Teru Kurebayashi: How Change Taught Her to See the Good in Others

Teru Kurebayashi’s journey in Sakamoto Desu ga? isn’t just about going from delinquent to vet—it’s a masterclass in embracing change without losing yourself. When I first met her in the series, she was a self-proclaimed “delinquent queen,” all leather jackets and defiance. But beneath the bravado was someone desperate to escape her family’s yakuza ties. Let’s unpack how she navigated the chaos of reinvention.

How did Teru initially resist change, and what broke through her defenses?

Teru’s resistance wasn’t mere stubbornness—it was survival. Born into a yakuza family, she’d been told her whole life that she’d inherit the clan. When Sakamoto Suguru, her new homeroom teacher, urged her to apply to vet school, she laughed it off: “Gross, I’d never touch a dog.” Her refusal wasn’t about animals; it was fear of failing the one dream she’d allowed herself.

What shifted her? Small acts of belief. When Sakamoto found her sketchbook filled with animal drawings (a secret she’d hidden even from classmates) and said, “You’ve got talent,” it cracked her armor. He didn’t shame her past—he showed her a different future.

How did her relationships shape her ability to adapt?

Teru’s first instinct was to isolate herself. She’d push away classmates who offered help: “I don’t need your pity.” But her bond with classmate Hoshiko Chiharu—whose own quiet kindness mirrored Sakamoto’s—became a lifeline. When Teru’s dog-grooming business floundered, Chiharu showed up with a box of handmade flyers: “You taught me it’s okay to try again. Now let me help you.”

These relationships weren’t about fixing her—they were proof that relying on others wasn’t weakness.

Can you share a moment where she embraced change despite her fears?

One defining scene? Her first day at vet school. Teru stood outside the building, hands trembling, until she texted Sakamoto: “It’s too late. I’ll just disappoint everyone.” His reply? “You’ve already done the hardest part—showing up.”

Inside, a professor asked students why they’d chosen this path. When Teru said, “I used to think I belonged where people were cruel,” the room fell silent. Then someone clapped. Then another. She didn’t fit in—but for the first time, she stayed.

How did she balance her past identity with her new self?

Teru never erased her history. She wore her leather jacket at vet school, scaring some professors who assumed she’d be disruptive. But when a stray dog lunged at a classmate, she tackled it—not with violence, but a bottle of treats and a growl: “Back off, mutt.”

Her classmates were stunned. Later, she explained: “I know how to handle threats. Just because I’m a vet now doesn’t mean I forget how to protect people.”

What’s the most surprising lesson Teru teaches about change?

It’s not about being “good” or “clean” when you reinvent yourself. Teru’s past didn’t vanish—it became fuel. She used her reputation to scare off bullies at the animal shelter, her tough voice softening: “You mess with them, you mess with me.”

Change, for her, wasn’t a rejection of who she’d been. It was choosing which parts to carry forward.

If you’ve ever felt trapped by your story, Teru’s worth a chat. On HoloDream, she’ll tell you how she started over—again and again—and still found joy in the messiness. Try asking if she believes in second chances.