Rina found the scoreboard behind the old greenhouse.

It stood among roses and weeds, although there was no field nearby. Two words were written at the top: Effort and Excuses.

"Maybe it was used for a club event," Haru said.

Rina touched the dusty frame. The left number changed from zero to one.

Haru jumped back. "That board just judged you."

Their class had been asked to repair the school garden before the open day. Most students wanted a quick cleanup, but Rina wanted the place to look alive again.

When she carried broken pots to the shed, Effort rose to three. When Haru complained that the sun was unfair, Excuses rose to two.

By lunch, the board had become impossible to ignore.

Another group noticed it and began working faster. They pulled weeds without checking the roots and poured too much water over the seedlings.

Their Effort score rose quickly, but the roses near them bent down as if disappointed.

Rina understood then. The board counted effort, but the garden measured care.

She asked everyone to slow down. Some students laughed, yet Haru supported her.

"A high score is useless if the flowers lose," he said.

Together, they replanted the seedlings and shared the heavy work. The numbers stopped changing.

At sunset, the scoreboard showed one final word: Enough.

The next morning, every rose had opened. No one won the contest, because there had never been a contest.

Rina smiled at the quiet board. It had not taught them how to beat each other. It had taught them how to notice what needed them.