To: Tsuji Renta, Department of Ministry Finance
From: Enomoto Yoshio, Minister of Education, Culture and Technology
Date: 2011-10-26
Subject: Cutting of Ministry Expenses and the Closure of Naval Academic Institutes
Tsuji-san, as has been previously brought to your attention, the government has elected to reduce costs and unnecessary expenses from its spending, this ministry included. This to combat the inflation and rising costs of handling the ongoing financial crisis, and to ensure the public's continued faith in the government's fiscal responsibility.
On Monday the 24th, myself and the rest of the cabinet convened to discuss the future economic viability of our nation's Naval Academic Institutes, and have ultimately reached the conclusion that many of these institutions are not worth the investment this country has put into them.
Therefore, as of today, the ministry has tasked your department with collecting and analyzing the expenditures and potential current and/or future profits reaped from these institutions, and which ones are to be considered no longer worth maintaining. Those that are not are to be successively closed and the ships to be scrapped or repurposed, dependent on the discretion of the audit of the Ministry of Finance, in order to provide for the future economic stability of this country and the future of our children.
The aim of this government is that by the first fiscal quarter of 2025 all remaining Naval Academic Institutes will be cost-neutral. Your department's investigation is expected to begin this process by administering the closure of the most cost-deficient of these Institutes, as well as the following resettlement of its populace, in coordination with the Ministry of the Interior.
The Prime Minister and I are expecting this process to be completed by the end of the fourth fiscal quarter of 2013, as a proof of this government's dedication to fiscal responsibility.
"Thank you everyone. I believe we'll end things here."
The chairs of meeting room 3-H at the Department of Ministry Finance slowly emptied, and soon Renta Tsuji was left alone at the large table, sighing as he stared blankly down at the scattered documents before him.
The past three weeks had been a living hell as he was forced to execute on the instructions in the Minister's memo, calling for an investigation whose results he already knew. Japan's experiment with Naval Academic Institutes, or 'School Carriers' as they were more colloquially known, had run its course for the past six decades, with a multitude of schools both private and state-funded having been opened one after the other, especially during the economic boom and post-war reconstruction of the 50s and 60s. But one after the other they had also been proven to be unprofitable, with projected profits to cover the investments not being likely until another few decades in the future.
And so, through a simple and common memo, had he now been elected to be judge, jury, and executioner of the whole system, and he, just like everyone else, knew exactly which carrier would end up at the top of the list.
"Saunders University High, estimated reserves; 46.7 billion yen," he mumbled to himself as he looked at the different charts and lists his staff had compiled. "Projected yearly revenue; 2 billion yen."
Figures, he thought. Saunders had been considered the wealthiest school in all of Japan since its inception, with a budget that sometimes rivaled that of entire prefectures. But Saunders wasn't alone in its security.
"Kuromorimine Girls Academy, estimated reserves; 21.7 billion yen." It made sense. Whenever Kuromorimine needed funds, some generous donations always solved the issue before the Ministry could even take note.
Pravda Girls' High School and St. Gloriana's Girls' College similarly found themselves very much with the safety net of sufficient reserves and even decent estimates of revenue. No government would ever close them down.
Renta's eyes continued down the lists and through the many diagrams and spreadsheets. BC Girls' Academy and Freedom High School escaped his executioner's blade through their joining into one a few years back, reducing their expenses while increasing revenue. Viggen, Viking, and Continuation High's were far from safe, but they were also far from the worst offenders.
The dread in his mind only continued to grow as school after school escaped the fate he was going to have to deliver unto someone, and the list of possible candidates the government could easily justify closing only shortened.
He glanced up at the clock on the wall and breathed a sigh of relief, even as his thumb hovered uncomfortably over the bottom of the list, and the answer he so dreaded stared him in the face.
"Good evening everyone," he said with as much of a smile as he could muster as he left his office after having returned the documents to his desk, and walked down the central aisle of the office.
"Good evening, department head," his assistant answered, before returning to her work, blissfully unaware of the choice that lay heavy on Renta's shoulders.
