Takako 3: Separate Ways

"So what about you, Coach Kubo?" Masae said. "What did you do for a job after high school?"

"I spent a few years as a professional tanker," Takako said. "There were many women who had been in tankery a long time on my team, and I found myself learning a lot from my senpais. Ami said that we had many teachers, something I found to be very true, and the senior members of my tankery teams were some of the people who taught me lessons."

Masae nodded. While she was unsure of how the friendship between Takako and Ami had fallen apart the fact that they often referenced each other's statements while agreeing with them seemed a promising sign for them. Perhaps they still had a great deal of common ground.

"There are always those out there who are more experienced than you," Masae said. "You can typically learn a at least thing or two from those people, even if you don't agree with them. Sometimes they give you advice, sometimes they provide an example, and sometimes you might learn from their mistakes."

Takako nodded. She momentarily wondered if Masae, more than a decade her senior, was implicitly referring to herself, but she remembered that Masae, too, had many teachers, coaches, senpais and others she looked up to.

"Indeed, these professional tankers spend significantly more time on tankery than others do," Takako said. "And while we have a small reserve group, everyone is expected to show up all the time. If you're not able to do tankery according to the highest standards, all the time, we don't need you around."

Harue paused to consider what Takako was saying and considered raising an objection, but decided against it. Perhaps Takako was putting it more bluntly than most did, but Harue's professional team did operate under similar standards.

"But while everyone involved understood this, people ended up dropping out and going separate ways from the rest of us," Takako said. "Sometimes they no longer had any desire to continue, sometimes life got in the way, and there were various other things that happened. The rest of the team moved on and persevered, not unlike at Black Forest, or any other well-disciplined and motivated organization."

Eight years ago

Takako and Kanomoto Minako, a teammate who was in her thirties and had been with the team for more than a decade, talked after a match. They had won against their opponents, a team sponsored by a corporation that was based in Australia. The victory felt bittersweet, though, as one of their teammates, Shinkawa Sadako, citing personal difficulties, had recently announced her intentions to leave the team. The match they had just finished, scheduled before Sadako had made her announcement, had been her last.

"So Sadako is dropping out after this," Minako said. "That's a shame. She was a good tanker and a personal friend of mine, so I'm going to miss her."

"I sympathize," Takako said. "Of course, if your friend isn't able to consistently attend and fulfill our expectations with her, then it would be the best if she left now. We do run a tight ship around here, as my team did at Black Forest."

"That's because we're adults and professionals, as are our opponents," Minako said. "I always thought Black Forest did things too rigidly for the children involved in its tankery team. Of course, I might sound like an outsider, never having gone there, but I think St. Gloriana, where I went to school, was appropriately disciplined."

"You might be surprised what children can do sometimes, senpai," Takako said. "By putting the standards that much higher, we're able to play at a level above our competition. Raise the bar and those who are truly committed leap higher."

Minako sighed.

"That's an interesting suggestion, Takako, but it's not one that I'm putting to the test on my kids," Minako said. "For one thing, all three of my kids are boys, and none of them are interested tankery, outside of seeing my matches. For another, neither my husband nor I followed our parents' paths, and we will not force our careers on our children."

"Maybe you shouldn't think about it as 'forcing' your kids," Takako said. "If the kids have a serious desire to make something of themselves from a young age, you respect their ambition, but also hold them to the proper standards."

"I suppose," Minako said. "But my eldest, in his first year of middle school, can't think of any reasons why math is his favorite subject other than that he's good at it and he likes solving problems. It seems a bit much to ask him to find something to devote himself to just yet."

Takako nodded, and let the subject drop. While slightly hot-tempered and stubborn, she knew there were times when it was futile to continue a discussion, lest it dissolve into bickering. Minako had her beliefs about tankery, and there was no convincing her otherwise. And as a professional tanker, she was near the pinnacle of her skill; perhaps her teammates and coach could help her better herself, but they could not teach her much.

Takako was glad to have made it this far, and to become one of the best tankers in the country, but was this the final destination for her? Perhaps rather than do tankery at the peak of her ability, she could help others reach this point as well.

Present day

As Takako finished telling her story of her time in the professional team, before she and the others had gone their separate ways, she could not help but notice how her telling had indicated a sense of nostalgia.

Masae could not help but wonder- had Takako, upon meeting others who had become skilled tankers outside of Black Forest, realized that the Nishizumi Style was not the only one that was good for them? Of course, Masae then realized that Takako had her own brand of discipline, and as such, did not have absolute faith in the Nishizumi School.

