V2C1 Part7

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

7. SUPERHEROI’m gonna be taking a little break after this, hopefully be back soon

Translation Notes

1. “Hidebu” is a meme from Fist of the North Star where the villains say “Hidebu” (It hurts) when they get blown up, since according to the author, because the villains are in the process of exploding, the vocal sounds get shifted

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Pick up the

ball, transfer it, and send it back. The other team also picked up the ball,

transferred it, and sent it back. This was the most basic of basics in

volleyball. Since the rule was to return the ball to the opponent’s court

within three hits, this was called first touch, second touch, and third touch,

in that order.

However, in

the practice match between Fukuho Tech and Seiin, the two teams suddenly began

a fierce exchange of blows right from the start of the first set. Right after

the ball was served and play began, it ended with a spike shot, so it couldn’t

be called a “rally.” For a moment, Ochi forgot the definition of the volleyball

term “rally.”

The game

began with Seiin’s serve, 0-0. The receiving team, Fukuho, had the first chance

to attack, and Takasugi’s quick attack that served as a greeting made the score

1-0.

Seiin, with

a quick attack by Aoki, quickly returned the greeting with a point to make it

1-1.

At

this rate, in the early game, the teams were fighting for side outs (acquiring

the right to serve) one point at a time, like a metronome counting beats with a

pendulum motion. The first year members of the Fukuho team, who were attached

to the scoring staff, were confused because they couldn’t keep up with the

dizzying pace of the game. The next point would be scored while the other

team’s score was being turned over, so that when the referee pointed at them

with a “point, point!” they would rush to turn over the other team’s score.

Since Hata was supervising the Fukuho side, the chief referee was a Fukuho

alumnus who had volunteered to help coach the team.

“I’m hoping

to break out three rotations from here…”

Hata,

sitting in a folding chair next to Ochi, muttered as he fixed his gaze on the

court.

12-12.

There were twenty-five points in a set, so this was the midgame of the set. It

felt as if the time from the starting whistle to this point had passed in a

flash. The rallies were short, so the actual time elapsed was also unusually

short.

When the

receiving team scored a point and the right to serve was transferred, that was

called a side out. In six-player volleyball, the six players from the scoring

team rotated clockwise around the court at each side out. When a player came to

the back right, he became the server, and from there he rotated to the back

center, back left, front left, front center, and front right, in that order. Only

the three players in the front row could block or spike near the net. While

players were in the back row, they couldn’t participate in blocking and could

only spike from the back zone behind the attack line (the line three meters

from the net).

Both

teams were just now back at their starting points after two rotations at twelve

points. Fukuho’s rotation was to score points with Mimura moving up to the

front left and Fukuho’s main left attack. From clockwise, Takasugi was at front

center, Yanome at front right, and Tokura, Asamatsu, and Kakegawa in the back,

in that order, but Asamatsu’s place was now occupied by Saruwatari, the libero.

The libero was a special position in the the back row, and they could replace

any of the players who have retreated to the back row to strengthen the

receives. When Saruwatari moved up to the front row after the rotation,

Asamatsu took his place to make the height of the front row even.

The

position of wing spiker was the mainstay of the offensive, primarily attacking

from the side of the front row. Even when they were in the back row, they

participated in the offensive with back attacks. The wing spiker also had the

important job of serve receiving along with the libero. In a typical formation,

three players were placed on the court. Since right-handed players were often

better at hitting from the left side, the left spiker was basically the ace in

high school volleyball.

Two middle

blockers were placed on the court, and as the name suggested, they played the

key role of blocking, and when attacking, they were involved in the attack of

the wing spiker, who quickly attacked from the center and hit from the side.

And the

final person, the setter—the command center that controlled the offensive.

Setter Kakegawa

used Takasugi, who was jumping in the center, as a decoy and set the ball to

Mimura in the left. Seiin’s front row was composed of the 184cm Kuroba, 191cm

Aoki, and 181cm Haijima.

Mimura’s

powerful spike was blocked by the three and it was knocked straight down.

A shudder

ran through Fukuho’s side. Seiin broke through before them—!?

Ochi and

Hata simultaneously let out an “Ah!” and rose from their seats. The ball

bounced under the net and tangled with Mimura’s legs, causing him to fall on

his buttocks. It made them feel a chill.

Still

sitting down, Mimura suddenly looked up at the referee stand.