He shuddered and tightened his hand-stitched scarf against the cold November winds as he waited on the platform for his train
If he had known this was the sort of choice he would one day be forced to make, he would never have joined the ministry. He should have just remained a lowly kindergarten teacher. But no, he had wanted to change things, to improve the way the system was run and to make it better for everyone, to make sure more children could look back on their school years with a smile.
Instead, he had become a keeper of numbers in a soulless system that looked for nothing but efficiency and cared little for the thousands upon thousands of students whose lives its decisions affected. Still, he did what little he could. He was good with numbers, and a knack for searching through financial audits and reviews. He used this ability to "find" money when the ministry truly had a plan that deserved the spending, that could actually do good, and it was this ability that had earned him his post as Department Head. "The Money Magician" he had been called, but the only magic he was tasked with executing now was to make a high school disappear into thin air.
A task that in no way sat well with him. But a task he had to finish regardless. For even if he didn't comply, if he let his conscience convince him, if he resigned from his post, not only would he lose any power or ability he might have to change things for the better, the ministry would simply find some other bureaucrat with far less scruples to oversee the task instead.
The rattling of the train did little to help his distress as it brought him North and closer to home, but the rhythmic tcha-tchunk, tcha-tchunk of the train line did at the very least distract him from his thoughts, providing what little respite such blissful ignorance could provide until he reached his station and stepped off the train, beginning the short walk home through the dark winter evening.
"I'm home!" he said as he entered and closed the door behind him, and with a dour and depressed look on his face removed his jacket and scarf, hanging them on the coat rack.
"Welcome home," the answer came from the kitchen, accompanied by the smell of freshly stewed curry. "Dinner's almost ready!"
He removed his shoe and continued into the small house, sitting himself down by the kitchen table with a strained smile on his lips.
"How was work today?"
"Much the same as always," he answered. "And you? How was the field trip?"
"Oh, it was excellent," Romi replied, looking over her shoulder with a smile as she stirred the curry. "The children loved the zoo."
"I thought they might," Renta said with a genuine smile, memories of his own time as a teacher flowing back to him as Romi continued telling him of the trip and her day.
"I'm not boring you, am I?" she asked after a while. "You haven't said anything in five minutes."
"Not at all," Renta replied as he got up from the table and walked over to her. "I could never grow tired of your voice." He smiled, and leaned in to kiss her. Instead, he received a spoonful of curry between his lips.
"How's the taste, Mr. Romantic?" Romi giggled as he tasted the food, his face trapped halfway between disappointment at not having the kiss reciprocated and amused surprise at his wife's joke.
"Twelve years, and you somehow manage to make every meal taste the same, day in and day out," he sighed and shook his head, before looking up with a grin. "That is to say, wonderful."
"Well, I don't see you making anything that tastes any different," she laughed and took a step over to him, placing a hand against his chest as she reached up and kissed him, before leaning into him. "What's the matter, dear?"
"It's… it's nothing," he sighed. "Just something that came up at work. The Minister wants an audit made of all the school carriers."
"That doesn't sound like nothing."
"I know… But I'll make it work… somehow…"
"You always do…" she kissed him once more, before returning her attention to the stove. "Would you set the table?"
"Of course."
"Oh, and Chiyomi's calling later," she added absentmindedly.
"I know," he answered with a smile. "I haven't forgotten."
"Hi Mom! Hi Dad!" Chiyomi said with a cheerful smile and waved as she appeared on screen.
"Hi Honey!" the two of them answered in unison, and waved back. "How's everything at Anzio?"
"Oh, it's all great! We've finally managed to save up enough for a real P-40!"
"Oh, sweetie, that's amazing!" Romi said with a delighted smile. Renta could only join her. He knew how long Chiyomi had dreamt of commanding a P-40, and could feel nothing but delight on her behalf.
But as the conversation continued, and moved back and forth between her studies, her friends, other random goings-on aboard the Aquila, and back to his and Romi's life in Tokyo, Renta had a hard time staying truly engaged and happy through it all.
Even as the call came to a close, he could only feel like he was letting Chiyomi down. Ever since he had first found out about Romi's circumstances all those years ago, and Chiyomi's lack of a father, he had always done everything in his power to help and protect the two. It was that dedication that had brought him and Romi closer together, and that had given him the courage to propose all those years ago. It was that dedication that made him promise to be a proper father to Chiyomi, and to make sure to look out for her.
