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2.43 S2 Chapter 1.7 - The Laughing King and Crybaby Jack (Part 7)

7. SUPERHERO

I’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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#2.43 #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 Seiin high school boys volleyball team #2.43 book 2 #2.43 translation #fyeahsportsanime #sports anime

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2.43 S2 Chapter 1.6 - The Laughing King and Crybaby Jack (Part 6)

6. CHARGE THE ENERGY

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On the afternoon of Saturday, September 20, one week before the Spring High qualifiers, a practice game was arranged with Seiin invited to Fukuho. Seiin had almost no chance of making it to the representative selection round based on their record. It could be said that Fukuho was being “immature” for worrying about such a team.

On the day of the game, however, the Fukuho volleyball team unabashedly demonstrated their immaturity and greeted the weak team of only eight members from the very beginning with the desire to intimidate them with everything they had.

“Looking forward to working with you guys!”

As soon as Seiin appeared at the entrance of the gym, the three times as many tall members of the team, dressed in red jerseys, lined up in a row and raised their voices in unison. They somewhat startled Seiin, who were unevenly bobbing their heads into the gym.

The lingering heat of the day was still intense. Oda, the captain of the team, had his team members, who were sweating from the heavy bags they were carrying from Nanafu City, line up.

“Thank you for this opportunity today. We look forward to working with you.”

“Thank you!”

Oda’s order was followed by their voices. It was short and crisp.

Hata ran up to the old man who suddenly showed up at the very end and said, “Thank you very much for coming all the way here, Sensei.”

“Ah, thank you. You all indeed seem strong. Train them hard today.”

“We are the ones who are fortunate to have your guidance today. Oi, get a chair!”

“Ah, yes!”

Ochi ran over with a folding chair and set it up under the basketball hoop.

Seiin’s advisor was a skinny old man who looked as if he might snap in half. The reason Hata paid so much respect to him was because, as Ochi had just heard, he was once considered a great leader in the student volleyball world.

“Heave-ho. Ah, outings are tough when you’re at my age. Oda, I’ll leave the rest to you.”

As soon as he sat down in the chair, the old man gave Oda a little hand gesture and began to drift off with half-open eyes. …It must be remembered that he was “once” considered a great leader.

In this case, it would have made sense for Fukuho, who had requested the practice match, to go to Seiin, but Seiin had apparently never invited another school to a practice match since Oda took over. However, it was decided that it would be quicker to have a practice match at Fukuho, where the court, know-how, and manpower were available.

“Go outside and the changing room is across the hallway. You can put your bags there. Whenever you’re ready, you can start warming up. We’re already done.”

Ochi explained everything to Aoki, the vice-captain, since there seemed to be no manager. He thought he treated him with the same attitude he would have greeted any other school, but,

“Hello. You sure aren’t hiding your hostility.”

Aoki said in a teasing tone.

Ochi glared up at Aoki’s face, which was about twenty-five centimeters above his own.

“Even if it was a joke, it’s natural to disdain it as someone who plays sports. Taking a video and threatening us…”

“You’re just gonna ignore that it was your second-year that laid a hand on him? A little injury is nothing to write home about for Okuma, but if he had injured the spindly first-year, we wouldn’t have backed down without a fight.”

Receiving a retort that contained a hint of a threat, Ochi swallowed his voice and gritted his teeth. The indignation from Tuesday rekindled in his chest, but Aoki was the one who avoided a glaring contest by looking away like he was playing the fool.

“As for me, I didn’t mean it as a joke. We’re really trying to go to Spring High this year, and we would be lucky if we could eliminate the biggest obstacle…Mimura’s a smart guy. I guess the prefecture’s MVP would be more than just charismatic. Well, I’m not going to try anything, I’ll just sit back and watch how our freshman setter is going to make you guys surrender fair and square. Sorry about Tuesday.”

If he apologized, there would be no reason to flare up at him. Ochi had never been good at wars of words. Wait, he said he didn’t mean it as a joke…I think he just straight up said he wasn’t joking.

“You can use the changing room, and we’ll start warming up as soon as you put your bags away.”

Aoki shouted over Ochi’s head. Ochi reflexively braced himself as Haijima, the bespectacled freshman setter, was the first to come running forward, the enamel bag and ball case rattling on his shoulders.

“Is there a tap around here? I didn’t change my contacts.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, use the one in front of the changing room.”

“Thanks.”

After straightforwardly bowing his head, Haijima ran past Ochi, who was let down by this anticlimax. “Haijima! Don’t run ahead on your own, wait for the others to come! You won’t miss the game even if you don’t rush!” The other first year, Kuroba, ran after him. “Don’t be so noisy in another school,” Aoki called out a warning to the back of their heads.

Their noisy and restless appearance was somehow no different from the juniors on his own team. As he was watching them go with a wry smile on his face, he overheard Mimura and Oda talking.

Both captains were in front of the net.

“We have it up at forty-three, but should we bring it down to forty?”

“No, we don’t mind. We always have it at forty-three too.”

Oda responded, as though competing with Mimura. “Oh?” Mimura grinned. Oda looked a bit embarrassed.

“Well, we’ve never been in an official game with the net at forty-three. You guys must have plenty of experience…”

In Fukui Prefecture, the net height for high school boys was set at two meters and forty-three centimeters. The same rule applied to the prefectural qualifying rounds and the representative qualifiers for Spring High. The height of the net was the same as the height for the general men’s net—the height used in the V-League and international tournaments, as well as national high school tournaments, including Spring High.

Only three centimeters. But it was three centimeters that clearly divided the inside of the prefecture and outside.

The fact that a team that had never competed in a forty-three tournament was practicing at the level of a forty-three could be called overly optimistic—but it meant that the team was serious about going to Nationals.

At Oda’s height, he couldn’t even reach the top of the 2.43 meter tall net just by standing on tiptoe. A person of ordinary athletic ability would probably be able to reach it by jumping. It was about the same height as the ceiling of a slightly tall house.

The boys’ volleyball team hit the ball towards each other without regard to the height of the net. At the top level, spikes exceeded 350 meters. The intensity of this game gave you goosebumps when you see it up close.

Oda’s face lit up and he murmured, “Thank you...” as he lifted his chin and looked up at the white band on the net indicating 2.43.

---

Although the practice games held at the home gym added a mountain of work for him as a manager, Ochi quite liked them.

The base of Fukuho’s uniforms were a deep red. The black collar and black side lines running from the sides to the shorts tightened the red. The practice scene looked disjointed because everyone usually wore their own practice clothes, but when they were all in their uniforms like this, their movements looked coordinated and made a fine show. The usual gym became like a venue for a championship match.

The shouts were more energetic and louder than usual. It was also fun to hear the other team’s voices get so loud that they sound a little ridiculous.

The sound of the ball bouncing here and there overlapped with the shouts from the two teams, multiplying the energy and increasing the excitement in the venue.

A loud smack sound burst out from the court where Seiin was practicing. A second thud sound reverberated as the ball pierced into the front zone, and the ball bounced up almost vertically.

“Yeah, I’m on a roll!”

The player who spiked, Number 7 Kuroba, landed with his knees bent and pumped his fist in the air. He ran under the net, pitching forward as though the momentum was crushing him, and then, spinning one of his arms in a circle, ran around the outside of the pole to the end of the line again.

Why is that first-year using unnecessary energy before the game…As Ochi watched Seiin’s practice with a mixture of amusement and amazement, he heard a voice from directly above him.

“Looking from here, Number 7 is pretty eye-catching.”

Mimura, who had been there since who-knows-when, was also watching the court over Ochi’s head.

Fukuho was off the court practicing their receives in a line, but the two third-year middle blockers, Takasugi and Asamatsu, also stopped in turn when they jogged past behind them. Don’t surround me with only guys who are around 190. The other members of the team, while paying attention to them, were seriously going to the back of the line.

“It’s like watching me from two years ago.”

He was basically calling himself “eye-catching,” but no one quipped about it because it was the truth.

“I feel like he’s more like you when you’re in bad form and being sloppy. He’s just being maneuvered by Number 8, isn’t he?”

Ochi commented, indicating the Number 8 Haijima, who had his back turned to them, with his eyes. Seiin’s uniform, was shirt to shorts, was all black with blue lines. The number “8,” printed in white on his black back, stood out clearly.

Standing alone by the net, Number 8 Haijima was signaling each of the spikers to hit the ball. Kuroba jumped to the exact spot Haijima told him to jump and shot down the ball that was set there. In high school, there were many teams that had one strong ace and are centered around the ace, but he had never seen a team in which the setter was so in control.

He began to understand somewhat what Hata meant when he said that he wouldn’t know how to fit this player into the team when Mimura became a third-year.

“The moment Number 8 breaks down, there’s a possibility that the team wouldn’t be able to compete at all. How can you leave so much to a first-year? It’s a weakness of the team that they finally have a full lineup with the addition of the first-year players. Their team has no depth.”

“Our manager’s pretty harsh,” Takasugi teased. Asamatsu asked Mimura, “What do you think, Subaru?”

Ochi glanced up at Mimura. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, wearing a red-and-black jersey over his uniform that was of the same color. Mimura was always like this before a match, walking around the court in a relaxed and nonchalant manner, taking in the opposing team and the entire venue, including the stands.

“Well, I agree with what Ochi said. But when a group of guys with strong quirks like that are united in an unexplainable way around a first-year setter and aiming to overtake an invulnerable school with a winning record, it seems like Seiin is much more dramatic than us.”

“Are we that invulnerable school with a winning record?”

“It’s true that the protagonists in sports stories are usually the weak team, isn’t it? I guess that makes us the bad guys.”

Takasugi and Asamatsu laughed, but Ochi didn’t have the will to laugh with them.

…The hero and protagonist should be Mimura. I don’t want him to be satisfied with the lame role of the boss of the villain team that bows their head to the protagonist team.

“Subaru…you’re not seriously saying that nonsense, are you?”

It wasn’t just a matter of not putting in extra effort. His way of talking, as if he had even lost the bare minimum of energy he required, told them that his biorhythm hadn’t improved at all yet. He thought that he might have been motivated by their visit to Seiin, since he was the one who asked for a practice match, but there was no change at all.

“I am serious. If Seiin goes to Nationals, local TV will happily make documentaries about them, national media will be all over them, and Fukui will become famous. People will finally stop asking, ‘Where’s Fukui?’”

“You’re really holding a grudge about that.”

“Trying being asked that at Nationals every year. You’ll hold a grudge too.”

“Talk to people from other prefectures. You should stop being a people pleaser.”

“I’m not a people pleaser. I’m networking because I have to. If you get friendly with them, they’ll bring local snacks when you meet them at the next tournament.”