The referee

made a gesture that indicated that the ball fell on Seiin’s side and nodded to

Mimura. The point was Fukuho’s.

“A

‘waterfall’…?”

Ochi let

out a sigh of relief. He lost sight of it for a moment, but the ball hadn’t

bounced back, instead falling through the gap between Seiin’s blockers and the

net. Fukuho was relieved, while Seiin’s back row, who had been looking pleased,

now looked despondent.

It was now

13-12, with twenty-five consecutive side outs.

“This match

is bad on my heart…To think that a practice match would shorten my lifespan.”

Hata groaned,

looking as if he had aged about five years. But then he sank his raised bottom

back down on his chair.

“That’s

fine! Don’t get impatient and close it!”

He made a

megaphone with his hand and shouted at the court. The “champion” would only get

his opponents warmed up if he showed impatience at such an early stage against

a lower-ranked opponent.

“How many

points has Subaru made?”

“Twelve

hits and ten points.”

Ochi looked

down at his scorebook and replied. Fukuho’s thirteen points so far consisted of

ten points for Mimura, one point for Takasugi, and two points from Seiin’s

mistake.

In

this set, Mimura handled far more than 50% of the spikes by Fukuho. Tokura, who

was diagonal to him in the rotation and was in the back left, wasn’t very

energetic today, and he was quieter than usual.

There was

no doubt that what Ochi said before the game had been bugging him. On the

court, Mimura went out of his way to say something to Tokura and they exchanged

a low-five.

What’s

with a manager who’s dragging his players down, really… It only resulted in more stuff for

Mimura to have to patch up.

In contrast

to Fukuho, which was an open volleyball team with a great ace named Mimura,

Seiin could be called a combination volleyball team. In open volleyball, the

team assumed that they would be held up by blocks and relied on the spiking

ability of their aces to use many open sets (high third-tempo sets). In

contrast, in combination volleyball, the team used multiple spikers to combine

their attacks and get around the blocks.

And in

combination volleyball, the power of the setter who was the flagbearer was

indispensable.

Haijima’s

set work was remarkable. He freely scattered his sets, which combined accuracy

and speed at an astonishingly high level, to unleash combination attacks in all

directions and at all corners. The team used time delays and quick attacks in

annoying ways to prevent Fukuho’s blocks from homing in. The spiker used a

quick attack as a decoy to draw the block, and another spiker jumped with a

slight time difference to hammer in the spike. This was called a time delay

attack. The team used time delay attacks continuously, and as soon as they saw

that Fukuho’s blocks were getting dragged down by the time delay, they quickly

had the middle do a quick attack. There was also a broad attack that forced the

right spiker, Kanno, to hit from the edge of the right side, and Fukuho’s block

had yet to catch up with it.

“I think

we’re too concentrated around Subaru. Seiin uses both their middle and right

equally.”

It reminded

him of what Haijima said the other day. You don’t have to be so reluctant. He

got the impression that they really weren’t being reluctant. They changed hands

from one to the next so quickly as if saying, You still have it? This

was rude to Kakegawa, but he had never seen a match where he felt such a

difference in setters.

“Well…that

might be so, but Subaru himself is still wanting to hit the ball.”

Hata jerked

his chin at Mimura, who was facing Kakegawa and pointing at his own chest.

“Seiin’s

first year is a terrifying setter. Even though he played for a strong Tokyo

team, I thought it was just middle school level in the end, but…if Kakegawa is

influenced by that monster and starts doing things he can’t do, our rhythm

would get messed up. It’s okay for them to gather around Subaru for now.”

“Yes, but

isn’t that too much burden on Subaru…”

“He’ll

definitely be able to manage. He’s the ace of Fukuho.”

Hata,

who had been lifting his hips up and down with each point, now sat back, folded

his arms, and stared at the court. He felt as if he understood that Mimura was

a hero to Hata as well. Mimura would laugh at the expectations from an adult

who was more than twice his age…like a little kid who never doubted the victory

of a TV hero.

The

back-and-forth match resumed with a tension that made it hard to believe this

was just a practice match. Break…Ochi stared at the court with feelings

of prayer. The team that broke first and disrupted the balance would probably

take the set.

In volleyball,

the serve-receiving side had a higher chance of scoring next. This wasn’t

surprising, since the side that received the serve had the first chance to

score a spike. Compared to women’s volleyball, who tended to pick up spikes and

continued the rally, men were especially likely to score on the first spike.

