V1C5 Part1

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1. NIGHTMARE OR REALITYThis entire chapter (as in the entirety of Chapter 5) is from Haijima’s point of view and honestly it’s surprisingly endearing? That boy truly only lives for volleyball

Also Kuroba’s a dumbass as usual

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When he thought about it, it was obvious, but he realized after he started playing in the position that the setter was the one who could touch the ball the most in a game. In the basic system of volleyball, which was to return the ball within three hits, the setter was the one who always handled the second hit. Not the first hit or the third, but the middle of the series of plays.

The attacker was the ace in volleyball, but Haijima considered himself to be in the “middle” of the game, and he didn’t want to give up his position as the “one who can touch the ball the most” to anyone.

Normally, the reception would be messed up so that the ball wouldn’t return to the setter, but Haijima would run as fast as he could to bring the ball back into his territory. The second hit was his, and he didn’t want to give it anyone else. He then controlled the third hit to be hit by the attacker. If he didn’t do the second hit himself, it would become a high set, but if he did, there were plenty of options for attack. It could be connected to the third hit as a tactic. The movements of the attackers on his team, the positioning of the opponent blocking system and receivers—the movements of all players on the court, both friendly and enemy, were instantly assessed. Haijima’s eyesight was generally poor, but his periphery vision seemed to be unusually good. He was catching things other than the ones he was focusing on at the edge of his consciousness.

Not only relying on sight, but also using all the senses of the body to take in the flow of the situation on the court. It was a feeling of submerging his consciousness into the court and connecting to the center of the court’s nerve network. He could hear the sound of the plug snapping into place in the back of his head. That feeling was the best.

No matter where he was on the court, as long as he was below the ball, the signs were still active. The combination was working. He could still set the ball anywhere. The center’s B-quick, the right’s broad jump, the back center, and then——.

Kuroba was there. He was in his black uniform, cutting in from the left.

At that moment, he could see the trajectory of the set he was about to make stretching out in front of him as though it was the root of a tree growing rapidly. He could clearly see the place where Kuroba was going to hit. It was some distance away, but he set the ball to that position with the hope that he would hit it. Far, high, and straight. To a place no one but him can reach——.

There was a sudden sound, like something shut down.

The lights in the venue suddenly went out and it became pitch dark. At the same time, the nerves that had been strung throughout the court from within him were cut. He lost his enhanced senses and felt a sense of loss, like his limbs were plucked from him.

In the darkness, Haijima was confused. He was impatient to concentrate and connect with the court once more. He reached out a mental feeler and tried to grab hold of the cut end of the connection he had just made.

A white sphere came flying towards him in a parabola. It was a ball—it still hadn’t fallen yet. When he reached out for it, relieved, he gulped when he saw his own hand appearing in his field of vision.

He had…no fingers.

From the second joint onward, where did they go…?

The ball was approaching in front of him. On the surface of the spinning ball, there were sticky finger marks in the color of blood.

***

He was shocked at the scream he made. He swept his hand in front of his face and slammed the back of his hand on the tatami mat. The pain woke him up.

Was that…a dream…?

“What the…”

With an exhale, the strength slipped out of him and buried the back of his head in the pillow. He could barely see anything without his glasses, so the outlines of everything were blurry. The wooden ceiling of the old house and the outline of the paper-covered electric light hanging down from it barely bled into his vision. It was so bright outside that he couldn’t make out the light of the miniature light bulb he had turned on when he went to bed.

“What day…is today…”

It was August 3rd. The third day of the Fall Tournament. Isn’t it time to get up already? This morning, his grandmother, who always stepped in without reservation and opened the shoji* doors wide before his alarm clock went off each morning, didn’t come in. But he could hear her preparing breakfast in the living room.

Oh, wait, yesterday…I said something to Grandma yesterday. What was it…?

He rolled over and pulled his summer futon up to his nose while trying to remember. What, aren’t you just trying to go to sleep again? He made a jab at himself. There’s a game. I have to get up. But his body refused to move. On normal days, he had a hard time waking up, but on game days, he woke up so well that he was more restless under the covers.

Yesterday’s game was horrible. As he curled up in his futon and recalled some of the scenes, he felt depressed once again. He had never made such a rookie mistake before. He was amazed at himself for being surprised by the ball and knocking it away like an amateur.

