V2C1 Part4

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4. RIVAL’S SHADOWSmh can’t believe Haijima’s gentrifying volleyball in Fukui

Translation Notes

1. A campfire is “When a ball falls to the floor between either a couple or a few players and they are caught just looking at it as if they were circled staring at a campfire.”

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He heard

that Mimura started playing volleyball when he was in the third grade. Despite

his small stature, his outstanding athleticism and mood-making personality soon

made him the center of his elementary school team, and after serving as the ace

of Shinei Middle School, he became the ace and captain of the powerhouse Fukuho

Tech, and up until now, he had always been the focus of attention and

expectations.

Mimura’s

self-awareness about his own outward appearance was probably because he had

been playing volleyball in such an environment for ten years. If a pampered

child showed even the slightest hint of cockiness, admiration could easily turn

to animosity and criticism. Mimura Subaru had to be the “idol type” who was

loved by everyone.

Although it

was true that Mimura was a hundred times more innately cheerful than Ochi, half

of his friendliness was an act. His likes and dislikes regarding people were

surprisingly intense. His mood had its ups and downs. If a TV or newspaper

reporter asked him an imprudent question, he would make a face like a Noh mask

and make bland comments from start to finish.

As Ochi

helped with the balls for spike practice in front of the net, he glanced over

at Mimura to see how he was doing with the interview. In a corner of the gym,

Mimura and a woman wearing a pantsuit were facing each other. She was a

reporter named Mizuno, a reporter from Fukurou TV. She was looking at him with

a serious face and nodding, then writing down something in her notebook. She

was petite, even for a woman, so the difference in height between her and

Mimura was about two heads, so it was quite charming to see her trying her best

to raise her head and Mimura almost leaning down to try to match his gaze with

Mizuno’s. He could see a natural smile on Mimura’s face, so it didn’t seem

worrying.

He was

almost disappointed that she was already leaving after cutting the session

earlier than arranged out of consideration for his practice.

Mimura,

Hata, and Ochi saw her off as she left.

“Hata-sensei,

thank you very much for your time during practice. Mimura-kun, do your best.

I’m looking forward to seeing you at the qualifiers.”

Even

Ochi, who didn’t play in matches, got excited when a girl told him, “Do your

best!” Do teams with female managers experience this on a daily basis…? He

couldn’t help but seriously wonder about the meaning of his existence.

After

Mizuno changed her shoes at the doorway and went outside, the cameraman who had

been filming their practice came running in, sweating. As he was putting away

his equipment, he looked up at Mimura as though he had just remembered

something.

“Subaru-kun.

I’m sure Fukuho will win this year as well, but are there any other teams that

are on your mind?”

“Teams that

are on my mind?”

Mimura

cocked his head.

“Oh, you

don’t know? Seiin High School is making a very interesting team this year.”

“By Seiin,

you mean the school that pulled out from the semifinals of the Autumn Tournament?”

Hata interrupted him with a hint of sternness

in his voice, but the cameraman didn’t seem to notice. His tanned face crinkled

into a broad smile.

“Yes,

that’s them. They’ll be participating in the Spring High preliminaries. Oh,

Hata-sensai, you must know them through the Koutairen. Do you know this? Their

setter is only a freshman, but he was chosen as one of the Best Six for Tokyo

middle schools.”

“Heh…Tokyo?”

“Oh, you’re

also curious, aren’t you, Subaru-kun? Fukuho should brace itself too. If you

keep sitting on your laurels, there might be a huge upset. It’s no good to

think that you’ll always be the strongest.”

Huh!?

Ochi

shouted in his mind and almost stepped forward. He was stopped by the shadow of

Hata’s large body, but he really should have kicked him. If he just thought

about it for a minute, he’d realize it was a rude comment to leave as a parting

gift at the home base of the Fukuho in question.

From behind

Hata, he watched Mimura’s face warily. For a moment, he wondered if he was

alright, since his face seemingly hadn’t changed from the cheerful expression

he wore when he was dealing with Mizuno.

“Yes, you’re

right. I’ll do my best.”

The charm

had completely disappeared from his voice. There was nothing original or

interesting in his short reply.

“Tanaka-san,

shall we go? What’s the matter?”

Mizuno

called from outside. The cameraman, oblivious to the fact that he had just

ruined the good mood of an important news item for the sports section of the

prefectural media with the force of an excavator gouging out the earth,

shouted, “Okay, Mizuno-san!”, turned around and ran off.

