The piercing, urgent alarm had already rung five times. Even though the lethargic Miss Lin had unconsciously stuffed her phone under the covers and pressed it beneath her stomach, she couldn't block out the life-threateningly sharp, high-frequency sound.
"Ugh..." She rubbed her head against the pillow in frustration, then let out a long sigh and propped herself up.
Sleepiness had been completely driven away by the alarm. She squirmed under the covers like a cat with its fur standing on end, her long hair getting painfully tangled in her pajama buttons.
The pain made Miss Lin grimace, but she had to admire her own foresight in setting five alarms before bed. She ran her fingers through her messy hair and tucked the long strands blocking her vision behind her ears.
The chill of an April morning in Tokyo seeped up through the cracks in the tatami mats, making her completely abandon any delusions of going back to sleep.
The moment her bare feet stepped onto the tatami, the coldness of the aged straw mats surged up through the soles of her feet.
She instinctively curled her toes and pulled open the curtains. Living in a cheap north-facing apartment now, even sunlight had become a luxury—the north-facing window only let in a layer of dismal grayish-blue, though it did save her the money she would have spent on blackout curtains.
Compared to other orientations, north-facing rentals got less sunlight and were relatively cold and damp. But when she remembered this place only cost 50,000 yen a month, everything became perfectly reasonable.
The eight-mat room was piled with moving boxes, and in the corner, a sticker from the move-in inspection that someone had forgotten to peel off still remained.
The edges of the faded tatami mats were stained like tea spills, and rustling noises frequently drifted through the walls—likely household noise from the neighbors due to the poor soundproofing.
The sliding closet door was crookedly stuck on its track. On the innermost part of the clothes rack hung a few items in semi-transparent dust bags, their silhouettes sharp and upright.
On the outer side, however, were piles of everyday clothes: plain Uniqlo knit sweaters and GU wide-leg jeans with pilling at the collars and a small coffee stain on one cuff. On the very edge hung a loose hoodie, washed until it was faded.
The hangers represented two completely different styles—the inner ones were heavy solid wood, while the outer ones were cheap plastic models from the Daiso 100-yen shop, some of which were already warped, barely supporting the weight of clothes being repeatedly taken off and put back on daily.
Three months ago, Miss Lin was still an international student living in a high-rise tower in Sangen-jaya with a monthly rent of 300,000 yen.
But then one day, her older sister called. Due to a sudden change in the family business, while they weren't in debt, they might no longer be able to support Miss Lin's life as a student abroad.
However, as a deserter of the Gaokao, Miss Lin couldn't bear to hear that.
She calculated the savings in her card and thought about the hourly wage for part-time work in Japan. Although she had no memory of ever having any labor experience and had forgotten her own lazy nature, Miss Lin responded with full confidence.
"I can work part-time!"
Unfortunately, Miss Lin had always been a complete over-consumer, a standard member of the 'moonlight clan' who spent every penny. If she had 1,000 yen left at the end of the month, it was considered an exceptionally frugal month for her.
It wasn't until she paid the tuition for the second half of the year at the language school, one month's rent and management fees for the tower, and lived lazily for another month at her usual quality of life that Miss Lin, checking her savings at the end of the month, finally realized something was wrong.
That night.
Suddenly realizing she wouldn't have living expenses for the next month, she curled up under the covers and began checking her savings, the cold light of the phone screen reflecting in her reddened eyes.
The numbers on the calculator ticked up relentlessly—tuition, rent, utilities, transportation... every necessary expense was like a small knife, slowly shaving away the balance in her bank account.
"Drip."
The sudden pressure combined with the lonely atmosphere of the night caused her emotions to be crushed by a sense of grievance. A teardrop hit the phone screen, followed by a second and a third.
She buried her face in the pillow, her shoulders shaking slightly, looking as sorrowful as Toyokawa Saki having her group-order meal stolen.
The night wind of Tokyo battered the floor-to-ceiling windows; from the 30th floor, the sound of the wind seemed exceptionally distant.
The next morning.
"Hello... Yes, I'd like to terminate my lease early..."
The customer service representative from the management company on the other end replied formulaically, while the pathetic tone in her voice was almost impossible to hide.
Although the cancellation fee didn't completely drain her final savings, the significantly reduced balance gave her a strong sense of urgency.
After paying another moving fee, Miss Lin, like a cat soaked by rain and too weak to hiss, moved out of the tower in disgrace, not even daring to say to herself,
"I'll be back!"
Thanks to the help of an international student friend who worked as a rental agent, she finally found a new nest before having to live in a park:
A two-story apartment near Roka-koen Station built in the first year of Reiwa. The walls were so thin she could hear the NHK weather forecast from her neighbor's house, but it had the advantage of a low deposit and being ready to move in.
