V2C1 Part3

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3. ONE AND ONLY POSITIONThis chapter actually sort of motivated me to translate the Fukuho spinoff lol, the school life at Fukuho is so interesting

Translation Notes

1. Shichimi is a Japanese spice mixture with seven ingredients

2. Nanba walking is a type of walking where your legs and arms are moving in sync with each other. I think he means that Tokura will get nervous if a female manager shows up? I dunno

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“Sensei. I’ve

edited the video of the practice match against K High. Do we take some time to

watch it together with everyone?”

“Thanks for

the help. What did you think when you watched it?”

“If you only

look at the numbers, the opponent only had one block point, but…they stuck to

the left side tightly, so Subaru was pretty much trapped. It didn’t lead to a

loss, but it doesn’t feel good.”

“Hmm…can

you reserve the AV room on Saturday for us?”

“Yes, sir.”

He took on

the task and placed the DVD on Hata’s desk where he was laying out his lunch.

During the

lunch break, the staff room was buzzing with noise, as there were many students

who came on some kind of business in addition to the faculty who were already

there. Hata wasn’t a coach hired from the outside, and his main job was being a

teacher. He was forty and had been the advisor for the boys’ volleyball team

for eight years, at the same time he was newly appointed to Fukuho. He was a

large man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and thin salt-and-pepper

stubble, and was quite dashing and imposing.

As Ochi

bowed and was about to leave, he was suddenly spoken to.

“You have

very good handwriting.”

He was

staring fixedly at the DVD label for some reason. “Huh…? It’s pretty normal,

though.” He didn’t really understand being praised for something that was

simply written with a magic marker.

“You

know the scorebook we gve to all the new members at the spring game? Every

year, all those idiots would have horrible handwriting, but you were the only

one in that year who wrote neatly. Maybe it’s easier to read because all your

characters are the same size. Oh, no, I’m not saying that I’m glad you got

injured. I just wanted to say that not just anyone can do this job…you’ve been

doing a good job for a long time. You’ve helped us a lot.”

Sensei, are

you going to die soon? Don’t talk so sadly all of a sudden, it makes me weirdly

worried.

“What’s

with this sudden…I’m not retiring yet.”

“I

appreciate that, but are you really okay with this? You’re going to university,

after all.”

“As long as

Subaru doesn’t lose, I’ll keep doing my job.”

“I see…as

long as Subaru doesn’t lose, huh.”

Hata

repeated, as though immersed in sentimentality. So, Sensei, are you going to

die soon?

“Well, you

better start thinking about the handover soon. Oh, by the way, Fukurou TV is

coming today, and they want a comment from Subaru. It’s Mizuno-san.”

“Mizuno-san,

huh? I think it’ll be fine if it’s her.”

“If that’s

the case, tell Subaru. You haven’t had lunch yet, right? I’m sorry to keep

you.”

When a

school was a regular winner, the local newspapers and TV stations usually came

to cover the qualifying rounds of national tournaments. He was familiar with

the faces of the reporters and directors—he never thought he would be in a

position where he would be involved with them.

As he left

the staff room and walked down the corridor, he felt heavy-hearted at the

thought of “handover.”

Before he

knew it, it was the September of his third year. In fact, most sports teams had

already finished their handovers at the end of their summer competitions.

However, the volleyball team still had Spring High. It used to be held in

March, but ever since it was changed to January, third-year students were now

able to participate, and it had become, in both name and reality, the “last

tournament.”

If the

school was not that strong, the prefectural qualifiers for the Inter-High was

often the retirement game for the third-years and the second-years would

quickly take over, but Fukuho of course had its eyes on the main Spring High

tournament in Tokyo at the beginning of next year. Every year, most of the

third-years would stay on the team of their own volition. But that didn’t

necessarily mean the manager would do the same, so Hata must have been worried

about that…

He headed

straight from the staff room to the cafeteria. The volleyball team’s schedule

was to finish their lunch during morning break and practice during their lunch

break, but Thursday was a rest day. It was the only day of the week when he

could take a leisurely lunch (though it was usually taken up by some other

business, like today).

