Ronin Test Warrior

He stared at the scoreboard; it was really all he could do at that point. A mild panic seized him, his blood turning cold. He looks again at his number and again at the board. Maybe there is a mistake. Maybe he just misread his number. He’s sure his name has to be up there, it just has to be. He searches again, feeling more defeated than anything else. It’s his third time looking and he’s now certain that he will not find his name.

He doesn’t really have the words for what he feels, in Japanese or in English because at that moment he doesn’t feel like any word is the right word. He sighs and walks away, trying to keep his head high, to hide his shame. No one in the crowd has to know that he didn’t get in, if he just keeps up the front for a little longer people will think he’s just passed the test. He forces his smile which seemed to come easy before now. Around him are the joyful noises of people whose prayers were to pass this test were answered. Each sound only strengthens his resolve to smile, to look happy so that they will think that he is like them and not like the other half of the crowd, some crying, and some staring blankly into space.

What is he going to tell his family? What is he going to do next? Get a job at a company? No, those tests have already passed. Get a job at a store? No, he’d be bored. He always had a sense that he wanted college, that it’s something he would be good at. A part of it is his desire; a part of it is being pushed by his family. No matter what they call it, temporary employee, non-contracted employee, student devoting his time to study, he would still be the same meaning “ronin”. The word sticks in his throat, the bus he’s on suddenly becomes too small. His face burns a little with shame but his tan makes it difficult for others to see; easier for him to hide his shame.

No one is home when he returns; his mother is probably at the store. He goes to his room and throws his bag against the wall. He kicks his tennis racket and clinches his fists but nothing seems to get rid of that looming mixed feeling. He can’t stand it, the combination of self-pity, of self-loathing, of himself. The voices of his teachers, who had begrudgingly put their faith in him to pass the test, bounced off the walls in a scolding symphony.

Defeated, exhausted, seppuku ready, he flops down on his bed and picks up a comic, attempting to distract himself. It’s a boy’s adventure manga, a samurai story. Ronin, a retainer without a lord. He feels his world shrinking. He feels alone, as if he is the only one who failed the test. He knows he isn’t that there were many students crying or simply lowering their heads in disgrace. At one point, before the Edo period, being a ronin was not such a disgrace, you could move freely from lord to lord. But in the Edo period, like today, you want to be a part of the kumi*, the group. You don’t want to be masterless. He stops for a moment and thinks about the hero of his comic. An honorable ronin who wears the term proudly because in a way, it is also freedom. He can now fully devote himself to the tests, a juku* junky. He is not a ronin whose lord has been killed and therefore must end his life. Rather, he is a ronin who is searching for his lord. Now that he has no other battles to fight he can fully devote him to finding his lord.

And this time, he will not fail to find him.

I was discussing tests with a coworker who told me about how he spent a year as a rounin, a person who fails an entrance exam but then takes the year off to study and saw a very sad but determined boy on the bus. They kind of combined into this story.

Ronin-as stated, a samurai without a lord. In modern Japan it also means a student who has failed entrance exams and will spend the next year studying.

Kumi- a group retainers, also used for classes in Japanese high schools (though when attached to a name like 1-A it is pronounced gumi)

Juku- cram school.