V1C1 Part8

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8. CONTINUE GAME?Translation Notes

1. This is just for clarification but Yuni’s just calling this old man “grandpa” as an endearment

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“My my, I see, Itoko-chan…Okay, take care. Ah, Yuni? It’s

already time to go? Make sure you don’t forget anything. Today—”

While

his mother was on the phone with someone, he run out of the house without

saying goodbye and straddled his bike with a force almost like that of a

fugitive.

What was she going to say after ‘today’? “Today, do your best as

well?” “Today, I’ll go cheer you on as well?” I don’t want to hear either of

those sentences.

July 27. Today was the second day of the tournament where

four matches, consisting of two semifinals, the playoffs for third place and

the finals, would be taking place. The first semifinal match started at

nine-thirty. They planned to gather at Monshiro Station and go to Suzumu City together

by train to arrive at the venue.

He stood on his bike as he pedaled on the road to the

station. However, the further he got away from home, the more his pedaling

speed slowed, and he started to wobble left and right before finally zigzagging

uselessly across the full width of the road.

A horn sounded. When he looked back, he saw a small tractor

approaching from behind.

“Oh, if it isn’t Bon. Be careful!”

An old man wearing a straw hat over the scarf that covered

his head stared closely at him with sullen eyes from the driver’s seat and said

in a slow, hoarse voice.

“Sorry, grandpa!” (1)

He brought his bike close to the guardrail and the tractor

overtook him at a sluggish speed. The paint on the guardrail had mostly peeled

off and some spots were obviously bent, as the elderly scraped against them in

their agricultural vehicles. It made one nervous about whether or not they were

starting to lose their driving skills.

The road that continued straight ahead was surrounded by, as

far as the eye could see, paddy fields, paddy fields, paddy fields. The verdant

sea of rice swayed in the summer breeze.

How

about I ride my bike straight into a paddy and twist my ankle? An injury or

something where I can’t walk today because it hurts too bad but it’s completely

healed tomorrow, where it’s just the right amount and not exaggerated…He was

in such a negative mood that thoughts like those passed through his mind. He

quite honestly wished that he could be barred from the game for some

unavoidable reason rather than possibly showing such unsightly behavior like

yesterday.

Because…if we have Haijima, then we can probably win

anyways even if you stand scarecrows in the other positions.

He didn’t speak a word to Haijima after the match yesterday.

Other than the advisor, none of the team members attempted to approach Haijima,

only glancing at him like they were looking at a grotesque thing disguised as a

person. He could see a clear gulf emerging between Haijima and themselves. The

differences in their experience and ability as well as their language existed

from the beginning, but usually they were hidden like gutters buried in the

snow. As soon as they got on top of one by some momentum and put their weight on

it, they lost balance and were reminded of its existence along with the pain.

I don’t feel like I can be in a match with him today. I

don’t wanna go…That was all he could think about as he meandered around on

his bike again. He even felt a slight stomach ache. I haven’t had something

I wanted to avoid so badly it made my stomach hurt since early elementary school.

Better yet, if I end up having appendicitis, then it’ll be that “unavoidable

reason” thing…

Seeing

a motorcycle approach from ahead, he let out a “Hmm?” and stopped zigzagging

around. The motorcycle seemed to have noticed him as well, and it decelerated

to a stop. Kuroba also stopped his bike and put his foot on the ground.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve seen your face.”

It was Yorimichi, looking like a textbook example of a

summertime delinquent with his helmet with worn-out paint, Hawaiian shirt, shorts,

and flip-flops. In the summer of his third-year of high school, he had

completely developed the presence that came with age and experience. With his

tanned face, perhaps from going to the sea, and stubble, he didn’t look like a

high schooler no matter how you look at it.

“Yori-chan…”

Not knowing what attitude to take, he had a hopelessly

half-hearted look on his face. They barely talked since March, and it had been

about a month since he saw his face.

“You’re not tanned at all, eh. Ain’t it summer vacation?”

“Ah, yeah, all I’ve been doing is practicing in the gym, so

I’ve got no time to tan.”

“Volleyball’s a pasty sport, eh. Oh, I thought you had a

game today. Mm? Didn’t they say it was yesterday?”

“The game was, uh, yesterday, but…Anyways, why are you

coming from the station?” The fact that he came from the opposite direction of his

house was questionable, but it was also unusual for Yorimichi to be active this

early in the morning.