To her, he wasn't just some unknown man who had come into her and her mother's lives, he was part of the family and the only father she knew.
And now, he felt like he was betraying that trust and love he had spent years earning and returning. All because of the minister's memo and the government's decision, which he had no control over.
"Your coffee, sir."
"Huh?" Renta looked up, somewhat startled at his assistant holding out a cup of coffee towards him.
"Some coffee. You seemed very tired, so I went and got you a cup, sir."
"Oh," he answered absentmindedly, and accepted the cup. "Thank you. I suppose I didn't sleep very well last night."
Not that there was anything unusual in that. He hadn't been sleeping properly ever since the memo came in.
"Thank you," he repeated unconsciously, and nodded to his assistant, who left the room as he took a sip. The coffee was strong, black, and above all else warm. He took another sip, before placing the cup down on his desk, and staring in despair down at the singular piece of paper left on his desk.
The combined data all pointed to this. The school carrier with the lowest revenue, and highest expenses. Anzio High School. Chiyomi's school. His step-daughter-, no. His daughter's school. The school Chiyomi loved, and had spent so much time fawning over as a middle schooler. The school that had just scraped together enough money for its Sensha-Do team to buy Chiyomi's favorite tank.
And now, he was being forced to close it. There wasn't even enough leeway for him to postpone the closure until after Chiyomi had graduated. For the cost-cutting to meet the ministry's deadline, he needed to close it before the beginning of the fall semester. Preferably even before the start of the new school year. It would leave fewer students to have to shuffle to other schools.
He picked up the piece of paper, continuing to stare at it as if that would change what was written on it, before sighing, and taking another sip of his coffee. He put the paper back down on the desk, and instead picked up the picture-frame from beneath his desk lamp. It was a crude affair, made from dried noodles, plywood, and glue, but it had also been given to him by Chiyomi for his birthday 10 years ago, and so he treasured it. He looked with a gentle but sad smile at the picture, himself, Romi, and Chiyomi together at an amusement park. The picture was taken far from recently. Had to have been sometime when Chiyomi had just started middle school. Yes, that had to be right. She still wore her thin-brimmed glasses and her mint-green hair in a braid, which she quickly stopped doing once middle school came around.
He put the picture down again and sighed, glancing at the piece of paper again and wishing that the numbers didn't all point to Anzio. As much as he hated himself for it, he wished that they would point to any other school as a suitable candidate, any other school that could take the fall instead of Anzio, but the numbers never lied.
A thought appeared in his mind. An intrusive and pernicious thought, one he would like to pretend he didn't notice, or god forbid consider. But he did notice it, and he did consider it. He shook his head, and emptied the rest of the cup of coffee in the hopes that he could expel the thought much like one would expel a case of hiccups. But the thought remained. And with every moment, even as the guilt he felt for even giving it a moment's consideration grew, it seemed ever more alluring.
A moment passed. Then a minute, then an hour, the clock ticking away on the wall as Renta grappled with the consequences of what he was thinking of doing. It would go against everything he stood for, would ruin or at the very least change to their core the lives of thousands of students, and yet, as racked with guilt as his conscience was, he couldn't stomach the alternative.
He sighed, cursed himself, and opened his computer, looking over the numbers for the lower-ranking schools one last time, and did the indefensible.
One last magic trick, vile as it might be, but it would make sure that Chiyomi could smile a little longer.
"I… I don't understand?" the short girl on the other side of the desk said. "Did we do something wrong?"
"No, there is nothing you have done wrong. Nor is there anything you could have done." Outwards he maintained a stoic and calm facade, but on the inside Renta tasted every drop of poison he sowed in his lie, cursing himself with every syllable of his deception. "As I said, Miss Kadotani, I really am sorry." As if I have the right to feel sorry... "But the Ministry is cutting costs, and I'm afraid the expenses of keeping Ooarai Girl's Academy open is simply not outweighed by the revenue generated by the Zuikaku's local economy nor the benefits to the country your school provides. I can postpone the closure until the end of the spring semester, but that's all. Again, I am sorry. I wish I could do more."
No, I don't… he thought bitterly to himself. I've done more than enough harm already...