The Teacher's Mnemonics.

He had a name that included the character for "victory" and sounded strong.

And yet, when the teacher entered the classroom for the first lesson, he tripped and stumbled.
He immediately regained his posture and said one thing.
I tripped on your behalf.
We students were silent for a moment, and then hesitant laughter leaked out.

Looking back now, that teacher resembled Yoshiharu Doi, the cooking expert famous for "Kyou no Ryouri." If you add a touch of delicacy to Mr. Doi's gentleness, you get that teacher.

After graduating from high school, I attended a prep school for one year.
While in high school, I had the naive idea that I would get into somewhere.
As a result, I didn't just fail my first choice; I failed every university I applied to.
The path between being a high school student and a university student was not continuous.

I spent a year of disappointment, what is known as being a "ronin" student.
That's a lie.
Actually, there were some fun times too.

First, the friends.
At prep school, there are no events to deepen friendships. Even so, we were the same generation in the same classroom. Even if our target universities were different, we were all people who had gone out of our way to study for another year to take the entrance exams. If you just spoke up, you could naturally become friends.

I even made someone I could call a best friend. We got along well, and we spent most of our classes together. We studied together in the self-study room. Once, just for a break, we even went to karaoke together. Because of the guilt of going to karaoke while being a ronin student, when one of us wasn't singing, we would solve math problems together.

I still have a connection with that friend, attending her wedding and exchanging New Year's cards.

And all the prep school classes were interesting.
The ability of prep school teachers is entirely focused on teaching. That's why it feels good to listen to their classes. You start to see the new appeal of that subject.

The teacher who resembles Yoshiharu Doi from the beginning is the one in charge of Oriental history within the world history curriculum. On the other hand, the teacher in charge of Western history was an energetic veteran woman.

From here on, let's call the Western history teacher "Teacher West" and the Oriental history teacher "Teacher East."

The energetic Teacher West had a heavy hand when writing on the blackboard.
She always drew a large world map using all three blackboards, and her classes were so loud she didn't need a microphone. It was full of impact. On days when she had drunk too much the night before, she would strain her slightly raspy voice to the fullest. There was always a theater of Teacher West there.

Teacher East was the opposite of Teacher West.
He was calm from beginning to end. And yet, he was interesting.

Originally, I had a bit of a苦手 (weakness) for Oriental history. Especially Chinese history, where there are so many kanji in people's names that it's hard to write. It's hard to read. While I was in high school, I memorized them by writing them over and over again.

But in Teacher East's hands, it became a "human story."
The teacher taught us about the pathetic sides of the people who appeared in Chinese history. A suspicious party thrown by a certain emperor. An emperor who destroyed his country because he wanted to make the girl he loved laugh. A beautiful woman who had an ugly portrait painted because she didn't tip the artist well.

Human blood began to flow through the rigid history of China.

Another feature of Teacher East's unique classes was his mnemonics.
If you memorize the combination of "year + event," it becomes easier to see the order in which things happened and their connections to other regions. That's why it was important to memorize strings of numbers using mnemonics.

Teacher East would unveil his own original mnemonics and then smile to himself with satisfaction, saying "Heh heh heh." They were diverse, ranging from mnemonics that would make you chuckle to ones that would make the 18-year-old me blush.

The classes of the two teachers, Western history and Oriental history, intersected, and both space and time were connected as one. It was as if, for that time only, I was looking down at the world from the sky.

I became obsessed with the world history woven by the teachers.

During the summer course, I was taking Mr. Higashi's class.

Mr. Higashi seemed to be feeling unwell.
Although the class proceeded calmly, he would cough every few minutes.
My worry of "Is he okay?" took precedence over the content of the lesson.
His complexion wasn't as good as usual either. I wondered if he had been worn down by this heat.

After Mr. Higashi's class, I would sometimes go to the instructors' room to ask questions.

On this day, I hesitated about whether to go to the instructors' room.
He looked so unwell... would it be okay to go?
Maybe I should skip it today...

As soon as my feet turned toward the exit, a thought struck me.

"I might never see Mr. Higashi again."

If I don't go, I'll regret it.
I turned on my heel and headed for the instructors' room.
Mr. Higashi was still there.

"Teacher, I'm sorry to bother you while you're feeling unwell... is it okay to ask a question?"
"Oh, it's fine."
I was relieved by Mr. Higashi's usual tone. And so, after asking a few questions, for some reason, these words came out.

"Mr. Higashi, your class is very enjoyable. Together with Mr. Nishi's class, it feels like I'm looking at the world from the sky. I'm looking forward to your future classes as well."

The teacher smiled as usual and said, "I'm happy to hear you say that. Thank you."

However, that smile looked somewhat lonely.

The summer course ended, and the second semester began.
"I wonder if Mr. Higashi has gotten better," I had been slightly concerned.

The teacher from the academic affairs office, who corresponds to a homeroom teacher in high school, came into the classroom.
"I have one piece of unfortunate news. ...Mr. Higashi has passed away due to illness. It is regrettable, but please take care of your own health and continue to do your best."

For an obituary, it was far too brief.