"I can't help but agree with your colleague, Coach Kubo," Masae said. "We, at least in this country, are long past the age in which children are expected to start helping their parents almost from the time they begin walking. I did what I could to support Hiroe's interest in tankery, but that was because it was her choice. Similarly, I allowed Kinue to find her own path, and that path just happened to lead to tankery."

"Fair enough, Instructor Atago," Takako said. "You seem somewhat set in your ways, not unlike she was; I think the two of you are about the same age. And while my colleagues were constantly learning more and improving themselves, their worldview and approach to tankery had already been fixed. If they were committed to improving themselves, it was because they had already learned to do so."

"That's to be expected from people their age," Masae said, "since their beliefs are backed up by their education and life experience. But if I may say so, you seemed less than content with how things were back then."

"It was a good experience being around many other experienced tankers and learning for them," Takako said, "but even as I became one of the more senior members of the team, I ultimately felt I was preaching to the choir, so to speak, in that I was guiding people who didn't need my help as much. We weren't as much of an invincible team as Black Forest was- mainly the result of our rivals being closer to our level of skill and commitment- but we had people who were motivated and were somewhat close to what could be considered the peak of their skill. So I began to wonder how I could inspire younger girls."

"Not unlike me," Harue said. "As much as I disagree with many of the tenets of the Nishizumi school, I respect the fact that they do teach tankery to children."

"The perfect opportunity presented itself to me five years ago, when my predecessor as coach, who had been present for my third year of high school, resigned because of health complications," Takako said. "The position became open for applicants, and my professional experience, combined with connections at the school, helped get me the job. Those who don't put their foot down won't succeed, while those who give up on their students do them a disservice, so I resolved not to do either."

Five years ago

Takako stood in the office with a second-year student, one of those who was not qualified for the regular team. Takako did not wish to disclose the student's name to those at the table, since the results of most disciplinary hearings were confidential, but even if she did, she did not even remember the student's name.

"It's come to my attention that you've been cutting practice lately," Takako said. "Explain yourself."

"Wiith all due respect, Coach," the student began, "I was under the impression that if I wasn't fit for the main team, the team didn't need m-"

Rage boiled within Takako, seeing herself when she was younger, more foolish and more rebellious. She raised her hand and slapped the student on her face.

"This isn't solely about you!" Takako said. "Your practice is a means of helping the entire team get better, whether you're drilling against your teammates, or inspiring them to continue. Perhaps you may not be qualified to fight alongside the main team now, but who is to say that you won't be qualified in the future? The only way to make that answer certain is if you give up on trying."

The student paused, at a loss for words.

"Think this over," Takako said. "I want one of two things from you- effort equivalent to that of one of our regular team, or your resignation."

"Yes, ma'am," the student said, before leaving, chastened.

As the student left, Takako let off a sigh. She was not overwhelmed with remorse over what she had to do, but was less than happy about having to discipline a student in such a way. But in the end, Takako concluded that the responsibility for the students' advancement ultimately lay with the students themselves. The coach could only do whatever it took to show them the correct path, and Takako resolved to do so by any means necessary.

Present day

"The student never quite made the regular team," Takako said, "which wasn't entirely unprecedented, as those who had more talent and tried harder failed. But by the time she graduated four years ago, she had improved substantially, and even filled in for an absent gunner in the semifinals, defeating an enemy tank."

Masae nodded. To her, the result was desirable, even if Takako's methods were not.

Still, she could not help but wonder about something. Where did the rumors about Takako begin? The student mentioned was as anonymous as many of those spreading the rumor, and Masae had to wonder- might the student be one of them? She realized that she could not prove it, but she could not disprove it, either.

"This sounds like a regular occurrence," Masae said, and Takako nodded. "But I imagine that not everyone meekly accepts corporeal punishment... or obeys the gag order for disciplinary hearings."

Masae realized the power of the internet, for good or for ill. She had a good popular response when she autographed a copy of her book for a seemingly random woman, who turned out to be a popular tankery blogger. Clearly, some of Takako's students were less tolerant of her discipline and more loose-lipped than the one she had just mentioned.

"You imagine correctly, Instructor Atago," Takako said. "While no one spoke up at first, by a year or so after I began, the rumors began to spread. Some of them were less than credible, as they were often circulated without evidence, somewhat exaggerated, and spread by people who, being cut from the team, seemingly had an axe to grind. Naturally, because of those factors I mentioned, many were hesitant to believe those stories."

