The day had finally come. Project Japan was officially underway.
For weeks the idea had been gnawing at me, an obsession I couldn't shake. But now it wasn't just some hazy dream anymore—it was time to act, to turn it into something real, one step at a time.
I had arranged a private voice call on Discord with Nijiro and China, just the three of us, to tackle the obstacles standing between me and the move.
I didn't want to drag too many people into it; a crowded call could easily spiral into chaos, voices talking over each other, good ideas getting lost in the noise.
So I had settled on just the two of them.
Nijiro had offered to help the moment I mentioned it back at the airport. Being Japanese, he knew the system inside out—he could guide me through the paperwork and, more importantly, help me convince my parents.
China, the master of problem-solving and anything tech-related, would be useful for any digital hurdles and as an extra brain to bounce ideas off.
Bloop—I joined the call and saw they were already there, chatting.
"Hey guys," I said in English.
That night, no Italian. Nijiro wouldn't have understood a word, and I wasn't about to leave him out.
English was our common ground; all three of us were fluent, so there was no risk of misunderstandings.
"Hey," Nijiro answered, his voice thick with sleep, followed by a long yawn that echoed in my headphones. "You guys could've picked a more reasonable hour. It's seven in the morning here."
I felt a pang of guilt. Nijiro lived in Japan, and time zones were the invisible enemy of every international call.
"Sorry, Nijiro," I said, meaning it. "I didn't mean to drag you out of bed at dawn."
"Sorry, Nijiro," China cut in, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "But you know how it goes—whenever there's an important call, it's always midnight in Italy. Nothing we could do."
Nijiro gave a sleepy chuckle. "Yeah, yeah, it's fine."
"I saw your message, Nijiro—you got everything sorted?" I asked, trying to steer us toward the point.
"Yeah, I think I covered it all," he said. "I wrote everything down in a Word doc. It's a proper list, point by point, so we don't lose track."
Before we dove in, Nijiro paused, like he wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.
"Okay, first things first," he said, his voice suddenly serious, putting me on edge. "You do realize that parts of what we're planning are technically illegal, right?"
I knew it all too well. My plan wasn't exactly above board—moving to Japan as a minor came with risks.
"Of course," I answered, firm even though my stomach twisted. "But it's not going to stop me."
I didn't want to come across as some kind of criminal. I was just a kid with a dream too big to stay put.
"Good. Then let's get started," Nijiro said, moving to the first item on his list. "First thing I wrote down is the passport—but you've already got that, right?"
"Yeah, I do," I confirmed.
The passport had been my first real move. I had applied for it months earlier, even before qualifying for the Osu! World Cup, hoping I would earn my ticket to Tokyo.
"Then we'll skip to the second point—which also happens to be the hardest," Nijiro continued with a sigh.
"Already the hardest? That early?" I asked, a little surprised. "I figured the easy stuff came first."
"Yeah, well, it's convincing your parents to let you go," he said. "Without their okay, the rest is pointless. Have you talked to them yet?"
The question hit me like a punch.
I had set up this call to sort out all the practical stuff—visa, school, housing—but I had completely overlooked the most obvious, insurmountable hurdle: my parents.
All summer I had been putting off that conversation. I already knew it would be a flat-out no.
My mom and dad would never agree to something this drastic.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath, pressing a hand to my face. I felt like an idiot for ignoring it.
China jumped in, sensing my panic. "Hey, Iori, it's not the end of the world. But we have to face facts. If you want to be in Japan by September, you're out of time. You need to tell them tomorrow—no excuses."
"I will, I promise," I said, though even I could hear how weak it sounded.
Silence hung for a few seconds until Nijiro broke it. "So we don't end the call already—and so you didn't wake me up for nothing—let's keep going with the rest. We'll sort the other stuff, then circle back to the parents."
"Fine, let's keep going," I agreed.
"Third thing I wrote down is picking the city you want to move to," Nijiro said. "Got any idea?"
I thought about it.
On my trip to Japan, both Tokyo and Kyoto had blown me away.
Tokyo, with its organized chaos and skyscrapers brushing the clouds.
Kyoto, with its ancient temples and buildings that rarely rose above ten stories, felt far calmer.
If I listened to my gut, it pulled me south, toward the quiet only Kyoto could give.
"Kyoto," I said without hesitation.
Nijiro made a thoughtful sound. "Kyoto might be a bit trickier than Tokyo. You sure about that?"
"Why?" I asked, curious but not discouraged.