“…I don’t

think he should have done that, Sensei.”

After they

left, Ochi vented his discontent. “You should have been blunter,” he said to

Mimura in an accusatory tone despite himself. “If it would have been more

interesting for us to lose, you wouldn’t have come to interview us.”

Just as he

was considering spreading salt to purify the area…

“What’s

Tokyo’s Best Six?”

Tokura

poked his head out from nowhere.

“Kohei. Concentrate on practice instead of

listening to our conversation.”

“It’s an

interval. So Mizuno-san’s gone home already?”

While

drawing in his head that was poking out, Tokura jerked his chin towards the

gym. The BGM of shouts and ball sounds had settled down. If Mimura and Hata

didn’t return soon, they wouldn’t be able to practice.

“Seiin,

huh…”

Hata muttered

as he cleared his throat and gave Ochi a look.

“They seem

to be a hot topic among the reporters.”

“It seems like it…”

Still

feeling unamused, Ochi nodded and reservedly looked at Mimura. Mimura, who was

still silently staring outside, looked at Hata with narrowed eyes. “Seiin…their

current captain is Oda. I don’t remember Oda’s team being that good.” He still

hadn’t fully returned from his chilly voice.

“That’s

right. Until the Inter-High preliminaries, that is…it was only at the Autumn

Tournament that they suddenly came out of nowhere. I asked Ochi to prepare the

video for me in a hurry, but we could only record parts of it, so to be honest,

I still don’t know what happened. That’s what’s so creepy. Their first-years

are playing ace and setter. They might come out on top because they have a lot

of momentum from that…or they might lose where it doesn’t matter.”

“So in

other words, they’re strong?” Tokura impatiently interrupted Hata’s unclear way

of speaking. “What’s going on?” The other members of the team, seeing them

talking at the doorway, were looking at each other, wondering if they should

gather around.

“The Tokyo Best Six is a freshman named Haijima. He used to be a setter on a Tokyo

middle school team that once made it to the top four of the Kanto Tournament.” Just

top four? Tokura muttered before Hata continued. “Think of Tokyo, Kohei, as

having ten times as many teams as Fukui. Some of them are private schools that

attract promising players from all over the country. The Kanto Tournament is

even greater than that. Even you can imagine how incredible its best four is

from a competition rate that is much greater than the five prefectures of

Hokushin’etsu.”

“T-ten

times, and even greater…?”

“I heard he

won the Best Six title in his second year at a tournament in Tokyo. Needless to say,

volleyball isn’t a sport that can be played by just one person. But Haijima is

one of those players that make you think that he can do it all by himself…he’s

a somewhat creepy player.”

Hata said

ominously while stroking the stubble on his chin in his usual manner.

“Subaru.”

He called

out gently.

“You are a

treasure born in Fukui, and I can only be grateful that you didn’t leave the

prefecture and stayed here. I’m proud to be put in charge of you.”

With

those cheesy words suddenly spoken to him, Mimura, who had been listening while

leaning against the door, was taken aback. Ochi could see another weight being

added to Mimura’s shoulders. Seeing Tokura’s simplicity as his face shined and

his nose twitched even though he wasn’t the one being praised made him feel

bitter.

“Haijima is two years below you, but…he’s probably

the other genius in Fukui right now.”

***

The

decrease in the number of student volleyball players in the prefectures can be

said to be more serious for the boys than girls. The number of schools

participating in the high school boys’ official tournaments had remained around

twenty in recent years, and this number had been decreasing one by one.

If you were

in the same school year, you had already made acquaintances with most of the

members at the other schools at prefectural tournaments, and since there was a

limited number of opponents for practice matches, you could get to know the

members from nearby schools quite well.

Fukuho

Tech had their school building in the downtown of Fukui, which was also the

capital of the prefecture. Nanafu Seiin High School was located in Nanafu City,

which was “rural” compared to Fukui. It only took 30-40 minutes to get there by

train, but until now, the two schools hadn’t had any deep interaction. Until

last year, and even until this year’s Inter-High preliminaries, Seiin was

completely outside Fukuho’s mark. Fukuho was seeded first in every tournament,

so after the second round, and after the final tournament in tournaments with

qualifying group games, Seiin almost never made it through.

——However.

The group

of black uniforms moving on the TV screen was a different team from the one in

Ochi’s impression.