“Use that network for something more effective…”

The trio of around 190cm exchanged light banter over Ochi’s head. Ochi, who was silent with a heavy heart, looked over at Mimura, who sighed like he was fed up.

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

A sudden question.

“Why are you talking about that now…”

“Say it. Say you want me to make you the manager at Spring High’s center court.”

He always said the same argument. The first time he was told this two years ago, he was so enthralled by those words that he nodded with tears in his eyes. However, after being told the same thing dozens or hundreds of times since then, it had become more and more difficult for him to nod. He couldn’t understand why Mimura kept making him answer over and over again.

“…I can’t say it.”

He shook his head.

Mimura’s eyes widened in astonishment. And then they sharpened.

“Say it.”

He repeated, coercing him.

“I said no. I won’t say it again. I don’t really want to go to center court that badly. I stopped caring about that a long time ago. I wanted to go with everyone, but…but we don’t have to go there anymore.”

“Is that…how you really feel?”

The red uniform standing in front of him was surrounded by an anger that seemed to burn the atmosphere. Even Seiin could feel that they were arguing over something, and they stopped moving around as though they were wondering what was going on.

“Third years! Assemble!”

Hata’s angry voice came flying out. The four third-year core members chatting idly would be setting a bad example for the others. “Sorry!” Takasugi and Asamatsu immediately ran over. They looked back and urged them with his eyes, so Ochi ran after them, as if to get away from Mimura.

He looked back over his shoulder at Mimura and saw him walking towards him with his hands in his pockets, looking displeased at their interrupted talk. He turned forward and joined the team circle around Hata.

“We’ll start with the starting lineup for now, but since this is a practice match, I’ll make some substitutions…”

“Sensei, how about we take Subaru out for today?”

He interrupted Hata and boldly put forth his opinion.

Everyone, not just Hata, was shocked. That included Mimura, who was the last to join them.

“If we’re going to lose in a practice match without Subaru, then maybe it would be better for Seiin to go to Spring High.”

The air was filled with waves of disquiet. “O-Oi, Ochi,” Takasugi called out in a chiding tone. He could see Tokura’s face twisting as though he was particularly hurt. However, he had no intention of retracting his words. The words spilled out of him like a dam had broken.

“It’ll mean that the team isn’t worth letting Subaru put his body on the line to take us to center court. If it’s just a burden for Subaru to lead the current Fukuho, then I want him to retire and enjoy his time at uni—”

He was slapped on the back of his head and couldn’t finish his sentence. It was a slap from the strongest spiker in the prefecture, who slammed in spikes at top speeds of over a hundred kilometers per hour. He thought his eyeballs were going to pop out of his skull. “…Aah…” Holding his head, he couldn’t even breathe for a while.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, idiot. This isn’t in a manager’s job description.”

Mimura’s voice, tinged with real anger, was hurled at Ochi’s tingling brain. With tears in his eyes, Ochi looked up over his head in protest.

“Coach, I’ll be in the match. How can I not be in the game that I arranged?”

“Subaru!”

“Please give me three minutes. We’ll start after that. I’m going to have a talk with this idiot. Come here, Mitsuomi.”

Mimura grabbed Ochi by the back of his collar and left the circle. He was forced to stand on his toes and crab walk, and tried to shake him off while shouting, “Let go, Subaru!” But since even Seiin was watching them, he had no choice but to keep up appearances. He was dragged away, plodding along and his head hanging down.

When Ochi became obedient, Mimura no longer treated him so roughly either. He opened the sliding metal door and pushed Ochi outside.

He stumbled forward a few steps and knelt down on the floorboards of the hallway. Mimura closed the metal door, blocked it with his back, and sat down on the step in front of the doorway. The scene composition was that of a criminal kneeling on the ground and a town magistrate who stepped out to the porch and was intimidating him.

“Good grief…I know I said I didn’t want high-pitched cheers from you, but what’s with a manager who lowers the morale of his players instead of cheering them on?”

He let out a fed-up sigh. Ochi kept silent and sat cross-legged on the floor again, facing Mimura. The magistrate was sitting higher than Ochi, so his eyes were just at Mimura’s knee level. Mimura lightly interlaced his fingers between his knees, which were wrapped in black supporters.

“It’s not like I’m saying you’re an outsider. Don’t misunderstand that. Sorry for hitting you.”

“…You don’t have to apologize.” He muttered, but his head was still throbbing and he felt resentful. “I know you had to do that.”

If Mimura hadn’t gotten angry at that point, the command of the team would have become muddled. As Mimura said, it wasn’t the manager’s job to give his opinion on the coach’s selection of team members. Even if he was given a position on the team under Mimura’s patronage, he wasn’t one of those who stood on the court. How could he say that their team wasn’t worthy of going to Spring High towards the players who were running around on the court trying to snatch victory? …He understood. He understood, but…

“I’m not happy about it. Why should you be put in the same ring as those happy-go-lucky Seiin guys? People are fascinated with Seiin, saying that a team that’s threatening our dominance has appeared. If they win, they’ll be praised all over the place, and if they lose, people will just say it’s a fair result and that would be the end of it. They have nothing to lose. The weight of what you have to protect is completely different… It’s not fair. I’ve been thinking for a long time now…if all it does it make you feel that way, then it doesn’t matter anymore …you should just throw it away…”

“I can’t.”

He was interrupted.

“I can’t do that. Don’t ever say it doesn’t matter again. Keep telling me to make you the center court manager at Spring High.”

“Why are you…so obsessed with that…” The tears of pain that welled up in his eyes receded briefly, but then the back of his eyes burned again, and he sniffled a little. “I don’t know what you’re playing volleyball for…it seems to me like you’re only playing it to make other people’s dreams come true…”

“You’ll never get over being a crybaby.”

Mimura was fed up. “I-I’m not,” he said back, since it wasn’t like he planned on showing his tears so many times as to be called a crybaby, but once his tear glands let loose, they would not easily close back up.

“Mitsuomi. Listen up, keep saying it. Until I really make you the manager at Spring High’s center court.”

“I’m already…”

“It’s been three minutes. You know, this isn’t really the time for lecturing you, but for me to recharge my energy. Don’t think about it…think of it as my lucky charm and say it. Now. I don’t care if it’s a lie.”

“Lucky charm…”

Ochi raised his tearful eyes. His nose and eyes were probably bright red, and his face was probably a mess, but Mimura wasn’t looking at his face anyways. He was hanging his head, pressing his forehead against his hands folded between his knees.

It wasn’t the sight of a town magistrate judging the guilty with a flurry of falling cherry blossoms on his shoulders. He was so exhausted that he couldn’t raise his head, and it was obvious at a glance that he was being crushed by the heavy load on his shoulders.

“Say it.”

He repeated, like he was supplicating him.

Even though it pained him, like he was pushing out a hard lump that wouldn’t go through his throat, why did he say it every time he was asked?

“…I’m not going to lie to you. Of course I want to go. You’ll definitely make me the manager at Spring High’s center court. It’s my dream to be on the center court bench and cheer you guys on.”

Mimura gave him more than what he wanted a long time ago. That was no lie either.

And yet—two summers ago, Ochi’s hero and king, who was clad in shining armor of light, flew down from the top of the stairs and held out a ticket for a special seat to watch Mimura Subaru in the spotlight on the court of glory, closest to the courtside. If I didn’t use that ticket and ripped it up, I would be an unforgivable fool.

Mimura’s hands were tightly clenched under his forehead.

“…Alright.”

He raised his head and smiled, his eyes narrowed and his face scrunched up.

His expression tightened, like he was pulling the laces of his shoes tight.

“Now then, I’m gonna go smash in the nail that sticks out.”

As he sat up, saying something fearless with a dangerous tone, the fighting spirit rose from his shoulders. Immediately, his shoulders, which still could be called dainty, became a size tougher, and the “Demon Bazooka” released his vicious presence.

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#2.43 #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 translation #2.43 book 2 #fyeahsportsanime #sports anime

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2.43 S2 Chapter 1.5 - The Laughing King and Crybaby Jack (Part 5)

5. SCOUTING

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It was now Wednesday of the following week. After school, as the team members gathered in the gym after changing into their practice clothes without waiting for cleaning time to end, a first-year told Ochi that Tokura was feeling ill and wanted to take the day off.

“He got diarrhea? Did he eat something weird?”

“I-I guess so.”

They couldn’t afford for him to lose his strength at this critical time. As he was thinking about texting him later, Saruwatari passed by and said, “Kohei? I saw him eating a lot of bread when he was cleaning. I thought he was just eating before practice.”

“What did you say?”

Saruwatari flinched when Ochi unconsciously widened his eyes in anger.

“You want me to go look for him?”

“No…I’ll go. Can you tell Sensei for me? I’ll leave the rest of the preparations to you.”

“Oh, Ochi-senpai. What should we say to Subaru-senpai?”

Just as he was about to run out after putting on his outdoor shoes, the first-year called after him. He thought it would be easier to have Mimura go look for him than to go himself, but he couldn’t use their ace for such an errand.

“Don’t tell Mimura any more than you have to. Kohei is sick. I have to go out to run an errand.”

It wasn’t so much as having an idea, but something he intuitively knew.

Athletic club members in tracksuits and uniforms shuffled along the path between the back of the school and the sports ground. Beyond it, he could see the bike parking area under a sheet iron roof.

Tokura was pulling out his beloved bike from a cluttered group of bikes parked in what looked like an oversized garbage dump. “Geh,” he reacted in an obvious way when he spotted Ochi.

“You look good for a guy who’s got diarrhea.”

Ochi went around to the front of his bike and grabbed the basket.

“If you can’t manage your physical condition before the tournament, then I can’t entrust the position of Subaru’s diagonal to you. Sensei also said that it was about time we start using the first-years in the starting lineup.”

He leaned over the basket and let his voice lower an octave. Tokura’s brows furrowed in a pitiful expression.

“I-I thought I’d go see Seiin’s practice…”

He hung his head and confessed the truth.

“The tournament is next week. If you want to see Seiin in person, you can see them then.”

In the qualifiers, which would be held next weekend on September 27 and 28, the twenty-two competing schools would be divided into two groups of eleven schools and play in a tournament to sift down to the last two schools. These two schools would then compete in the representative play-offs in November to determine the representative school that would be sent to Tokyo.

Fukuho, who was the number one seed, would not participate in the tournament draw. The matchup would be up to Seiin’s luck in the lottery, but as luck would have it, Seiin drew the group where Fukuho was not. In other words, the two schools would not meet in the qualifiers. Only if the two schools reached the top of their respective groups without losing a single game, they would finally face off in November.

“Rather than caring about other teams that we don’t even know if we’re going to play, we have other things to do right now. If we get caught in the qualifiers, we’ll be too miserable to look at.”

