Matriculation
July 1st, 20XX, Jameson Military Institute
“We have a lot more cadets than usual coming from Japan this year,” commented Commandant Lavenza Thomas as she looked through the list of out-of-country students that would be joining them that fall.
“Really? How many are coming in this year?” asked the superintendent, Major General Igor Burke.
“Not counting Nijima and Akechi, nine.”
“Interesting. The Japanese are rarely interested in any kind of military organization these days. I wonder what extraordinary circumstances brought them all to our fine Institute.” The Commandant chuckled. “This year should be very interesting to watch unfold.”
* * * [One Month Later] * * *
“Did you make sure to pack everything?” asked Himawari Kurusu.
The teenage boy she was talking to sighed. “Yes mom, I made sure to pack everything.”
“Alright, just making sure dear.” Her phone started to ring. “Ah, that must be your father.” Akira’s father, as much as he wanted to, couldn’t send him off at the airport due to being on a company trip. Though he did try his best to be a supportive father, even after all of the accusations and charges.
Himawari answered the call. “Hello dear. No, you didn’t miss him. The plane leaves in twenty minutes. Yes here he is.”
She handed the phone to Akira. “Hello?”
“Hello Akira.” Kujo Kurusu answered. “How are you doing? Did you eat? Are you nervous? Did you pack everything? Did you-.”
“Dad, slow down and breathe.” His father had a tendency to ask a lot of questions in a short span of time when he was nervous or scared. Well, at least he cared about his well-being. He had a lot of classmates - sorry, former classmates - who couldn’t say the same. Even when the charges were brought against him, his father fought fiercely against the allegations. This, paired with a family friend who was a lawyer, got the case dropped at least. However, the rumors and backlash from the incident left Akira practically an outcast, as he was seen as a criminal in the eyes of his small town. It was his father’s idea to send him abroad so he could stop facing the abuse of the small town, but he left the choice up to Akira and even let him choose the school.
“Right, sorry. I just want to make sure that you are okay and that you are doing well and not letting the nerves get to you. I hear that American military school is a lot harsher than regular school, so . . .” Kujo trailed off, realizing he was rambling again. “Just, whenever we send you your phone after the training period, make sure you call us and tell us everything. Not one detail left out, you hear?”
Despite the circumstances, Akira smiled. His world got turned upside down tenfold, but he could always rely on his parents for support.
“Don’t worry dad, I will.”
He heard yelling on the other end of the line. “Ah, that’s my boss, I gotta go. We’ll be sending you letters for the training period. I love you and goodbye!”
“I love you too dad, bye,” Akira said before he hung up, choking back tears.
He then picked up his luggage and hugged his mom one more time before heading to the terminal.
* * *
Sixteen hours later, Akira was standing in line at the supply house where new cadets picked up their training attire and basic supplies for living. They had them leave their buckets with cleaning products, toiletries, pillows, and other supplies they were told to bring in different sections in the gym. After that, the students who had been assigned as leaders and directors for matriculation had them stand in a position they called “parade rest” where they stood with their legs shoulder length apart with both hands on the small of their back while staring straight ahead. This one girl especially seemed especially strict, scolding anyone who so much as moved their eyes.
She had a very large amount of colorful cloth pieces on the left side of her shirt (Akira would later find out that those were award ribbons for all of her achievements), a name pin that said Nijima on the right side of her shirt where a pocket would usually be, a yellow rope looped around her right shoulder, one red line adorned the left side of her short sleeve button up shirt. And on her shoulders was a black cloth with three yellow arrows and three yellow lines. She wore navy blue trousers, a bright brass belt buckle, and shoes that shone jet black. Her uniform aside, she had short brown hair, crimson eyes, and a very pretty face. Well, it would be prettier if she wasn’t scowling like someone just scuffed her well-shined shoes with cow manure.
“Cadet!” she yelled looking in his direction. Akira flinched, thinking he had done something to invoke her well-adorned wrath. To his relief, she walked past him and started berating the person behind him.
“Cadet, stand up straight, eyes straight ahead, hands on the small of your back, not your behind and feet shoulder length apart. Do you understand me?”
“Yes ma’am,” the boy behind him muttered. Big mistake.
“Cadet, I am not to be referred to as “ma’am” at any point of time. You only call female officers “ma’am.” You see my rank?” she pointed to the black strips of cloth with the yellow arrows and lines on her shoulder. “These mean that I am a master sergeant. So whenever you address me, you will answer with ‘yes master sergeant’ or ‘no master sergeant.’ Are we clear, cadet?”
