全塾留年生扶翼会
Record of Decadence in Repetition: A Chronicle of Repeating the First Year in the Faculty of Science and Engineering
Synopsis
A young man enters a prestigious university, full of hope.
But within the haze of daily indolence and self-deception, his path quietly begins to falter. Spring’s light, summer’s silence, autumn’s escape, and winter’s collapse—over the course of a year, he confronts his own frailty and finally faces the reality of repeating the year.
A new year begins again. He tries to build new relationships while hiding his past, yet guilt and loneliness never leave him. In the process of relearning, he slowly begins to face his own mistakes. However, the unease he feels in grades and human connections casts a quiet shadow upon his heart.
He repeatedly speaks of “shame.”
Declaring that repeating a year is not a game, he knocks on the door of a student circle that treats it as a joke. Reprimanding himself again and again, he continues to relapse into decay. Through this recurring self-contradiction, his long process of atonement persists.
This memoir is a quiet chronicle of the soul—capturing the anxiety and hope hidden within a young man, and his rebirth through the experience of failure.
“Man does not change. He simply returns to being human. Man falls into decadence. So do patriots and saints. This cannot be prevented, nor can prevention save anyone. Man lives, and man falls. Outside of this, there is no convenient shortcut to save humanity.”
— Ango Sakaguchi, Discourse on Decadence
現役一留記
2023年入学
📘 One-Year Delay Record: Enrolled in 2023
(1) The Year of Decline
Events from entering university as a freshman until the point when repeating a year became certain.
🌸 Spring Semester (April – End of July)
In April 2023, I entered Keio University’s Faculty of Science and Technology through the general entrance exam, coming from a certain prestigious high school. I had failed to get into my first-choice national university, but I chose not to take a gap year, thinking that Keio would still offer a solid academic environment.
Although I wasn’t confident about fitting in quickly due to Keio’s generally bright and outgoing image, I was determined to enjoy student life and achieve good academic results. However, I found it difficult to build new relationships in an unfamiliar and lively environment. I couldn’t join any of the active student clubs and ended up participating in a few small ones.
I managed to complete course registration without any mistakes during the orientation period. At first, I attended classes diligently and spent my free time either at club activities or hanging out with high school friends. I kept postponing starting a part-time job, thinking I’d begin once I settled into university life around June—but in the end, I didn’t start working until December.
My failure during the spring semester had already started at this point. When I first entered university, I believed I didn’t need to put much effort into studying. It’s a common misconception among naive students, and I think I wasn’t alone in thinking this way.
Back in high school, I often heard that university was a place where you could study what you liked and spend time gaining various experiences. Because of that, I didn’t have the impression that university students studied desperately. And in reality, the workload varies greatly depending on the faculty, so my image of “not needing to study much” wasn’t entirely wrong.
In fact, right after the first classes ended, many students posted on social media expressing a sense of disappointment—saying things like “this isn’t what I expected(コレジャナイ感）” or that the classes weren’t as challenging as they had hoped.
After the hectic month of April, I had started to get used to university life—but this was precisely when my decline began.
From around May, I began skipping classes that didn’t require attendance, thinking optimistically that I could catch up by self-studying before exams. On top of that, I started staying up late almost every night playing video games, which made it impossible to attend morning classes—the first period in particular. This habit led to skipping other classes throughout the day as well. On days when I missed the first period, I would lose motivation due to the failure of not showing up, and I wouldn’t feel like attending the second period either.
Unknowingly, I also began to deteriorate mentally. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I found myself engaging in cynical jokes and self-deprecation with others who also struggled to fit in at university—something even Yukio Mishima warned against cynical joke. I had started to unconsciously justify not trying hard, giving up on myself when things didn’t go well.
By July, as everyone began studying for final exams at the end of the month, I found myself completely lost—I hadn’t attended classes, so I didn’t even know where to begin. I thought I could manage with the knowledge I retained from entrance exam prep, but when I opened the textbook, I couldn’t understand a thing. Panic slowly set in, and I began to escape from reality. About a week before the exams, I finally started studying, crammed overnight for most subjects, and somehow made it through the exam period.