In other

words, the key to staying ahead of your opponent and pulling more points away

was to be able to “break” (score consecutively) when you were on the

serving side.

Seiin’s two

front row spikers were currently Aoki and Kuroba, but Oda and Kanno in the back

row also had their back attacks. Which one of them would be used by Haijima?

Haijima,

who was tall, jump-set the receive that rose high up above the net. The ball

was drawn to his fingertips as though it had strings attached to it—

And then

his left hand turned over, and the next moment the ball bounced up on Fukuho’s

court.

From the

jump-set position, he turned his wrist above the net and launched a sharp,

cutting setter attack. It caught everyone by surprise, and no one on the court

was able to react. And it was as strong as a spiker’s spike—come to think of

it, he’s ambidextrous!

“Kaaaah…we’re

done for. He could do that…”

Hata

scratched his head as though to say, I give up.

A setter

attack because the setter himself attacked with the second shot without giving

the third shot to the spiker. Since the setter usually hit with his left hand,

the setter attack of a left-handed or ambidextrous setter was as much a weapon

as a spike. Ochi didn’t forget that Haijima was stated to be ambidextrous in

his profile. However, since he had only been focused on his skillful set work,

he didn’t expect that to be used here.

“Don’t be so reluctant.” Goosebumps rose on his right arm, which was resting on the scorebook. He rubbed

his right arm with his left hand.

It was a

rotation where it was decided that Haijima would move back to serve. As seen in

the video, he had a terrifying left-handed jump serve that just grazed the net.

Saruwatari

hit the power serve that almost resulted in a service ace, and the ball bounced

up with a rubbery crack. However, it didn’t return to Kakegawa. “Alright!”

Yanome ran under the ball with his hands raised in the air.

“Bring it

to the left!”

Mimura,

waiting in the left side, loudly called for the ball to be set to him.

The ball

was set high across the court to Mimura. There was no decoy or anything, so

there was a three-person block firmly in front of Mimura.

Subaru,

please—!

Ochi

also put his feelings into the ball, which carried the feelings of everyone on

the court.

Mimura

leapt, sinking the three joints of his lower body deeply and releasing all the

energy stored in his legs at once. His 189cm height transformed into a flexible

yet strong bow in midair. He swung his arm out with powerful force, as if he

were drawing a nocked arrow to its very limit and releasing it. His spike

exploded from an astonishingly high point, far above the 193cm Aoki’s block.

The

three-person block was now removed. Haijima did a dig (spike receive), but the

ball bounced up and blew him away. The ball hit the gallery railing on the

second floor and the air shook with the loud metallic sound.

That guy

snatched away a point with that incredible feat…!

Mimura sank

to both knees and landed just short of the center line. He raised his upper

body slowly, as if he was slowly expelling the residue of his spirit from his

body. There was a momentary pause, as if the taut strings were still trembling.

But when he

turned around to look at his teammates,

“Yeah!”

He raised

his fist with a broad grin on his face. Fukuho’s court—the bench, staff, and

even the referee all shouted “Subaru!!” like they couldn’t help it.

Fukuho didn’t

have an outstanding setter like Haijima. However, no matter how many people

blocked them, no matter how difficult the situation was, they had an ace who

could score points no matter what, which was what they wanted right now.

14-13.

Fukuho’s formation rotated next, and Mimura moved towards the back row. They

wanted to get a block point and break away while Mimura was in the front.

Quick

attack, time delay, broad attack from the right, back attack—which would come

next? Holding back even his blinks, Ochi chased the ball. Setting aside women’s

matches, where rallies were long, men’s matches never needed such sustained

concentration. While following the rapidly changing game, he had to keep his

mind in full operation to read the next move.

The moment

the ball touched the fingertips of both of Haijima’s hands, it was set with

such skillful handling that it was impossible to follow with the eyes, and it

passed to the left side. Kuroba jumped into the air with a bold leap

reminiscent of Mimura in his freshman year.

But Mimura

and Asamatsu were right on top of them. The seamless two-person block shut out

the spike dead on, and the ball flew up in a triangular trajectory over Seiin’s

court.

“Alright,

we caught it!”

Not even

half-rising from their seats, both Ochi and Hata finally rocked their chairs

and stood up.

