Takako 1: A Firm Hand

Takako's turn came to discuss her time in the Nishizumi school. She chose to focus on what Ami and Kikuyo did not tell the others, and the obvious place to start was before she met them.

"You heard Ami and Kikuyo's stories, so my story about how I got involved in the Nishizumi School was largely similar," Takako said. "My parents signed me up, before I was old enough to fully understand why I should care. I did have some idea of why I shouldn't disobey them, but I digress. The point was that they made it clear that I was to study at the Nishizumi School and study hard."

"That's understandable," Yoshiko said. "My parents said that any endeavor worth pursuing shouldn't be approached with anything less than wholehearted dedication. Perhaps if they saw tankery as one such endeavor, they'd have felt the same way."

Takako shrugged.

"That may be so, Captain Kainou," Takako said. "But they made it clear that their expectations were in terms of results, rather than effort."

20 years ago

Takako got out of her parents' car near the Nishizumi school, and walked in with them. She had been accepted as a student there a few weeks ago, but now that she was seeing the building- a moderate-sized schoolhouse near a large tankery garage and practice fields on the Nishizumi land- for the first time, she was only now coming to terms with the realization that she would be attending classes there.

Takako and her parents finished the registration, officially confirming Takako as a student of the school. Takako felt as though the decision had been made long ago, with Takako's parents having sent out the application, had her get accepted, and purchased a uniform for her.

"We're going now, Takako," Takako's mother said. "But before we do, we have one last thing to remind you of." Takako's mother looked her in the eye with a stern expression. "The Nishizumi School is one that not everyone can get into. When I was your age, I tried and failed to get into this school. The instructor only accepts those who can meet the standards, and only keeps them around as long as they are worthwhile.

A nervous expression crossed Takako's face. She'd barely understood what she was getting into, but now realized that the odds were long and the stakes were high.

"In other words," Takako's father said, "as soon as Instructor Nishizumi finds cause to expel you, she will do so. Do not give her that cause."

"Yes, Dad," Takako said, her voice quavering.

"We signed you up for this, because we believed that you have the potential to become an excellent tanker," Takako's mother said. "Instructor Nishizumi accepted you because she agrees. Do not let us down."

Takako nodded. Her mother's words were not especially comforting, but they reminded her of what she was facing. The challenges against her were great, but not insurmountable, and her parents expected her to face them, as did her teacher. Takako would see many such students come before her in her career, and as such, hoped to encourage them to live up to the potential she saw in them... by any means necessary.

Present day

"As you can imagine, I was facing a fair amount of pressure, even before I first laid eyes on Instructor Nishizumi," Takako said. "The head of the Nishizumi school must provide a first-rate tankery education for the sake of parents like mine who have high expectations for their children. After all, the school exists because people want it to."

"A fair point, Coach Kubo," Masae said, "because in fact, I founded my school to meet a different sort of demand. But whatever the source and whatever the reasons may be, all that pressure hardly seems good for an eight-year-old child."

"It was about what I expected from my parents," Takako said. "They were firm believers in 'spare the rod and spoil the child,' so to speak, and I knew that from personal experience, before I got started at the Nishizumi School."

21 years ago

Ever since she had first started school, Takako had wondered why she had to go. Her parents and teachers had always expected it of her, without telling her why. And one day, at seven years old, she decided to find out what happened if she did not go.

Takako, walking to school, never ended up going through the gate, but detoured into town.

It wasn't long before she was found, though. Takako had the desire to break the rules, but not the ability to do so without getting caught. She had some idea of how roll call worked, but did not fully understand how comprehensive the school's attendance records were, or how vigorously the rules were enforced. She was also naive enough to not think of how much she would stand out in her school uniform, or consider that the clerk from the sweets shop was keeping her talking while her boss called Takako's parents. Takako even had no idea how angry her mother was when she walked up, politely thanked the clerk for her help and led Takako out.

The streets outside the sweets shop were sparsely populated in the mid morning, so after a quick look to and fro, Takako's mother raised her hand and slapped Takako across the face in one swift motion.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" Takako's mother bellowed. "How dare you think so little of your education that you skip class? We pay tuition to put you through school and this is how you repay us? In any case, you're VERY lucky that we found you when we did."

"R-really, Mom?" Takako said.

"Of course," Takako's mother said, still angry but no longer shouting. "It's dangerous for children to wander off alone without letting their parents know where they're going. What you did was extremely foolish, but you're not a fool, Takako, which is why I'm taking the time to tell you this."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Takako said. "And thank you for teaching me."

Her mother's stern glare continued unabated. Takako realized that an apology was not enough to appease her, nor was the slap all the punishment she had in mind.

"Prove that you're sorry and that you're grateful by never doing it again," Takako's mother said sternly. "I'll drop you off at school, and leave you to the task of apologizing to the teachers. When we get home, you can spend the rest of the day in your room and think about it."

Present day

Takako's account left the rest of the table speechless, unsure of how to respond to what she had just said. They had heard of parents physically disciplining their children, but never of those children bringing up that punishment as a lesson that inspired their own views on discipline.