It was

almost the end of the lunch break, but the cafeteria was still filled with

students who had formed groups here and there and were chatting idly. The shave-headed

baseball team at the large table in the center of the cafeteria was even

louder. The cultural club-type members had formed small groups of three or four

at most at the tables in the corners, but they seemed to be absorbed in talking

about their hobbies.

The boys at

Fukuho could be roughly divided into three categories: “club idiots,”

“delinquents,” and “science guys.” Fukuho was known from the outside as a

school with a powerhouse athletic department, but it was still a technical high

school, so the cultural club building was home to a number of chaotically

subdivided science clubs…apparently. From Ochi’s point of view, that side of

the world was too underground for him to enter. Ochi belonged to the “club

idiots” group, and even though they got along quite well with the

“delinquents,” they had little contact with the “science guys.”

By the way,

he didn’t know where the girls ate, but they didn’t come to the cafeteria, so

even though there was already a high percentage of men, the cafeteria really

was full of men. The smell of sweat and earth from the athletic teams and the

smell of oil from some of the industrial clubs mixed with the smell of the food

to create a mysterious chemical reaction, giving birth to a smell that was hard

to describe.

There was a

table that was neither in the center of the room nor in the corner, with an

amiable lineup sitting around it.

Takasugi

Jungo and Asamatsu Issei, who were both third-years like Ochi and were both

middle blockers. The third-year libero, Sawatari Yuhi. Tokura Kohei, who was

the ace among the second-years and played the wing spiker opposite Mimura.

Kakegawa Tomoki, a second-year who had been appointed as a regular setter this

year. Yanome Keita, a second-year who played wing spiker opposite the setter.

Jinno Ryudai, a third year who wasn’t a starting member but valued as a pinch

server. And finally, the third-year captain, Mimura Subaru—the core members of

the team were all here. They should eat with their classmates at least once a

week, since they saw each other so much on a regular basis, but one by one,

they gathered to where Mimura was, and before they knew it, they ended up

always hanging out with the same group of people.

A few

people noticed him and raised their hands lightly. Ochi nodded back and went to

the counter first. Most of the menu had been devoured by the high school boys

who swarmed in like hyenas during lunchtime. As he was buying the leftover

kitsune udon, he could hear Tokura cheerfully talking all the way from here.

“Both of

the female managers from K High came to ask for Subaru’s autograph. According

to my middle school friend who goes to K High, the shorter one is the captain’s

girlfriend.”

“Was the

short one the one with her hair tied up?”

“Yes, she’s

a little chubby, but it’s the soothing type.”

“Wasn’t the

one with short hair prettier, or was I wrong?”

“The

short-haired one is dating the second-year ace.”

“Really?”

“I can’t

accept this. Keh, this is why co-ed schools are weak.”

“Kohei. You

might not want to hear this, but we’re also co-ed.”

At

that reasonable retort, Kohei let out a groan. “Senpai, I also want a female

manager…I don’t mind if we become a little bit weak…” I thought this was a

review of the practice game, but what have you been absorbing… Exasperated,

Ochi approached Tokura from behind.

“If you

want a female manager that bad, go to K High.”

He placed

his tray on Tokura’s head with a thump. The 183cm Tokura’s broad back froze.

“Ochi-senpai,

sit here,” Kakegawa picked up his tray and got up from next to Tokura. “I’m

going to go now to my next class.” “Yeah, me too,” Yanome, who was in the same

class as him, shoveled the remaining rice into his mouth and stood up.

“I’ll try

to get them delivered on Saturday, so take them. I found a fast and cheap place

on the Internet, so I’ll try using it next time.”

“Got it.

Thank you for your help.”

“Also, I

told the first-years to each bring a rag, so can I have you collect them?”

“Got it.”

He quickly

finished the administrative work and moved his tray from the top of Tokura’s

head to the table. Tokura relaxed when he was released from the critical

situation of having soup placed on his head.

“Damn it,

we can’t afford to be weak. What’s our goal?”

“Sorry…I’ll

put up with Ochi-senpai.”

“Aah?”

He made his voice take on a threatening quality, and Tokura froze again. “I’m

lying. I’m fine with Ochi-senpai. He’s the best.”