“Y-yes, but…”

Tokura mumbled, his shoulders slumping. Ochi sighed.

“I’ll go with him.”

“What?” Tokura raised his eyes when Ochi said that without much hesitation.

“I don’t want you to worry about the court next to you at the qualifiers. If you go see them now and be satisfied, you can focus on what is in front of you, right?”

---

The train service wasn’t very frequent, so they had to wait a long time for the train bound for Nanafu, and it was a twenty-minute walk from Nanafu Station to Seiin High School. They came there as quickly as they could, but they probably arrived at the latter half of the volleyball team’s practice time.

Seiin High School was located on a mountain slope that was exposed to the western sun. Ochi and Tokura rode their bikes up the slope, passing Seiin students who were riding down the slope nimbly on their bikes. Although the sun’s rays were less intense than in midsummer, the heat from the ground rushed up to meet their faces when they leaned forward.

However, more than the sunlight and temperature, there was something that both of them felt painfully in their skins.

“Kuh…Seiin has a lot of girls…so chatty, they should put their studies first since they’re students.”

Tokura said hatefully as they passed by mixed-gender groups and groups made up of girls on their way to the school building. He was whispering, though.

“They have a much higher university acceptance rate than our school.”

Ochi, who was plunging in with his eyes half-closed, was also whispering.

Well, there were only two things to envy: the male-to-female ratio and the standard test scores (though that alone was a decisive factor), but in any case, they were both public schools. The school building was not as impressive as Fukuho’s, and the uniforms for both boys and girls were simple black blazers, not particularly stylish. Fukuho had gakurans, but they were currently wearing their summer uniforms, so the only difference at a glance was the presence or absence of a tie.

Tokura was in his uniform, and Ochi was in a T-shirt and sweatpants. The Seiin students looked curiously at the mismatched pair from another school.

“Excuse me, do you know where the boys’ volleyball team practices?”

Instead of the big-boned but shy-out-in-public Tokura, Ochi was the one who grabbed the nearest Seiin students and asked them. Ochi too used to be quite shy, but his position, which required him to negotiate within the school and to interact with the volleyball teams from other schools, forced him to improve a great deal. This surprisingly might be his most universally useful development after becoming a manager.

“We have a boy’s volleyball team?”

“I think we probably do, don’t we?”

The two Seiin students looked at each other and had an incredibly uncertain exchange.

“They’ll probably be in the gym or outside court…Go around to the left of that entrance there, then go through the woods and you’ll see the clubroom building, go to the right and you’ll see the gym, go left and keep going up the slope next to the first and second sports grounds if you want to go to the outside court.”

They indicated the directions with their fingers.

“Well, it isn’t like this is a middle school gym class, so they must be on the outside court, right?”

Tokura whispered into his ear.

“Well, let’s go there and see. I’ll go check out the gym, and you go to the outside court.”

He split up with Tokura from there, deciding to text each other when one of them found the practice location.

---

In the gym, two clubs were practicing on either side of a partition net hung up in the middle. The girls’ volleyball team was in the front half of the gym, and the badminton team could be seen in the back half where the stage was located. Since they were practicing with the badminton team, the windows were all closed. It seemed to be the case for all schools that the gym became a sauna when that happened. The air seemed to be distorted by the steam rising from the bodies of the team members. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead just from standing on the doorway.

In the middle of all this, he asked a team member in a long-sleeved and long-pants tracksuit who was near the doorway where the boys’ volleyball team practiced.

“The boys’ team is outside today. Oh, but I think they’ll be coming back in a little. After the badminton team ends practice at six, they’ll let them use the other side.”

The member answered, looking at the clock on the wall. Behind the metal barrier, the clock hands indicated 5:40.

“Six? That’s early… You can’t use the gym every day?”

It wasn’t like he was doing reconnaissance or anything, but he couldn’t help but probe deeper. The Fukuho volleyball team had access to the gym every day after class ended from 3:30 until 7:30 (although some days of the week had longer classes), and in some cases, it was extended.

“Tournaments are coming up for both the boys’ and girls’ volleyball teams, so we’re allowed to use the gym until 7:30 after other clubs leave. Normally, we have to be out by six.”

“The Spring High preliminaries, huh. It’s on the twenty-seventh.”

Ochi immediately said, and the boy tilted his head with an expression that said, Who are you? Ochi was also wondering who this boy was just now. He was a boy who looked just over 180 with long limbs and a lanky body that were the clear marks of a volleyball player, but it was the girls’ volleyball team who was practicing in front of him.

“Um, are you the manager for the girls’ volleyball team?”

He continued with the rude questions, but this male member didn’t seem offended, and he answered with a smile that seemed gentle in character, but showed the strength at his core.

“No, I’m a member of the boys’ volleyball team. I can’t show you around right now, but if you want to go to the outside court, I can show you.”

——That was Kanno, a second-year.

It was only after Ochi thanked him and left the gym that he matched the face to the name (he’s a year below me, isn’t he? I didn’t have to use polite speech with him).

The fact that club activities ended at six here was insane to him. Was that the case for schools that weren’t particularly focused on club activities? Practicing until six, and not being able to use the gym…it might be rude to think this, but what were they doing, worrying about a school that was doing club activities as their leisure time? He couldn’t help but feel like they were being made fun of, and it made him gloomy.

A dirt slope stretched between the bike parking lot and the sports grounds. There were two sports grounds and an outdoor court above them.

What a hilly school…I had to climb a lot from the station just to get to the school, and now I have to go up another hill…

Fukuho was located on a piece of flat land in the city, so it was quite a surprise for Ochi to see such a difference in elevation within the school.

What’s Tokura doing anyways? He should have sent me a text when he finds them practicing on the outside court.

He was about to check his phone to see if he received any messages when a voice saying “Excuse me” came down from the top of the hill.

“Excuse me! Please stop!”

He looked up from his phone to see a ball cage approaching him before his eyes.

“Whoa!”

The ball cage rumbled down the slope, nearly crushing Ochi’s toes as he dodged it. A boy in sportswear running after it jumped at the edge of the cage and, dragged a few steps by the weight, slammed on the brakes. A cloud of sand flew up.

“Cough…w-what was that…?”

It was a steel mesh ball cage like those used in gym class, with sand-covered volleyballs piled up high. The boy gripping the cage had the same volleyball-team height as Kanno from earlier, but his features, which were a little more mature than that of a middle schooler, indicated that he was probably a first-year.

Seiin only had eight members. Of those, only two were first-years. Was this the setter Haijima, or the left ace Kuroba…?

Without giving him a chance to talk to him, the first-year hurriedly push the ball cage up the slope with a “thank you!” and ran as fast as he could.

“What an energetic guy…” He had only dodged it, so he didn’t think he would get thanked.

This was no time to stand idly by. From the top of the slope, he heard Tokura yelling. “That idiot, what is he…!” Ochi started to run after the first-year.

Tokura was arguing with a big guy and it seemed like they might grab each other at any moment. The first-year, holding the ball cage, was panicking and saying, “Okuma-senpai, you can’t!” Okuma was the second-year middle blocker who everyone exclaimed “Who’s that!?” when they saw him. Even in the video, it could be seen that he was unusually stout for a high school volleyball player.

“Kohei! What are you doing!”

He was out of breath before he knew it, but even so he still ran as fast as he could and shouted at him. That was when Tokura swung his fist at Okuma.

With a dull gah, Okuma plunged butt-first into the bushes by the side of the road.

“Wha…”

He couldn’t believe what had happened in front of his eyes.

“Senpai!” The first year rushed to help Okuma up after shoving the ball cage into the bushes. Ochi returned to himself and intervened by holding back Tokura, who was standing there with a reddened face.

“Kohei!!” Half-screaming, his voice cracked. “You!!”

“O-Ochi-senpai…t-this guy said Fukuho must not be such a big deal since we were sneaking around and scouting them…”

Tokura himself was dumbfounded, but he pointed at Okuma and exposed his anger once again.

Okuma, who had been pulled out of the bush, stood and said “Owww…” as he pressed his cheek. “Fukuho sure has no manners, sneaking into someone else’s territory. I didn’t say you weren’t a big deal. I just said that Fukuho must have fallen to the bottom of the heap if they’re sneaking in here to spy on us.” Matching the impression of his outward appearance, he spoke rudely and arrogantly. “Stop, what are you doing by stirring them up!” the first-year frantically pulled on Okuma’s back.

He wanted to grind his teeth at Tokura’s rashness. However, one didn’t have to be Tokura to feel offended by that way of speaking. It wasn’t something those who carried Fukuho’s pride on their backs could overlook.

While holding back Tokura, he turned to Okuma.

“You’re the one with no manners here.”

“Aah? Who the hell are you?”

“Ochi, third-year. I’m Fukuho’s manager.”

“Manager? For boys’ volleyball? Is it fun for a guy to be the manager of the boys’ volleyball team?”

He could clearly feel his own eyebrows twitch. “You’re going too far!” His hand that was holding back the enraged Tokura from behind was trembling. Right when he unconsciously clenched his fist on Tokura’s shirt…

“Okay, let’s just leave it at that.”

A calm voice cut in.

A new figure had appeared further up the hill. A tall and lanky shadow stood there as though a tree had suddenly sprouted in the middle of the road, backlit by the orange setting sun shining through the gaps between the bushes.

“…Aoki?”

Recognizing Seiin’s vice-captain, Ochi called his name.

He was a member of the Seiin volleyball team who he had known somewhat because they were in the same grade. He was the tallest on the Seiin team at 193cm. Since he was on top of a hill, he looked so excessively tall that he could poke the sky.

“Well look who it is. So it was you, Ochi.”

Aoki also recognized Ochi. He was tall, but unlike Okuma, he didn’t have an overbearing air about him. Ochi had the impression of him as a rational and gentle person.

Aoki was pointing his cell phone camera at them. He checked the screen and was fiddling with something.

“This rude guy from your school is laying his hands on our guy, so I was just able to get it on camera.”

“What…you recorded it!? Why would you…!?”

“It’ll make a great piece of evidence that a member of Fukuho came to another school and started a fight there.”

Just when he thought he had finally met a member of the team with whom he could talk calmly, the person who appeared wasn’t a mediator to settle the matter. Behind him, Tokura gasped and began to shake.

Rational and gentle impression? Who was!?

“Ah…that’s low! It was your member who stirred things up!”

“The number one school in the prefecture doesn’t need to be offended by a little bit of foul language from a weak school like us.” Okuma jumped on the opportunity Aoki gave him and got fired up. Ochi ground his teeth and glared at him.

“You guys don’t seem to know your manners. Where would this kind of talk…”

He lost the rest of his words when someone entered the edge of his vision.

