Chapter 80

University of Tokyo!

It is the undisputed number one university in Japan, founded in 1877, and has produced nine Nobel Prize laureates to date!

It is the sacred institution every Japanese student dreams of entering, holding in Japan the same status as Qinghua and Peking University do in China, or Oxford and Cambridge in Britain.

In the recently released CWUR world university rankings, the University of Tokyo ranked thirteenth globally and first in Asia!

Luo Quan was incredibly lucky to become a student at this world-renowned university, but also unfortunate that on her very first day back on campus, she became the center of attention for the entire student body.

The whole thing started because she was being cheeky—she’d interacted briefly with Wen Xia on Weibo, and when a fan asked when she’d release a Mandarin album, she replied she’d be returning to campus on the 28th and had no time.

It was nothing serious, but someone somehow posted that line on Japanese Twitter, claiming Luo Quan was about to return to the University of Tokyo, and then… she trended on Twitter.

The comment section was flooded with fan messages, many from Luo Quan’s own alumni, saying they’d throw her a full welcome parade.

Although Luo Quan tweeted urging fans not to do it, fearing disruption to campus order, it didn’t seem to have much effect.

She couldn’t delay her return just for this, so on the 28th, she had no choice but to grit her teeth and return to school.

The University of Tokyo has seven campuses; Luo Quan’s language department is located at the Komaba Campus in Meguro, Tokyo.

Since Shibuya is right next to Meguro, Luo Quan brought almost no luggage back—just her student ID, one credit card, and a backpack.

The coursework at the University of Tokyo is very light: first class starts at ten a.m., only five or six classes per day, and if there are no special arrangements, students have free time from five p.m. until ten a.m. the next day.

This relaxed schedule is a major test of students’ self-discipline and self-study ability.

Yet students who get into the University of Tokyo rarely become lazy or frivolous, because its long history has cultivated a culture of diligence, humility, and practicality.

Students can be seen anywhere on campus, sitting with a book for hours on end; under such a strong academic atmosphere, it’s hard not to become someone who loves learning.

Of course, University of Tokyo students are not just bookworms who only study; in fact, their extracurricular lives are quite rich.

The most famous are the university’s biannual campus festivals: the May Festival held at the Hongō and Yushima campuses, and the Komaba Festival held in November at the Komaba Campus.

Last year’s Komaba Festival attracted over 100,000 visitors, one of Japan’s largest campus festivals, running for three days and dominating Twitter’s trending list every single day.

With such vibrant campus activities, every University of Tokyo student can truly be called well-rounded in morality, intellect, physical fitness, aesthetics, and labor—they are the elite of tomorrow and Japan’s hope.

But even elites have their youth.

What do young people love? Nothing but handsome guys, beautiful girls, anime, and games.

The University of Tokyo’s golden children proved with their actions that they too chase idols, and when they go wild, they’re no less intense than the average otaku—or rather, they are part of that crowd.

When Luo Quan reached the campus gate, both sides of the road were packed with students, mostly male, with a few bald middle-aged men mixed in—she didn’t know if they were passersby or professors.

The moment Luo Quan appeared, the students erupted in excited shouts:

“Quanquan!!”

“I love you!”

“I’m in the same department as you!”

………………

Someone shouted, “Marry me!” and suddenly all the male students joined in unison—the scene was spectacular.

Luo Quan was stunned. Are these really the top students of Asia’s number one university? What’s the difference between them and the online otaku losers?

Seeing Luo Quan’s stiff expression, the students thought they’d frightened her, and their chants gradually faded.

Just as the scene was about to turn awkward, Luo Quan smiled and replied: “I’m only eighteen—I’m not ready to get married.”

Those words were like a match thrown into an oil drum—immediately reigniting the boys’ excitement; wild cheers erupted everywhere, and anyone unfamiliar might think the University of Tokyo had turned into a zoo.

“Then how old will you be when you get married?” one bold boy shouted amid the frenzy.

“Twenty-two.”

“Then we’ll wait for you four years!” the boys shouted together, like roosters in heat.

Luo Quan tilted her head and smiled: “But I’ll graduate and return home in four years.”

“Aaaaah—” the boys wailed in unison, like dogs who’d lost their dreams.

“That’s so unfair!”