Akira could practically feel the boy behind him shrink in embarrassment. “Yes master sergeant.” he said, defeated.
She nodded, satisfied. “Now fix that posture, cadet.”
As she walked away, the boy behind him muttered in Japanese, “Man, she’s a total bitch.”
Since the scary Nijima girl was now directing one of the new cadets that finished getting their supplies where to go to get a room assignment, he decided to peek at the boy behind him. He was an athletic looking boy with dyed blond hair, a loud yellow t-shirt with a black and red star, brown eyes, and cargo shorts.
Quietly, he said to the boy in Japanese, “Where in Japan are you from?”
The boy looked shocked, but replied quietly in Japanese, “I’m from Tokyo. How about you?”
“I’m from a small town in the Kansai region,” Akira whispered
“Whoa you’re pretty far from home,” the boy said.
“Like you’re one to t-,” Akira started.
“Cadet! Move forward!” yelled the Nijima girl.
As he walked past her, he heard her whisper in Japanese, “There will be time to visit later. For now, move forward and stop acting like this is some run of the mill highschool.”
Akira turned red in embarrassment, but complied with her order. He was disappointed that he couldn’t continue his conversation with the boy, but he was relieved to know that there were other people like the boy and the Nijima girl at the school, even if she was a bit strict and harsh. Feeling comfort in the fact that there were other Japanese students here, he moved forward.
Among his training clothes (Black shorts, black running shoes, socks, a cap, and a shirt with the school’s emblem on the front), Akira was given two laundry bags, two pairs of sheets, a blanket, a plain white cotton bathrobe, a water pack, two school track suits for cold days, and a backpack. He was told that he would be coming back to the supply shop at a later date to pick up his other uniforms and supplies. After picking up his stuff, he went to the desk with room assignments.
“You’ll be in company India, room 107, side 1,” the lady at the desk told him as she handed him his key. “Just stand over there with that group of people, and your Company Consultant Officer, Captain Iwai, will take you to your barracks.”
He went and stood against the wall at parade rest with the rest of the new cadets waiting to be taken to the barracks. Getting bored, he was about to risk talking with the boys he was standing next to when Captain Iwai walked in. He was a muscular guy in army digital camo, combat boots, and had a face that could make the toughest bears cry for their mothers.
“You all in India?” he asked. All of the new cadets standing against the wall nodded, each of them contemplating their life choices that lead up to them facing a man who looked like he could crush their skulls without even trying.
“Great, follow me. You don’t have to march or anything. Just don’t get lost, it’s a big campus.” With that he turned around and held the door open for them.
After a ten minute walk, they ended up at one of the large, two story brick buildings with a cement walkway in front of a row of doors on each floor. Railing covered the outside perimeter of the second floor walkway that was conjoined with the railing for the stairs that lead up to the second floor’s cement walkway. On this building, it had a big sign with a fist drawing that was captioned with, “India Crushes the Inferior.”
“Alright, here are some ground rules and announcements ,” shouted Iwai. “First floor is for males, the second floor is for females. The bathrooms are communal, so if someone makes a mess in there, I’ll have all of you clean it at three in the morning. Right now, it is 13:23. All of the boys will be down here at 15:00 in your training uniform, otherwise known as your PT uniform. You are not authorized to have food, drinks, unauthorized electronics until after the training period ceremony. Lights out is at 22:30. The gym is over there,” he gestured to the large building around 200 meters away, “Feel free to go grab the items that you brought with you and store them in an orderly manner. Try to get along with your roommate, and if you can’t we’ll see about moving you. And if you do happen to have any unauthorized items in your possession, the number one rule is don’t get caught. Dismissed!”
Akira took the items he got from the supply shop and walked down the walkway until he found room 107. Next to him was a boy with bluish hair, bright blue eyes, and a small figure.
“Hey, are you also in room 107?” the boy asked.
“Yeah. My name is Akira Kurusu and I’m from Japan,” Akira replied.
“Oh, that’s cool! My name is Mona Richardson and I’m from Seattle Washington. Nice to meet you Akira!” Mona stuck out his hand.
“Likewise,” said Akira as he took his hand and shook it.
Getting out his key, he unlocked the door and stepped in. It was a simple room with two twin-sized beds on each side of the room with a desk at the foot of the bed and a closet at the head. Near the entrance was a counter with two sinks and cabinets in front of the window next to the door. It was a tad cramped, but Akira could get past that. He made his bed and put his clothes and laundry bags in the closet, which had one large drawer with several shelves, and a couple of strangely shaped pieces of wood that looked like they held something very specific. Akira mentally shrugged. They will probably tell us what it’s for eventually. Morgana did the same thing to his side of the room, though his was a little more messy.