He turned his head so quickly that he swore he could hear a creak, and saw a bike parked a little lower down the hill. Not only had he seen it before, it was an extremely familiar bike that he had ridden to and from school countless times over the past three years. In the front basket was an enamel bag with “Fukuho Tech” printed on it in hard typeface.

“Suba…ru…why…”

Mimura, who had taken one foot off the pedals to support the bike, was breathing hard. He must have left practice, as he was wearing a sweaty T-shirt. He paused in his shallow, repetitive breathing to take a deep breath in, then exhaled with his whole upper body and plopped down over the handlebars with his arms resting on his bag.

“Ow…I died on that slope back there.”

It was unthinkable that he could have ridden his bike all the way here from Fukuho before he went up the hill and so on. He couldn’t have possibly caught up if he had to wait for the next train, but it should have taken an hour if he rode as hard as he could.

“…What’s going on, with you here…”

Muttering that, Mimura’s fingers twitched on the bag. He raised his head slightly from his arms and looked farther upwards, past Ochi and Tokura who were rooted to the spot.

He could see the rest of the team, three or four members in all, coming down from the top of the hill. The short boy at the front of the group stopped in his tracks when he noticed Ochi, the other four people, and Mimura on his bike.

The first-year, who had simply been flustered and unable to interject, suddenly shouted, “You’ve got it all wrong! It isn’t me this time!”

---

It seemed that the Seiin team members were about to clean up the outdoor court and intermittently withdraw into the gym. They all moved together for the time being to a flat area at the bottom of the hill. The circumstances were explained to the two captains, with arguments from both schools.

Seiin’s captain, Oda, was a wing spiker of only 163cm. The height difference between Oda and Mimura, who played the same position but was taller at 189cm, was so great that it was almost comical when they faced each other.

At that point, Ochi didn’t think that something fatal was happening to Fukuho. There was no question that Seiin’s rudeness was the spark that lit the fuse. What’s more, taking a video and threatening us…is that something a high schooler would come up with? Even if Seiin submitted the video to a suitable place such as their school or Koutairen, Seiin’s unscrupulous technique would be more problematic.

However, Mimura said…

“Sorry.”

He then bent his tall body and bowed his head to Oda, which was both surprising and hard to accept.

“Can’t you keep this between us? I can’t let anything scandalous happen to us. I deeply apologize for any careless actions done by our members. Can’t you do that for me, for the sake of my honor?”

“Subaru, stop…”

Ochi whispered and pulled on Mimura’s arm.

Fukuho was the king of the prefecture. He wasn’t saying that out of arrogance, but objectively speaking, they had contributed more to high school volleyball in the prefecture than any other school, and even the credibility of the people involved were different. It was Seiin who insulted them at the beginning of the encounter without the least bit respect.

There was no way the captain of Fukuho was going to bow down to a bunch of guys who just happened to stand out this year and didn’t know manners. It felt pathetic. It was like an unconditional surrender.

“The people involved in this are me and Kohei. If anyone’s going to apologize, it should be us.”

“Be quiet. It doesn’t matter if you bow your heads or not. It’s something I have to do.”

Without wavering in his posture, Mimura spoke crisply and clearly. His heavy and powerful voice, which was usually light, pierced through his body and reverberated down his spine.

“Please, Oda. It would be a shame for us if we were suspended for such a trivial matter. If Fukuho’s history is cut short like this with us, we won’t be able to face our senpais.”

He didn’t even put his head on the ground, but for Ochi it was as good as getting down on his knees. He was horrified as he finally realized the gravity of what they had done. They were in a situation where they had no choice but to depend on the mercy of Seiin’s captain.

The only one standing on the precipice was Fukuho. Even if Seiin’s modus operandi was called into question, they could just say it was a one-time thing.

The magnitude of what they would lose was as different as heaven and earth.

“Um…I’m really sorry for everything!” Tokura jumped out from next to him and collapsed onto his knees in front of Oda. “I’m the only one to blame! If this will be solved by me quitting the team, then…”

“H-Hold on a minute. I didn’t mean to talk so big. Please stand up. This is making me look bad.”

Oda stepped back disconcertedly from Tokura, who looked like he was about to start rubbing his forehead against his shoes. He took Tokura’s arm and stood him up as he turned towards Mimura.

“Mimura, I don’t care about it either. It’ll only be a loss for us if it becomes a problem. We said some stupid stuff too, so we’re sorry. ——Okuma!”

With a stern voice, Oda called out to Okuma.

“It’s not worth it if I’m the only one who’s punched.”

Okuma complained.

“Both of you are bad! First Kuroba, now you, I’m sick of this!”

A threatening angry voice exploded from his small frame. Okuma flinched from Oda’s scolding, who was twice as big as he looked if you crossed him.

“I’m so sorry, Fukuho-san—.”

Okuma apologized sulkily.

“Aoki,” Oda then turned to the vice-captain of the same year as him, and Aoki shrugged his shoulders casually. “Enough with the bad jokes. Delete it right now.”

Joke? Is he talking about that threat? Even if that’s the case…it’s in too bad taste.

Aoki sighed and turned his phone screen towards them. At the end of several thumbnails in a row was a video showing Tokura and Okuma. The fact that evidence really had been obtained sent a chill down his back. Aoki deleted the video so that those present could see it clearly.

In the end, no one except Oda seemed apologetic. Ochi’s indignation didn’t abate, but when he thought of Mimura’s position, he stifled any further protests.

Mimura finally raised his head. The fact that his gaze had once again settled in a spot higher than Oda proved that Fukuho was out of the dilemma.

Oda, too, had subsided in his anger towards his own team members, and a smile appeared on his masculine face.

“I heard you came all the way out here to watch us practice. It’s an honor to be marked by Fukuho.”

It was as if they had returned to their original goal after going through all that unnecessary trouble. Still, although he and Okuma were saying the same things, it didn’t sound sarcastic coming from Oda’s mouth.

“It’ll only be for an hour from now, but you can watch if you want.”

“No, we don’t need to watch you practice.”

Oda closed his mouth in surprise at Mimura’s flat response. Ochi and Tokura looked at Mimura, both wanting to say something. It was natural to feel that they might as well watch since they came all this way.

It was hard to believe that Mimura had prostrated himself with such a serious face just a few minutes ago, but now he was back to his usual Mimura self.

“I’m gonna throw some cold water on everything today, grab these guys by the scruff of their necks and go back. In exchange, how about a practice match?”

He said. In a sense, he was in a good mood when he made the offer right after this situation.

That determination was who Mimura was. Finally able to see the true Mimura, Ochi felt quite relieved.

The lack of information about Seiin made them seem needlessly creepy. On the other hand, Fukuho, who had always won regular matches, might as well as be stark naked. Fukuho’s videos were lying around the prefecture like rocks along the side of the road.

He thought that there was no reason for Oda, who seemed to be a chivalrous and manly man as well as respected by his teammates, not to make a quick decision. However, surprisingly, Oda avoided making a snap judgement and turned around, asking, “What do you guys think? They’re the one who asked us, and I want to practice with a higher-skilled team, but…” He was asking the opinion of a certain member of the team who hadn’t spoken a word until then.

That was——Haijima.

For some reason, he knew it was him right away, even though he could only recognize it from a distance in the video.

Unlike Mimura, he didn’t have a sharp and distinct face. He had a slender face with narrow eyes, a face that didn’t stand out at all. He was tall and skinny as fitting a volleyball player and wore thin-framed glasses, which he didn’t have in the video. At first glance, he didn’t seem like a sports person, and if he hadn’t been here in a practice uniform, one might not have thought he was part of a sports team.

And yet, his appearance suddenly drew his attention. It was as though there was only a thin air of tension where he was, and although it was completely different from Mimura, there was something that changed the air around him into an atmosphere of his own color.

Aah, so this guy is also “special”——

“There’s another genius right now in Fukui.”

One of the Best Six of Tokyo middle schools, as Hata put it, turned his narrow eyes on Mimura as though he was appraising Fukui’s absolute ace. The first words he uttered were in standard Japanese without a local accent.

“It’s fine, isn’t it? You don’t have to be so reluctant. It looks like they’re awfully interested in us.”

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#2.43 #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 translation #2.43 book 2 #fyeahsportsanime #sports anime

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seiin-translations · 2 years

Note

Hi! Thank you so much for your translations, they really give me a great perspective on the characters and fill the anime (which i loved). Also, they are very much enjoyable thanks to you, thank you again!

Since I would love it to have reach on the spanish-speaking fandom, can I translate it into that language?

Thank you again! Have some rest :3

Yes of course! More people need to know how endearing these boys are!!!

#ask

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seiin-translations · 2 years

Text

2.43 S2 Chapter 1.4 - The Laughing King and Crybaby Jack (Part 4)

4. RIVAL’S SHADOW

Smh 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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#2.43 #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 Seiin high school boys volleyball team #fyeahsportsanime #2.43 book 2 #sports anime

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seiin-translations · 2 years

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2.43 S2 Chapter 1.3 - The Laughing King and Crybaby Jack

3. ONE AND ONLY POSITION

This 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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seiin-translations · 2 years

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2.43 S2 Chapter 1.2 - The Laughing King and Crybaby Jack

2. SETBACK

This is kinda mean but this is what was in my head when I was translating the latter half

Translation Notes

1. Born early (早生まれ) here means that Mimura was born between January 1 and April 1, which is before the school entrance date. Since the school semester in Japan goes from April to March of next year, Mimura was born late in the academic year, meaning he’s about a year younger than the people born after April 1. For example, people born within April 1, 1996 to March 31, 1997 will be in the same grade, but anyone born on April 1, 1997 will have to wait to go to school next year.

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He wondered how many had been blocked. Ochi had recorded them all in his scorebook, so he could just take a look and know, but he didn’t even want to count anymore.

“Kakegawa, it’s fine! Just bring it to me!”

Even so, Mimura shouted and called for the ball to be set to him. With his fast attacks and time difference attacks blocked entirely, even if a good receive came up, the setter Kakegawa had already lost the courage to use the combination. He had no choice but to set the ball to Mimura with a feeling like he was clinging to him.

Their coach, Hata, who had been standing and giving instructions from courtside, came back to the bench.

“Sensei…”

Looking at Hata’s profile as he plunked down on the bench next to him, Ochi couldn’t help but speak.

“I want to make them win this game…”

“Of course.”

Although he answered in a low voice, Hata only glared at the court with an expression like he had swallowed a bitter bug while stroking the stubble on his chin. They had already used their two timeouts. At this point, why was it that the biggest thing the bench could do was to just believe in the players on the court…?

Feeling impatient, Ochi also turned his attention back to the court. He unconsciously put strength into his right hand and pressed the tip of his mechanical pencil against the clipboard.