“Well, in

the first place, no one expects to look back at the bench during a game and be

comforted by Ochi. In fact, I’m sure it’ll more be like, ‘What’s wrong with you,

having Ochi cheer for you in a shrill voice,’ and then it wouldn’t even be

a game anymore.” Takasugi smirked and backed Ochi up subtly with something that

was either a follow-up or a diss, which drew laughter from the people around

them. “I’m not a charming guy anyways,” Ochi said reluctantly.

“Ochi has

his own job to do.”

Mimura, who

hadn’t joined the conversation, opened his mouth for the first time here.

Ochi turned

his attention to the seat in front of him. Mimura had already finished his

lunch, and was sipping a 500mL carton of strawberry milk through a straw and

flipping through a volleyball magazine.

His languid

voice made it clear that he was already assailed by afternoon drowsiness, but

Mimura’s voice must never go unheard. Even if he was at the edge of the

conversation, as soon as he opened his mouth, Mimura’s place would be in the

middle.

“Cheering

and laundry are things we can all do together.”

“He’s

right, it’s just as Subaru says. Since Ochi became the manager, we’ve been

going all out scouting our opponents.”

“It’s so easy to see with video. I can’t believe we

were just hoarding the raw footage until now.”

Mimura’s

words triggered a sudden surge of praise this time, and it made him feel itchy.

This was a day where he was strangely being praised by Hata and his teammates.

He wondered if he was the one who was going to die soon.

As the

atmosphere became more defensive of Ochi, Tokura became despondent and his

large body shrunk as he said, “I’m really sorry for saying those stupid

things…”

Mimura

glanced up from his magazine.

“Kouhei. I

want dessert.”

As soon as

Mimura said that in a wheedling voice, Tokura stood up like a dog welcoming his

owner home.

“Yes! I’ll

go buy some.”

“My first

choice is the big chocolate pudding. If there’s not any, I’ll settle for

something else.”

“I’ll

definitely get some!”

He caught

the hundred-yen coin Mimura tossed to him and cheerfully ran off. If he were

a dog, he would be a golden retriever. Since he’s big…Ochi thought with not

a little bit of pity as he watched him go.

The

second year students had all left their seats, leaving only the third year

students at the table, and Takasugi, Asamatsu, Saruwatari, and Jinno moved into

the empty seats, making a group of six. Mimura was 189cm tall. Fukuho’s two

iron walls, Takasugi and Asamatsu, were 190cm and 188cm tall respectively. Even

Jinno, who wasn’t a spiker, was 176cm, and Saruwatari was 172cm. In the middle

of all that height, Ochi was 168cm. As a high school boy, he wasn’t short, but among

these people, he couldn’t help but feel that the scale of the world had gone

wrong.

However,

compared to the baseball team, whose tanned faces and white shirts made a

striking contrast, the volleyball team’s lack of intimidating air could be

called its special feature. Even Mimura, who had an unparalleled aura and

overwhelming presence on the court, was regrettably thing because he only had

muscles that were for agility and “jumping up.” The way he sipped on his pink

milk carton with his pale cheeks caved in made him look unreliable and

helpless.

Drinking

half a liter of strawberry milk after eating…Even while feeling a little disappointed, Ochi

himself was sprinkling enough shichimi (1) on his tofu to turn it bright red.

“It doesn’t

feel like the second years are leading their own generation yet. They have the

power, but…”

“It’s

‘cause Subaru’s too big. Everyone who plays volleyball below our grade is a

Subaru fan.”

“I want

Kohei to have the guts to steal the ace position away from Subaru, though.”

“He can’t

even talk to girls, but he was saying all that stuff earlier because he wants

Subaru to mind him. If a female manager really comes, he’ll probably start

nanba walking.” (2)

While

Takasugi and the others were critiquing the second years, or rather, Tokura, Ochi

nodded vaguely as he bit into his fried tofu and sipped the juice that oozed

from it.

Ochi

wasn’t the only one who imagined what it would be like to be teammates with Mimura

Subaru in middle school. For Tokura’s generation, and even more so for the

first years below them, “Mimura Subaru” had become a kind of legend. The boys

who had seen and heard of the legend in their middle school volleyball teams

came to Fukuho in order to see Mimura play up close, and to play with him.