"But that doesn't necessarily make them false," Masae said. Her school had some negative reviews and disgruntled former students, but she believed that she did everything she could for them. Some maintained that was not the case, but none of them accused her of abusing them.

"I suppose not," Takako said. "In the end, it's an individual's decision whether or not to believe what they hear."

Takako took one last drink from her glass before setting it, empty except for the slowly melting ice cubes, beside the plate she had just cleaned. As she turned to Ami, who had done the same, she realized that the time to confront the issue had come, and there was no longer any avoiding it.

Takako looked around, to each of the others. Kikuyo was wiping her mouth with her napkin, and ensuring that not even a crumb had fallen on her kimono. Yoshiko was sitting in silence, seemingly prepared to wait while standing at attention. Masae was sipping her drink and Harue, a slightly slow eater, was finishing off the last of her meal. All of them were clearly waiting on her, so she took a deep breath and continued.

"Ami somehow caught wind of these rumors, and decided to confront me about them, unsure of what to believe," Takako said.

"That's correct," Ami said. "But before you get into what happened, I would like to share my side of the story with the others, as well as what I felt going into it."

"Go ahead," Takako said. For the first time in three years, Takako felt interested in hearing Ami's side of it, in part because Takako was no longer making assumptions about what Ami would say.

"For the sake of context, I'd like to remind the others that Takako and I were students under Instructor Nishizumi," Ami said, "and as such, we not only had a strict instructor, but attended the same classes."

"And yet, you and Coach Kubo drew different lessons from them, did you not?" Masae said. There was a time when she had trouble believing that the Nishizumi school could produce people like Ami and Kikuyo, but after hearing their stories, she had begun to understand why."

"That's exactly it, Instrucotr Atago," Ami said. "Instructor Nishizumi taught us well, but she also gave up on the students whom she believed both did not and never would meet her standards; most of us either flunked out or saw that threat as a motivation to improve ourselves. Takako, as she expressed before, did not always like her doing so, and chose instead to find ways to motivate students to improve themselves. Am I correct so far, Takako?"

"You are," Takako said. "But when you put it that way, Ami, it doesn't explain why you disagreed to the extent that you did."

"Well, I didn't disagree with you on that aspect of it," Ami said. "We do have common ground with many of those we disagree with, although people often agree about what the problem is, but disagree about how to solve it. I, like you, had to consider how to help students who were struggling. And I understood that, as a coach for Black Forest, you had very different standards than the schools that I taught for and my superior officers did."

Takako nodded in agreement, before Ami continued.

"But when I first heard of your methods of discipline, I had to wonder- was this the solution you had come up with?" Ami said. "A part of me told me that it was plausible that you, never having objected to Instructor Nishizumi's strictness per se, would be in favor of using that brand of discipline, but I never wanted to believe it."

"And yet, in the end, you did," Takako thought. She remained silent, nodding and prompting Ami to continue. Perhaps if she had taken things less personally and had not been so quick to make assumptions about Ami's opinions, things would have turned out differently.

"So, three years ago, I called a meeting with Takako in a tank cafe," Ami said. "Kikuyo was rather busy at the time- making it difficult to schedule a meeting with both Takako and her while I was on leave- and hadn't heard, so I decided to leave her out of it."

Kikuyo sighed slightly. She remembered that she had once advised Miho to get Emi to face Maho directly to talk out her problems, but she realized such an approach did not always work, and that Ami confronting Takako had ended their friendship.

"Ami-san later told me that she didn't know for certain at the time, so she didn't want to tell me," Kikuyo said. "I don't blame her for that, even though I... I wish she and Takako san had not arrived at the outcome they did."

"The meeting was solely for my benefit and so that I could hear the truth directly from Takako," Ami said. "And, well, I didn't like what I heard."

Three years ago

Takako and Ami sat across from each other in a tank cafe in Kumamoto, wearing casual clothing, instead of the suit or dress uniform, respectively, that they wore on official business. At the time, Takako had thought that it was a simple outing between friends, although she had a nagging sensation that Ami wanted to talk about something more serious.

After a few minutes of talking and catching up, Takako decided to ask why Ami wanted to meet with her.

"So why exactly did you want to meet with me, Ami?" Takako said. "I noticed that your tone seemed unusually grave."

Ami sighed, deciding to get straight to the point now that the mood for the meeting had been established.

"I have a question for you, Takako," Ami said. "Is it true that you've been disciplining students by hitting them?"