15-13. The

long-awaited block points and consecutive points for Fukuho. They were finally

pulling ahead…!

Mimura

showed his fist to Haijima over the net, a provocative gesture that said, “I’m

bringing you down.” Haijima widened his eyes, and then he narrowed them and

glared at him. He didn’t seem shaken. His fighting spirit seemed to have

increased.

Asamatsu

took Mimura by his waist and carried him up to his shoulders. Together with the

Subaru chant, everyone on the court flew towards him, forming a knot that

crushed the laughing Mimura.

Ochi, too,

was tempted to jump off the bench, but he picked up the clipboard he had

dropped when he stood up and sat back down. They hadn’t won yet. He calmly

recorded the score in his scorebook. The block point, the scorer’s number was

“1”…they were all getting blurred in his vision. He hurriedly wiped his eyes so

that Hata next to him wouldn’t notice.

However, he

heard sniffling next to him.

“Sensei…this

is a practice match…”

When he

calmly quipped to try to cover up his own teary eyes, Hata gave him a good chop

and said, “Just pretend you didn’t see it. You get easily moved to tears when

you’re past forty.”

They barely

pulled ahead in the midgame by one point. However, it was a point of great

significance. Haijima and Kuroba, the freshman ace duo who were creating the

momentum for Seiin, were brought down.

Mimura was

not about to let go of the edge of the flow that had finally been seized. The

teams scrambled for another point to make it 16-14, and it looked like the

back-and-forth match was about to resume, but then came Mimura’s turn to serve.

After

spinning the ball between his hands, he stood with his right hand gripping the

ball next to his body. It was his habit to touch his right shoulder with his

left hand and pull up his sleeve slightly. He had the calm to look around with

a small smile on his face. His natural smile drew the atmosphere of the gym.

Mimura controlled the atmosphere in order to make the entire venue his ally.

It was hard

to believe that Mimura’s biorhythm had been declining since their elimination

from Inter-High. He hadn’t seen Mimura this focused in a long time.

The ball

was set high from a casual standing position, and a high power serve was

unleashed that seemed to steal away Haijima’s specialty.

The ball

was driven deep into Seiin’s court. Kuroba dropped down and tried to get it,

but the ball hit him in the shoulder, flipped him over, and blew off to the

second-floor gallery. This time, it dove over the railing and bounced around

between the wall and the railing.

With that

shot, a service ace!

“Subaru!!”

The gym erupted

in war cry-like Subaru chant.

Once again,

Fukuho scored consecutively, 17-14.

Slowly,

Fukuho began to extend a lead over Seiin.

—

The score was 24-20. Saruwatari and Yanome dashed

after the ball, which hit the block and bounced to the back of Fukuho’s court.

Saruwatari changed the direction of the ball by hitting it with his hand, and

Yanome caught up with him and sent the ball backward to his own team with a

sort of backhanded throw. Asamatsu pushed the ball into Seiin’s court, but it

was picked up by Seiin and a rally ensued. After the opening, in which spikes

were made one by one without any rallies, rallies began to occur in the middle

game.

At this

point in the game, when Seiin would lose the set if one more point was scored,

Haijima had Okuma do a quick attack. The ball flew into his hands, and Okuma

himself exclaimed in surprised, “Whoa!?” as he hit the ball.

Ochi was

also taken aback by the bold set work. However, the score was still 24-21. We

can take this set. As he was thinking that and about to write down Seiin’s

score in the scorebook…

Thud,

thud, thud. The

ground shook before his eyes. The ball hadn’t dropped to the ground yet. Mimura

had thrown himself to the floor and plunged the back of his hand just barely

into the gap between the floor and the ball.

“Saruwatari!”

“Yes,

Captain!” When Mimura called out, Saruwatari was running over to follow up. He

was leaning over Mimura as he received the ball, and it rose over Fukuho’s

court.

Mimura

yelled while being pinned under Saruwatari.

“Finish it,

Kohei!”

Tokura

was running underneath the ball, but had given up on spiking it back and was in

position to return the chance ball to Seiin’s side. However, Mimura’s voice

made him jump on the spot. It was a difficult spike from standing jump, but he

put all his strength into it and hit the ball. The ball passed through Seiin’s

block and landed in their court.

Even if they

gave Seiin a point here, it wouldn’t have been a very painful loss. If they got

a definitive side out next time, this set would have been over. And yet…how

many times are you going to make me cry…

25-20.

