Chapter 6 – Tomorrow’s Match
12:41 AM.
The only light in Kotarō's room came from his laptop screen and the faint glow of the desk lamp, angled low to avoid the window. The city outside hummed faintly—buses, vending machines, someone arguing two floors down. All filtered into a dull presence.
He didn't hear it.
Two tabs played separate debate recordings in picture-in-picture. One from a regional final in Kyoto, the other from a Tokyo invitational two years ago. He wasn't watching for content. He was dissecting rhythm, tone, and how the second speaker dodged collapse with a sudden reframing.
The Google Doc on the right side of his screen was alive.
"Common openers: values > outcomes = danger if opponent frames hard policy early." "If they moralize early, don't refute—mirror, then twist."
He stopped the video. Rewound. Replayed.
"Her clash was clean, but she gives too much weight to the first speaker's framing. Note: compress here. Pressure second impact instead."
He wasn't memorizing. He was threading paths through unknowns.
Books were piled around him, sticky-noted in two languages. One page was entirely covered in arrows and slashes, showing different motion permutations and framing pivots. Some were labeled with cryptic shorthand like R>F-H pivot / neg trap / delay-open rebut.
In another window: a folder titled Tournament Prep > Haruka v1.3 contained pages of broken-down delivery habits, best-case topic matchups, and sample lines adapted to her tone.
"She doesn't need correction. She needs space. I cover the logic, she cuts the room."
He glanced at the time. 2:13 AM. Didn't feel like it. But his fingers had started hovering instead of typing.
He saved everything. Didn't close it. Just turned off the lamp.
Meanwhile, a window across town cracked open with the soft sound of a boiling kettle.
Haruka sat at her desk, legs folded under her, sipping tea from a chipped cup shaped like a fox.
No clutter. No graphs.
Just a small sheet of paper with a flowchart doodled in red pen, a loose timeline of speech roles and a few phrases half-written then scratched out.
She picked up a page Kotarō had sent. Didn't read it. Just tapped the edge, then set it aside.
"He probably knows what I'll say before I say it." "Good. Then I don't have to worry about explaining anything."
She took another sip of tea, leaned back in her chair, and quietly tried out a line.
"Some ideas sound true because we've never heard them challenged."
She repeated it. Changed the tone.
Smiled.
The next morning, the school was louder than usual.
Festival prep had spilled into every hallway. Paint-smeared gloves, taped signs, students with ladders yelling about safety. Kotarō moved through it like a ghost in a parade.
"Everyone else is setting up to be seen. We're setting up to be heard."
He met Haruka in their prep room—a repurposed storage classroom with mismatched desks.
She was already there, flipping through one of Rin's printouts.
No greetings. Just rhythm.
He ran a speech. Two minutes. Structured. Minimal pauses.
She didn't smile. Just nodded once.
"Again. This time cut the second frame's opening by four seconds."
He did.
"Her feedback was like the first drop of water after a long walk. Not exciting. Just precise."
Near the end of lunch, the bracket sheet was pinned to the board in the second-floor hallway.
Students huddled around it, half interested, half confused. The words English Debate Exhibition Bracket were printed in all caps.
Kotarō and Haruka walked over slowly. Not rushed. Just curious.
The list was clean.
Round 1 – Class 2-C vs Class 3-A
Haruka read it. Tilted her head a little.
"Third-years."
Kotarō scanned the names listed next to them. He recognized one—someone from the English club. Loud. Performative. Filler-heavy.
"They'll overstate everything. The gap is under the surface."
Haruka looked over at him. Raised a brow.
"Tomorrow," she said, "we go first."
He nodded.
"Not just in schedule. In noise. In landing something clean."
She smiled, just faintly.
"Let them think we're quiet. Tomorrow, we take the room."
Chapter End