I had an unfounded belief that no matter how bad things got, I wouldn’t be held back a year. I thought I could make up for it during the summer break and fall semester and still move on to the next year.
☀️ Summer Break (August–September)
Reflecting on the struggles I had during the spring semester exams, I was determined to use the long summer break to review the spring material and prepare for the upcoming fall semester.
However, maintaining a disciplined lifestyle and studying daily without clear goals or a set schedule during such a long break was far from easy. My initial resolve quickly faded, and I ended up spending every day sleeping from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., and using my waking hours entirely on video games and YouTube.
On September 5, the spring semester grades were released. I had failed 8 credits of required courses, and if I failed more than two subjects in the fall semester, I would be officially held back a year. For most people, this would be a shocking result—but I had an unfounded confidence that as long as I kept my fall semester failures under control, I’d be able to advance without issue. So I didn’t feel particularly panicked.
🍂 Fall Semester (October – End of January)
The fall semester was my last chance to turn things around and make use of the lessons learned from the spring. As mentioned earlier, failing just two more subjects would mean I couldn’t advance to the next year. But if I changed my mindset and studied seriously, it wasn’t impossible to pass.
However, in reality, my decline only accelerated.
Compared to spring, the number of classes in the fall semester was fewer, and on days when I only had afternoon classes, I could sleep until noon. This completely disrupted my daily rhythm.
What truly began to eat away at me during the fall semester was loneliness. In the spring, there were quite a few students like me who struggled to fit in, and we shared that sense of discomfort together. But after the summer break, most of them had found their own communities and, in one way or another, adapted to real university life.
I, on the other hand, had few close friends or clubmates I could talk to on campus, and gradually, I began to feel reluctant to even go to university. I also stopped attending the club activities I used to go to regularly during the first semester.
❄️ Fall Semester – Final Collapse
Eventually, I began living a completely unsustainable lifestyle—watching anime until morning without sleeping, then going to school in that state, only to nap between classes.
Naturally, such a lifestyle couldn’t possibly work. I stopped attending morning classes, especially first period, and soon returned to spending entire days shut in at home. I barely went to campus at all during the fall semester and ended up ringing in the new year without having truly participated in university life.
At the end of January, final exams were approaching. This time, not only had I skipped most of the classes, but the pressure of knowing that failure would mean repeating the year weighed heavily on me. That pressure made it even harder to focus on studying than during the spring semester.
Despite my growing anxiety, I tried to make a study plan and told myself I’d study like my life depended on it—but before I knew it, I was escaping reality again, playing games on my phone.
Based on how the exams felt, I was certain I had failed at least two subjects. And so, I entered spring break in a gloomy, defeated state.
🌸 Spring Break (February–March)
Although I tried to distract myself by going out and having fun, deep down I was constantly haunted
by the fear of having to repeat the year.
On March 8, the final grades were released—and it was confirmed: I had failed.
The breakdown was as follows:
Required courses: 12 credits failed (6 subjects)
Second foreign language: 4 credits failed
English: 2 credits failed
Overall GPA: 0.91
(GPA is a metric used in Japan to indicate academic performance. It plays a role in choosing a major and job hunting. Ironically, companies dislike students who say “I devoted myself to studying during college,” yet they still place importance on grades.)
I told my parents, but they weren’t particularly surprised—they had already sensed it.
After the failure was confirmed, I first reviewed the subjects I had failed, the ones I needed to retake, and the grades I should aim for. Then I attended a Zoom guidance session for students who had to repeat the year. I’m glad I was able to stay calm and take action instead of panicking.
Still, even though I thought I was mentally prepared, facing the reality of repeating a year was a huge shock. I became withdrawn and felt a heavy sense of dread when imagining my life starting again in April.
🌸 Spring Semester (April–July)
As I began my second time as a first-year student, the word that came to mind was “endurance.”
Over the past year, I had constantly run away from things I didn’t want to face. The result of that was being held back and failing to advance.
I knew that the coming year would be even more difficult—filled with self-blame and the pressure of how others saw me. That’s why I decided not to chase lofty goals or indulge in wishful thinking and escapism. Instead, I strongly believed that what mattered most was simply enduring—surviving even at the bare minimum.