Takako furrowed her brow. The one positive she saw in all this was that Ami did not beat around the bush..

"Do you believe everything you read online?" Takako said defensively. "You should know that people have been spreading unpleasant rumors about Black Forest- everything from our training methods and our battle tactics, to how rigorously we enforce the GPA requirements for our tankers- since we went to school there. This shouldn't be news to you."

Having heard so many unsubstantiated rumors, Takako took much of the criticism of Black Forest by outsiders with a grain of salt. Unfortunately, Takako ended up making many assumptions about Black Forest's critics, not unlike those her critics made her school, and sometimes dismissed legitimate criticism along with malicious rumors.

"No," Ami said. "But I will believe whatever you say about it. So please, Takako, just tell me the truth."

Takako sighed. Ami expressed a willingness to hear Takako out, but she would be able to tell if she was lying, and Takako had no desire to do so now that it had come to this.

"I'm not sure which of the accounts you've read, and know that many of them are quite exaggerated, to say the least," Takako said. "But the truth is that if I believe a student is not performing up to my expectations, I will, if I deem it necessary, inflict corporeal punishment, not unlike my mother and Commander Yukimura did with me."

Ami groaned softly, believing that Takako was downplaying what she had done, even if she had answered Ami's question.

"In other words, the answer is yes, Ami," Takako said, as she sensed Ami's discontent. "Does that answer satisfy you?"

"You have answered my question, Takako," Ami said, "but it's not the answer I wanted to hear. Do you think it's right? Do you really think it works?"

Takako gave a firm nod in response. The conversation was shifting to her having to justify herself, and while she did not enjoy being forced to do this, she had become used to doing so to many people- her students, her students' parents, her superiors, reporters, members of the public and many others.

"It does," Takako said. "One student, who was on the verge of washing out of the tankery team, after receiving a slap to the face and a harsh scolding from me, significantly improved her performance, and is still on the main team. Instructor Nishizumi would have expelled her without a second thought, depriving her of an opportunity to learn and improve."

"Maybe so," Ami said. "But how many of your students left because of your methods? And is dropping out always a bad thing?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Takako said. "You're an instructor, aren't you? Disregarding the various schools you've helped with tankery, don't your superiors want you to keep cadets motivated?"

"They do, as much as as the cadets are able to continue," Ami said. "They conclude that some cadets don't have what it takes, and it's not always the teachers' fault."

"What do you mean?" Takako said, having difficulty understanding what Ami was getting at.

"I had an acquaintance once, among the cadets in my class," Ami said. "Her name was Cadet Inoue. She tried hard, but ultimately, she was never the best recruit and apparently had some personal problems in her life- I didn't know all the details, since we didn't know each other well enough for her to confide in me. One day, she was called in for a meeting, and as she walked away from it, she told me that she had been discharged."

"How did she take it?" Takako said, reminded of her former classmate Kitamura for the first time in years.

"It was hard on her, at first," Ami said. "She was honestly trying her hardest to be a good soldier, and had a fair bit invested in it. As a teacher, it's always unpleasant for me to tell students that their best is, for whatever reason, not good enough, or that they might be better off trying something else, particularly when they want to succeed and are trying."

"As opposed to doing something about it?" Takako said.

"I do what I can because I don't like telling students that," Ami said, slightly defensively, before calming down as she resumed her story. "But there are things that I can and can't do, and the same goes for you and other teachers. Eventually, my superiors exhausted all their options for Cadet Inoue and gave her walking papers."

"In other words, throwing her out on the street with the clothes on her back and washing their hands of her," Takako said.

Ami shook her head.

"About a year ago, while I was in an airport, I saw Inoue-san at one of the check-in counters," Ami said. "I was wearing my dress uniform at the time, so she recognized my face and my nametag. She was amazed that I was already a First Lieutenant, saying that I was always better suited to the JGSDF than she was. She told me she liked her job, and we wished each other the best in the future. She offered me a military salute; she hadn't forgotten what she'd learned in training, nor had she forgotten me."

Ami paused, a nostalgic smile crossing her face as she remembered meeting someone she had once known again.

Takako paused and considered what Ami had said. Perhaps Ami's acquaintance was happy with that job, but Takako would not say the same about herself. She had not trained in tankery for so many years to settle for a career like that, nor did she train her students to put their tankery skills to use in such a way.

"Do you really think the JGSDF did her a favor by cutting her loose, rather than motivating her to get better?" Takako said.