Normally, he would have a scorebook in his head from the start of the set to the end, memorizing all the plays for each point. If he wanted to, he could replay in his mind the movements of all players on the court in that rally from different angles.

But for yesterday’s game, the scorebook had many blank spaces. Even the memory of what he himself was doing was lacking in some places, much less the details of other players’ movements. When he was on the court, he could concentrate without even thinking about it, but yesterday, his concentration was breaking up halfway through the game and he had to “spare his mental strength to gather up his ability to concentrate,” which made him exhausted in a weird way.

I wonder if I’ll be okay today. Will I be able to do as well as usual? If I think stuff like that, the game becomes a huge bother.

I don’t wanna go today…I wish it would disappear, the game…

“!?”

His eyes snapped open in the dark futon.

Did I think that just now? That I wished the game would disappear——?

He shivered at the fact that he had that thought flash through his mind.

It was the last day of the Fall Tournament, which was being held over three days from August 1st to 3rd. Yesterday, on the second day of the tournament, Seiin High School had made it through the second and third rounds and were moving on to today’s semifinals. They were all supposed to meet in the club room today and travel to the venue together, but it was about five minutes past the meeting time of six-thirty when Haijima rushed into the club room.

“Sorry, I’m la…”

“No, it’s fine. We’re all here now. Then, we’ll announce today’s schedule.”

The captain, Oda, raised his hand lightly, and then looked around at the team members who had gathered before them.

“You’ll be dismissed after the meeting.”

The members of the team, who were carrying luggage and preparing for the departure order, naturally let out murmurs of confusion.

“Captain. You’re a super serious person, so you don’t have to calm our nerves with bad jokes. Anyways, isn’t Kuroba the only nervous one here? If we don’t move now, we’ll be late getting into the venue.”

Okuma’s voice, with its light inflection that almost seemed forced, stuffily echoed in the cramped room that was densely packed as it was. The rotating fan, though small, was making loud noises, but it only served to churn the lukewarm air and diffuse the stink of sweat. Oda looked at Okuma silently, but there was no smile on his face, and Okuma awkwardly withdrew his smile.

With his back against door, Haijima lost his voice.

He grew pale, thinking that the match was really gone because he wanted it to be, even for just an instant. There was no way that could be true. He was still in his nightmare. That would be much better.

Before him, Okuma, Kanno, Uchimura, and Hokao formed a wall of second-years, and Oda and Aoki were standing in the back of the room. Kuroba was sitting in a chair between the two captains. The cooler box that Kuroba carried home yesterday was placed in a corner of the room.

He saw a bruise on the left cheek of Kuroba, who was sitting with his head hanging down in discomfort.

He understood the situation immediately. This wasn’t the continuation of his nightmare, and it wasn’t something he wished for to happen—it was simply a predictable reality.

Impulsively, he slammed his fist against the door and removed his back from the door. He was about to step to the back of the room with long strides, but Kanno and Uchimura caught his crossed arms from both sides and he pitched forward. He leaned over the two’s arms and shouted.

“Are you an idiot!!?”

“Why are you yelling at me without giving me a chance to talk! I didn’t do anything!”

Kuroba shouted back, using the enamel bag on his knees as a shield and drawing back his big body. His anger boiled over at being opposed, but Kanno held him from the front and restrained him. “Calm down, Haijima, you can get angry after you hear what he has to say.”

“Senpai, that’s not really the end of the explanation, is it. There’s no way everyone would accept it if you suddenly told them to go home because we’re not playing anymore.”

Kanno turned back to Oda and said. While he was speaking quietly, his tone, which was usually reserved and mumbling, was clear and an octave lower. That showed Kanno himself was quite angry about the situation. The other second-years seemed just as unaccepting, and Oda, the smallest on the team, was on the receiving end of questioning gazes from everyone. Even Aoki, who usually served as the mediator, folded his arms with a dour and difficult look on his face, and only casting his eyes down.

Aoki raised his eyes and opened his mouth deliberately.

“Let’s check one thing first. Kanno, Haijima, you didn’t go home with Kuroba yesterday, did you?”

“Yesterday…?” Kanno looked at Haijima’s face, and then said, “Yes. The three of us separated. I went home in our car. Haijima went home in Kuroba’s mother’s car, and Kuroba…rode in his cousin’s truck.”