※ The second foreign language course spans the entire year and is worth 8 credits. My grades were C-D-C-D, which effectively means I failed 4 credits (2 subjects).
※ I failed English only in the second semester.
To advance to the next year, the conditions were:
No more than 10 credits failed in required courses
No more than 4 credits failed in foreign language courses
🌸 Spring Semester – Starting Over
In April, I thought that if I had to redo everything anyway, I might as well start fresh with my choice of clubs. So I joined a few active ones as a “new freshman.”
I didn’t tell anyone I had repeated the year—because I knew that revealing it right away would definitely make people uncomfortable.
Next came the class orientation. I debated whether I should keep the fact that I had repeated the year a secret or find the right moment to come clean. But in the end, it didn’t matter.
During self-introductions, we were called in order by student ID number—and I was called first. That instantly gave away that I was a repeater.
I tried my best to be friendly and talk to people, and thankfully, everyone was kind. But I couldn’t help feeling guilty for making others deal with someone who had failed a year. It was emotionally tough.
As for classes, I naturally had to retake the ones I had failed last year. But I also learned that I could retake courses I had passed with low grades to improve my GPA—for example, turning a C into an A. So I decided to take as many classes as possible.
When I retook the failed courses, I realized they were far more difficult than I had expected. Some lectures I had never attended even once last year, so despite being in my second year, they felt completely new to me. I was struck by how foolish I had been the previous year.
One of the biggest challenges this semester was the second foreign language course.
At my university, foreign language classes are taken with your assigned class group (yes, we have a class system—not as close-knit as clubs, but still important since you spend the whole year together). The course met twice a week, which meant I had to endure a considerable amount of awkwardness each time.
Fortunately, my classmates were kind and treated me neutrally. But because of my tendency to overthink, the emotional stress kept building up.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were thinking things like “I don’t want to associate with someone who failed a year” or “He’s a burden.”
I couldn’t talk to them the same way I had with my peers last year.
The same was true for my club activities. I constantly felt guilty for hiding the fact that I had repeated the year, and I struggled with a sense of not belonging.
By June, as the semester reached its midpoint and I had started to get used to life as a repeater, my daily routine began to fall apart again—just like last year.
Most of my classes were in the afternoon, so I started staying up until around 4 a.m. on my phone and waking up at noon.
The mornings I had planned to use for studying were lost to sleep, and the nights were spent playing on my phone.
Despite having repeated the year, I wasn’t studying nearly as much as I should have.
In July, with final exams approaching, I finally began studying—this time, at least, I had learned from last year’s mistakes.
Though I started a bit late, I prepared properly and was able to perform to the best of my ability.
☀️ Summer Break (August–September)
Reflecting on last year’s mistakes, I made an effort during summer break to work many part-time jobs to help cover tuition and avoid falling into a shut-in lifestyle.
In addition to working, I also actively participated in club activities. However, as mentioned earlier, the sense of discomfort never truly went away.
The seniors and peers in the club were incredibly kind, but that kindness somehow made things even harder.
Last year, I had joined the club but never formed deep friendships, and I had grown tired of trying to build relationships at university.
I deeply regret not being more proactive in connecting with others or trying out different communities last year.
The same goes for part-time work and studying. While I felt I had grown and was able to do more this year, I often found myself wondering why I couldn’t have done these things last year.
On September 5, the grades were released. I successfully passed all the courses I had failed last year, achieving a “full credit recovery” (though, being in my second year, it wasn’t exactly something to be proud of).
I also managed to improve my grades in most of the retaken courses.
However, despite my initial goal of aiming for top marks like S or A grades, most of my evaluations were B.
While I did earn the credits, the results felt disappointing for someone who had repeated the year.
🍂 Fall Semester (October – End of January)
During summer break, I started a new early-morning part-time job. As a result, I was juggling two jobs throughout the fall semester.
My weekly schedule included working Wednesday afternoons, Thursday and Saturday mornings, and both morning and afternoon shifts on Sundays.
Additionally, I was busy preparing for Mita Festival, our university’s annual campus event, through club activities during evenings and weekends.
Thanks to the early-morning job, my daily routine improved significantly—an unexpected benefit beyond just earning money.