Masae gave Takako a pitying look, knowing from the way she had told her story that this was not an isolated incident, and imagining what else Takako experienced, and was less willing to talk about. The worst punishment she had ever handed down to her daughters was grounding them for a day, on only one or two occasions each, and she was pleased that they had never given her cause to do more.

Takako glared at Masae, rejecting her sentiment and her reasons for it.

"Don't look at me like that, Instructor Atago," Takako said. "Surely, as a mother and a teacher, you understand that my stepping out of line like that could not be tolerated."

"No, but I believe the punishment should fit the crime," Masae said. "While neither of my daughters have ever cut class, if they did, I would not respond in such a way."

"Regardless of whether you think the punishment 'fit,' you can't deny that it had the desired effect," Takako said. "It wasn't the last time that my mother had to strike me, but any time I considered cutting class again, I recalled the feeling of my mother's hand striking my face, my lying on the cold ground, and my hearing my mother's booming voice in my ears."

"Perhaps, but was it the only way?" Masae said. "And might it not be possible to teach children well enough so that they don't misbehave?"

Takako shrugged.

"In any case, my mother's principle was clear," Takako said. "She punished me because I would learn from the punishments, and believed that if this were not the case, she would simply leave me to my own devices, to gradually self destruct without being any of her concern."

Masae nodded solemnly. The idea of Takako's mother leaving her child to her fate was disturbing, but Masae knew better than to question Takako about that, especially when there were more relevant questions.

"But it seems Instructor Nishizumi does not always share that perspective," Masae said. "She is of the opinion that not everyone can do tankery the Nishizumi way, and is willing to give up on students who disagree with her or do not meet her standards."

"That's correct," Takako said. "As I said before, I was informed early on that failure would not be tolerated, and was frequently reminded of this. Some of those reminders were more forceful than others. In spite of that, some never fully understood until it was too late, possibly as a result of never having received a clear warning."

"Do you mean...?" Kikuyo said, and Takako nodded.

"There's the matter of what happened to an acquaintance of mine, a Kitamura Youko," Takako said. "Kitamura was not one of the more promising students in the class, but she seemed to be doing satisfactorily by most people's standards."

"Which hardly seems adequate for the Nishizumis," Masae said, reminded of her own sister.

"Exactly," Takako said. "But while Kitamura was mediocre, she seemed to have potential to be more than that. She worked hard, albeit not to an obsessive degree. She accepted criticism politely, was grateful to those who took the time to give her advice, and took that advice to heart. Perhaps, if she had been given more time and more chances, she would have become a good tanker, albeit not a paragon of the Nishizumi School's standards. But I heard that she never realized that she was about to flunk out until the instructor called her into the office to inform her that it had happened to her."

20 years ago

Takako walked to the instructor's office, office to deliver a note from her parents. Takako would eventually forget what the note had been about, and only remember it as the reason she came to the office.

Takako approached the door, and was about to knock.

"...and as you have failed to live up to my expectations, you are hereby expelled from the Nishizumi school," Shiho's mother said, her voice coming from inside the office. "I have just notified your parents, and they will pick you up at the end of the day. Do you have any questions?"

"No, ma'am," Kitamura said.

Takako barely stifled a gasp as she heard Kitamura's voice.

The conversation soon wound down, and Kitamura stepped out of the office, walking by Takako without noticing her. Takako walked into the office, where she saw Hotaru sitting at the desk, and her daughter Shiho standing nearby. Their expressions were grim, but since it was their usual expression, Takako would not have suspected anything without overhearing the conversation. Takako handed her note to Shiho, who opened the envelope and read it. As far as Takako could recall, Hotaru told her she would speak with her about it later.

"Thank you, Instructor," Takako said. "Please excuse me; I'd like to speak with Kitamura."

"Go ahead," Shiho's mother said. "After all, you may not get the chance again after today."

Takako bowed in gratitude to Hotaru, before running to catch up with Kitamura. Kitamura's slow pace, almost as though she was sleep-walking, made her easy to overtake.

"Kitamura!" Takako called out.

"Kubo-san..." Kitamura said. "I was hoping to say goodbye to you before I left."

"So it's true, then?" Takako said. "You really are getting expelled?"

"Yes," Kitamura said. "I know I wasn't the best, but I didn't think was falling so far short, or that I had so little hope."

"Did they give you any warnings?" Takako said, and Kitamura shook her head. "How could you have turned around your performance if that were the case?"

"I'm not sure," Kitamura said. "They said that I should have known what was expected of me from the start, and had no desire to coddle me. I can't argue with that, but now that it's over, I'd like to let you know that I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"You do?" Takako said. She had always been honest and straightforward with Kitamura, but she had difficulty grasping how that could be called a favor.

"You've always been kind to me, Takako-san," Kitamura said. "Whenever you scold me, you seem to express a belief that I can improve, and a desire that I do so."

Takako looked surprised for a moment. She understood that harsh discipline could be helpful, but this was the first time she had heard someone who gave it out being described as kind.

"Thank you, Kitamura," Takako said. "But I don't know if I can do anything for you at this point."