“Yeah, how can you run away from our love like this?”

“Just get Japanese citizenship already—girls can marry at sixteen!”

As the boys voiced their “complaints,” a teacher—a middle-aged man in a white shirt, with a fat face and greasy hair—walked over. He had a square face, a stern expression, and glasses with lenses thick enough to serve as magnifiers.

“It’s Director Kawamura…”

“Why is he here…?”

From the students’ nervous whispers, Luo Quan learned the man’s identity: the Dean of Student Affairs at the Komaba Campus.

Normally, a student gathering shouting at the gate would be handled by the Disciplinary Officer; the Dean only oversees academics. But if he chose to intervene, he could.

He probably just happened to pass by, saw the crowd, and came over to check.

In such situations on campus, the usual response is a verbal warning to disperse.

But the University of Tokyo isn’t Kyoto University, known for its liberal atmosphere; it enforces discipline and academic rigor strictly—even if it doesn’t punish everyone, it must make examples of a few to deter others.

The organizers now wore grim expressions, wondering whether to step forward and admit fault to gain leniency.

But to the students’ shock, the stern Dean suddenly softened, his voice becoming gentler than usual: “There’s no need to get so excited just to welcome Quanquan.”

“Huh?” Luo Quan was baffled. “Aren’t you angry?”

She’d fully expected punishment, never imagining this turn.

Director Kawamura laughed heartily: “Normally, this would be dealt with seriously, but since it’s because of you, it’s understandable.”

“By the way, could you sign my autograph? My son is your biggest fan. Please!”

As he spoke, Director Kawamura pulled out an album and a pen from nowhere and handed them to Luo Quan.

“Of course,” Luo Quan sighed in relief, taking the pen and album.

As she signed, the students nearby whispered among themselves:

“Doesn’t Director Kawamura only have a daughter? Where did he get a son?”

“He just wants your autograph and doesn’t want to look desperate in front of us, so he made up an excuse!”

“Damn it—I waited two hours at the gate and still didn’t get your autograph, and he just walks up and gets one!”

“He’s so sneaky—what if I cover his head and you snatch his signed album?”

“I was just joking—go ahead and try it if you want to get expelled.”

“Why are you arguing? Quanquan’s the kindest—she’ll sign for all of us soon.”

……………………

After getting the autograph, Director Kawamura’s expression returned to its original sternness. He glared at the crowd of boys and roared: “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have studies? Do you even have enough credits? I’m being lenient—if the principal saw you like this, he’d make you all repeat the year, not one of you escapes!”

“We just wanted an autograph…” one boy muttered weakly.

“Luo Quan isn’t going anywhere—wait until she’s free later. Now that school’s started, there’s so much to handle. If any of you dare bother her, I’ll record your offenses!”

Director Kawamura’s sudden mood shift left Luo Quan speechless—just moments ago he was gentle, now he was terrifying.

But it fit his role as Dean—after all, which school’s Dean would act like a comedian, smiling and joking with students?

On campus, students are at the bottom; any teacher can order them around, let alone the Dean.

Once Director Kawamura spoke, the students, however reluctant, dispersed. The student who’d claimed everyone would get autographs was instantly shunned—such a jinx should be avoided.

Although Director Kawamura played the villain this time and earned everyone’s resentment, for Luo Quan, his arrival was perfectly timed—he’d solved a major problem for her.

At least two hundred students had gathered; signing autographs one by one would’ve taken over an hour. Thank goodness Director Kawamura played the bad guy.

Director Kawamura walked beside Luo Quan, hands behind his back: “Luo Quan, you’re now the pride of the Komaba Campus—everyone in Japan sings your songs. You must study hard and bring honor to the school.”

“I will work hard!” Luo Quan nodded firmly.

Director Kawamura smiled approvingly: “Then I won’t keep you any longer—go on, be off.”

After the Dean left, Luo Quan finally had time to look around the campus.

Like many famous universities, the University of Tokyo has a broad avenue, as long and storied as its history.

On both sides stand rows of lush ginkgo trees; it’s late summer now, and soon the leaves will turn golden with autumn.

Then, the breathtaking sight known as “Ginkgo Avenue” will unfold.

This is where she will study for three years. Thinking of it, Luo Quan felt unexpectedly moved.