When the 'increase income and reduce expenditure' plan reached the 'increase income' stage, Miss Lin decided to find a part-time job.
Although Miss Lin had already obtained her JLPT N1 certification before entering the language school, to get hired quickly, she chose the most classic international student starting point—working at a convenience store for an hourly wage of 1,150 yen.
If international student part-time jobs were divided into high, middle, and low tiers:
The high tier relies on talent and ability—those who know instruments go busking, those who know editing or other technical skills take Kokonara outsourcing, those who get licenses apply for corresponding part-time jobs, and those with strong social skills work as agents or personal shoppers.
Of course, if you make it to graduate school, you can also consider being a teacher's assistant;
The middle tier is working in drugstores, duty-free shops, chain supermarkets, or restaurants. Although the hourly wage might not be much higher, at least the working environment is bright and clean, and you can enjoy paid leave.
However, if you see a job with an hourly wage exceeding 1,500 yen, it's best to look into the details—after all, a high hourly wage usually means either the benefits are truly generous or the work intensity is exceptionally high;
And the low tier... like Miss Lin now, drifting between convenience store counters, greasy Chinese restaurant kitchens, late-night izakayas, or even noisy factory workshops.
One has to endure harassment from drunks, unreasonable demands from customers, and an endless stream of chores.
Just imagining these scenes made her stomach ache involuntarily.
Although international students are allowed to work 28 hours a week, convenience store scheduling depends entirely on the manager's whim; it's almost impossible to get exactly 28 hours.
Earning 100,000 yen a month is considered a stroke of luck—but Miss Lin was lucky enough to meet a considerate older sister manager.
"Miss Lin, night shifts are absolutely out of the question!"
That was a pity; she wouldn't be able to get the high late-night wage of 1,400 yen...
The twenty-eight-year-old manager stood with her hands on her hips, her chestnut-colored long hair swaying gently as she shook her head.
She stared at Miss Lin's overly exquisite face for a while, then suddenly reached out and pinched her cheek.
"But after the afternoon shift... you can take home some near-expiry bento boxes~ And of course, if there are any snacks you like, that's fine too."
Although Miss Lin hadn't mentioned her predicament, those slightly dark circles under her eyes and her somewhat pale lips couldn't escape the observant manager. This gentle older sister saw at a glance that the stubborn international student girl in front of her was likely struggling with life.
The manager suddenly leaned in close, a finger smelling faintly of perfume pressed gently against her lips.
The fluorescent lights of the convenience store cast a soft rim light on the side of her ear, making her smile look exceptionally gentle.
"As long as Lin-chan is at the register, our store's sales go up... let's consider these snacks a special allowance?" She winked mischievously. "But keep it a secret, okay?"
Miss Lin's 'fetish' system began to operate, unlocking a new one—the 'older sister' type.
Back to the present.
After getting up, Miss Lin briefly cleaned herself up in the cramped washroom, then hesitated as she looked at the bottles and jars of cosmetics on the sink.
Since saying goodbye to tower life, these bottles and jars had become strategic resources that needed to be carefully rationed. Adhering to the idea that every bit used was a bit gone, she ended up just tying her long black hair, which hadn't been to a salon in a long time, into a high ponytail.
Returning to the bedroom, she took off her wrinkled pajamas and changed into a loose hoodie and simple wide-leg jeans. This outfit had essentially become Miss Lin's fixed attire after moving out of the tower.
If this were a mobile game, it would probably be a trash card: [N - Miss Lin (Real Name Redacted) - Poverty Stricken].
She took out a pre-bought sandwich for breakfast from the second-hand refrigerator that emitted a death-rattle-like hum.
The refrigerator and washing machine were both bought from someone selling second-hand furniture in her WeChat moments. After buying them, she suspected countless times that she had actually purchased items from a Showa-era museum.
Her shoulder bag swung in an arc. After confirming her keys, wallet, and student ID were all there, she set off for the language school.
Fortunately, it was only one stop from Miss Lin's home to the language school, and the Keio Line she took didn't have that many corporate drones in the morning, perfectly avoiding the salarymen's commuting hell.
When the train slid smoothly into Hachimanyama Station, she even had the illusion that "today is my lucky day"—until the ticket gate flashed a piercing red light and emitted a "beep," reminding her that her Suica card had an insufficient balance.
"Ugh..." Miss Lin squeezed a zombie-like groan from deep in her throat, causing a woman dressed as an office lady nearby to take a wary half-step back.
Miss Lin shuffled to the charging machine, took out the only Tsuda Umeko (5,000 yen) from her flat wallet, and after inserting it, the machine slowly spat out three Kitasato Shibasaburo (1,000 yen) notes.
Yes, not Natsume Soseki, because that bill had long since stopped being issued.
After being swept out of the station by the crowd at the exit, Miss Lin breathed a sigh of relief and walked toward the language school.