I don’t

want to tell anyone that I’m not interested in becoming a manager.

What Mimura

told him a long time ago was true. In reality, there were almost no female

managers on the teams that finished at the top of the national tournaments

everywhere. Someone from the male members of the team would be the manager.

However, it wasn’t every year that a team member would have a convenient injury

like himself—of course, it was better not to have such a member. Many of the

students who entered Fukuho had already achieved good results in middle school.

He didn’t want to snip the dreams of those promising underclassmen.

Did I

myself have my dreams snipped?

No. Now he would shake his head without hesitation.

Sometimes

he wondered if he was dreaming now rather than before. Two years ago, he was

looking at a place with distant eyes, but now he was part of it in a way he

never thought possible. The underclassman regulars also took his position as a

matter of course. He wasn’t in a position where he could grab Tokura, their

next ace, and tell him to go to another school if he didn’t like him.

Even

when he decided to become a manager after exposing his shameful crying face in

front of Mimura, he never expected to gain a place in the team in this way.

Hata’s

words, “It’s not something just anyone can do,” penetrated his heart after a

time.

Even if he

had refused the manager offer at that time, and even if he had overcome the

rehab and returned to the team, he might have remained as a “anyone will do”

player. He wouldn’t have found a direction for his efforts, and he would have

just looked up at the bright place where Mimura was and become despondent. He

would never have known that he could work for the players outside the court and

aim for the glorious center court with them.

Because

of Mimura, Ochi was able to obtain a one and only position in Fukuho’s

volleyball team.

***

Everyone

waited for the king of the boys’ volleyball team to finish his dessert, and

they streamed towards their respective classes just before afternoon classes

began.

Fortunately,

he and Mimura had the same choice for their first afternoon class. It was a

free seating class, so Ochi secured a seat next to Mimura in the last row and

spoke to him in a hushed voice.

“What was

that about, Subaru? The game earlier.”

Mimura

threw his overly long legs out from under his desk to in front of him, rested

his cheek on the desk and dexterously twirled his mechanical pencil while

replying, “What do you mean, what,” in a manner somewhat like a rebellious

middle schooler.

“You weren’t

ecstatic about being asked for an autograph by those female managers. Do you

have any motivation at all?”

“…Is that

something you have to talk to me about right now?”

“Don’t make

me have to explain in every little detail why it has to be now.”

The scenery

of their lunch breaks was as before, and even after club activities, he mostly

went home together with everyone, so there wasn’t much chance to catch Mimura

alone. Mimura must have known that. When Ochi glared at him without faltering,

he looked away with a sulky face and stifled a yawn.

He didn’t

say anything in front of everyone because he knew he was trying to match them,

but he was completely in his off mode.

His bad

form wasn’t reflected in the results. In the practice match against K High,

Mimura was thoroughly marked, and there were many close calls when he grazed

the blocks. Even so, K High didn’t have the power to stop Mimura, so in terms

of numbers, his spike count and success rate hadn’t dropped.

However,

when he was at the top of his game, Mimura didn’t even let the blocks touch

him. No matter what course the net was set up on, it would be overtaken without

any chance given to stop it. The opposing team became panicked and impatient.

For his teammates, he was the most reliable and bona-fide hero, but for his

opponents, he was the “Demon Bazooka,” an unstoppable foul play. That was the

spiker named Mimura Subaru.

In the

recent practice match, Mimura could only be described as “hitting the ball

roughly.” To be honest, he was surprised to see that his condition had

deteriorated even further since the Hokushin’etsu National Athletic Meet.

Prior to

the National Athletic Meet to be held in October, the Hokushin’etsu National

Athletic Meet was held at the end of August during summer vacation. Although it

differed from prefecture to prefecture, in Fukui Prefecture, it wasn’t a school

that was chosen to participate in the National Athletic Meet, but rather a selected

team of top high school students in the prefecture was formed. Needless to say,

Mimura was called up as a core player of the selected team every year. Half of

the team was made up of members from the Fukuho team.

