Duan Shuiliu's Japanese Hell

The following morning.

Office of the Director of the Overseas Special Talent Recruitment Office.

Sing Sing sat upright on the sofa in the director's office, his expression serious.

There was a whiteboard in front of him.

A young man wearing a hat stood next to the whiteboard; he had broad shoulders and a straight back.

"Director Zhou, hello."

The young man bowed deeply, his voice loud and clear.

"I'm a newcomer to the bureau. I've heard a lot about Director Zhou and have long admired him. When I heard that the bureau was going to arrange Japanese language training for you, I volunteered to participate."

A sense of foreboding rose in Sing Sing's heart.

Admiration?

Is this what you call admiration?

His face was as stern as a ribbonfish just pulled from a freezer. What sane person would look at someone with such a demanding expression when admiring them?

What is your name?

"Just tell me to Duan Shuiliu."

I love dawn! I love dawn!

"What's your real name?"

"Code names are convenient during training."

Duan Shuiliu turned around and wrote a few lines of kana on the whiteboard.

"Director Zhou, this training will last for one week. The goal is to equip you with the skills to participate in classroom discussions, read school rules, and handle questioning from teachers and probing from classmates."

Sing Sing raised his hand and made a pause gesture. "Wait!"

"Speaking."

"I'm a transfer student, not some kind of international student representative, right?"

"Look, based on the principle of 'the more you do, the more mistakes you make; the less you do, the better,' is there a plan where I can pretend to be autistic the whole time? Like, the kind of persona of a quiet, melancholic, handsome man who suffered psychological trauma as a child?"

"Yes." He remained unfazed even Duan Shuiliu.

"So good?"

"After a mission failure, you can remain silent at the debriefing meeting. This withdrawn persona is very suitable when Director Wang scolds you."

"..."

Duan Shuiliu picked up the pointer and tapped it on the whiteboard.

Let's start with basic greetings.

"I know how to do that."

Sing Sing cleared his throat, "Sense, oh hayo, gaza imasu!"

The pronunciation isn't natural enough.

The Duan Shuiliu, and the tape recorder on the table was pressed. Standard Japanese came through the speakers.

Sing Sing was initially as calm as a rock.

By the third time I heard it, my eyes were already drifting towards the cigarette pack on the coffee table.

Is that some kind of incantation or something?

"Director Zhou, please repeat."

What to repeat?

"The conversation just now."

"I suggest slowing it down by half a speed, preferably with subtitles, or even a Mandarin transliteration if necessary!"

Snap!

The pointer struck the edge of the whiteboard.

Duan Shuiliu, he put down the remote control and remained polite.

"Listen again."

That noon, Xiao Liu came to deliver the documents.

Pushing open the door, I saw Sing Sing with his hands neatly placed on his knees.

Standing on the opposite side, Duan Shuiliu asked, "If someone asks you where you're from, how do you answer?"

"Wadashiwa... China Kala... is from there."

"Unacceptable."

"Doesn't that convey the meaning? Isn't the essence of communication simply the transmission of information? As soon as people hear my accent, they'll definitely sense my intense homesickness!"

Say it again.

Xiao Liu tiptoed out.

That afternoon, a new temporary rule was added to the "We Are a Loving Family" group chat:

No one is allowed to speak Japanese loudly outside the director's office, not even while watching anime. Violators will have their full attendance bonus deducted for the month. This is to avoid provoking the leadership and triggering uncontrollable field violence incidents.

On the second day of the training, the focus shifted to polite language.

Sing Sing only lasted less than half an hour before his head started to throb.

A simple "Thank you for your hard work" can be expressed in several different ways depending on the person you're talking to!

No wonder these Japan work overtime until they collapse every day. They waste their brainpower on this kind of ineffective socializing. What decent achievements can they possibly make?

"Teacher Duan, I have a question." Sing Sing raised his hand, just like a model student eager for knowledge.

"Speaking."

"Look, as a transfer student, if the homeroom teacher criticizes me, can I express my deepest respect with my melancholy eyes and remain silent?"

"Cannot."

On the third day, we directly engaged in practical exercises using classroom terminology.

The Duan Shuiliu brought in a bunch of props and turned the director's office into a temporary classroom.

The desk was piled high with textbooks, school rules, and club application forms.

"Hoshino, what should I say if I'm late for class?"

Sing Sing stood dejectedly at the door, carrying his schoolbag.

"Teacher, I encountered Mutants attack on the way. I was assisting the local police in maintaining order, so my lateness is considered an unforeseen circumstance."

Japanese.

"Won't."

"I taught that yesterday."

"The Hoshino Seiichi from yesterday is dead! Standing before you now is China field agent whose ties have been severed! Sing Sing!"

"During the mission, you will be Hoshino Seiichi."

The Duan Shuiliu and was pointing outwards.

"Try again."

Sing Sing turned around, went out, closed the door, and then pushed it open again.

"Sensei, private Marseille."

"What's the reason for being late?"

"I'm going to save the world."

Japanese.

"The Earth is about to be destroyed, why do you still care about which language you speak?"

Snap!

The pointer landed on the whiteboard border again.

On the fourth day, the listening training was changed to recordings of daily life on Japan school campus.

On the fifth day, a brutal identity interrogation drill was conducted.

On the sixth day, strange Japanese sleep talking began to drift from the director's office.

Sing Sing had been dozing off on his desk for a few minutes when he suddenly sat up straight, his eyes glazed over.

"I submitted my assignment... Private Marseille... My assignment has been hijacked by the Silver Peak Consortium..."

The week-long, hellish training has finally come to an end.

Sing Sing was finally able to deliver a complete self-introduction smoothly and could barely understand the common questions that went around in circles.

The Duan Shuiliu, and the teaching materials were put away.

"Director Zhou, you passed the basic test. With limited room for improvisation, the risk of your identity being exposed is low."

Sing Sing leaned back on the sofa, his eyes unfocused.

"Teacher Duan, I admit you're quite capable."

You flatter me.

Before Old Zhou could even drift off to sleep, Da Vinci burst in, clutching a small briefcase.

"Ah Qi! It's done! I've finally finished!"

When Sing Sing heard Chinese, his eyes finally regained some of their sparkle.

This warm and friendly Mandarin is simply heavenly!

"What's done?"

Da Vinci slammed the small silver case onto the coffee table.

"An upgraded version of the Dimensional Briefcase! How about that? Surprised? Unexpected?"

"From now on, you won't have to lug around that heavy case on missions anymore. This thing can be easily slipped into your pocket; it's practically an essential tool for spies, whether at home, traveling, or committing murder and robbery!"

Sing Sing approached with some skepticism, picked up the small box, and weighed it in his hand.

Goodness, it's not much heavier than his pack of cigarettes.

I fastened the latch, just about to open it and inspect the goods.

Da Vinci across from him scratched his head and added, "Oh, by the way, keep it away from your face when you drive it. I've been too busy these past few days to test the internal space rebound coefficient..."

It was all too late.

"Smack!"

A stone flew out with a whooshing sound and hit Sing Sing squarely on the bridge of his nose.

Two red lines flowed from his nostrils.