Fukuho took the lead in the first set.

Ochi couldn’t

get up from the bench right away.

“Hey,

manager. Don’t just sit there, we’re changing sides.”

Mimura

crossed in front of the bench and put his hand on Ochi’s head. The reserve

members in the warmup area were beginning to move around, carrying their

belongings. They were exchanging benches with Seiin.

The court

was filled with the heat of a final match that lasted until the full set. However,

it was surprising to see that both teams hadn’t lost their concentration after

the unusually intense first set, much less be exhausted. Both teams were moving

their bodies and waiting eagerly for the next set to start.

On Fukuho’s

side of the court, a circle was formed around Hata, and Mimura was sitting on

the bench alone with a towel over his head. Ochi, running up to his team late,

looked at him strangely.

“My part is

over for today.”

He

said from under the towel. He bent down and slid his knee supporters down to

his ankles with a “heave-ho” feeling.

“I’ll leave

the rest to Kohei. I’ve already talked to the coach.”

“Ah, oh…”

It was not

uncommon for Mimura to not be fully used in practice matches, but today, he had

assumed from the very beginning that he was going to play the full game. He was

somewhat disappointed, which showed in his responses. “You look kinda

dissatisfied. Your sour look increased by thirty percent,” Mimura laughed and

took a sip from his drink bottle.

The words

“Subaru only” were written on it in magic marker, and scribbles such as “Too

sweet,” “Poisonous to humans,” and “Hidebu” (1) were added to it from various

angles. Ochi could recognize who wrote each of them. Takasugi, Asamatsu,

Saruwatari, Jinno…all the third year teammates. It was small, but Ochi’s was

there as well.

He sat down

next to Mimura with a scowl, thinking that he might as well increase his sour

look by ten percent more.

“…Explain.

Why are you suddenly motivated?”

Before the

match, his biorhythm was low no matter how you looked at it, but when the match

started, he suddenly kicked into high gear. If Mimura hadn’t led the way, they

would have lost the set.

He wondered

if it was what he said about how Seiin should go to Spring High if they lost

just a practice match, which he seriously believed…then that just meant

somewhere in his mind, he had high hopes that they wouldn’t lose even without

Mimura.

“You

were the one who said it. You said it’s unfair that Seiin has nothing to

lose…it’s the opposite. How can those who have nothing to protect be stronger

than me?”

The

laughter in Mimura’s voice disappeared. His gaze that had drifted to Seiin’s

bench became frighteningly sharp for a moment.

Seiin was

in a circle with the captain, Oda, in the center. The old advisor was still

sitting. Seiin only had one 175cm player in reserve, so they couldn’t pull back

their ace like Fukuho. Fukuho, on the other hand, had the strength of the

entire team, even if they had to leave Mimura out.

“I’m the

captain of Fukuho, which can’t afford to lose its winning record, I’m the ace

who is here to make that happen, I’m the prefecture’s MVP, and there are many

people in the prefecture who are expecting great things from me. I have to take

everyone who entrusted me with their dreams to the Nationals center court. The

seniors who couldn’t make it there, everyone on the team, their families…as well as you, and the coach.”

He moved

his eyes to Hata’s back, and his eyes softened slightly. In the first set, Hata

had been standing firm as Mimura took charge, but now he was giving the players

detailed instructions with full vigor.

The year

Hata became the advisor to the Fukuho volleyball team, he approached Mimura,

who was on his elementary school volleyball team, and waited for him to become

a high school student, so the two’s relationship had been much longer than with

the rest of the team. Although Mimura had an outstanding volleyball sense and

an ace-like personality, he was an unknown quantity in terms of physique at

that time. Even so, Hata saw in Mimura a future as an ace who could carry the

prefecture.

“I’m

talking about everyone, including the little kids who are playing volleyball in

middle school or elementary school, looked at me and talked about how cool I

am. I have so many things I have to protect and can’t let down that it’s

ridiculous.”

Mimura laid

out what Ochi had always thought but wondered if Mimura himself was aware of.

Despite his naïve and simple character, he sometimes looked at himself

objectively, to the point of feeling cold and indifferent.

When he

counted them up out loud, he realized that a ridiculous number of expectations

were placed on his shoulders. Not only children, but adults as well, all on the

shoulders of a high school student at the tender age of seventeen.