The receive

wasn’t returned to the front of the net, and normally the left ace would have

to be given a high set. The setter, Number 8, ran underneath the ball, pushing

aside the other players. It looked like he was going to set the ball to the

ace, Number 7, who was waiting in the left, but at the moment of the set,

Number 8 twisted his body and set the ball back towards the right. The tall

middle blocker, Number 2, who had jumped there at some point, spiked the ball

fast.

At the end

of the game, the opposing team showed perseverance and battled for the ball,

and the final point was gained after a rally. He was amazed at Number 8’s bold

decision to use a quick attack at this stage. It was not hard to imagine that

this had been a painful point for the opposing team, as if they had been hit

with a blunt instrument to break the spirit that had held them together. After

losing the flow of the game, the receiver did a “campfire” with Number 8’s

serve at the end. (1) The service ace pierced the court at the same time the

twenty-fifth winning point of Seiin was etched in.

“…Where did

a team like this come out from all of a sudden?”

Those words

that someone muttered were the feeling shared by everyone in the room.

It was

a video of the third round of the Fall Tournament a month ago, a match that

Seiin won in straight sets, 2-0. The Fall Tournament, which was usually held at

the beginning of August—this year from August 1st to 3rd,

was a tournament Fukuho went to with about 70% of its strength. The schedule

was tightly connected to Inter-High’s main tournament every year. As Fukuho had

just returned from an away game, they couldn’t put in their best effort, and

this was only a one-off tournament within the prefecture anyways. What Fukuho

had fixed its gaze on next was the National Athletic Meet for some individuals,

but their main goal was only Spring High.

Hata paused

the video with the remote control from behind the team members, who were spontaneously

leaning forward to watch the TV.

“As you all

know, Seiin has won all their matches so far, but they won’t go to the

semifinals. The school asked to withdraw from the tournament. We were wondering

what would happen with Spring High, but their adviswor came to the coaches’

meeting and the lottery on Wednesday.”

Although

the video was taken from a distance from the second-floor seats behind the end

line, they could see that the team was full of tall players. It was easy to ask,

“Where did all this talent suddenly come from?” when there were suddenly so

many talented players in three different years at the same time in a school

that didn’t have the power to attract strong players. The fact that the average

height of the regulars was often directly related to the strength of the team

was one of the tough parts of volleyball.

On Saturday

morning, thirty minutes earlier than the start of practice, only the main

second- and third-year members were gathered in the AV room. The AV room was a

classroom with long desks lined up in tiers, and there was a projector screen

and large TV installed at the podium in the front of the room. Fukuho’s school

building itself was lamentably ancient, but as a strong athletic school, they

had invested in some equipment.

Ochi

was standing in a corner of the podium, keeping watch over the DVD deck while

observing the expressions of each person in the dimmed classroom. Mimura sat

alone in the front row, staring at the paused TV screen, accompanied by a 500mL

strawberry milk carton again today.

He gave up

trying to read anything from Mimura’s expression and looked down at the

document in his hand. The white light filtering from the TV illuminated the

copy paper. It was the team profile of Seiin as of the Fall Tournament.

“The left

wingers are Number 1, Oda, and Number 7, Kuroba. Oda is the captain…163, but

Kuroba is a freshman and 184. The right wingers are Number 4, Kanno, a

second-year who’s 181. The middle blockers are Number 2 and 10, 193 and 187…”

“Who’s

Number 10!?”

They

stirred more at Number 10 than at the outstanding height of Number 2.

“Everyone

probably knows Number 2, Aoki. This year he’s the vice-captain. Okuma…the

second-year Number 10, I’ve never seen him before, Sensei.”

It was as

if he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It was hard to believe that a 187cm

guy wandering around a tournament venue wouldn’t stand out, which meant he

hadn’t been in any tournaments before.

“And

Number 8, who scored the winning point with a service ace was the Tokyo Best Six setter, which was mentioned before.”

That

service ace—it might be too unfair to call it a mistake by the two players who

did the campfire. It was a jump serve with a low trajectory over the net,

piercing like a Japanese sword bent backwards. From the receivers’ point of view,

it looked like the ball was coming at them with several percent more speed than

it actually was.

“In

addition to having that jump serve, he’s a tall setter at 181cm. Freshman,

Haijima…I don’t know how to read his first name.”

The

second-year Kakegawa, who played in the same position, groaned quietly. At

175cm, Kakegawa was plenty big enough to be a setter.

