [Ichi-go ichi-e] the heavy ink reflected the scholar's ideals.
(Ichi-go ichi-e or "one time, one meeting" is a Japanese four-character idiom that describes a cultural concept of treasuring the unrepeatable nature of a moment. The term has been roughly translated as "for this time only", and "once in a lifetime".)
The desk was strewn with multilingual research notes, showcasing the dean's vast knowledge.
Among the books, Takizawa spotted a fantasy novel. He smirked—quite the spirited dean.
Oh? A collection by a romantic novelist too?
Another smirk—definitely a spirited dean!
"I've met many remarkable students, but you stand out," Onishi said. "You're the first to sit across from me with a roast chicken."
"It's the cafeteria's top-tier third-floor special, only a hundred sold daily. I queued hard for it, meant to eat first, but your urgent call brought me here, bag and all. My apologies," Takizawa said, mindful of propriety, moving the fragrant package aside.
"No offense taken. I haven't eaten yet."
"?"
"Our cafeteria's got history. As a broke student, I'd wait for others to eat, then grab discounted leftovers," The dean reminisced, nodding.
"Past struggles forge strength. But now, as a success, nostalgia feels forced. Let me ease your old regrets—I'll fetch you a fresh meal from the cafeteria, how's that?" Takizawa said, playing up sentiment.
"Too much trouble. Let's share this chicken," The old scholar said, rolling up his suit sleeves.
"…"
Clearing papers aside, they unwrapped the famed Tokyo U roast chicken, donning gloves. Juicy, tender, crispy outside, divine taste.
"What's this about, Dean?" Takizawa asked, eyeing the elder devouring the meal.
"What do you think?" Onishi teased.
Hiss—
The vague reply triggered Takizawa's worker PTSD.
Ambiguous words often hid intent—a prelude to pay cuts, polite traps to expose slacking or mistakes. A single phrase could draw blood.
"I'm clueless," Takizawa said, feigning innocence.
"Just guess," Onishi smiled.
"Did I skip class activities, betraying the school's unity spirit?" Takizawa tossed out a bait.
"Loneliness is one's own choice. We can't judge or meddle," The dean shook his head.
"Then was it my phone playing a cheesy pop song in class, disrupting the lecture hall, forcing me to read light novels aloud as punishment, shaming the school?"
"Your job involves such media—it's excusable. I heard you read with passion, strong empathy. Though the content was… less refined, it was like a solo drama. The theater club even invited you. A quirky anecdote."
"My attendance is so bad teachers thought I was in an accident, skipping my name?"
"I promised if you passed make-ups, I'd overlook it. I have some pull here," Onishi said. "But try to prove you're not in a wreck."
"I haven't done anything else…"
"Think hard. Any hot campus events lately?" The dean tore off a meaty drumstick, hinting.
Staring at the juicy leg, Takizawa pondered, then sparked.
"Oh, the campus singing contest! You want me to join, shine bright. But I'm no singer—recording for idol games had the sound tech working overtime. I appreciate the faith, but I'd rather not embarrass myself," He said, grabbing the other drumstick.
"No worries, clumsy guy. Your talent's not needed this time."
"Huh?"
"I need your looks," The near-seventy dean said, dead serious.
"???"
Shock nearly made him drop the drumstick.
"Besides the singing contest, students are buzzing about the 'Tokyo U's Most Beautiful Face' event, right?" Onishi tapped the desk.
"…You mean a beauty pageant? Campus king and queen?" Takizawa ventured.
"Exactly."
"With respect, why would upright folks like us care about such shallow events?" Takizawa asked, baffled.
"True, outer beauty pales beside the soul's shine. But looks draw eyes first—it's a human flaw. Not everyone sees inner worth," Onishi sighed. "These events ignite gossip, boost attention, spike online searches. Outsiders don't care about our papers or research—they're here for pretty faces. Yet results often disappoint."
"To counter critics, we need a beauty to stand out… though, with our stature, we don't need saving or even promoting," Takizawa said oddly.
"Not so. Our gender ratio's skewed, reflecting broader societal bias. On a smaller scale, it hurts campus harmony. At mixers with other schools, we're outshone. Especially by Waseda's rich kids, eating well, dressing sharp, holding rival contests to dunk on our hardworking scholars!"
Onishi's anger flared, wielding the drumstick like a blade, grease like enemies' blood.
"Tokyo U's prestige holds, but we seem stuffy, outdated. Nationwide, students and parents respect our strength but peg us as nerdy, out-of-touch bookworms. Even Kyoto University gains charm with quirky, artistic students, boosting global fame. We're stuck with old baggage! Laughable! Back in my activist days, they were nowhere!"
"Is it that serious?" Takizawa scratched his head.
"Outside top programs, we're neck-and-neck. Campus culture's key. We must uphold Hongo's legacy and make rivals retreat!" Onishi declared passionately.
"So, what do I do?" Takizawa sensed an inescapable duty.
"Remember eating alone when a photography club member snapped you?"
"Vaguely."
"For a meal's cost, they got usage rights, entered your photo in the contest. You're in the top hundred," Onishi said. "I need you to take proper photos for the next round."
"???"
"Show them eternal dominance!" Onishi clutched a wing, resolute.
Minutes later, Takizawa left, dazed, carrying a bag of chicken bones.
His phone buzzed.
His agent, Kashiwai Ippai, sounded incredulous.
"Takizawa-kun! You still don't have official headshots?"
"I haven't been to the agency yet."
"How can you say that so casually?" Kashiwai roared. "Get it done this week!"
"Photos seem useful for all sorts of things. Should I rent a suit? The budget…"
Beep beep beep.
The call cut off.
Everyone's after his looks.
Sigh.
***
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