V1...

Parsed with an automated reader. The content accuracy is not guranteed.

Index || Next

Thumb, index finger, and middle finger. Applying tape to those three fingers on both hands was now a semi-ritual. Because his constitution made it easy for his fingernails to get peeled off, he feared the overhand pass, and when his coach in elementary school said to him, “Chika, why don’t you try the overhand pass?”, he recoiled a little. Since then, it became a habit of his to tape for matches and practices everyday without fail. He didn’t think that it was really due to the taping that he unexpectedly enjoyed and become absorbed in the position of setter, which he knew he wasn’t good at, but even so, it became something essential to himself before he knew it.

However, at this moment—Haijima Kimichika had his usual taped hands thrusted into his empty team jersey pockets and was standing at the furthest back of the warm-up zone. His clenched fingers in his pockets were cold. He could feel the tape squeezing his fingers. Did he wrap them too tightly? It was a ritual he had performed the same way for years now. It was highly unlikely that he made a mistake in the amount of force he used now. But it really did feel tight. Since he was in the warm-up zone, he constantly moved his body in small movements, but his body heat didn’t reach his fingertips. It felt like his bloodstream was being blocked there. It wasn’t that it was chilly. The gym was filled with heat, and even the parents and guardians crowding the bleachers on the second floor were all taking off their coats. Banners proudly bearing the school’s name of “Meisei”, “Meisei Academy Middle School” and “Meisei Middle School Boys’ Volleyball Club” were hanging down on top of each other, but today they were extremely distracting.

And then, once more, the coldness of his fingers pulled at his consciousness. He felt anxious, wondering if he would be able to handle the ball in this condition. Should he rewrap them now? No, there might be a substitution call. After thinking that, a _tut _slipped from his mouth, knowing that it was a needless concern. The coach had plainly pronounced that he would not be used today. However, no matter how you looked at it, the game was progressing badly. _Is he really not going to put me in? _He was getting irritated. He felt like he was standing on the court, but his feet were stuck in the warm-up zone like this. Frustration was incessantly building up inside his body.

Another triple block. We can’t get over it—.

Even before the setter, Ikawa, set the ball up, Haijima could see the trajectory of the ball ahead of him. His offense was too monotonous. He was completely focused on the openings from earlier. Even an amateur could stop that.

Sure enough, it resulted in a stupidly straightforward hit against a neat triple block, and the ball was knocked down to right below the attacker. _Follow up! _Haijima shouted in his mind, but Ikawa stopped in his tracks. Cheers erupted from the enemy camp, and the screams of the mothers rose from their own team’s cheering party.

What’s the point of having a setter if you’re just gonna stand around there and give the left side a high one? What’s he standing in that position for? He felt an impulse to step onto the court right now and drag Ikawa out of that spot. Why wasn’t he the one there right now, in the middle of the court, in the middle of the course of the ball. It seemed extremely unforgiveable to try to return the ball to the other side of the net without it go through his own hands.

The receive was messy and Ikawa didn’t get a good pass returned to him. As a result, they were left open again. Triple block. Shut out. While wiping the sweat that unusually continued to flow from his forehead with his uniform, Ikawa’s eyes went to the warm-up zone, as though seeking help. Tell that to the bench, not me, Haijima keenly thought. If you know that this is too heavy for you, tell the coach with your own mouth. Or tell that to all your moms who are just screeching irresponsibly and making noise on the second floor.

“For the time being, you’ll be removed from the starting lineup for tomorrow’s game.”

With those words from the coach, he was unbelievably benched. “For the time being,” with such a vague reason.

“Oh, I know it’s too much for Ikawa. But with this, Yoshino and the others, as well as the mothers, will be satisfied.”

Be satisfied? I can’t understand a coach who is about to throw away a game for something like that. Didn’t he want to win? It’s a match we can win if I’m out there. Just win and shut up those complaints from the parents’ association.

“Is Souta seriously not coming today…?”

He could hear the whispers exchanged by the other reserve members standing in the warm-up zone in the breaks between cheering on the court.

“He fought with Chika the day before yesterday, didn’t he? Did he say something to him then?”

“Something that’d make him skip the match?”

“Must have been harsh…”

They looked at him over their huddled shoulders. Haijima glared back at them, and they averted their gazes before their eyes met.

He was pretty sure he had a few arguments with Yoshino Souta. However, they were having a serious talk about the formation for the match and had clashing opinions, and Haijima had no intention of getting into a fight. And yet, Yoshino ran away from today’s match. Yoshino didn’t come, so Yoshino’s mother didn’t come either. And since the central figure of the parents’ association wasn’t there, the satisfaction is also halved, so there’s no point in dropping me from the starting lineup today. _I can only think that everyone’s holding me back. I didn’t do anything wrong…I shouldn’t have… His fingers were cold. _They were squeezed even tighter. He was beginning to feel like everything from his second joint onwards would necrotize and disappear at this rate.

An administrative staff approached his coach, who was pacing back and forth on the courtside like a bear protecting his den, tapped his shoulder, and whispered into his ear. The coach’s face changed, and he sat down on the bench and started calling somewhere on his phone. The warm-up zone was slightly abuzz with wondering what he was doing on the phone during a match.

The match was still progressing. Thanks to an opponent’s mistake, they got to serve and the rotation moved for the first time in a while. The libero, who was in the back row, exited the court and the center player ran back onto court in his place.

The coach waved the libero, Komukai, over. He still had his phone to his ear, but he seemed to be watching the court closely. After giving a few words of instruction to Komukai, who was on one knee in front of the bench, he gave the gesture of “You can go.” Komukai nodded, left the bench, and joined the warm-up zone.

“What’s going on?”

His teammates surrounded him as though they couldn’t wait any longer. Komukai glanced at Haijima, who was silently standing by himself at the back, and then answered them with a solemn look on his face.

“Apparently, he got in touch with Souta’s mom. From the hospital.”

“Hospital?”

“Souta was taken there in an ambulance…”

Cries of “What?” rose, and unrest ran through the warm-up zone.

Haijima also caught his breath, as one would expect. Hospital? Ambulance? Why? He didn’t run away…?

“I could make out a bit of his mom’s voice from Sensei’s phone, but…”

Komukai once again sent a meaningful glance at him. While gesturing for everyone around here to move their faces closer and tighten the circle, he moved his mouth distinctly despite that, as if he was deliberately letting Haijima hear as well.

“He cut them…his wrists.”

Saying so, he put his fingers to the inside of his wrist and made a slicing motion.

Index || Next