Fragments of the Blackboard: Rivalry of the Ravens
How far would you go to be first in your class? In the sleepy city of Takanehama, deep winter means open windows pipe in cold and tests pile up on every desk. Sumi Fujiwara, a third-year girl with ink-stained fingers, doesn’t mind. She’s dreamed of ruling the honor board since the first day she slammed the classroom door. Why does she care so much about being top? Her big brother expecting a scholarship, her mom working late at the market—lots of reasons swirl in her head, but she just says, “I have to win. That’s how it is.”
Her main rival, Keita Mori, is always sitting at the back. There’s something about how he drowses through morning grammar, tapping code into an old calculator. Keita got perfect math grades since grade eight, but whispers say he only tries for fun. When Sumi got a 99 on her last test, she stood and called across the room: “Next time, I’ll beat you.” Keita barely looked up. “You can try. Want my notes?” A grin flickered. If you’ve ever wanted something badly, you’d get her nerves.
This new arc starts in mid-November. Grades drop after gym and homeroom—everyone breathes heavily. Ms. Suenaga stops by every desk and hands out review packs. “I need top marks, girls and boys! End of term is near.” The paper lands on Sumi’s sheet with a sharp slap. You ever spent midnight blinking at numbers that swim from the page? Sumi does that now. 
But the cafeteria is where stories heat up. Fried potatoes in hand, Sumi sits next to Natsuki, her best friend. Natsuki asks, quietly, “Do you really think you can beat Keita? He’s weird, but he’s also scary clever.” Sumi doesn’t look away from her worksheet. “I have to. All I’ve ever had are answers.” The bell rings. Potato steam curls in the cold air as Natsuki says: “There’s a city tournament coming. Highest test score gets to challenge Mori in the finals. That means anyone who’s close enough could knock you out.” Natsuki bites her lip. “Careful. Half the class wants to see the top two crash.”
Keita and Sumi start a back-and-forth war with study notes. Keita actually offers his math sheets—in trade for Sumi’s literary essays. Who gives up their best weapons like that? Some folks don’t get the rules, but a few in the class—like Tomohiro Shinbo, hidden behind thick books—notice and grumble. Do you ever wonder if rivals sharpen one another, or just break each other’s pencils?
The week before the tests, tensions spark. Rumors go around that Keita copied answers; Sumi finds strange, hand-written code taped to her locker. One night, she gets a message, words clipped: “They want you to fight. Let’s give them a real show.” Was it Keita? She can’t be sure.
Exam week comes quick. The windows frost; flickers of snow resto on ledges outside. In the math room, lights hang like moons over hungry faces. Sumi taps her pencil, thumb catching on old scars. Keita’s nearby, eyes closed. Paper slides over wood. No words, just one look—cold and steady. 
Sumi finishes first. She swallows hard, stands and walks out to see Natsuki. “If I lose, will you still talk to me?” Natsuki laughs quietly. “Sumi, I’m not here for your name on the board. I’m here because you keep turning the pages.” You think real friendship weathers the storm of rivals?
Results day. Hands trembling, Sumi rips open the posted sheet. Numbers blur, names shuffle up and down the page. Her own, third. Keita, second. At the top: Tomohiro. The quiet kid. For a moment, the world’s too still.
‘Guess that’s that,’ Sumi mutters. Until next time? Keita leans against the wall, grinning wide. “Ready for round two? Maybe only rivals in our mind.” Then Tomohiro passes, eyes bright—a flicker of new rivalries as sharp as chalk dust. The arc ends with one question in the air: Did losing crack Sumi’s resolve, or fire it hotter? 
As dusk softens hallways, Keita hands Sumi a single page: his own secret code, with three strange lines circled. Sumi grips it. The tournament’s just a week away. True showdown starts then, in the cold gym, where scores can say less than glances. If you could only bring one thing—friendship or pride—what would you pick? End on that, lights out.