“I’m just

wondering this, but…why isn’t that guy here?”

Yanome

raised his hand and spoke up. Kakegawa, who was next to him, looked

uncomfortable, but it was a natural question that was on everyone’s minds.

“Sensei,

don’t you go to the middle school prefecturals every year?”

“That’s

true. It’s just that at last year’s prefecturals, Haijima’s team, Monshiro

Middle, went from being unmarked to making it all the way to the semifinals.”

Hata

answered from the seat in the back overlooking the heads of the team members.

From being unmarked to the semifinals—just like Seiin in the Fall Tournament.

It wasn’t as though there was any connection, but a faint chill ran across

everyone’s faces.

“When

I first saw him at the semifinals, I was curious about him too. So I asked a

middle school teacher I knew to send me a video of the second round that came

before…but I was so confused when I watched it that I didn’t end up contacting

the Monshiro coach. To be honest, I didn’t know how to fit this player into the

team when Subaru became a third-year. I didn’t think he would go to an unknown

school and that a team like this would be completed somewhere else.”

Mimura

twitched at the mention of his name and looked back over his shoulder at Hata.

Hata, oblivious to his reaction, folded his arms and stroked his chin.

“I’ve

always wanted to see what would happen if I put him on the same team as Subaru.

It’s a shame he doesn’t have enough experience to be invited to the selection

team for this year’s National Athletic Meet.”

“Are you

saying that we’re not enough, Sensei!?”

Tokura

suddenly stood up and flared up at Hata, his voice raised.

“Are you

saying that if Subaru-senpai was on a team with those Seiin guys instead of us,

he might get even stronger!? You don’t believe we can go to Nationals, Sensei!?

We all joined Fukuho with our own achievements in middle school. It’s not like

we’re a bunch of random guys who happened to be in the lineup this year!”

“No, that’s

not what I…”

“That’s

what they think, isn’t it? The media.”

Mimura’s

voice overlapped with Hata’s as he hurriedly tried to rephrase.

Everyone

immediately looked at Mimura, not to mention Tokura’s exaggerated reaction.

Mimura had turned back to the front, staring at the TV screen again. He rested

his chin in his hands and chewed on his straw with the tip of his mouth while

speaking in a slightly slurred manner.

“For the past

eight years, no one but us have gone to Nationals, so I can’t help but think

that if we let someone else go, they’ll just go all the way to the top and win.”

“Subaru-senpai…!?”

Tokura was

stunned. The other guys were also looking at each other like they wanted to say

something. The conversation had taken a strange turn…Unable to just watch, Ochi

tried to smooth things over from the podium by saying, “Well, sit down, Tokura.”

“There’s a

backstory to this. The day before yesterday, the TV station guy said something worthless

to Subaru and left.”

With an

unconvinced look on his face, Tokura sat down with a thump.

“Sorry, sorry.

This is my fault.”

Hata forced

his thick voice to become brighter and banged on the desk twice, as though he

was trying to lift the heavy atmosphere that had sank down from the ceiling.

“We’re going

to keep an eye on them, but don’t be alarmed any more than you have to be. It’s

the same as against other teams. Of course we’re going to go to Spring High

again this year, in accordance with our tradition, and we’ll make every effort

to achieve that. We’ll start practice at nine. The second-years will help the

first-years put up the net.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kakegawa

and Yanome urged Tokura to stand up. As Tokura reluctantly left his seat, he

threw a tearful gaze towards Mimura’s back.

Tokura must

have wanted Mimura to back him up on his words. Mimura, however, kept his face

turned to the TV as if he was there in body, but not in spirit. He didn’t even

seem to notice that he was chewing the end of his straw to a pulp.

It was

impossible for Mimura to create such an atmosphere under normal circumstances.

He knew that he wouldn’t really care, but he couldn’t help but feel annoyed at

the thought that the cameraman’s insensitive parting gift would have created an

unwanted scratch within Mimura.

The TV’s

white light was shining on Mimura’s face as he took up position right in front

of it. He was exhausted, his chin resting in his hands, but he was hunched

forward as though absorbed by the video.

The

video was paused, showing the Seiin team gathered in the center of the court, celebrating

their victory. Number 8, Haijima, who scored the service ace, was behind the

others and about to walk from the service zone to the court. The number “8,”

dyed into the back of his uniform, was displayed in the foreground of the

screen, as though to show something to Mimura.

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