“Do you or Suemori-san know that cousin?”

“Well, he’s two years older than us, and I think everyone in our generation at Monshiro Middle knows who he is. He’s famous in town…”

Aoki narrowed his eyes as though he was thinking something. Kuroba’s “famous” cousin was of course Kuroba Yorimichi, not his younger sister. However, Aoki moved on to the next part of his talk without touching on it any more than that.

“Those of you who come through Suzumu know that you can see Suzumu Play-One, the building with the big bowling pins on the roof, from the railroad tracks, right? It also has a karaoke place and game arcade inside. Yesterday at the bowling alley, a group of bowlers from neighboring lanes clashed with each other and a fight broke out. The alley called the police and one of the groups was arrested, but the other escaped. The school was informed that there was a Seiin student in the group that escaped. An employee witnessed someone wearing our team’s jersey—Kuroba, that’s you, right?”

“I didn’t go to the bowling alley. I didn’t even know about the thing with the cops until I heard about it today.”

“So, you haven’t been to the bowling alley, eh. Then, if you weren’t involved in the fight, then what’s with this bruise?”

“It was because I wasn’t being careful. I don’t have to tell you the reason.”

Suddenly, Aoki grabbed Kuroba by the collar.

Seeing Kuroba being lifted from the chair and gritting his teeth saying “Ow!”, Haijima got goosebumps and thought, His back—?! In addition to his amazing jumping ability and the flexibility of his shoulders and elbows, Kuroba was an attacker who could bend his back far like a supple bow and hit the ball. Injuries to the spine could have a big impact on play. He didn’t know if it would be useful or not even if they had a game today——.

“Stop it, Aoki! Let him down!”

Oda said in a restrained voice. It was different when it was the other way around, but it wasn’t everyday that you saw Oda calming Aoki down. “He’s the one who betrayed your trust.” Aoki thrust Kuroba aside resentfully. “Aren’t you the ones who don’t trust me?” Kuroba grumbled, after he was returned to his chair with a thump and smoothed down the stretched-out collar of his T-shirt.

“Kuroba. I trust you, and I don’t think you’re the kind of guy who’d try to cover for yourself in something like this. But if you can’t explain your injury, then I can’t convince the school. If you just tell us honestly what happened…”

“I told you many times before, haven’t I? I wouldn’t stake my life on something that’ll get us suspended from games. I’m not causing trouble for the team. Getting injured on the day of the game is my fault and you can get angry about that as much as you want. I’m sorry about that. That’s all I have to say.”

“You looking down on us? I’ll kill you!”

Oda grabbed Aoki’s arm again as Aoki shouted that angrily and tried to raise his hand again. Meanwhile, Haijima lunged at Kuroba in fury and was prevented by the barricade all the second-years hurriedly made, and in the end he had his arms pinned behind his back by Okuma. The legs he blindly raised overhead kicked at the air. Kuroba’s chair fell over as he was ready to run away. The narrow room suddenly fell into chaos as everyone moved at once. The fan fell over and the wind billowed in the wrong direction.

“Not causing trouble for the team? Like hell you’re not! We can’t play today’s game!”

“Hah? I don’t want you to talk to me about the team!”

As he awkwardly fell on his backside, Kuroba suddenly got angry and shouted back.

This was when Haijima’s eyes widened, not understanding the meaning of such an objection.

“Enough!!”

Oda’s angry voice pierced through the noisy room.

“I’m talking about all of you! You wanna cause violence in the club and do something you can’t undo!? If all you guys do is get in my way, then you should all quit!”

All the team members looked at Oda, speechless. Even Aoki looked shocked.

Oda immediately came to his senses. “Ah…” he muttered and turned red.

In a large-sized team where more than half the members were above 180cm, the 163cm Oda was conspicuously small. However, as far as Haijima knew, he always looked up with his chest puffed out, as though pushing the handicap aside.

That Oda hunched his back, turned his face diagonally downward, averted his gaze from the team members, and spoke in a whisper, as though he had given up.

“Anyways, there’s no game today. As soon as I know what’s gonna happen tomorrow, I’ll write it on the whiteboard, so come and see it. If the situation doesn’t change at this rate, there’ll be no practice in the meantime. …That’s all, meeting’s over. You’re dismissed.”

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