In the spring semester, I had been sleeping at 4 a.m. and waking up at 10 a.m. on average. But in the fall, I shifted to sleeping at midnight and waking up at 7 a.m.
Being involved in club activities also gave me motivation to go to school, and talking with people helped me avoid isolating myself.
Interacting with others through part-time work, club activities, and classes helped me stop engaging in the cynical jokes and self-deprecation that had plagued me in the past.
Over the course of these few months, my life steadily transformed into something more fulfilling.
📝 Midterm Exams (May–June)
Thanks to attending every class, I was able to keep up with my studies even during the busy midterm season.
However, if I had focused solely on studying—without part-time jobs or club activities—I calculated that I could have dedicated an average of 4.5 hours per day to studying.
But since I was involved in other activities, my actual study time was inevitably reduced.
Still, I believe my choice wasn’t wrong.
If I hadn’t engaged in anything outside of academics, I likely would have wasted that time anyway.
Without something to energize my mind and spirit, even having time wouldn’t have led to meaningful productivity.
❄️ Winter – Fatigue and Final Push
Around December, I began to slack off again, skipping classes more frequently.
Facing reality without excuses, I can say this was truly a bad decision.
As the end of my second first-year approached, I felt my mental energy running low, and the resolve I had back in April began to fade.
During winter break, I had planned to study for final exams, but I was so exhausted from part-time work that I barely got started.
It’s honestly embarrassing.
However, after the New Year, I managed to create a study plan and gradually began preparing.
While it wasn’t perfect, I believe I was able to face the exams at a reasonably average level.
That said, even though I sat at my desk every day, my study efficiency was clearly poor.
Then, as usual, my motivation suddenly kicked in two days before the exams, and I ended up facing them with a “decent enough” level of preparation.
🌸 Spring Break (February–March)
Thanks to proper preparation during the second-year exam period, I was able to enter spring break with a clear and refreshed mindset.
Here, I’d like to record the results of my fall semester grades:
English (third attempt): failed again
Other required courses: no failures
Semester GPA: 2.89
Cumulative GPA: 1.51
It’s not a bad result—but it’s not an excellent one either.
Although my English grade was poor, I had attended every class and completed all assignments diligently.
(In Japanese universities, especially in language courses, attendance is heavily weighted.)
So I accepted that it was simply a matter of poor compatibility with the course.
Also, in the cumulative GPA system, even if you retake a course and earn a better grade, the original D grade still gets counted.
(However, if you retake a course and improve from a C to a B, the new grade can overwrite the old one.)
🧠 Reflections on Repeating a Year
During the time I spent repeating the year, there were several thoughts that frequently crossed my mind.
■ Why Did I Fail to Advance?
It’s hard to sum this up in a single sentence.
I believe the reasons include my mental weakness, the naive belief that my future self or someone else would somehow fix things, and a tendency to avoid unpleasant situations.
There are many reasons why university students end up repeating a year.
Some common ones include:
Prioritizing something over academics
Mistakes in course registration or exam scheduling
In my case, it was more like:
“I don’t know exactly why, but I stopped going to class and neglected my studies—and ended up repeating the year.”
I think this pattern is actually quite common.
People like me probably won’t change until they’ve experienced a painful consequence.
While laziness among university students is often seen as normal, I’ve come to believe it’s something that shouldn’t be taken lightly.
🗣️ Reflections on Repeating a Year (Part II)
■ Hiding the Fact You Repeated a Year Doesn’t Help
If you tell someone you repeated a year and they react with shock or discomfort, it can be painful.
But keeping it a secret and living with guilt and a constant sense of not belonging is also difficult.
Looking back, I think even if I had told people in my club from the beginning, they wouldn’t have judged me harshly.
Maybe the new first-year students—the ones who were technically my peers in the second year—might have distanced themselves a bit.
But I believe I could have been honest with my original classmates from my first year.
In the end, I didn’t tell my clubmates about my situation until around December.
No one treated me differently, and after opening up, I felt much more at ease.
■ Repeating a Year Is Not a Free Pass to Enjoyment
Joining a new club as part of my “fresh start” was, in a way, a form of escapism.