“Hey, you want to go pick up the stuff we left at the gym?” asked Mona.
Akira, who just wrapped up his side of the room, thought about it for a second, then replied, “Yeah, sure.”
They walked down the cement pathway to the gym. On the way, they saw an orange-haired girl struggling with a large tote.
“Hey, should we go help her?” Akira asked Mona.
Mona shrugged, “ You can if you want to.”
Akira thought about it for a second, and then decided. To hell if his nature of helping people nearly got him sued, he couldn’t just sit by and do nothing when someone needed help.
He walked over to the girl, who was still struggling. “Hey, do you all need any help?”
The girl put the crate down and looked at him warily. She had a pale complexion, a small thin frame, wide magenta eyes laced with distrust, a large pair of glasses, and long, straight orange hair. It was that moment that Akira realized that she was really, really cute.
The girl looked at him suspiciously and then said in Japanese, “Who are you weirdos? Are you scammers? Stalkers? Perverts? Well? Answer me scamming-stalking-perverts!
“Hey, Akira, what did she say?” asked Mona.
“She called us scamming-stalking-perverts,” Akira replied, a bit baffled.
“Wh-what?” Mona cried.
Akira composed himself, then turned to the shocked girl, who didn’t expect him to understand her. “No, we are not scamming-stalking-perverts, we are students here just like you and just wanted to help. For future reference, make sure your audience can’t speak Japanese before you insult them. So, do you want some help?”
The girl turned bright red as she developed a sudden interest in her shoes. “S - sure . . .” she muttered out.
“You’re still going to help her, even after that?” Mona asked.
Akira shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Besides, maybe she’ll be nicer now that we made our intentions clear.” With that, he picked up her crate and asked in Japanese, “What room are you in?”
The girl, who recovered from her shock and shame, pointed to one of the buildings farther up, and replied, “I’m in Charlie 204, all the way over there.”
“Alright, let’s get this show on the road! To Charlie we go,” said Akira in English for Mona’s benefit.
“What? We’ll run out of time to grab our stuff if you take this all the way to Charlie and walk back!” Mona protested.
“Which is why I’m entrusting you to get our crates. Mine’s in the ‘K’ section, black tub with a red lid, name on the lid in English and Kanji, can’t miss it. Thanks, I owe you one!” And with that, Akira started heading towards the Charlie Barracks, the girl following close behind.
“Aw come on!” yelled Mona.
The girl, as it turns out, was named Futaba Sakura, and she was also from Tokyo. She turned out to be much friendlier than her first impression implied. As they walked to Charlie, he found out that she came here for the computer program that would hopefully bolster her college application to MIT.
“It’s my dream school. If a prestigious military school won’t help me get in, then nothing will.
When they got to Charlie, the Company Consultant Officer gave him permission to carry Futaba’s luggage to her room as long as he was supervising. There, he met a redhead girl with glasses who had just unpacked her own crate and was reading a book. After a brief explanation, they exchanged some small talk before he left for his own room.
“He was pretty cute,” Sumire commented to Futaba once he left.
This threw Futaba for a loop. “Huh? What? Really? I mean I guess . . . Wait, what?” Futaba stuttered, her face bright red. Sumire laughed and resumed her book.
As Akira walked into his room, he was greeted with a less than pleased Mona on the bed and his crate next to his closet.
“Way to leave me behind. You know how heavy it was carrying two crates at the same time? It wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure,” Mona complained.
Akira put his hand on his neck, “Yeah, sorry. Just let me know if you want anything or need a favor, I’ll do it.”
This improved Mona’s mood considerably. “Alright, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. But for now, we need to get changed and get outside. We only have twenty minutes left.”
The two boys changed in silence, and headed out five minutes early on the mark. Outside, Iwai was leaning against one of the steel support poles, sucking unhappily on a lollipop.
“Line up behind that line in the concrete,” said Iwai as they walked out.
They did what he instructed, and went into parade rest like the rest of the boys that were out before them. Once they all lined up, Iwai suddenly got an evil grin on his face.
“Alright everyone, a lot of you have some luscious locks, and that just ain’t gonna fly. So enjoy your last moments with your hair, ‘cause we’re gonna go get it shaved off!”
There was a deafening silence that followed Iwai’s statement. Then, all of the distraught boys said at the same time in the most heartbroken voices possible, “What!?”