Chapter 13 – Edge of the Board
The prep room was quiet. Not tense. Just focused.
Haruka stood by the window, flipping through the folder they'd just received. The motion was printed in neat serif type at the top of the page:
This House supports mandatory national service for youth.
She read it aloud once, then let out a quiet breath.
"Predictable. Heavy."
Kotarō was already writing.
"This isn't an opinion topic. This is policy. This is governance. Structure.
Every word needs to mean something."
He wrote a short column on his notepad:
Mandatory = Legal obligationNational service = Military or civilian? Define scopeYouth = What age range?
Haruka glanced over his shoulder and nodded.
"You think like him."
Kotarō looked up.
"Ayumu," she clarified. "Same type. You start with structure. You look for the logic net first, then speak through it."
"What's his role?"
"Second speaker. Always. Rebuttal and framing."
"Of course he is."
Haruka moved to the whiteboard and began listing countries aloud.
"South Korea. Two years, male citizens. Military."
"Germany used to have civil service. Voluntary now."
"Israel. National identity tied to service."
Kotarō filled in extra notes.
"Philippines is proposing it again. Political tool."
Watanabe muttered from his seat, "Feels like they just want free labor."
"That's an angle," Haruka replied. "You say it's government outsourcing responsibility to the young."
Kotarō circled the phrase forced collectivism and wrote:
Voluntarism vs imposed unity
"They'll argue that national service builds unity. We argue that unity without choice isn't unity. It's compliance."
They built the board slowly.
Haruka handled the opening framework: define clearly, then challenge assumptions.
Kotarō wrote the layers:
Social vs economic impactsEquity across class dividesRisk of nationalism
Then paused.
"What's he like? Really."
Haruka didn't answer immediately.
Then: "He never speaks first. Watches everything. When he opens his mouth, it sounds like he's agreeing with you. But by the time he finishes, you're arguing against your own point."
"That's not speaking. That's misdirection."
"He speaks quietly. Forces you to lean in. Makes your own silence feel like a mistake."
"He doesn't just win arguments. He erases the ground under them."
Watanabe stretched in his chair.
"So basically, he's like Kotarō, but smug."
Haruka didn't laugh.
"No. Kotarō doesn't manipulate tone. Ayumu does. He uses empathy like punctuation."
Kotarō didn't look up from the notes he was rewriting.
"I don't want to be him. But I do want to beat him."
They worked in near silence. Occasionally Watanabe would read a line aloud and Haruka would cut it, reword it, or steal it for her intro. Kotarō kept refining the rebuttal layer: turning vague talking points into tactical angles.
At some point, Haruka walked over and stared at the board.
"We're ready," she said.
Kotarō capped his pen.
"He won't fall apart," Haruka added. "He'll try to flip our best argument and make it feel like his."
"Then we make sure ours has weight."
She smiled.
"Good. Because if we win this one, I might have to make you join the English club."
Kotarō stared at her.
"Don't joke."
"Who says I'm joking?"
"She said it lightly.
But she looked serious.
And I couldn't tell if that was worse."
Chapter End