"As far as I know, they did give her warning, although the disciplinary process is largely confidential," Ami said. "And she suggested, during our meeting at the airport, that she hadn't fully understood what she was getting into as a cadet. But she said she came away from her experience as a more disciplined and respectful individual, so she felt it wasn't a waste of time, in spite of how it ended in failure."

As Ami paused, Takako suspected that Ami was getting to the main thrust of her point.

"Now that I think about it..." Ami said, "the same can be said for many of Instructor Nishizumi's students, can't it? Not everyone is necessarily prepared to start learning tankery from such a young age, and maybe, just maybe, those who might not succeed might be better off trying something else?"

Takako glared at Ami. To Takako, it should have been clear to Ami that this statement applied to the two of them and their friend Kikuyo. The three friends had not chosen to come to the Nishizumi School in the first place, but Takako believed Ami should realize that the three of them would have made the same choice again.

"Are you saying that we should have been denied an opportunity like that just because we weren't old enough to fully understand?" Takako said, defensively.

"No, you don't get it," Ami said. "We had the motivation to get better, and eventually found our own reasons. But there are cases in which punishment like that does no good and only serves as pointless cruelty."

"You know what's cruel?" Takako said. "Letting someone fail when you could help them. That's not only cruel, but a dereliction of your responsibility as a teacher!"

Ami frowned, but forced herself to stay calm. Takako wondered if this was how Ami responded to insubordination or her professionalism being challenged.

"If you wish to accuse me of being incompetent as a teacher," Ami said coldly, "you can file a formal complaint to my commanding officer. I can give you her name and contact information if you wish to do so, but cannot promise anything will come of it."

"I don't see the need," Takako said. "What you and your fellow JGSDF officers do is no more of my business than my coaching is yours."

A few minutes passed in silence, until the check came, with Ami and Takako paying for their cakes separately.

After paying, Ami and Takako got up, and looked at each other for a few moments in uneasy silence.

"I'll... talk with you later," Ami said.

Takako curtly nodded and walked off without saying goodbye, wondering how she was supposed to respond to that.

As she got back to her apartment, Takako looked through her calendar, and realized Ami had a few days of leave left, with her afternoons and evenings empty. Ordinarily, she would have planned another outing, but given how things had ended, she felt less sure. Since this issue had not been resolved, would they have to deal with it when they saw each other again? Or was it possible that it might be for the best if she never saw Ami again?

Present day

"As far as I know, that was the last time Ami and I talked, until now," Takako said.

"We actually talked at least one more time after that," Ami said, "a few months later, when the three of us got together. It was somewhat awkward; we were constantly trying to avoid any tank-related subjects, lest we find ourselves bickering again, and getting back to our unresolved argument. Eventually, I wondered why I should bother, knowing that you wouldn't change your mind no matter how much I disliked what you were doing. And I suppose you were still angry with me."

"Well, I couldn't understand why you would simply give up on those people," Takako said. "We all begin as children, unable to shoulder the necessary responsibilities. The adults in our lives- our parents, teachers, and other authority figures- do a great deal to instill in us the maturity that we need. Perhaps the most important and most basic thing is to deal with immature behavior."

"And smacking your students isn't immature?" Masae thought. "Hiroe would probably find that hilarious."

"That may be true," Masae said, "but authority figures need not go that far. Mother, Father, Kumakura-sensei, and many of the other teachers and authority figures I respect most in life and try to emulate have a happy medium of sorts. They expect respect and obedience, but their standards are not too onerous, and their punishments serve to get people to think about their actions and learn what they must do."

Takako paused, lost in thought for a moment.

"Respect..." Takako said. "I suppose that lies at the heart of the matter. So how would you go about obtaining that respect?"

"By setting a good example," Masae said. "I take things as seriously as I expect them to be taken. I'm honest with my students about my expectations and my methods. I practice what I preach, and take responsibility for my actions."

"And what about you, Akado-sensei?" Takako said.

"I mostly agree with Instructor Atago," Harue said. "But I will add that students know whether you're cut out for the job and whether you're taking it seriously. If you're both competent and committed, your students will be relatively open-minded about everything else."

"Including your disciplinary methods?" Takako said.

"I believe so," Harue said. "Strictness and lenience are both judged according to how effective they seem, although the former does tend to face a larger burden of proof, at least in the eyes of those who are subjected to it. If I were to slap you in the face as a punishment, the main question going through your head would be whether you really deserved it."

