That night, Kenji opened the workbook to Fukushuu D one last time. He looked at the battered page, the crossed-out particles, the desperate marginalia. He smiled.
She didn’t understand the word revenge in that context. But she understood the effort. She wrote her phone number on the napkin. Fukushuu D Minna No Nihongo
Kenji chewed his pen. Furereba? Futtara? The book’s revenge was subtle: furu (to fall) becomes futtara (if it falls). He wrote it down. Then he wrote a second sentence below the answer box, on the margin: “Yuko-san ga isogashikereba, watashi wa matsu.” (If Yuko is busy, I will wait.) That night, Kenji opened the workbook to Fukushuu
The workbook had tried to break him. But in the end, he had turned its revenge into his own victory. the crossed-out particles