When she first enrolled, Miss Lin harbored beautiful aspirations for her life as a student abroad.
Even though she was attending an obscure language school, and even though she had seen many scandals about language schools online, she didn't hold too many prejudices.
However, after just a few weeks, the nature of most language schools became clear—they were nothing more than springboards for obtaining visas.
For Miss Lin, who already held an N1 certificate, the language school courses were better than nothing, perhaps only useful for the interview processes set up for higher education or employment. But beyond that, it was hard to say.
Even so, Miss Lin still maintained a 100% attendance rate. In a language school, such a case was as rare as a phoenix feather or a unicorn horn.
The motivation supporting her was the 30,000 yen perfect attendance scholarship at graduation—this money was enough to pay half a month's rent.
Thinking about it now, Miss Lin was actually glad she was still in the language school.
The schedule of only half a day of classes allowed her enough time to work part-time. If she had already entered a university, just dealing with the heavy coursework would be enough to exhaust her, let alone running around for a living.
By then, she would probably be shedding tears in Tokyo and becoming a Tokyo deserter.
As Miss Lin turned the last corner, she saw from a distance several classmates lazily gathered at the school gate, puffing away on cigarettes.
Even though there was a prominent no-smoking sign on the nearby sidewalk, this group turned a blind eye to it.
The passing Japanese police officer could only shake his head helplessly at the sight—after all, facing foreign students who said "Nihongo, tabemasen" (I don't eat Japanese) in broken Japanese, even the strictest regulations seemed powerless.
The smoke drifting in the morning breeze mixed with the white mist exhaled by the students. Miss Lin instinctively held her breath and squeezed past the group.
Leaning by the door were several South Asian students; they emitted a complex scent of perfume so strong it was pungent, mixed with sweat and body odor, fermenting into a suffocating stench in the narrow entryway.
The moment she pushed open the classroom door, Miss Lin found to her relief that the windows were wide open.
Although the early spring cold wind kept pouring in, at least it dispersed the dizzying, murky smell that constantly resided in the classroom.
She rubbed her fingers, which were red from the cold, and quickly walked to a corner seat furthest from the window to sit down and survey her surroundings.
A few students were scattered around the classroom. Several Vietnamese boys in the back row were already sound asleep with their heads on their desks, even snoring.
Miss Lin couldn't help but recall hearing in a conversation before that there was a Vietnamese girl in class who was a part-time job superhuman, working over 60 hours a week.
They turned a blind eye to the 28-hour limit marked on their residence cards; after all, income from jobs that didn't report taxes was hard to track.
Originally, Miss Lin also wanted to find a job that didn't report taxes or paid in cash, but considering it would be difficult to pass the visa renewal if she couldn't show a stable bank statement, she abandoned the idea.
After all, since her goal was to advance to higher education, Miss Lin had to find a legitimate job to ensure nothing went wrong with her visa.
The school bell rang, and Mr. Igarashi walked quickly into the classroom with his teaching materials.
After the routine roll call, he only casually reminded a few students whose attendance rates were in jeopardy, then opened his textbook and began lecturing to himself.
Miss Lin also tacitly took out her EJU exercise book and buried herself in study—this state of mutual non-interference had become the norm.
Before she had to worry about her livelihood, Miss Lin's goals were the Department of Psychology in the College of Education, Psychology and Human Studies at Aoyama Gakuin University, or the Department of Psycho-Social Studies in the School of Arts and Letters at Meiji University.
At that time, she could say with total indifference, "If I don't pass once, I'll just apply a few more times." The 30,000 yen application fee was nothing but a number in her eyes.
But things were different now. She started calculating if there were any universities she could "get into for sure with one application."
Inevitably, she thought of the Japan University of Economics and Tokyo University of Social Welfare. After all, the classic jokes about these two schools never went out of style, such as the one about the interview:
"How old are you? (O-ikutsu desu ka?)" "Yes, how old. (Hai, o-ikutsu desu.)"
Or:
"Is the tuition okay? (Gakkuhi wa daijoubu desu ka?)" "It's okay. (Daijoubu desu.)" "Congratulations! (Omedetou gozaimasu!)"
There were even exaggerated claims that as long as you didn't hit the interviewer during the interview, there wouldn't be much of a problem.
But did she really want to choose these two? Miss Lin's pen tip paused on the exercise book, the ink bleeding into a small black dot, just like her conflicted mood at this moment.
She asked herself in her heart.
Although in a legal sense, the graduation certificates from these two universities were indeed recognized by the Ministry of Education back home, making them barely acceptable as safety schools.
But if she really treated them as her target schools...
"Not quite there yet, not quite there yet." Miss Lin shook her head, tossing the spineless thought she just had completely out of her mind, then continued to bury her head in the EJU past exam collection, deciding to wait until the EJU exam in June was over before deciding.