Japan’s First E-Sports Academy

Wataru Yoshida had had enough of school. He disliked his teachers, chafed at the rules, and found his classes boring. So when Japan’s schools reopened in mid-2020 after pandemic closings, Wataru decided to stay home and play video games all day.

“He just declared, ‘I’m getting nothing from school,’” says his mother, Kae Yoshida.

After more than a year out of the classroom, Wataru, 16, has now returned to school—but not a typical one. He and about two dozen teens like him are part of Japan’s first e-sports high school, which opened in Tokyo last year.

Wataru Yoshida had had enough of school. He disliked his teachers and the rules. He found his classes boring. So when Japan’s schools reopened in mid-2020 after pandemic closings, Wataru decided to stay home and play video games all day.

“He just declared, ‘I’m getting nothing from school,’” says his mother, Kae Yoshida.

After more than a year out of the classroom, Wataru, 16, has now returned to school. It is not a typical one. He and about two dozen teens like him are part of Japan’s first e-sports high school, which opened in Tokyo last year.

The academy, which mixes traditional class work with hours of intensive video game training, was intended to feed the growing global demand for professional gamers. But educators believe they’ve stumbled onto something more valuable: a model for getting struggling students like Wataru back in school.

“School refusal”—chronic absenteeism often linked to anxiety or bullying—has been a problem in Japan since the early 1990s. Japanese schools can feel like hostile environments for those who don’t fit in. Pressure to conform is high. In extreme cases, schools have demanded that pupils dye their hair black to match other students or dictated the color of their underwear.

The e-sports school is housed in a sleek pod—half spaceship, half motherboard, with glass floors and a ceiling circuited with green neon tubes. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, pros instruct students on strategies for games like Fortnite and Valorant. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, students study core subjects such as math, biology, and English. Classes don’t start until 10, and unlike most Japanese schools there are no uniforms.

The academy mixes traditional class work with hours of intensive video game training. The school was intended to feed the growing global demand for professional gamers. But educators believe they’ve stumbled onto something more valuable: a model for getting struggling students back in school.

“School refusal” is chronic absenteeism often linked to anxiety or bullying. It has been a problem in Japan since the early 1990s. Japanese schools can feel like hostile environments for those who don’t fit in. Pressure to conform is high. In extreme cases, schools have demanded that pupils dye their hair black to match other students or dictated the color of their underwear.

The e-sports school is housed in a sleek pod—half spaceship, half motherboard. It has glass floors and a ceiling circuited with green neon tubes. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, pros instruct students on strategies for games like Fortnite and Valorant. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, students study core subjects such as math, biology, and English. Classes don’t start until 10, and there are no uniforms.

One day early in the school year, only two boys showed up for the start of first period, a lecture about information technology. By third period (biology), five had arrived. Only two stayed through the day’s last class, English. The teachers were happy they came at all.

“Kids who didn’t come to school in the first place are allergic to being forced,” says Akira Saito, the school’s principal.

The academy’s philosophy is to draw them in with the games and then show them “it’s really fun to come to school, it’s really useful for your future,” he says.

One day early in the school year, only two boys showed up for the start of first period. By third period, five had arrived. Only two stayed through the day’s last class. The teachers were happy they came at all.

“Kids who didn’t come to school in the first place are allergic to being forced,” says Akira Saito, the school’s principal.

‘The academy’s philosophy is to draw them in with the games and then show them “it’s really fun to come to school, it’s really useful for your future,” he says.

Torahito Tsutsumi, 17, had left school after bullying drove him into a deep depression. He spent all day in his room reading comics and playing video games. When his mother confronted him about it, he told her that his life was “meaningless.”

“When other parents told me their kids weren’t going to school, I thought, ‘You’re spoiling them,’” she says.

It’s a typical response. Traditional Japanese education focuses on teaching the value of endurance, avoids coddling, and can include harsh punishments.

But as Ai Tsutsumi watched her son sink into depression, she feared what might happen if she tried to force him back to class. She had begun to lose hope when Torahito saw a TV ad for the e-sports school.

She was unsure, but says “the most important part was that he wanted
to attend.”

Torahito has made progress: He arrives at school every day promptly at 10 and has become more optimistic, his mother says. But he hasn’t made as many friends as he’d hoped, and he doesn’t think he’s competitive with the
other gamers.

Torahito Tsutsumi, 17, had left school after bullying drove him into a deep depression. He spent all day in his room reading comics and playing video games. When his mother asked him about it, he told her that his life was “meaningless.”

“When other parents told me their kids weren’t going to school, I thought, ‘You’re spoiling them,’” she says.

It’s a typical response. Traditional Japanese education focuses on teaching the value of endurance and can include harsh punishments.

But as Ai Tsutsumi watched her son sink into depression, she feared what might happen if she tried to force him back to class. She had begun to lose hope when Torahito saw a TV ad for the e-sports school. She was unsure, but says “the most important part was that he wanted to attend.”

Torahito has made progress. He arrives at school every day promptly at 10. He has become more optimistic, his mother says. But he hasn’t made as many friends as he’d hoped. He doesn’t think he’s competitive with the other gamers.

The academy’s teachers encourage students to seek other paths into the industry—programming or design, for example—and to make professional gaming a sideline, not a career.

Wataru, however, hopes to make it big. By midsemester, he still wasn’t getting to class much, but overall he was thriving, coming in three days a week for practice. He was less reserved, more eager to goof off with his new friends.

In November, Wataru and a team of classmates made it through the first round of a national competition for League of Legends, a fantasy-themed game of capture the flag.

The tournament was remote, but on the day of the second round, Wataru and his teammates showed up at the gaming campus early. They won their first game. Then a group of older players smashed them. Defeated, the team’s members sat quietly for a time, the light from the monitors washing over their disappointed faces.

“I should probably go home,” Wataru said. Instead, he turned back to his monitor. He was part of a team. And he was getting better at that too.

The academy’s teachers encourage students to seek other paths into the industry—programming or design, for example—and to make professional gaming a sideline, not a career.

Wataru, however, hopes to make it big. By midsemester, he still wasn’t getting to class much. But overall he was thriving, coming in three days a week for practice. He was less reserved, more eager to goof off with his new friends.

In November, Wataru and a team of classmates made it through the first round of a national competition for League of Legends, a fantasy-themed game of capture the flag.

The tournament was remote, but on the day of the second round, Wataru and his teammates showed up at the gaming campus early. They won their first game. Then a group of older players smashed them. Defeated, the team’s members sat quietly for a time, the light from the monitors washing over their disappointed faces.

“I should probably go home,” Wataru said. Instead, he turned back to his monitor. He was part of a team and he was getting better at that too.