“You’ve

never fooled yourself, have you? Not even once…”

“It’s not a question of being foolish or not

being foolish. You know, it’s because only I am me that I can make all those

crazy expectations and responsibilities into my strength without being crushed

by them. Oda’s a lucky guy. Last year he couldn’t even make it to the rookie

tournament, but in his last year he’s blessed with a team like that. Number 8’s

probably more talented than me. If he had played volleyball in Fukui from the

beginning, he might be the one called the treasure of the prefecture.”

“That’s…”

Ochi faltered,

almost giving an involuntary response. He was bitter about the burden placed on

Mimura, but he also believed that the treasure of the prefecture should be none

other than Mimura…a selfish contradiction.

When he

couldn’t say anything, Mimura let out a small laugh, his shoulders rising up in

amusement.

“And

yet I’m the one who’s been the prefecture’s MVP for all these years. I’m the

only one who has a huge source of energy they could never get even if they

wanted it now. So, there’s no one stronger than me in the prefecture, right?

That’s why I can’t lose to anyone.”

Ochi looked

back dumbfoundedly at Mimura, who was smiling as he declared fearlessly.

What is

this…

A slight

sense of frustration and a hint of bitterness mingled together in his chest.

He

doesn’t look like he’s about to be crushed by the burden at all. What the heck,

I was so worried…

Even after

three years of being with him, he still thought he was a mysterious guy. With

his self-centered attitude guided by a strange positivity, he jumped over

Ochi’s ideas with ease many times. The world that had become stagnant before

his eyes was drastically rewritten, and a stairway full of light leading to the

throne appeared.

And he

thought…what a strong guy.

The whistle

sounded. It was time to go on the court for the second set. The two teams’

starting members lined up courtside and jumped up and down. Hata didn’t sit

down, and it seemed that he intended to call out to them from courtside.

“Kohei!

Remind them of our depth!”

Mimura

purposely yelled from the bench so that Seiin could hear him. Tokura turned

around with a slightly surprised look on his face.

“Go

ahead and give it your all!”

Mimura put

one hand next to his mouth to form a megaphone and blasted his voice out

cheerfully.

They seemed

to have held firm with Mimura alone during the first set, but before long,

Mimura’s spirit pulled up the concentration of everyone on the team, and by the

end, everyone was literally rolling around to keep the ball up. And then the

last point, entrusted to Tokura.

“Finish

it!” ——It was the one

point where Mimura passed the baton to Tokura, knowing that he was going to be

down for the next set.

“…Yes!”

With

flushed cheeks, Tokura responded with a “Yeah!” and was the first to run out

onto the court. Mimura watched him with a smirk. “That kid gets depressed

incredibly easily, but it’s also easy to figure out how to raise his spirits.”

Ochi shot a glance at him with his eyes half-closed. “…You really are a…”

You

really are…

Just how

good of an ace and captain can you be?

After

sending out his teammates onto the court, Mimura’s energy suddenly dropped.

“Ah, it’s hot,” he took huge gulps from his Subaru-only bottle. Of course

it’s hot. He was shocked when he sat down next to him. The air was so hot

that steam was rising from his shoulders just by being near him.

In the

first set, Mimura scored sixteen points, including a block point. In fact, more

than sixty percent of the twenty-five points were scored by Mimura’s right arm.

The joints of his overworked knees reminded him of the couplers on a steam

engine, creaking painfully as the train puffed out smoke. When he took off his

supporters, he could still see the scars from his middle school surgery on both

knees.

Mimura

turned his bottle upside down, trying to lap up the remaining liquid with his

tongue. It suddenly reminded him of a battered robot gathering up energy from

the outside and pushing it into its hollow body.

Feeling

like he had seen the “true identity” of Mimura Subaru, a superhero made up in

someone else’s dream, his heart jolted.

—

Seiin, who

had finishing preparing to return home, lined up at the door, and at Oda’s

signal, they bowed and said, “Thank you very much.” The Fukuho members were

already cleaning up then gym, and only Mimura, Oda, and a few others who were

close at hand returned their bows and saw them off.

“I guess

we’ll call it a tie today.”

Mimura said

and held out his right hand to Oda.

“I think

you guys gave us the tie. We still have a lot of work to do.”