“I’ve been staying at a friend’s place, but I got called

back in the morning. They said Itoko got hurt yesterday?”

“Huh…I didn’t hear anything about that? You’re kidding,

right? She came to cheer us on yesterday too…”

Come

to think of it, didn’t his mother mention Itoko’s name on the phone earlier? He

didn’t pay attention to it at the time because he wanted to get out of the

house before anyone said anything, but was that a call with Itoko’s mother?

“How did she get hurt? Is it bad?”

“Didn’t hear the details, but apparently they didn’t call

the ambulance, so it probably wasn’t a big deal. You can come over if you’re

worried? Oh, don’t you have practice now?”

“Huh? Aah…”

Making a vague reply, he looked at the enamel bag on his

back. He could have said, “We won yesterday, so we have another game today,”

but he was at a loss for an answer for some reason.

“What’s wrong? If you’re coming, it’s faster to leave your

bike and ride on this.”

Yorimichi gestured to the tandem seat of Komashi-gou with

his chin.

He promised

to Haijima before spring break that he would refrain from hanging out with Yorimichi.

Riding tandem on a motorcycle would be out of the question for him. It’ll be

a problem for the team if we got into an accident—

The bubbles of antagonism

floated up from the bog that had accumulated in the bottom of his heart.

In

the end, he’s playing volleyball for himself alone. Why do I need to faithfully

keep a promise with someone like that?

Yesterday

morning, when she was riding her bike to the station, triumphantly holding up

that “Spread your wings! Kuroba UNIVERSE!” flag that she had spent all night

completing, the flag got caught in the wind and she lost her balance. Of course

it would be dangerous to pedal your bike with something like that fluttering

around. There was a fool who had already fell yesterday just when Kuroba was

thinking “I wanna get stuck in a rice paddy and twist my ankle.” At night, the

swelling had gotten worse, and his aunt panicked so much that she called

Yorimichi home, but as it turned out, it was just a sprain.

There were literal twists and turns before they heard that whole story. Because when they went to

Yorimichi’s house, they found a note that said, “I’m going to the clinic,” so they

immediately rode there on the motorcycle, and when they got to the clinic, they were

told that she must be at the orthopedic clinic because she hadn’t come there,

and when they went to the orthopedic clinic, they were told that she had just

left, so they ended up going back home again and was able to meet up with Itoko

and the others. They had pointlessly gone around town.

Itoko was sitting on the tatami chair in the first floor

living room, stretching out her bandaged right foot out on the tatami. In the alcove

behind her, the “Spread your wings! Kuroba UNIVERSE!” was displayed like a

scroll of appreciation. Kuroba’s face stiffened, and he started to take down

the flag.

“Ah, what are you doing to my hard work!”

“Are you dumb? If you hadn’t spent your time on this and

came to the first round, you wouldn’t have fell, and the game would have been

more fun.”

“You’re talking like the second round wasn’t fun.”

“Well, that’s, you know…”

He

trailed off weakly and averted his gaze. The phone in the hallway started

ringing. “Onii-chan, get the phone!” His aunt’s voice came from the kitchen. A

door on the second floor slammed open, and then Yorimichi’s rough footsteps

descended. “Don’t push me around, old hag. Going crazy and calling me back just

for an ankle sprain.” “It’s your fault for wandering around right after summer vacation

and not coming home at all.” In this house, the mother who called the oldest son

“Onii-chan” and the little sister called him “Yorimichi” without any

honorifics.

He sat in seiza on the edge of the tatami, crammed

the flag behind his butt, and clenched his fists on top of his lap.

“…Was it fun? Watching it.”

This was the first time he was asking someone about their

thoughts on yesterday’s game. He didn’t want to be talked about at home, so he

avoided as much contact with his family as possible last night and this

morning.

“You want to talk about Haijima, don’t you, Yuni. I don’t

know anything about volleyball, but that kid looked really out of place yesterday.

I was having a little trouble cheering you guys on.”

“Right? There’s something wrong with that guy, don’t you

think? Volleyball’s something you play with a team. I know he’s super good, but

he’s fatally bad at reading the room.”

Feeling as though he got what he wanted, Kuroba subconsciously

gathered strength and put his weight on his knees. However, Itoko, with a somewhat

indifferent look on her face, tilted her head to the side.

“Read

the room, huh… How did you want him to read it? Did you want him to cut corners

to suit you guys’ level, then lose the game and laugh like idiots together

about what a shame it was?”