He shook his head. "Housing. Even in Tokyo it would've been tough—you'd eventually have to manage on your own. I can't host you indefinitely, and the only other option would be a hotel… which, for a minor, is illegal."
"In Kyoto, on top of the hotel thing, there's the issue of day-to-day supervision," Nijiro added.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Even in Tokyo we wouldn't be totally legit, but I could keep an eye on you and step in if you needed anything," he said, dead serious. "Kyoto's over 450 kilometers away—that makes it impossible."
He paused, then asked one last time to make sure: "You still set on Kyoto?"
I thought about it for a second, then answered without hesitation: "Yeah, I'm good."
I wasn't willing to compromise; Kyoto was where I wanted to be, and that wasn't changing over something like this.
"Okay, moving on. Fourth point is school," Nijiro went on. "This one's pretty complicated too."
School was make-or-break—if I didn't have a spot in one, the whole move was off.
"First off, you need to decide: Japanese public school or an international school for foreigners? International ones, with classes in English and kids from everywhere, are way easier to get into."
The idea of a foreigner school turned me off completely. "Going to Japan just to hang out with other foreigners doesn't make any sense."
Nijiro sighed. "Then we're making this even harder. Getting into a Japanese public school as a foreigner isn't easy."
"The process is strict: you have to pass entrance exams, prove you're fluent in Japanese, and have sponsors or recommendations," he explained.
He went quiet for about thirty seconds. "Now that I think about it, I know a guy—an old friend—who's the principal of a public school in Kyoto."
"I just need to check if he's still in that position," he continued. "If he is, I can reach out and put in a good word for you. That could let you skip the entrance exam and all the other red tape."
That hit me with a rush of hope. "That's awesome! Thanks, Nijiro."
China, who had been quiet up to then, jumped in curiously: "How do you even know someone in Kyoto when you don't live there?"
Nijiro chuckled softly. "Long story—let's just say when you're kind of famous, you end up with contacts everywhere."
"Anyway, Christian, don't get ahead of yourself," Nijiro warned, turning serious again.
"Before they let you in, they'll look at your grades from this year," he explained. "Your marks matter—they need to be solid to make a good impression. They don't take just anyone; they want motivated, capable students."
"My best subjects are English and math—I've got tens in both," I said, remembering I had glanced at my report card recently. I had been streaming and didn't care much at the time; to me, grades were just numbers on paper.
A ten is the highest grade you can get in Italy—absolute perfection. Yet that kind of achievement seemed to matter a lot more to my parents than it ever did to me.
"How's that even possible?" China asked. "We're always on voice chat together, and you do everything except study."
"Yeah, I only ace those two. In everything else I've got sixes or sevens," I admitted, laughing a little.
School had never been my priority, but I was a beast in English and math even without trying.
Up until then, grades hadn't meant a thing to me—but if they were the difference between going to Japan or staying put, suddenly I cared.
"Math and English are two of the most important subjects, so you're in luck," Nijiro said. "But there's still the Japanese problem."
"Eh, I figure I'll pick it up just by talking to Japanese people, right?" I said, pretty confident.
"You'd better study," Nijiro replied. "Talking to people will help you improve, but it won't be enough if you want to communicate without issues."
In the end, Nijiro wrapped it up: "I think that's everything for this call. Christian, you convince your parents. I'll reach out to the principal and try to put in a good word. Keep me posted on how it goes."
"Thanks, guys—I'll do my part," I said, feeling pumped but wiped out.
"Oh, one last thing," Nijiro added before leaving the call. "If you want a better shot at getting accepted, get an English language certification."
"What's that gonna do? I'm moving to Japan, not America," I said, confused.
"In Japan, if they see you've got a certification in a foreign language like English, they figure you'll pick up theirs fast too," he explained. "So they're more likely to take you. It's a big plus on your record."
"Got it," I said, nodding even though they couldn't see me. "Would a C1 be enough to look good? I don't know if I can pull off a C2."
"I think a C1's solid," Nijiro said. "But if you get the C2, dinner's on me when you get here."
"That a promise?" I asked, feeling the challenge.
"Deal," Nijiro said. "I'm pretty sure you would nail the C2 anyway. I've heard you speak—your accent and vocabulary are better than mine, and you're only fifteen. You sound like you were born in America, not Italy."
"Alright, then I'm going for the C2," I said, fired up by the bet.
I left the call with a mix of excitement and dread. I shut down the computer and crashed into bed.