A prep school is different from a high school. Prep school instructors are not fully employed by the prep school. A prep school is an institution specialized in "passing exams." Therefore, emotional connection is not necessary. Even the teacher from the academic affairs office probably rarely experiences the death of an instructor. In that situation, they made the best choice so that the students would not be as shaken as possible. Now, I think I can understand the feelings of the academic affairs office.

But, at the time, I couldn't accept it.
The feeling of not being able to accept the response from the academic affairs office and the feeling of simply not being able to grasp the reality were mixed together.

That weekend, I had lunch with a friend from the prep school after self-study.
My friend was also taking the world history class and was one of those who enjoyed the teacher's lessons.
Perhaps because we were both thinking of Mr. Higashi, we would occasionally fall silent.

Eventually, my friend said,
"I can't accept the way the academic affairs office put it."
They were thinking the same thing as me.
"There should have been... something more, right?"

We weren't the type of relationship to show tears to each other. But if we tried to say anything more, it felt like it would overflow. That was probably the same for them. Without making eye contact, we each remembered Mr. Higashi.

The following week, we had our first class with Mr. Nishi of the second semester.
Mr. Nishi is also good friends with Mr. Higashi. I worried that Mr. Nishi might also be heartbroken.

As soon as Mr. Nishi walked in, he shouted, "Alright, let's begin!" in a voice that sounded louder than usual.

He began speaking in his usual, energetic tone.

"Everyone, please don't worry. I am just here to teach you history like this... Also, a substitute teacher will be coming for Oriental History. But, I have a request. Even when the substitute teacher arrives, please don't say that you preferred Mr. Higashi. Please don't think it... That is not what Mr. Higashi would want. Mr. Higashi would..."

He continued without minding that his voice was gradually becoming tearful.

"I went to say goodbye to Mr. Higashi the other day. I saw his photo, too. He looked plump and healthy. I cried my eyes out then, so it's okay now; I was able to say goodbye..."

As he said this, he was indeed crying loudly.

"It's okay to be sad. It's okay to cry. Mr. Higashi was a teacher who was loved, after all. But, after you've grieved, let's look forward... Because he is watching, and that is surely what would make Mr. Higashi the happiest."

The sound of sobbing in the classroom was drowned out by Mr. Nishi's loud voice, and could barely be heard.

After that, Mr. Nishi's class continued as usual. During class, the topic of Mr. Higashi never came up.

I, too, forgot about Mr. Higashi—no, while remembering him from time to time, I pushed myself with my studies until the entrance exams. Just because it's fun, I couldn't spend all my time studying world history. Japanese, math, English, world history, geography, modern society, chemistry... there are many subjects that need to be studied. Gradually, the current high school students were also improving their skills, so I couldn't afford to be careless.

I studied regardless of the change of seasons from autumn to winter, or events like Christmas and New Year's. My parents also bought me plenty of good-luck snacks and prepared hot lemonade for me in the middle of the night.

The day of the Center Test. I carried my heavy bag into the winter sky, filled with the lunch and snacks my mother had packed for me, along with summary notebooks for each subject for final review.

I had solved countless past exams and reviewed them until I remembered what would appear in what order for every year. After all, there was no turning back now.

My heart was trembling with cold and nervousness. Thinking about this time tomorrow, this time the day after, and this time next month and next year.

The signal for the world history exam was given, and there was the sound of pages being turned all at once.
Even for questions I knew, I read them carefully to avoid misreading. Amidst the silence, I filled in the correct answers while becoming part of the sound of the mark sheets.

The Weimar Republic, Charles V, the Kangxi Emperor, Wanyan Aguda, Brahmin... the small booklet of several dozen pages was packed with history with holes in it.

My hand stopped at a certain term.
Goryeo... Korean history.
It wasn't that I hadn't studied it at all. However, compared to other fields, my study of Korean history was a little thin. The exam was mercilessly poking at that.

While feeling a little panicked, I pulled from the deepest drawers of my memory. Goryeo...

A faint voice echoed in the back of my mind. I strained my ears, trying not to let it be drowned out by the sound of the mark sheets.

“...Remember it as 'hakkushon, hakkushon' (achoo, achoo).”
It was Mr. Higashi's voice. I felt like I could have heard more if I had just tried a little harder, but that was all I could catch.

I don't really remember hearing that in his class back then. So, rather than remembering it, it truly felt like I had 'heard it' just now.

If it's 'hakku (89) shon', does that mean the 890s?
It was a question about putting the options in chronological order. Relying on that voice, I tried fitting the Goryeo-related event into the 890s. I rearranged the other options and filled in '3'.

After the exam, I looked for the answer to this question in the newspaper's answer key before anything else.
Just as I had filled in, it was '3'.

I later passed the first stage of my first-choice university, which was determined by my Center Test score, but due to a lack of ability, I failed the second stage.

However, I ended up attending a private university that I had applied to and been accepted to separately.

I wonder if the teacher came to the Center Test.
Whether that place is heaven or somewhere else depends on one's religion, so I don't know.

But I'm sure that somewhere, he must still be teaching his class.

Perhaps, seeing me in such a state, he decided to share... just a little bit of his lesson with me.

(End)