Takako bitterly chuckled. A part of her wondered if Harue had intended this as a jab against her.

"I believe you nicely summed up my problems, Akado-sensei," Takako said. "The onus was on me to justify everything I did as coach."

"That sounds somewhat familiar," Harue said. "My task of proving myself to my employer did not end with the hiring process. I suppose my employer has different standards than yours."

"You would be correct," Takako said. "Back then, when Black Forest had a half a decade long winning streak, there was a great deal of pressure on me to continue it, and all sorts of unpleasant rumors about how I did so. The last thing I wanted to hear was a fellow Nishizumi disciple, a Black forest alumna and, most of all, a friend, seemingly joining the backlash against me."

Ami, noticing Takako's emphasis, nodded.

"I understand now," Ami said. "My saying what I did must have seemed like a betrayal to you. But at the same time, I had that same feeling of being unpleasantly surprised to find out that the unpleasant rumors about one of my oldest friends were true. And, well, they still are true, aren't they?"

Takako shrugged.

"I honestly don't know," she said. "With Black Forest having failed to win two years in a row, I find myself wondering what we can do differently to improve. Maybe I'm not necessarily right after all."

"Really?" Ami said.

"Yes," Takako said. "It also helps that I'm hearing your stories again, and hearing perspectives that are different from my own."

Ami nodded in agreement. In hearing Takako tell her story again, Takako seemed more human, someone who was saying how her experiences had defined her than defending herself against criticism.

"You know, Takako, I'd like to talk with you again soon," Ami said. "I'd certainly like to hear more from you about how your perspective has changed and, well, more from you in general."

"Yes," Takako said. "Talking about the friendship we once had made me realize how much I've missed out on since our falling out. Right now, when I'm with you, I'm thinking more about the good times we shared than our disagreements."

Kikuyo smiled. It was a small step, but two of her oldest friends were beginning the process of reconciliation. She remembered how happy Miho was when she told her about Saki and Teru, two people Miho regarded as friends, had recently started doing the same.

Harue pondered what she had just heard. There was a time when she felt as though she was a rank amateur compared to people like the Nishizumis, but over time, she felt as though that gap had closed. This was in part due to her gaining experience over time, but also because she believed she understood such people better.

"You know, Coach Kubo," Harue began, "while I can't say I agree with you regarding your methods of discipline, or, well, a lot of things, for that matter, it does seem as though you're not letting your defeat deter you, which I can respect, especially since I had thought Black Forest would take it harder than Saunders did."

"True," Takako said, "although I suspect that you didn't just sit around for an entire decade."

Harue nodded.

"It did take me a while, but in the end, I, too, found my own path," she said. "Just like before, it's probably one that the Nishizumis would look down upon as a shallow and petty motivation for me, but it held meaning for me."

"I don't think of it that way, at all," Kikuyo said.

"Neither do I," Ami said.

"And I've recently become somewhat more open minded about such the ideals of people who disagree with me, as well as the merits of those approaches," Takako said. "So, let's hear the rest of your story, Akado-sensei."

Author's Notes

The argument between Ami and Takako is a bit of an ugly moment for the two of them, as both of them are guilty of taking things personally, regardless of who you agree with. Takako's mindset and motivations will be elaborated upon below.

So ends Takako's final POV chapter. After Harue's final POV chapter, Act II will end.

Character Analysis: Takako Kubo

Canonically, Takako is incredibly strict, slapping players for even minor mistakes, but ultimately has respect for determination. For the latter, it thus follows that Takako would be extremely disappointed in players who give up. For the former, it's relatively difficult to show that in a positive light; in canon, Mihoko accepts her own punishment but will not stand for the coach doing the same to her teammates, particularly her close friend Kana. One could only imagine how an outsider would react if they got wind of this.

Takako can admit to making mistakes, but finds it more difficult to admit that she was in the wrong all along. To use an analogy, if Takako fired at a tank and missed, she'd find it easier to say that she made a mistake while aiming rather than say that the shot was one that she could not have made in the first place. As such, Takako is unable to back down from many of the decisions she makes, especially when she believes that many of those who are criticizing Black Forest have ulterior motives or do not adequately understand the school. So when Ami, someone whom Takako thinks should understand, protests against Takako's methods, Takako takes it as a personal betrayal and gets quite upset.

But time, reflecting on her past, and two consecutive defeats for Black Forest have left Takako open to doubt. Perhaps she can eventually reconcile with Ami. Perhaps she may be rethinking her ideals.