"Maybe not," Kitamura said. "But I wish you the best of luck in the future, Kubo-san. You seem like you might be a good teacher one day, so if you do become one, I hope you never give up on your students."

"I'll do what I can," Takako said. "As for you, I hope that you find something to which you can devote yourself, and that people recognize your determination."

"I will," Kitamura said. "Goodbye, Kubo-san; I hope we meet again someday.'

Kitamura then walked off, to attend to the last of the tasks given to her before her departure, leaving Takako to stand there, pondering what had happened. How many would she have to watch flunk out and walk away?

Ami and Kikuyo walked up to Takako. Greeting them, Takako decided not to mention Kitamura for the moment. But looking at her two friends, she hoped to have them around, and hoped that no more individuals with the talent to get into the Nishizumi School would be unceremoniously expelled without a chance to improve.

Present day

"I never saw Kitamura again after that, or heard of her name in any tankery-related context," Takako said. "I suspect the shame of her failure drove her away from tankery."

Yoshiko paused, thinking back to old friends with whom she had lost touch- those who went on to different schools after graduation, those who went to university when she went to the academy, and those from the JGSDF who were transferred elsewhere or were discharged. Life had a way of taking friends down separate paths, and she hoped she could stay with Ami for as long as she could, even if Ami had a similar experience. But then Yoshiko realized something.

"Hold on," Yoshiko said in English. "Ami, you never mentioned this girl before. Did you not know her?"

Ami shook her head.

"Ami and Kikuyo weren't around to witness that event," Takako said, "so it did not leave as much of an impression on them. Without knowing her or seeing much of her, she was just another anonymous student who washed out. Ami and Kikuyo may be kinder individuals than I am, but it's difficult for them to form an emotional connection under those circumstances."

"I suppose not," Yoshiko said. "And I suspect that the same also goes for Instructor Atago and Akado-sensei."

"In any case, Takako said, "while it's never a good idea to flatter your students into complacency, dismissing those whose performance is substandard but has to potential to improve as failures is even worse. By doing so, you close off any hope of them improving, without even giving them the benefit of blissful ignorance of their shortcomings."

"I've expelled students before," Masae said, with a twinge of regret in her voice over how she could not remember all their names or count them with any degree of reliability without consulting her records. "And while it's difficult on me, I also realize that it's difficult on them, so I only use it as a last resort, and give the people whom I have to expel fair warning before I end up resorting to it. The girl you knew would have had at least one meeting with me telling me that her performance was inadequate, where and how she could improve, and unless she did, she would have to leave the school."

"Fair enough," Takako said, "although I do think your school is a little soft on those who make mistakes, Instructor Atago. Just as I gave those who charged ahead and disobeyed orders a harsh punishment, I would have given a stern lecture to your daughters, if I were in your position."

Masae frowned and shook her head.

"I'm by no means soft as a parent or instructor, although I may seem that way to Instructor Nishizumi," Masae said. "I expect obedience, even if I do not punish disobedience with a slap. But in any case, I saw little point in punishing any of them further, especially Kinue, when the loss was hard on them. And they did the most important thing- learning from their defeat and preparing for the next match."

Takako nodded slightly, with a part of her wondering if she was out of line in implicitly questioning Masae's competence. For Takako, being told she was unfit for her current position was always a sore spot for her, so perhaps it was not her place to do so with someone who was a decade her senior, regardless of their disagreements.

"I do also hope that my students learn from their mistakes," Takako said. "I suppose the main difference between us is how far I go to make it clear that they are mistakes in the first place."

"You may be right, Coach Kubo," Masae said. "In many cases, people have similar goals and common values, but differ based on how important those are to them, and how far they go to achieve them."

Harue had remained quiet for most of the story, pondering it. But Masae's remark had resonated with her. There had been a time when she had wanted to win, just like those who had trained since they were small children had. And she had often found herself pondering what set her apart from them, and whether that difference could be overcome.

"Is something the matter, Akado-san?" Ami said.

"Nothing," Harue said. "But Coach Kubo, you said you, Kagurazaki-san and Instructor Chouno were eight at the time?"

"That's correct," Ami said. "And so was Yoshiko."

"I'll largely pass on sharing my story, save for when it becomes relevant," Yoshiko said. "But I will say that I had a mostly ordinary childhood; I dreamed of serving my country since I was young, but only seriously began pursuing the dream in high school."

Masae nodded in agreement. While at the time, she was about 20 years old, attending university, competing in tankery tournaments, and dating the man who would eventually become her husband, she recalled a time when she was an ordinary girl who knew nothing about the sport she spent her life playing and teaching.

"My childhood was somewhat similar," Harue said. "And yet, I've always wondered if people like you all think of my childhood as wasted, so now I'm going to put that theory to the test by telling my story."

Author's Notes

Given that canonically, Takako's harsh methods of discipline for the Kazekoshi team seem to have a large part of the team scared of her, resulting in them rallying around Mihoko, one has to wonder whether they raised any eyebrows in universe. It can also be argued that her strictness is the result of her team having lost to Ryuumonbuchi the previous year, but it's likely that here, she'd more regularly strict in a school like Black Forest.