“It’s, it’s not like that…”

The Haijima who cut corners to match the level of others as

well as the Haijima who laughed like an idiot when they lost were both

creatures who he found creepy and didn’t want approaching him in their own

right. That’s not what I meant, but there are probably other ways to do

it…What other ways? Did I think it was natural for Haijima to come up with

something I couldn’t think of? Honestly, was there anything else Haijima, who

only has talent in volleyball, could have done in that situation…?

“That’s a girl thing.”

“What?”

He darted her eyes about and asked back. Maybe her foot was aching or something, because Itoko bent forward and languidly rubbed her ankle.

“Girls usually do things like matching to everyone’s pace so

they won’t stand out, or being modest by saying they have no confidence in

themselves for things they actually are confident in. I do it too. But boys don’t

play those kinds of superficial games, it’s just, like, instinct I guess? …I

thought you could understand each other, but I guess that was just my own ideals…

Yuni, when you’re doing club activities, you look like you’re having so much

fun, and I was admiring you guys by myself and getting so excited, thinking that

boys are so incredible, and I was so enthusiastic that I even made that flag,

but now I’m so embarrassed I wanna die… Thank goodness it’s summer vacation… I

wouldn’t be able to go to school…”

Her

face, which was turned downwards like she wanted to sink into her knees, was

bright red.

If only he had done a good enough job at yesterday’s second

round that would let Itoko proudly fly her flag and freely cheer them on, she

would not be so embarrassed like she was now. He felt sorry and had no words

words to say to her. It wasn’t Haijima’s fault that the atmosphere of the match

went off the rails. He was painfully aware that it was his own pathetic

predicament that caused Haijima to play like that.

“Hmm? Why do you guys look so down? Something happen?”

Yorimichi’s large frame appeared at the entrance to the

living room. If he wasn’t careful, he’d scrape his head against the lintel, so

he bent down slightly while holding up the phone handset.

“It’s getting pretty funny. All our relatives cleaning out

the ditch right now. Our family phone tree is working pretty well.”

“Cleaning out the ditch? Did something fall in?”

“Yeah, apparently the Bon of the head house fell in,” he

said while grinning like a brat who had just thought of a prank. Itoko cheekily

pointed at a stunned Kuroba and said, “You’ve been sleep talking since morning.

If you want the head house’s Bon, he’s right here.” She was thoroughly cruel to

Yorimichi, a complete change from her meek and gentle attitude.

“You abandoned your bike at the paddy fields.”

“I left it…but I didn’t let it fall into the

fields. How old do you think I am?” It was a path that only acquaintances took anyways, so there was no chance of a bike thief. And so he left his bike

on the roadside where he met Yorimichi, thinking he could go and get it later.

“Your club advisor called you at home. You have a match

today? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“…Ah.”

The stories finally connected. Even though he had left home

a long time ago, he didn’t show up at the meeting place, his bike was abandoned

on the way there, the only witness was his senile but worried relative, and

there was nothing but rice paddies around… Though because he wasn’t a

kindergartener by any count, they must have thought it was weird for a third

year middle school boy to get caught in them.

Looking at the clock on the wall, it was past nine-twenty-five.

The match started at—nine-thirty.

“Yuni…”

Itoko’s voice lowered. Her anger-filled gaze stung the side

of his face.

“I can’t believe this, but are you skipping your match? No

wonder you’re so relaxed…I can’t believe this. You’re the worst.”

Kuroba could only groan. He didn’t fall into a rice paddy or

had appendicitis, but luckily, if he didn’t feel like he had an “unavoidable

reason,” now he did.

“Please go immediately.”

“You, you say that, but it’s not like I’ll make it in time

since it’s in five minutes, and since Haijima’s there…”

Itoko

stood up indignantly, startling both him and Yorimichi. “O-oi, your foot.”

Without even trying to protect her sprained ankle, she grabbed Kuroba’s bag and

lifted it over her head with the look of a demon.

“Men are always making all kinds of excuses…”

“Oi?”

Yorimichi

ducked just in time as a bag flew over his head into the hallway.

***

When he approached the spot where he left his bike, he saw

minitrucks parked parallel to the shoulder of the road. His relatives, with

rakes and sticks in their hands, were standing in the rice paddies, scratching

around in the mud with desperate looks on their faces. The mood there was like

they had decided that the Bon of the head house was going to rise up as a

drowned body. In the shadow of Yorimichi’s back, Kuroba pulled his helmet low

over his eyes and shrank his body.