A set that was like a tall mountain was entrusted to Mimura. Three blockers were gathered in front of him. His spike was knocked down by that tall and solid wall. However, of all things, Mimura kicked the ball up before he landed. The ball rose up on the court, and Fukuho narrowly avoided danger. It was because of Mimura’s amazing physical ability and reflexes that he was able to go from spiking to rebounding the ball in midair. And above all, he had a strong heart. He called for the ball he had hit and followed up on to be given to him again.

Even though he was such a great player, he was struggling in the second round of the Inter-High finals tournament. Their opponent was one of those strong Kyushu schools that always left more than two schools in the top 8 of Japan every year. Even Hokuriku’s star, Mimura Subaru, couldn’t break through.

Enough…just stop it…Ochi thought inwardly over and over again. Even if he attacked so many times in a row, he couldn’t mark Mimura’s uniform number “1” in the scorebook as their team’s score.

Fukuho started fresh and attacked. However, Mimura made a mistake, which was unusual for him, and caught the spike into the net. The two-meter and forty-three centimeters net, which Mimura’s usual jumping ability could easily overcome, suddenly began to show off its height and block his way. His legs must be at their limit no matter how you look at it—Feeling a gripping pain in his heart at the stunned look Mimura showed on his face for a moment, Ochi kept his eyes down and wrote down Fukuho’s lost points in the scorebook. With a snap, the lead of his mechanical pencil broke on the paper.

Fukuho Technical High School, representing Fukui Prefecture in the Inter-High for the eighth consecutive year, lost in the third round of the final tournament. They had to return to Hokuriku from here.

The team wasn’t in bad shape. However, the pace was controlled by the opponent from start to finish. The team, which had always been in the top 8 of the nation, didn’t give them any chance to grip the flow of the game. Even so, for the past seven years until last year, before Mimura was appointed as captain, the team lost without even reaching the third round. The fact that they had finally made it to top 16 this year and advanced to the point of being contenders on the final day, must have been the result of Coach Hata’s diligent training.

The Inter-High, usually held in the middle of summer at the end of July or the beginning of August, had a tough schedule of four consecutive days. Only the two teams that made it to the finals after winning the qualifying group matches on the first day, the first and second round of the deciding tournament on the second day, the third and fourth round of the finals tournament on the third day, and the semifinals on the fourth day, were given the honor of playing on the center court. Unlike the matches on the multi-sided courts, which were played simultaneously, only the teams that were currently playing on the single court in the middle of the gym got the cheers and attention of the entire venue. There were no whistles from the neighboring courts to be heard. The whistle would only sound loudly for their own game.

Every team that competed dreamed of putting up the placard of their school on center court, but of course, most of them failed to reach that point and were eliminated.

“Subaru. Don’t forget about this.”

Three years ago, in the summer of their third year of middle school, Mimura had jumped into his teammates’s arms with a big smile on his face, holding up the “number one” sign. But now he walked out of the court alone, somewhat unsteady on his feet. Ochi pulled out the placard and held it out to him. The placard that was on the bench during the game were to be held by the captains when they lined up.

“Ochi…”

Before reaching for the placard, Mimura said in a hushed voice.

He didn’t want to hear Mimura say he was sorry for losing. He had no right to ask him to apologize. It wasn’t just him, no one on the team deserved it. You were the one who tried the hardest. I don’t think there was anyone more obsessed with winning than you. Who else can take your place?

“Spring High’s coming up next.”

Ochi was the first to speak, and Mimura raised his face and opened his mouth as though to say something. I’m such a jerk, he thought. Not just for not congratulating a player who just finished a game, but immediately urging him on to the next tournament. After dozens of jumps and landings, his knees must be in shambles.

“You said you were going to take me to the center court, didn’t you?”

He tried his best to keep his tone light. It was usually Mimura’s role to talk lightly, and it wasn’t Ochi’s forte.

He expected him to smile broadly, as he always did, however,

“…That’s easy for you to say.”

Mimura muttered, like he was complaining, so the source of frivolous talk was lost.

“Well, I’m taking you with me, though.”

Mimura immediately laughed, as though he had changed his mind. As expected, it was a weak laugh, thick with fatigue.

It might have been his imagination, or it might have really happened that the placard was passed between the two of them in a careless manner. It was a placard bearing their alma mater and the prefecture, with the word “Fukui” below the name of their school, “Fukuho Tech.”

For these past three years, he had been reminded over and over again that the name of their school, which carried the pride and weight of being a regular winner in their prefecture, was incredibly minor in the national scene.

Even though the summer Inter-High was over, the third-years weren’t retiring yet. At the end of September, the prefectural preliminary round of Spring High Volleyball would begin. The main tournament would be held in Tokyo in January, and even though it was a national tournament like Inter-High, it was filled with a special kind of glamor. The dazzling orange court painted on a sky blue sheet, a far cry from the wooden floor of the local public gym—standing on that center court had a special meaning. You could see the view from that center court, where Japan’s national team and other world-famous players stood during international tournaments broadcasted on TV.

The next Spring High would be the last chance for both of them.

The referee blew their whistle. The winning team was already lined up on the end line of their court with their placard in front of them.

“Line up!”

Mimura looked back at his team and shouted. His Fukuho captain voice had returned, the voice of someone who never showed weakness in front of others. He clapped the sobbing second-year Tokura on the back and said, “You’ll be back here next year, come on,” and led him. To the rest of his teammates, whose shoulders were drooped in disappointment both on and off the court, he encouraged them, “Don’t look so uncool. We’re gonna give it our all until the end and go home.” Everyone ran to Mimura and lined up with their heads firmly raised.

Deep inside his heart, Ochi clenched his teeth at the thought of himself not being at the end of that line.

He had his own job to do. He turned his back to the court and began to quickly collect the bags on the bench.

For this year’s Inter-High, Fukuho’s captain was third-year player Mimura Subaru. The coach was Fukuho alumnus Hata, who had been leading Fukuho for eight years.

Ochi Mitsuomi—was registered as a manager.

***

It was the summer of his freshman year when he had to give up playing because of an injury. It was just before Inter-High, in other words, just before Ochi’s first national tournament as a member of Fukuho.

For the club, or even for the future of volleyball in the prefecture—it wasn’t a big loss. It was just a minor injury gotten by a freshman who wasn’t even a candidate for a regular spot. It happened during the time when he was worry about how he wasn’t getting much taller and realizing that he had reached the end of his career as a player. In the end, it might have been that laxness that led to his injury.

He was told that he would be in rehab for four months. Whether four months was a long time or short time was a matter of opinion, but even if he went that far, he didn’t think he would ever be good enough to be a regular for Fukuho.

When he was leaning towards quitting, he was called by Hata and asked if he wanted to be a manager.

Although it was in the form of an offer, it was more like a plea. After all, a team that went to a national tournament would have a lot of chores that needed to be done, so a manager was a must. The year Ochi joined the team, there was a third-year male member named Honda, who was a great manager who took care of the team very well, but Hata’s intention was to have him retire after Inter-High and let him concentrate on his exams. Honda was also a case of a player shifting to manager due to injury.

Needless to say, many members of the team secretly wished for a female manager, but the Fukuho boys’ volleyball team, or rather Fukuho sports teams in general, had a policy of not having female managers. Fukuho was a co-ed school, but because it was a technical high school, it was pretty much a boys’ school. Even if they wanted a female manager, sadly, the overall number of female students was small.

Although Ochi admired Honda, at that time he still felt like a male manager would be laughed at. The sports manga in shonen manga magazines were full of romantic comedies with female managers. He just couldn’t imagine himself as a manager.

On the pretext of frequenting the hospital for treatment (which was also true), he felt like he was naturally beginning to drift away from the team.

It was around that time that he ran into Mimura. They had been in the waiting room of the orthopedic department of a general hospital.

“Oh, you’ve been coming here too, Ochi? How are you feeling?”

As soon as they recognized each other from their seats, Mimura moved over to sit next to Ochi. He hadn’t had much interactions with Mimura since they were in different classes at school and Mimura was always with the second- and third-year students, so he was taken aback when he spoke to him in a friendly manner.

“Oh, well…”

His natural shyness was in full force as he squirmed. It wasn’t like they didn’t know each other, since they had played against each other many times before in middle school in their small prefecture. But it didn’t feel like they were playing on the same level.

It was Saturday, a day with no classes, so Ochi was in casual clothes. But Mimura was in sports clothes, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, with a bulky enamel bag between his legs.

It was an accident that happened during club activities, so it was only natural that Mimura knew about Ochi’s injury. But, wait…

“Mimura-ku…n, w-why are you here?”

He felt like this was the first time they were talking to each other one-on-one.

“What’s with the Mimura-kun? Subaru. Subaru. That’s how everyone calls me.”

Since he joined the team, everyone familiarly called him by his first name. The fact that his amiability seemed to be natural made him jealous…but his voice was so loud, this was a waiting room…

“I also hurt my knees in middle school. Two surgeries for both.”

Mimura said plainly and lifted up the cuffs of his shorts.

Ochi gasped when he saw the reddish-black stitch marks on his knees, looking like two large worms that had crawled under his skin.

“When…did you have the surgeries? You were in the tournament the whole time, right?”

“Mmm, the second one was during the spring break before my third year, and the first one was bigger, but it was a year before that. They let me be in games while rehabilitating. They told me I could pull immediately if I couldn’t do it, but in the end they had me play all the games.”

Looking back on the past two spring and summer tournaments, it was hard to believe that was Mimura’s play after a surgery on his knees.

“I wasn’t that big in middle school, was I? Oh, Ochi, you’re from Matsumoto First Middle, right? Do you remember me when I was in middle school?”

“Y-Yeah, I do.”

There was no one from Ochi’s middle school volleyball team who didn’t remember Mimura Subaru. He was surprised Mimura was the one who remembered his middle school without having to think about it.

In middle school, Mimura certainly wasn’t blessed with height.

“You know, to reach a higher place than others, you have to jump higher than others. So, it seems that I’ve been pushing myself too hard without realizing it. I was born early (1), so I guess I was too small? Ochi, what month’s your birthday?”

“Me? Um, May…”

“Seriously? You’re almost a year older than me.”

He wasn’t very tall, but his jumping ability was incredible. The destructive power of his spikes, which descended from far above the tall blockers, was a menace to receivers. So much that someone started calling him the “Devil’s Bazooka” and it became his nickname.

The scars on both his knees were noticeable, showing the magnitude of the surgery—now that it had been pointed out to him, he realized that Mimura always wore supporters on both knees during practice. Now he knew the significance of that. Or rather, why didn’t he know about that before? They had only been teammates for three months, but they had been playing volleyball in the same prefecture and in the same grade, so he had known Mimura for several years now.