In the

three years since his freshman year, Mimura hadn’t been in good form at the

Hokushin’etsu National Athletic Meet. He would peak at the Inter-High one month

before, and from that point on he went downhill, hitting the bottom at the time

of the national tournament. The usual biorhythm would be to gradually improve

from there towards the prefectural qualifiers for Spring High, but at this time

of the year when the qualifiers were about to start in half a month, instead of

getting back on track, he was still continuing to deteriorate this year. It

would be an impossible thing in previous years.

“I don’t

blame you for dismissing the National Athletic Meet, and I’m not going to talk

about it now, but…”

“I’m not

dismissing it. I’m just not getting into it. It’s not like I’m winning with

Fukuho.”

“You’re

carrying the prefecture on your shoulders. You’re also the ace of the

prefecture.”

“The ace of

the prefecture, huh…”

He slid his

elbows forward on his desk and plopped down, folding his body in two. He’s

definitely going to sleep until class is over… He was someone who could no

doubt get into university on a recommendation, but that didn’t mean he could be

stupid, so Ochi looked at him with a bitter face.

“The first

words of anyone who speaks to me at Inter-High is almost always, ‘Where’s

Fukui?’, you know.”

“Don’t

get discouraged because of nonsense like that. If you get to the center court,

you’ll be famous even if you don’t want to be. And then you’ll show them Fukui

is here. Mizuno-san is coming today, so don’t receive her with such a listless

face.”

“So now

you’re in a position where you can slap me on the ass like you know better than

me. You’re the guy who cried about being laughed at as a male manager.”

The sarcasm

came out softly from the space between his arms. Ochi held his tongue, and for

a moment there was an awkward silence.

“…Sorry. That wasn’t right.”

He

immediately apologized, his lips almost pasted to his desk.

Ochi sighed

and softened his harsh tone. He knew he was a bit of a nag, so he couldn’t

blame him for being annoyed. “…It’s okay. I don’t really care about what you

said.”

It was

always like this. In front of Ochi, Mimura would complain and grumble sarcastic

remarks like this. However, he never said or did anything to mock the manager

in front of the whole team. He was aware that his own behavior directed the

team as a whole.

From afar,

he had thought Mimura was just a naïve popular guy, but he was surprisingly

clever in understanding his impression and influence in a group, and

consciously controlled his outward appearance. Ochi became aware of this when

he began interacting with him closely.

“Ochi.

Do you want to go to Spring High’s center court?”

Mimura said

suddenly. With his hands hanging over the other side of his desk like a ghost,

he looked up at him, the side of his face on the desk.

“I already

told you before.”

“Said it

properly. Tell me to make you a manager of Spring High’s center court.”

Ochi

furrowed his brow and looked down at Mimura’s face. There was a 21cm height

difference between the two of them, so they would normally not be in this

position. His left eye, sticking to the desk, was closed, and only his right

eye, which looked heavy with sleep, was looking at him.

“I’ll

make you a manager of Spring High’s center court.” That tempting offer of three summers ago had

only given Ochi the courage to choose the fork in the crossroads that stood in

front of him at the time. It gave him the opportunity to take a bold new step

forward from one of the “anybody” members.

Of course,

as a team, they wanted to aim as high as possible, but for Ochi personally, he

believed that Mimura had given him more than what he wanted a long time ago.

Even so,

Ochi spoke, his face tightening.

“Yeah. You

made me have a dream. Take responsibility and make me a manager of Spring

High’s center court.”

Responsibility?

——There

was no such “responsibility” that Mimura owed to Ochi. Mimura already had a

ridiculous “responsibility” on his shoulders. As the captain of a powerhouse

school with a long tradition that boasted the largest number of national

tournament entries in the prefecture. As the absolute ace who had been the core

of the team for three years. And in addition, as an idol player in the

prefecture’s student volleyball world who had been expected to have a great

future since he was in elementary school.

The promise

to Ochi was a small burden added to the not-so-sturdy shoulders that had

already been burdened with such a heavy load.

Strangely

enough, however, Mimura…

“All

right.”

His

eyes crinkled in delight, and he laughed.

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