Thanks to the group of trucks forming a shield, they could

pass by without being noticed. Right when he breathed a sigh of relief, the

Komashi-gou slowed down and his nose bumped into Yorimichi’s back.

“Yo-Yori-chan?”

With Kuroba clinging to his back, Yorimichi turned around

and, unbelievably, shouted loudly.

“Everyone,

I’m taking Bon’s bike back to the main house!”

“Eh…oh, Bon! You’re okay!”

“What!?”

Their relatives all raised their faces in astonishment. Yorimichi

laughed at them mockingly and started taking off at full throttle. Kuroba, who almost

got thrown off, clung to Yorimichi’s torso, but didn’t feel like he was alive

anyhow.

“W-w-what will we do if they get mad at us!? W-what will

happen to me if I go home today…?”

I’m not in a position to complain because I brought it

all onto myself with my actions, but…I wanna leave home and escape somewhere…

The Komashi-gou could bring him all the way to the

competition venue, but he was just about to catch the train to the city, so he

decided to get dropped off at the station. He wasn’t sure if he could make it

to the venue at ten-thirty. It had been one hour since the start time for the

semifinals—if it got carried over into a third set, then he might be able to

make it just in time, but they probably wouldn’t let him get out there without

warming up. If they won, they would be in the finals, and even if they lost,

there was still a chance he could play in the third-place deciders. I’ll

probably have to kneel down on the ground at least. Apologizing to Sensei, and

everyone on the team, and Haijima…is aggravating, but…

“…Hey, Yori-chan…do you remember talking about how the guys

from Haijima’s old school were bashing him online?”

He

asked as his face got hit by Yorimichi’s Hawaiian shirt that was filling with

the wind.

“Hmm? Yeah.”

He could hear the indifferent response from between the

noisy clattering and thumping sounds that hit his ears. Even Yorimichi himself,

who had used that information to rile up Haijima, scorned it as a petty way to

do things. Would I be hated if I confessed…? But the feeling of a foreign

object being stuck in his throat was agonizing, and he couldn’t help but spit

it out.

“I did the same thing last night…”

Last night, he had phone conversations with several of his

teammates. Some calls came from them and some came from himself. “That

definitely puts me off.” “It feels like you’re playing the match alone when he

does that.” There was something comforting about complaining to each other in

that way. He felt comforted in being able to confirm that it wasn’t that he was

the only one who was intolerant or narrow-minded, and that everyone felt the

same. Perhaps the same group psychology that was at work in the people who

posted bad things about Haijima online was at the root of it. When everyone

shared their frustrations, it made them feel a little better.

It would make Itoko disappointed, but—the invigorating

community of men who could “understand each other like it was natural instinct”

that she admired only existed in sports manga or battle manga.

The

wind was so loud that he didn’t know if Yorimichi responded or not. Maybe he

was trying to make himself feel better by thinking that he had repented by

telling Yorimichi. That made him feel even more cowardly, and Kuroba couldn’t

say it a second time.

When Kuroba came running at ten-twenty-five, the semifinals

were over a long time ago. He couldn’t believe it when he heard that they lost

the match in straight sets in less than forty minutes of match time.

“But we have Haijima! Like yesterday…”

“Are you an idiot?” His advisor flatly brushed him aside.

“It’s true that we’re a team based around Haijima, but it’s not like we can win

with him alone. There’s a rule in volleyball that one person can’t touch the

ball twice in a row, right? Don’t you know that? Want me to lend you the

rulebook?”

Kuroba sullenly hung his head. It was Haijima who

did that off-putting play that could have overturned the base premise of

volleyball yesterday…

“Didn’t you talk to Haijima yesterday, good grief…Haijima

said that yesterday’s high-handed way of doing things was like a surprise

attack, and that he knew what he was doing. He said that no matter how you look

at it, it won’t work today. He said that as long you could recover, we could win…”

“Haijima did…?”

“A guy

like that acts calm and composed, even if you weren’t here, but…it looks like that happened in the middle of the first set. I had a feeling something was wrong,

but his face never changed even once…Oh, oh, Haijima, you ready to go?”

He tensed up at the advisor’s voice, a conditioned reflex.