Oda’s

reply was polite but not humble. He said “we still have a lot of work to do” as

if it was a matter of course after a tied match with Fukuho as their opponent.

From the

first set, in which they concentrated on Mimura alone, Fukuho changed their

tactics, and in the second set, they started off with a combination attack from

a well-balanced spiker. Seiin, who had been adapting to Mimura’s strong hits,

couldn’t immediately respond to this. Fukuho was able to turn things around and

escape from the back-and-forth match of the first set.

In the end,

six sets were played, and after three sets each, time ran out. Seiin’s No.8

setter, Haijima, seemed unhappy about having to stop after an even number of

sets and insisted on playing another set, but the two captains, Mimura and Oda,

agreed to stop. Haijima was clearly dissatisfied. This was the immaturity of a

first-year player.

Though

Haijima insisted on another set, he was now at the end of the line with his

stamina completely spent. Kuroba, who was standing next to him, was surprised

to see him unsteadily lurching forward and pulled his elbow to make him stand

up straight. He didn’t look like he had the energy to do another set. Oda

probably saw that it was time to quit.

After

today, Ochi found two weak spots to target in Seiin. The first was Oda’s

height—they needed to pay special attention to his back attack, but it was no

threat to Fukuho’s towering front row. He also sensed that Haijima also found

it difficult to use Oda.

The

second was that the setter touched the ball too much. Even in the middle of a

rally, he tried to get the second touch by himself at any cost. That was

probably why he was out of energy. Even if the serve receive wasn’t accurate,

the setter could run anywhere, so Seiin’s serve receive was weak.

Maybe if he

reviewed today’s video against the scorebook, he could see more.

Seiin was

indeed as strong as their reputation had indicated. He had never seen a team in

the prefecture that required that much passion in a practice match. He had to

admit, that team was a real threat to Fukuho’s era of domination.

That was

why, if Fukuho beat this team, they would surely win Nationals this year. This

day reinforced that belief.

This year,

Fukuho would surely take the center court at Spring High.

If Mimura

needed an energy source, he shouldn’t dawdle and hesitate, but entrust his

dream to him. He should be greedy—no, that wasn’t right either. He wouldn’t ask

him to take him along. He was going to help his friends win, and if there was

an opening, even if it was as small as the eye of a needle, he was going to pry

it open.

“Alright

then. Let’s be opponents in the finals next time.”

With a smile, Oda gripped Mimura’s hand, which

was held out to him.

“Oh,

really? You’re assuming you’re going to make it all the way to the finals?”

Mimura

replied sarcastically, and Oda blushed with an “Huh?”, as though he truly

didn’t realize the arrogance of his words. He must have believed in the

strength of his team that much.

But

once again, he made a tight smile and said, “Of course.”

He

declared.

“Then just

you wait for what’s coming for you.”

Mimura

responded with a natural smile. Of course, Fukuho didn’t expect to lose midway

through.

The

captains of both teams shook hands firmly. Looking from the outside, it seemed

amicable.

After Seiin

left and the team members who saw them off dispersed to join in the cleanup,

Mimura said, “Ouch. He was gripping my hand so hard that I thought he was going

to break it,” and shook his right hand. From Ochi’s point of view, Mimura’s

grip was also very strong, so he supposed it was mutual.

He shoved

his hand into his jersey pocket and leaned his shoulder against the doorway.

“Number 8!”

He shouted outside as though he just recalled something.

As the

Seiin group was leaving under the evening sun, one of their backs twitched.

When he changed from his uniform to a T-shirt and took down his “8” number, he

looked like a first-year member of the team who hadn’t trained much yet.

“See you

later!”

Mimura

shouted provocatively at Hajima, who looked back at him doubtfully as if he was

unsure if he was talking to him. He looked genuinely happy, and Ochi thought

this was his face when he was watching the video in the AV room.

The

sharpness returned to Haijima’s face, which had lost some of its vigor, and he

narrowed his eyes. He bowed his head slightly and chased after his teammates,

who were a short distance away. He joined Kuroba, who was waiting for him at

the rear, and they began walking together.

He wondered

what Mimura would say about those two freshmen, but he didn’t see them off for

long.

“Subaru?”

“Subaru–.

Can we have a minute?”

“Subaru-senpai!”

Brightly

responding to his teammates’ calls with a “Okay!”, he turned back to the gym

with his “Mimura Subaru” face on once again.

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