If I was Mimura’s teammate…even though he had been longing for that, he was slightly shocked at himself, wondering what he had been looking at until now. He had only been watching his amazing strength from a distance, but he hadn’t seen anything. Even though they were on the same team, he didn’t even try to get close to him, just watching from afar as their senpais doted on Mimura.

“So…even now? Even today?”

A shiver ran down his spine as he thought that Mimura, who he thought would be selected for the Japanese national team, was actually at his limit as a player.

“Oh, it’s just a routine checkup today. I’ve been told that if I take care of it, it won’t be a problem, and right now it’s basically fine.” He pulled back the cuffs and tapped both of his knees lightly. “Thanks for asking,” Mimura added with a laugh. “It’s…nothing,” Ochi said, fidgeting again.

“Putting me aside, you have it worse than me right now. Everyone’s worried about you.”

Everyone’s worried about me? There’s no way.

“I’m told…that I’ll be in rehab for four months…”

“Four months, huh. That’s long. But if everything goes well, you’ll make it in time for the rookie tournament in November.”

“…Even if I heal, I won’t be able to participate.”

The optimistic tone of his voice made him complain despite himself. Mimura looked a little surprised.

He thought that looking at it from another perspective, friendly people were insensitive. Ochi was always thinking about what the other person would think if he said this, whether he would hurt them or offend them, so he couldn’t even say half of what he thought.

“I think it’s amazing that you overcame your injury, Mimura-kun, but the team was waiting for you. I’m going to be on the bench either way, so I don’t know if there’s any point in working hard in rehab and coming back…Your injuries might have been more serious than mine, but it’s not like I have it easier…”

He muttered as he looked down at his right knee, which was currently fixed in place with an undyed supporter. He spoke in a gloomy way, the completely opposite of Mimura if he said so himself. At first, he was bewildered but slightly excited to have a chance to talk to Mimura, but now he was really hoping that one of them would be called soon. The long waiting time at the orthopedic clinic was frustrating.

“When did I say you have it easier? You’re the one pitying yourself all on your own. You’re talking like you’re the main character in a tragedy or something. What a pain in the ass.”

Mimura’s voice, which had been endlessly bright, became low. He could have never imagined that Mimura, who always seemed cheerful and didn’t seem to favor or hate anyone, could become so blunt. …He could have never imagined that he would be so easily hated.

“If volleyball isn’t worth overcoming an injury to continue for you, then it must be much more painful for you than for me. You know, having to overcome something you don’t even like.”

His throat tightened up at the harsh words. He had always been bad at arguing. He had a lot of objections, but he couldn’t put them into words, so he ended up losing the argument.

“…I didn’t say I didn’t like it…”

Even so, today he argued back in a small voice. Now that he had incurred Mimura Subaru’s displeasure, there was no place for him on the team anymore anyways.

“You wouldn’t understand, Mimura-kun. You’ll never be asked if you want to be a manager. It’s not like I want to quit, but Sensei…”

“What’s this, a fight? Let’s all be friends here—”

A jeering voice came from the seat across Mimura. Even the other patients around him laughed at him, and his face heated up with embarrassment. He immediately regretted talking back. A fight? This wasn’t even that. It was just him complaining. He didn’t care about his examinations today anymore, so he grabbed the straps of his bag and stood up to leave.

“Wait, Ochi, oi!”

However, Mimura stood up and leapt over the bench in pursuit of him. Without thinking, he got into the elevator as though to run away and pressed the “close doors” button right in front of Mimura who was running at him with such force like he was going to punch him. Mimura tried to stick the toe of his shoe into the gap, but just missed. The doors closed on his angry face.

…Of course he’d be angry. If something like that was done to him.

His knee suddenly started to hurt from his supporter. He put his back against the back wall and dropped his bag at his feet. Even though he wasn’t going to participate in club activities, he was carrying his enamel bag that was used for club activities. He didn’t have a bag for outings other than the bags he had for school and club activities. For his three years in middle school, all he had done was play volleyball. There was no way he could have done that if he didn’t like it…

“Shit…”

The curse he spat out at the floor were not directed at Mimura, but himself.

He wanted to cry at his own pettiness. He had probably hit the nail on the head. That was why his response was so out of character.

He didn’t think he suffered as much as Mimura had from his own injury. He could choose to quit volleyball rather than endure four months of rehab…

When he got off the elevator on the first floor, the July afternoon sun was shining brightly outside the glass door of the main entrance. He grimaced at the brilliant light piercing his eyes and was reluctant to step out into the bright light——

He heard an earth tremor from above him. When he reflexively ran for cover, he looked up and saw Mimura jumping down from the stairs next to him. In the literal sense. He had jumped down from the landing. His tall body, arched like the form of a spike jump, flew half a story into the air. The figure disappeared for a moment between the streaks of light shining through the glass door, and the next moment, he seemed to suddenly appear out of the light.

He bent his body, lowered his knees and landed with a thud. The enamel bag that had been slung over his shoulder was floating in the air, and a beat later, it was pulled back by the straps and hit his back.

“Wait…your knees…!?”

Aren’t you supposed to take care of them!?

In front of the stunned Ochi, Mimura straightened up. In middle school, Mimura’s weapons were his jumping power and momentum, but now his height had steadily grew to over 180cm, making him the strongest spiker with his height, jumping ability and spiking power. His eye level was more than ten centimeters higher than Ochi’s, who gave up on his growth potential just before reaching 170cm, so he was stared down at from above.

“Why are you leaving? We were in the middle of tal…hey, wait—”

Just when Mimura was about to say something with an angry look while breathing hard, he got startled. In a panic, Ochi turned his face away and said, “S-sor…”

Yikes, I sound tearful. “Sorr…” When he tried to speak, more tears welled up. He had truly reached the height of embarrassment now. I’m in high school now, and I’m not gonna cry just because my teammate is mad at me…I felt like a mess today. Not just today, I’ve been a mess for a while now.

“I…I think you’re really amazing, Mimura-kun, and I’ve looked up to you since middle school, s-so what I said earlier was just my inferiority complex…I-I have a warped personality, I-I’m gloomy, negative, and plain. I can’t think like you. I know I should do my best to rehabilitate and continue playing volleyball without thinking about anything, but I just keep slowly thinking about all kinds of things and find myself in a bind…”

What was he making excuses for while talking about himself? He couldn’t stand his own personality. On top of that, his appearance was plain and dull. He envied Mimura’s talent, but even if he had it, he wouldn’t have been able to become a popular ace like him. He had never been deemed as someone who was fun to be with.

Everything about them was the opposite of each other.

“I-I’m sorry, but seriously, don’t worry about me…”

More than not wanting to be worried about, he wanted to be left alone. Why are you chasing me? I’ve built a wall, so why don’t you leave me alone?

“…Do you regret it? Going to Fukuho.”

The voice came from above his head. It was a mature and quiet voice, different from the air when he was laughing in the middle of everyone.

“Ochi, I think you definitely would have been a regular if you went somewhere that was at a moderate level. Maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt. You’re not a bad player at all. I still remember in my dreams how at the winter tournament in second year, I thought I made a great spike, but you caught it flying.”

He looked up at him, surprised. He hadn’t expected that his play in middle school would have left such an impression on Mimura.

He remembered the play himself. He thought it was the best fine play of his volleyball career. Mimura’s spike was so powerful that his arm went numb. But more than that, his heart was numbed by his own play in picking up that spike.

“Should you not have come to Fukuho? Maybe, but other than Fukuho, what other teams in our prefecture have national-level power right now? None of them. Ochi, if you wanted to see that scenery, then you made the right choice…right?”

Forgetting that he had a crying face, Ochi stared at Mimura’s tightened face, as though he was sucked into it before he knew it. If he had to say, Mimura had sharp and distinct looks, but it wasn’t a face that stood out…he thought so, even making allowances for his own biases, but it was as though there was a layer of air around his face that had a different density, and it strangely attracted the eye. This was the kind of attraction only special people had.

Mimura Subaru wasn’t just an airheaded and cheerful guy who was blessed with talent. He played volleyball with a high level of calculation and awareness. If someone were to whine to him about how he had it easy or not because the team was waiting for him, he would get angry.

“Did the coach tell you about the manager thing?”

“Eh…uh, yeah. He asked me if I want to do it.”

He sniffled and nodded.

“Why don’t you give it a try?”

Mimura said, returning to the same cheerful voice he always heard.

“If you’re complaining about not being on the bench even if you make it through rehab, why don’t you try being a manager? If you’re a manager, you’ll be on the bench for sure. If you’re a player, you have to be chosen from all the players to be on the regular team, but there’s only one manager, right? You’ll be on the bench in no time.”

…What…?

What’s with that nonsensical thought process?

He never had such an idea. Ochi couldn’t close his open mouth for a while, wondering just how positive this guy was.

“Most of the time, when we go to national tournaments, it’s all male managers.”

“Huh, really?”

He reacted to that as though jumping at it. “So that’s what it is,” he was given a self-satisfied look. He felt embarrassed that he could see that he was worrying about something trivial, like whether he would be laughed at for being a male manager.

“Don’t you wanna go to Spring High’s center court, Ochi?”

Mimura’s sudden conversation shift made him say, “Huh…?” He was at a loss for a response as he instantly shrank back.

Even Ochi didn’t shy away from mentioning Spring High. Fukuho was a regular participant of Spring High. It was unlikely they would have any opponents in the prefecture this year, so they would probably make it to the tournament again.

However, it was a different story when it came to the center court. At Spring High, the semifinals and above were held on the center court. Compared to Inter-High, where you had to make it to the finals to play on the center court, you theoretically had a better chance, but for Fukuho, whose best result was a second-round loss, it was more a “dream” than “goal.” His senpais graduated without ever being able to reach it.

But, if it was Mimura—if they had Mimura Subaru, they might be able to go.

Their generation, with Mimura Subaru, who was surely the best ace in the history of the Fukuho volleyball team, or rather, the history of the prefecture, would finally step onto that single orange court surrounded by the arena seats filled with spectators. If he could become part of the net that caught Mimura, holding up “number one,” as he jumped into the air…on that dazzling court…

“What do you want to do? Do you want to go or not?”

As he was having his imagination run wild with a vacant look on his face, Mimura’s eyebrows knitted together, looking a little impatient.

“I-I want to go, yes…of course, but…it’s not like I’m…”

He leaned forward and was about to say something, but it ended weakly and Mimura sighed at him. He wondered if he was going to get mad at him again soon.

“Stop complaining, strengthen your resolve, and leave your three years in my hands. I’ll make you the center court manager at Spring High. Just imagine, being the bench staff at the center court of Spring High. You’ll definitely stand out and look cool, you know?”