Haijima appeared slowly from the back of the dim hallway. He

was dressed in the Monshiro Middle School jersey pants and a white T-shirt, his

enamel bag was slung over his shoulder, and he must have just washed his hair,

since his bangs were wet. The middle finger of his left hand was lightly

pressed against his side with his ring finger supporting it, and there was tape

winded around it.

It seemed that he had dislocated his left hand’s middle

finger.

Because Monshiro, which had an injured player in the

semifinals, didn’t have enough reserve members, they withdrew from the third-place

deciders. In spite of getting fourth place in the prefecturals, an outstanding

achievement that would be carved into the history of Monshiro Middle School’s

athletic clubs, it ended in a way they couldn’t be proud of at all. At the same

time Kuroba arrived, the advisor had dismissed the club members on site and was

about to accompany Haijima to the hospital.

They could have just waited for Kuroba to arrive until just

before the start of the third-place deciders. However, the advisor decided to

withdraw from the game as soon as possible, because he concluded that even if

Kuroba was able to make it and the team had enough members, they wouldn’t be

able to play a game worthy of the third-place deciders with Haijima in a non-functioning

state. They could do the semifinals without Kuroba, but the team was

fundamentally unsustainable without Haijima.

Haijima

raised his gaze that was tending slightly downwards. As soon as he recognized

Kuroba, his narrow eyes widened a little. His lips opened thinly as he was

about to assemble some words. Kuroba clenched his teeth, wondering if he was

going to punch him.

However, Haijima only gave a small sigh, like he was exhausted,

and then cast down his eyes again. …His eyes are red? Don’t tell me he was

crying?

“…What. So you’re alive…”

He spat out in a low voice. He sounded a bit nasal. Dislocations

were an integral part of volleyball, something Kuroba had yet to experience,

but he had heard that the pain was enough to make one cry. Or was he frustrated

that he lost? He wondered if he had ever cried in frustration before. He didn’t

think so. …He felt somewhat guilty that he couldn’t understand a single thing

about Haijima’s pain.

“When did I die?”

Even though he should have first apologized for skipping the

game, but he couldn’t get the word “Sorry” out. He responded jokingly in spite

of himself, but got no reaction. Haijima silently walked past the advisor and

ignored his confused voice calling out to his back with “Haijima, that’s not

the way to the taxi.” He passed Kuroba without making eye contact with him.

Their shoulders brushed. It was Haijima, not Kuroba, who

staggered.

The March incident suddenly flashed across his mind. It

vividly reminded him of when Haijima

became like a lifeless doll that had its important circuits fried after he was knocked down by Yorimichi—

Oh…

The

signs matched up in his head, and he was aghast at himself for making such a

stupid joke. For Haijima, the life or death of his teammate wasn’t something he

could joke about. It must have been engraved into him as a trauma. He didn’t

know the details, but apparently someone on his team attempted suicide because

of Haijima.

Don’t tell me he was seriously afraid of that while I was

reluctantly tossing around reasons to skip…

“Hai…”

When he suddenly turned back at Haijima’s leaving back, he

heard his voice.

“I know what your ‘judgement’ of me is. It’s enough…”

Haijima’s voice was hoarse, so difficult to hear that it was

hard to believe it came from him.

He couldn’t come up with anything to say right away. He

should have run after him, took his arm and said “You’re wrong,” but his feet

were stuck to the ground and he couldn’t move.

Even if he tried to deny it, he actually did them. The mean

and cowardly act of calling around and badmouthing him behind his back. The

childish act of skipping because he didn’t want to be in a match with him.

While coolly declaring that “I’ll make up my own judgement about you,” he ended

up making Haijima feel the same way he had in his previous school.

Even

though he wasn’t wearing headphones like when he first transferred, there was a

hard shell being put around his back, and he couldn’t find a gap to call out to

him through. Ah…why am I even recalling this now? Haijima hasn’t brought that bag

with his old school’s emblem on it since who-knows-when.

We’re going backwards.

…No way, it’s over? That’s it? It was only then that

he realized that there would be no more opportunities to recover. Why hadn’t

I thought of that until now? The third-year middle school summer tournament

only comes once. It’s our first and last tournament. Why didn’t I value each

minute and second and engrave them into my heart? We’re just going to end this

with this letdown of an ending where we withdrew from the third-place deciders—.

He felt like time was suddenly zipping by at a dizzying

speed, and he stepped on the ground with both feet to keep from falling.

I don’t want it to end here.

I

still—still want to play volleyball with Haijima.

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