The year spent repeating should have been dedicated to making up for the academic shortcomings of the previous year—focusing entirely on recovering lost credits.
It’s not a time to chase after the fun I missed out on.
That said, I do think repeating the year helped me avoid long-term regret over things I didn’t do during my first year.
And compared to barely scraping by and advancing, the clear failure of repeating a year forced me to confront my mistakes and grow mentally.
In that sense, I believe the experience helped me mature significantly.
🎭 Reflections on Repeating a Year (Part III)
■ Repeating a Year Is Not a Joke
Repeating a year is often treated as something humorous among students—a topic for jokes.
I used to think that way too.
But during the year I repeated, I made a conscious decision not to turn my situation into self-deprecating humor or jokes.
Sure, it’s a sensitive topic.
But if someone who’s repeating a year continues to act carefree and unserious, it can make others uncomfortable about studying alongside them.
I believe that repeaters should behave seriously, and by doing so, others will likely view them with understanding—thinking, “There must have been circumstances.”
■ You Must Accept That You Repeated a Year
As I began to settle into my new class and club, I noticed something strange:
There were moments when I forgot I had repeated a year.
Spending time as a “new freshman” and interacting with my original classmates—now second-year students—sometimes gave me the illusion that I was either a true freshman or had advanced like everyone else.
When I thought about where that feeling came from, I realized that even after time had passed and things had calmed down, I still hadn’t fully accepted the fact that I had repeated a year.
Repeating a year means falling behind your peers by one year.
More importantly, it’s a reflection of how poorly you spent the previous year.
It’s understandable to feel regret and anxiety about the future, and to struggle with accepting that reality.
But unless you face it head-on, you risk repeating the same mistakes again.
■ Looking Back on My Own Repetition
Now that the year of repeating is over, I’ve reflected on how I spent that time.
Honestly, the way I lived made it feel like I simply took two years to do what most people finish in one.
If you repeat a year, you need to make that extra time meaningful—whether by aiming for better grades or doing something truly valuable.
Otherwise, you’re just falling behind.
■ What You Should Do Before Repeating a Year
This may just be my own regret speaking, but I believe my habit of escaping reality at every turn led me down the wrong path.
If you find yourself at risk of repeating a year, don’t just think, “I’ll be fine if I try harder from now on.”
Instead, you need to objectively and specifically analyze your situation:
How much have you studied so far?
What’s your current progress?
What else needs to be done?
And if you decide to earn credits for a course, you must attend the classes.
If you’re going to give up on a course, do so strategically and intentionally.
Vague thinking and unclear actions are dangerous.
If you casually skip classes, attend irregularly, or give up on credits without a plan, you’ll waste time—and by the time you realize it, it may be too late.
Yes, making decisions and facing reality is stressful.
But I’ve come to realize that those who can’t do this are the ones who fail.
🌅 Final Chapter: Beyond Repeating a Year
On January 30, 2025, I finished the final exam for the last course I had retaken.
Regardless of the result, my advancement to the next year was already confirmed.
Even though I was simply moving up one academic year, I felt the same kind of relief as when I finished entrance exams.
That feeling came from the constant pressure I had lived under—regret over my past actions, awareness of my unstable position, and the suffocating desire to escape it all as soon as possible.
After spring break, I officially became a second-year university student—one year behind others, but finally moving forward.
It felt as though time had finally started flowing again.
Until then, I had been in my “second year at university,” but not truly a “second-year student.”
To me, repeating a year wasn’t a time for leisure, nor was it a punishment.
It was simply a period to bring myself back from negative to neutral.
Just because I suffered for a year doesn’t mean I’ve changed completely.
Even now, I still struggle with social interactions, and there are mornings when I can’t make it to class.
Having experienced repeating a year once doesn’t guarantee I won’t repeat again.
Just because I’ve returned to zero doesn’t mean my life will automatically start improving from here.
Now, I’m finally able to sit at my desk and focus.
I can look at “what I need to do today” without being swept away by anxiety or self-loathing.
But the fact that I repeated a year will never disappear.
The delay in my academic progress, the low GPA—these are all part of my record now.
Even so, I believe this:
Without that year, I wouldn’t have realized anything.
And even now, I’m still in the process of making up for it.