I tried to sleep, but no chance—my mind was racing.
I kept picturing the talk with my parents the next day—the words I would use, the objections they would throw back.
Every hurdle felt like a mountain, but I was dead set on climbing them.
I woke up early, 7 a.m., after maybe three hours of sleep, like always. I had spent most of the night wide awake, unable to shut my brain off.
I didn't even need an alarm—I knew I would wake up early anyway. My body just couldn't sleep more than a few hours at a stretch.
I made myself a strong coffee and ate a dark chocolate protein bar, chewing slowly while I thought about the conversation I had to have later.
I got ready to head to the little park for my calisthenics workout.
I threw on my black gym shorts and a light black tee, then headed out.
Back home after a session that left me feeling good, I took an ice-cold shower to wake me up fully and tighten my skin.
The first few times were tough, but after about ten showers, my body got used to the water temperature.
Then I played a bit of Fortnite off-stream—just a few quick matches, trying to get the hang of those damn builds that had defined my summer and were driving me nuts.
Noon rolled around, and it was time.
I sat down at the table, the smell of spaghetti with tomato sauce and basil filling the kitchen.
The whole family was there: Dad at the head of the table, Mom serving plates, my brother chatting with my sister.
After a couple of forkfuls, I gathered my courage and started the conversation. My heart was pounding.
"Mom, Dad, there's something important I need to tell you," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
Mom got worried right away, her face creasing with anxiety. After I had gone to Japan alone for a week, she was braced for anything.
She set down her fork and stared at me. "What is it, Christian? You look serious. It's nothing bad, is it?"
Dad, on the other hand, watched me with one eyebrow raised, curious about whatever crazy idea I had come up with next.
His look actually calmed me down a little.
"So in the end, he really is on my side," I thought. "He wasn't joking when he said he'd thrown out that challenge just to stop Mom from keeping me home."
I took a deep breath. "During my week in Japan, I discovered this amazing culture while visiting Tokyo and Kyoto, so I've decided."
I paused, feeling the silence drop.
Then I said it firmly: "I want to move there."
The silence lasted an eternal second, then everything exploded.
Mom's eyes went wide. "Christian, enough with the crazy ideas! You can't keep coming up with things that are way too big for you. You're only fifteen! You can't just decide to go off to the other side of the world on your own."
"I know it might seem crazy to you guys, but I believe you shouldn't stop someone who's determined to chase their dream," I shot back.
I talked for minutes, listing the pros: cultural opportunities, personal growth, a one-of-a-kind experience.
"I've thought about everything: the visa, school, housing," I said.
In reality, that wasn't quite true—I had just thrown around a few ideas with Nijiro and China.
Dad spoke up, shaking his head slowly. "Christian, I could help you the first time, but this is asking too much. Moving you to the other side of the world isn't possible. There are laws, risks… what if something happens to you? How are we supposed to protect you from here?"
My brother, staring at me in shock, said, "You're even crazier than I thought." He laughed, but it was nervous.
My little sister piped up: "You wanna leave again? Stay here." Her big eyes got teary, and that hit me right in the chest.
"Christian, try to understand," Dad said, resting his hands on the table. "If you were in our position, would you let your kid go to the other side of the world?"
"Well…" I stammered, knowing he was right.
The answer was obviously no. I wouldn't have been able to send my own kid to Japan if I were them.
The argument went on through the whole lunch.
Mom brought up the dangers: "What if you get sick? Hospitals there, with the language?"
Dad focused on the practical side: "And school? Your grades? You can't just throw away your education."
I countered with facts: "I've already got my eye on a school. I'll pick up Japanese fast. And for money, I'll use the Worlds prize."
Mom sighed: "What you want to do is irresponsible. You're a minor; we have legal responsibility for you."
Dad shut it down: "Unfortunately, Christian, it's a no."
I finished lunch after enjoying some amazing spaghetti, but with regret weighing on me and a thousand thoughts spinning about how to convince them.
I got up from the table, went to my room, and started looking for a solution.
I wasn't giving up—Project Japan was just getting started.
That evening I sent a message to Nijiro and copied China: «I talked to my parents. Didn't convince them, but I'm working on it.»
China replied first: «Ok. I'll think of a plan—if something comes to me, I'll let you know.»
An hour later Nijiro wrote: «Good, I reached out to the principal. We'll wait and see.»
We had set up another call five days later, same time.
I hoped with everything I had that China and Nijiro would come up with the answer, because I had no clue how to change their minds.