Mimura’s face broke into a smile. It was as if a spotlight was shone on him.

Ever since middle school, he had never felt like he was standing on the same level with Mimura. The place where Mimura was enjoying himself and surrounded by everyone seemed like it was high up in the sky with the sparkling lights. Thinking it was too far away from him, he retreated into the darkness.

But this absolute king and superhero of Ochi’s generation simply jumped off his throne with his incredible jumping power and came to him.

“Leave your three years in my hands.”

With those slightly forceful, but irresistibly appealing words, Ochi’s three years of high school volleyball started all over again.

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seiin-translations · 2 years

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2.43 S2 Chapter 1.1 - The Laughing King and Crybaby Jack

1. VICTORY CEREMONY

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Settled in a corner of the second-floor bleachers with his teammates, Ochi Mitsuomi gave perfunctory applause to the victory ceremony taking place on the floor below. Everyone was already ready to leave, sitting listlessly with their enamel bags at their feet.

It wasn’t that they were frustrated, so they didn’t have the kind of regret where if they had worked a little harder, they might have been the ones who were being honored in that place. It was a great accomplishment for their team just to get third place in the prefectural tournament and get a ticket to the Hokushin’etsu Tournament for the first time. Although they didn’t achieve any results in the Hokushin’etsu Tournament, they could say that their three years of club activities were fulfilling in their own way. Well, he did cry a bit after their loss, so his eyes were still stinging.

The winners of the boys’ and girls’ tournaments were about to be presented with their certificates and cups. Before they could watch to the end, they were called to leave. Apparently it had to do with the return bus.

It happened when he had just left his seat, carrying his bags and following his teammates.

Cheers broke out in the gym, shaking it. Slightly startled, Ochi turned his eyes back to the victory ceremony.

The captain of the boys’ championship team thrust the cup he had just received high above his head. His teammates, who had been standing in a row with admirable expressions on their faces, were cheering, “Subaruuuuu!” “Thank you, Subaru!” “Yo, big man!” “Su-ba-ru!” “Su-ba-ru!”

Oh, is that so his teammates could see it better…? That’s what the “Thank yous” are for…

Even though the girls’ trophies haven’t yet been presented, a huge commotion ensued, causing the tournament committee chairman and other officials to frown. Ochi, who had nothing to do with any of them, was anxious, wondering how he could do such a performance in the middle of a formal event with so many bigshots and parents watching. They might get yelled at later…well, maybe none of the bigshots can get mad at him.

The third-year captain of Shinei Middle School, the team that went to the Hokushin’etsu Tournament as the first representative of Fukui Prefecture and dominated the tournament with unparalleled strength, Mimura Subaru.

He thought it was safe to say that there wasn’t a middle school volleyball player in Fukui who didn’t know who Mimura Subaru was. One of the best spikers in the prefecture. The darling of the prefectural middle school sports federation. The idol of middle school girls in the prefecture. A show-off. Someone with plenty of guy friends (apparently)—he was famous in many ways.

The presenter’s voice was barely audible over the cheers, and the representatives loosely returned to their respective team rows. As soon as he turned his back to the officials’ table, Mimura held up his index finger to his team.

“Number one!”

He grinned and started to almost dash, still holding up the “number one.” His teammates must have known what he was doing, because they all formed a net to catch Mimura with their arms. Mimura wasn’t a big guy, but he dove with his whole body into the “center of everyone,” jumping so comfortably that he leapt over the heads of the taller players.

Laughter filled the gym.

…What if, though?

As Ochi watched the scene from the back of the distant second floor, he wondered vaguely how it would feel like to be the teammate of Mimura Subaru, one of the weavers of that net.

At that time, he could only imagine it as happening to someone else——

----

April of the following year. In the same high school gym, Ochi stood shoulder to shoulder with Mimura.

“I’m Ochi Mitsuomi, from Matsumoto First Middle School. I…I look forward to working with you.”

While Ochi’s nervous and shrill self-introduction was met with sparse applause,

“I’m Mimura Subaru from Shinei Middle! It’s nice to meet y’all!”

When Mimura made his lisping self-introduction, the seniors applauded him loudly as though they had been waiting for him. “Our goal is to win Nationals!” Whether or not anyone took his pleasant-sounding declaration seriously, there were cheers of “Yeah!”

When he decided that he wanted to continue playing volleyball in high school, the school he wanted to attend was a foregone conclusion. Fukui Prefectural Fukuho Technical High School—the Fukuho boys’ volleyball team was a favorite of middle school volleyball players in the prefecture, boasting the largest number of entries in national tournaments. The athletic teams other than the volleyball team were also considered to be strong in the prefecture.

They had participated in two of the three major national tournaments—the summer Inter-High and winter Spring High Volleyball—for five consecutive years. In regards to high school boys’ volleyball in the prefecture, Fukuho was undoubtedly the best.

It was rare for beginners who wanted to start playing volleyball to join the team. They were all experienced players who had come from middle schools all over the prefecture, hoping to play on a high-level team.

In other words, the fact that he went to the same high school as Mimura Subaru was not a miraculous encounter at all, but simply inevitable.

However, even though what he imagined came true and they became teammates, it was another story if Ochi could have been part of the web that welcomed Mimura like that scene from the victory ceremony.

The hurdles to becoming a regular were naturally high because of the high caliber of the players who came here. Even Ochi, who had played on a team that placed third in the prefecture in middle school, wasn’t even able to sit on the bench at tournaments and was just a first-year “among others” who cheered in the stands.

Ochi’s imagination was left in limbo when it only half became reality.

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#2.43 #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #2.43 Seiin high school boys volleyball team #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 translation #2.43 book 2

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seiin-translations · 2 years

Text

2.43 S2 Prologue - The Trap in the Center

hey guys

it’s fukuho time

but first, haijima’s going through some stuff

Translation Notes

1. A kappogi is a smock worn over a kimono

2. This is a pun on the word フリ, where furi could mean pretending but also “lead up” to a question or joke

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“Meisei Academy Middle School Volleyball Team”—with the team’s name engraved in grey letters onto the deep red—the school color—enamel bag slung over his shoulder, he ran down the hallway with a school bag of the same color tucked under his arm. Midway, he remembered to run to the bathroom, find a T-shirt to change into from the laundry he had left in the dryer, and shoved it into an open space of his enamel bag. And then he remembered something else and went back to his room again. He pulled his necktie, which he always forgot even though he was now a second-year, off the hanger and thrust it into the pocket of his blazer. He always went back and forth on his way out, sliding down the hallway on the soles of his socks to supplement what he had forgotten.

“I’m going…”

As he was about to call out to his dad in front of his bedroom, he ran right into his dad as he hurriedly came out while buttoning the sleeves of his business shirt.

“Ah…” They widened their eyes . “You’re leaving now, Chika?” “Yeah.” “Then, how about we leave together?” “Okay.”

He looked over his dad’s shoulder into his bedroom and caught a glimpse of his mother’s portrait on the simple apartment altar. He didn’t have any words to say in his mind. He didn’t feel any particular emotion well up inside him. He simply took in his mother’s face.

“You have the keys?” “Yeah.” “Do you have enough lunch money?” “Yeah.” The daily conversation between father and son was usually short. He waited for his dad to lock the front door, and by the time they got onto the elevator together, he had no idea what to do with the time he had on his hand. The two silently watched the floor indicator light go down slowly.

His dad suddenly glanced sideways at his shoulder and spoke as if he was just now surprised.

“You’ve grown…you’re about to overtake me.”

“Yeah. I will soon.”

He answered, comparing his shoulder height to his dad’s next to him.

“You didn’t get that from me.”

“Height, huh. Not from you.”

“Your mom wasn’t a tall woman either. Maybe it’s from my grandfather?”

His dad was of medium height for an adult man. From his impression from the photos in the albums, his mom was also not tall. Oh, I see, his dad muttered, then squinted as though trying to see further than the floor number display.

“Maybe your mom asked God to bless you. She saw how hard Chika was playing volleyball.”

His dad wasn’t usually the kind of person who said such sentimental things, so his back was exposed to an itching, creeping feeling. While twisting the strap of his enamel bag in front of his stomach, he tried to say it.

“I have a game on Saturday. Do you want to come?”

“Game? This week?”

He asked back, as though this was the first time he was hearing of it. That was because he hadn’t told him. He couldn’t find the right time to tell him, and he didn’t think he would be interested.

“Saturday, huh…”

His dad looked like he was opening his schedule book in his mind and seemed troubled, so he added, “There’s also Sunday.” “Saturday…” his dad still looked troubled.

I wouldn’t have told him if I knew it was going to put him on the spot, Haijima thought. In the past, he hardly ever brought it up to him, and in fact, he didn’t really want him to come. Some of his teammates always invited their parents to come cheer them on at every game, but he always wondered about how their motivation would change depending on whether or not they had their parents cheering them on. He didn’t think it mattered who came to watch him play, because he enjoyed playing.

“Sunday…I might be able to go to that one if it’s around four. Will that be in time for it?”

“Really?!” he unconsciously exclaimed when his dad still pressed the issue and said that.

“The finals will still be going on at four, so you’ll make it.”

“Mm? The finals have already been decided?”

“We’re going to win and advance to the finals. Because I’m the setter.”

“The setter isn’t a position that scores points, right? It’s more like a midfielder in soccer or catcher in baseball, right?”

“Yes, but not at all. Setters are special.”

His dad, who wasn’t a big fan of sports in general, got a mystified look on his face when he asserted that. He got irritated when other people talked about other sports as though they were the standard. Because volleyball was the most interesting sport in the world.

“There’s rotations in volleyball. All six players rotate between all the positions. You don’t see this in soccer or baseball. There’s different rotations for each side out, and each rotation has a different formation, and the setter controls everything from the center of the court throughout the match. And because the field is small than in soccer or baseball, the setter has more influence on the court, or rather, they can use the whole court. That’s why it’s completely different from other similar positions.”

His own vehemently arguing voice filled the narrow box-shaped space. He returned to himself when he saw his dad looking overwhelmed.

“I see…so the setter has a special job in the center of everyone.”

The outer corners of his dad’s eyes lowered.

“That’s good, right?”

He looked up at the floor number display again and murmured, as though he was addressing someone.

Yes, the setter was a special job.

They controlled the game and the players in the center of the court.

In that instant, a strange thing occurred.

The three sides of the square floor stretched limply, and the wall in front of him began to recede to the other side. His dad, standing next to him, was rapidly getting further and further away. Dad, he tried to reach out his hand, but couldn’t.

His dad, shrinking at the tips of his fingers, was no longer his dad. He wasn’t even in the elevator. There was a group of people wearing the Meisei Middle School uniform, but their faces were all featureless so he didn’t know who was who, and they stood by the wall of the gym with blank eyes.

Beneath the volleyball shoes he was wearing, there was a court marked with colored tape.

His feet were indeed standing in the “center of the court.” However, that place was not in the “center of everyone.”

---

The tatami mats were at his eye level. The morning sun beyond the paper sliding doors shined onto the dull yellow tatami. He slowly blinked again, but his vision was out of focus and the joints of the tatami were blurry. One of his cheeks was tingling.

His hands crawled around to search for the covers. His fingers caught onto his glasses, which he had placed beside his pillow, and he pulled himself up, grabbing them. His cheek peeled off from the tatami with a cracking sound.

When he put on his glasses, he could clearly see the joints in the tatami mats and the scenery around him. A futon in a Japanese-style room…this wasn’t the Tokyo apartment. This was his grandparents’ home in Fukui…when he recognized that, his brain, which had not fully awakened, finally began to work. “Hot…” He pulled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt. The towel blanket he had covered himself and slept with was completely gone. More importantly, why wasn’t he sleeping on top of the futon?

…Why did I have that dream now? I don’t usually remember the conversations I have with Dad.

He went to the bathroom, splashed water over his head to wash off the sweat, and dressed himself in the bare minimum. He opened the sliding door to the living room.

“Morning…”

There was no sign of his grandfather or grandmother, so his voice trailed off mid-sentence.

On the tea table, there was a lunch box filled with side dishes and rice, two rice balls wrapped in plastic wrap, pickled vegetables, and folded laundry. There were T-shirts and underwear to wear today and to take with him. “Grandma…?” He looked around, but there was no sign of his grandmother in the kitchen either.

“Crap, the time,” he thought it was sort of quiet, but then looked at his watch and hurried to pack his things. He put one of the rice balls in his mouth (it was cod roe, so it was a winner), shoved his change of clothes into his bag, then decided to eat the other one after morning practice (if it was salmon…that was good, but if it was plum, it was a miss) and carefully placed it on top of his change of clothes along with his lunch box.

He put his shoes on at the door, then turned around.

“I’m going!”

He said, just in case, but no one answered. This countryside house was much older and larger than the apartment in the center of Tokyo where he and his dad had been living together without too much or too little. The dark brown wood-grained hallways were well polished and free of dust, but this in turn brought a strange loneliness in him.

Grandpa and Grandma don’t actually live in this house, do they——?

That wild thought flashed across his mind. That was when it happened.

His vision became distorted, as though it was rippling. He was wearing his glasses. He touched the frames for an instant, then widened his eyes when he saw what was happening in front of him. The other end of the hallway was growing longer, and the wall was receding.

It’s the same as my dream——!?

The sliding door behind him opened with a rattle.

He reflexively jumped and turned around. “Morning…whoa, don’t just come out of nowhere!” the visitor was surprised as well, his eyes widened.

“Kuroba…”

A little stunned, he called out the visitor’s name in a slightly hoarse voice.

“Haijima? What’s the matter with you?”

The person who spoke with a Fukui accent and tilted his head in the doorway was Kuroba Yuni—his teammate on his high school volleyball team. He had his enamel bag for club activities slung over his school uniform, just like Haijima, but Kuroba was a little taller. The simple uniform of a white shirt and black pants was the summer uniform for the boys of Seiin High School, which the two attended.

“You’re right on the button today. I was planning on going on the first train today anyways,” Kuroba laughed as though he had won something, even though he had no idea what was going on.

When he turned his attention back to the house, he saw that the stretched-out hallway had returned to its original state.

“Good morning, ma’am!”

Kuroba stretched his back and shouted from above Haijima’s head. The sound of hurried footsteps came from the back of the house, and his grandmother appeared in her kappogi (1). Oh, so you were here, Haijima thought sarcastically despite himself.

“Oh my, Young Master, did you come to pick him up again today? Kimichika, have you finished getting ready yet? Why don’t you at least say, ‘I’m off?’ Have you forgotten anything? Your lunch box and laundry are in the living room…”

“I told you. I’ve got everything.”

He interrupted his grandmother’s fussy voice and answered curtly. If you’re here, come out quickly. Was she trying to surprise me… Are her ears getting bad? He glanced at her and wondered.

If Mom was like Grandma, would she have been this fussy too? He thought she was a quieter person, but maybe he was just beautifying her…he only had a vague memory of his mother, who had died of an illness before he started elementary school.

Haijima was born in Fukui, his mother’s hometown, but moved to Tokyo with his dad soon after his mother’s death. In the winter of his second year of middle school, Haijima alone returned to Fukui to live with his grandparents. Although he did have the choice to go to high school in Tokyo where his father was, he went to high school here.

If he had to describe his current relationship with Kuroba, it wouldn’t be wrong to call him his “high school volleyball teammate,” but they had also played volleyball together for a short time in middle school. If he went back further, he was also Haijima’s playmate in kindergarten before he moved to Tokyo. Although there was a gap of eight years when he was living in Tokyo, he supposed you could say they were childhood friends.

“Okay then, I’m off.”

Following Kuroba’s carefree voice, which felt like it was approaching him, Haijima also said in a small voice, “I’m off.” “Yes, yes, take care now,” his grandmother saw him off with a smile.

He pulled his bike out of the yard and started pedalling down the street alongside Kuroba’s bike, which was parked in front of the gate.

His mother’s parents lived in the town of Monshiro, which was a rural town in the mountains of Fukui. He took the first train out of Monshiro Station at 5:30 and arrived at the school across the city at 6:30. If you missed the first train, you would have to wait nearly an hour before the next train came.

“Why’d you come pick me up?”

“What’s with that tone? I asked Oda-senpai how to borrow the key for the gym.”

“Oda-san didn’t tell me.”

“It’s ‘cause you don’t know how to control yourself.”

“No matter how you look at it, I’m not going to school any earlier than the first train. Because I can’t.”

“So you’re saying you’d go if you can? There won’t be anyone there if you go early. What are you even going to do?”

Even by myself, I can…he was about to say, but stopped himself with a jerk.

He felt like what was in front of him would suddenly become far away again…

“You’re still suffering from heat fatigue. You look kinda out of it.”

Kuroba craned his neck at him from next to him. “And your face has weird lines on it,” he said, peering into his face with a suppressed smile. Haijima immediately brought his hand to his face. Are these from the tatami mats?

While turning his face away and rubbing his cheek,

“…Once the matchups for Spring High are decided, I’ll pace myself. I know how to hold myself back.”

“Alright, alright! It looks like you’ve learned a little something.”

“You sound like you’re looking down on me.”

He took one foot off the pedal and kicked Kuroba’s bike. “Oi, stop that!” Kuroba protested, laughing.

He stepped on the pedals and felt the wheels treading on the bumpy road, confirming that he was alright. The vast land of Monshiro taken root beneath him with an unshakeable presence. He was sure the scenery had remained unchanged since his mother was born and raised in that house decades ago.

Come to think of it, the scenery in this town was strange: no matter where you were in the town, you would find yourself in the center of an undistorted circle. A pale blue-green mountain range framed the boundary between the 360-degree, circular and unobstructed sky and the circular earth. The two of them rode their bikes side by sides along a farm road that stretched out in a straight line as if to pierce the foot of the mountains. Every time the wheels wobbled, his heavy enamel bag bounced on his behind.

He squinted his eyes, feeling somewhat threatened by the intensity of the blue. The blue skies of Tokyo and the blue skies of Fukui were completely different in terms of density of the blue. The azure sky that seemed to cover him from above was slowly beginning to scorch the earth. It was early September, just after summer vacation, and the temperature was still not dropping at night, but the heat barely abated just before dawn. He had to take refuge in the train station in the short time that the heat lost its grip on him.

As Kuroba had told him, he felt himself getting quite tired from the heat. Compared to last year and the year before, this year’s summer felt longer.

But, that was because the summer tournament was still going on. And he didn’t want it to end, and he wouldn’t let it end.

It was probably a common feeling among people who were on athletic teams.

He wished this summer would last even just a day longer.

“The matching will be decided on the tenth. That’s next Wednesday, right?”

The prefectural preliminary round of the All-Japan High School Volleyball Championship Tournament, nicknamed “Spring High Volleyball,” began on the 27th. This was the last chance of the year to get a ticket to Nationals.

“Is it that soon? Ugh, I hope we don’t face off with that strong school…the one that you said broke the all-time undefeated record.”

“Fukuho Tech. We’re going to face them sooner or later.”

“Yeah, but maybe they’ll lose before facing Seiin.”

“I doubt it. Fukuho hasn’t lost a single prefectural match since Mimura Subaru enrolled.”

“Mimura…Subaru?”

Kuroba looked blank. “How do you not know him…” Haijima glared at him in exasperation. “Setting me aside, you’ve never left your hometown in your life? To the point where you’ve never even heard of him? Fukuho’s Mimura Subaru—even in middle school, he won three consecutive prefecturals at Shinei Middle.”

Umm, Kuroba paused, like he was digging up a memory.

“I don’t think so. Say, where is Shinei Middle?”

He had pretended to be thinking just now, but it was a lead up to asking the question. (2)

“…You’ve probably never suffered from heat fatigue.”

“I haven’t. Why are you asking that? Is that a compliment?”

“No reason. It wasn’t a compliment.”

He was about to kick him again, but he stopped when they were passing an old man who was doing farmwork early in the morning.

“Oh, Bon! Going to school already?”

A guttural voice with a strong accent chased after him from the side of the road. “It’s team practice!” “Ho—. Team practice, eh? The two of you, work hard!” “We will! We’re going now!” Next to Kuroba, who had turned around and yelled back in a carefree voice, Haijima only bowed his head. Kuroba was called “young master” and “Bon” because he was the son of this town’s landowner, and there were many people here with the surname of Kuroba or with the surname of Kuroba somewhere in their lineage.

A wrinkled but muscularly tanned face peeked out from beneath a straw hat.

“Hey, I’ll bring you some boiled corn!”

“No thanks, sir!”

Before Kuroba could say no, two whole, magnificent stalks of corn were thrown into the air, spinning. “Geh…” “I said I didn’t want them.” It was a wild pitch. The corn flew over their heads, so they both hurriedly pedalled their bikes to chase after them, nearly losing their balance as they stood from their seats.

The two corn stalks flew high in the air as they spun around and around, swallowed up by the blue sky and disappearing temporarily. They fell in the backlight, scattering a golden light.

A brisk papan sound echoed consecutively in the sky, and one by one, they fell into two outstretched hands.

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#2.43 #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu #2.43 Seiin high school boys volleyball team #2.43 book 2 #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 translation #gif warning

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