2 A Trifle That Fails to Stir the Waters

"Huh? Th-that..."

"It’s fine, I spoke too fast." I slowed my tempo. "Excuse me, is Takeshi Yamamoto-kun here?"

The first-year baseball club member turned bright red. He scratched his head, tugged at his uniform, and darted his eyes around in a frantic, scattered rhythm. Once he processed my words, he stared straight at me, his head seemingly steaming as he stuttered:

"Ah. Ah? Ya-Ya-Yamamoto... Yamamoto-senpai?"

"Yes, Yamamoto-senpai."

The first-year student’s neck was burning red as he stammered, "Yamamoto-senpai, senpai, uh, oh my god, where did he go?! Ah, he seems to be, well—"

I had already delivered that stack of documents to the designated classroom.

Standing outside the rusty wire fence of the baseball field, my hands were empty, allowing me to relax them behind my back. Seeing his state, I couldn't help but smile.

"You must have just started training, right?" I asked.

"Hm, yes?!"

The boy suddenly snapped back to reality.

He rubbed his neck, looking quite shy, but fortunately, he managed to speak clearly. "...Yes. We just ran four laps around the field, and we have weighted training later."

I expressed my sincere sympathy: "That sounds truly exhausting."

The first-year replied, "Yeah, I'm so tired every day I feel like I'm going to pass out... Oh right, I haven't seen Yamamoto-senpai! The second-year starters were probably called away by the coach."

A consultation regarding his future path?

Unlikely.

Now that I thought about it, the autumn baseball tournament was drawing near. With the coach present, it was indeed the time for a pep rally to review mistakes, plan targeted training, and push for that final effort.

"I came to pass on a message from a teacher," I said directly. "That works out well. Could I trouble you to tell Yamamoto-kun when he returns..."

Suddenly, a fresh, energetic voice rang out from behind me.

"Hm? Looking for me?"

Before the first-year could finish his response, he stood at attention and bowed with a sharp "Ah!" His voice was no longer trembling; instead, it sounded invigorated, as if he had been rescued by a savior, tinged with a strange sense of regret. "Yamamoto-senpai...!"

Yamamoto-kun greeted his junior, then turned his gaze toward me.

The boy had short, spiky black hair. Since he was wearing a cap, I could only catch a glimpse of his shorter roots.

He was very tall.

When we last saw each other at the end of the previous semester, Yamamoto was already nearly a head taller than me. After the spring break, he seemed to have grown a few more centimeters, unreasonably shooting up to an enviable height of over 1.8 meters.

He was the type who, from childhood to now, rarely had to look up to speak to his peers.

It was fortunate that we were standing a few steps apart; otherwise, there would have been a certain sense of pressure.

I tilted my head back, easily meeting his eyes.

They were a deep, dark brown. Hidden in the shadow of his baseball cap, they were almost indistinguishable from black, yet they sparkled with a clear, radiant light.

Before I could speak, Yamamoto-kun gestured toward himself, his other hand resting his baseball bat on his shoulder. He grinned, looking as if he always had plenty of things to be happy about, and repeated, "You’re looking for me, right?"

"..."

I blinked, lifting a smile of my own.

"Yes! Yamamoto-kun, right?" I said. "Narita-sensei said there’s an attendance sheet in the equipment room. Could you please drop it off at the logistics teacher's desk after your training?"

Yamamoto-kun agreed promptly: "OK, leave it to me."

He didn't seem at all like the type who would be acting in the desperate, life-or-death way he sometimes did.

I couldn't help but look at him a moment longer. Under his unwavering, shimmering gaze, I gave a steady nod.

"Then I'll be off." I took a step away and waved at them. "Bye, Murashita-kun, Yamamoto-kun."

The first-year turned into a tomato again: "Eh?! Shihe-senpai actually... remembers me... Ah, please take care!"

Yamamoto-kun didn't speak.

He was still smiling, bright and easygoing. His gaze followed me intently, but he simply waved back.

Even though he was a guy who was usually easy to read, there were times when you simply couldn't guess what was going through his head.

I made my way to the club without pause.

Because I was late, the training session at Namimori Junior High's gymnasium had already begun.

Jogging over, I could hear from afar the shouts of students and the sound of balls being called, spilling out through the gaps in the doors. The screech of sneakers against the floor was constant. Short, sharp whistle blasts made the thud of the balls hitting the ground sound even more frequent and dull.

After changing into my gym clothes and shoes in the locker room, I pushed open the gym doors.

The basketball and volleyball practice areas were merged together.

On the other side, the basketball team was lining up for shooting practice.

Their coach sat on the referee's chair, face stony and unsmiling. She was a middle-aged woman dressed in black long-sleeved athletic wear, arms crossed, a red whistle hanging from her mouth. As I hurried past, she gave a quick glance.

Her brow remained habitually furrowed, though she gave me a slight nod.

I smiled and returned the greeting, then headed to the volleyball court.

Several members were sitting and resting against the wall. Some had their heads together, playing on their phones or chatting, while others were draped in jackets, fiddling with cosmetics. Not far away, two first-year juniors were practicing bumping the ball.

One of them caught sight of me and, in a moment of distraction, took a brutal hit to the forehead from the volleyball, letting out an "Ouch!" as she clutched her head.

The girl sitting in the corner applying mascara looked up.

"Ah, Vi-chan is here," she said in a booming voice, continuing to study her reflection. "Vi-vi—"

"Good afternoon, Shihe-senpai!"

"Vi-chan's here."

"You're so slow~"

"Coming—" I returned the greetings as I was accustomed to, catching a ball thrown by the third-year captain. "Sorry, I left too late and got caught by a teacher again."

The members let out good-natured laughter.

The first-year who had been attacked by the ball was rubbing her head, whispering to herself. I leaned in a little closer, bending down slightly, and asked with concern, "Are you alright, Fumika? Let me see."

Fumika jumped, covering her forehead and standing at attention like a soldier.

"...I'm, I'm fine, really! Truly!"

She had shoulder-length hair, which she tied into a small ponytail during practice. Even though she was a newcomer who had joined after the club recruitment, I had a deep impression of her:

When she filled out her application, she said she only became interested in volleyball during the summer break before middle school, so she was a complete novice.

But whenever I spotted her around school, I always saw her hugging a blue and yellow volleyball in her slender arms.

To throw oneself into an interest with 100% passion without a care in the world.

It sounds like something anyone could do, but in reality, there are very few who can actually achieve it.

I carefully brushed back her bangs to check.

Mm, it was indeed just a little red.

Relieved, I patted Fumika’s hair. She tensed her shoulders, pursed her lips, and allowed me to comfort her, looking uncomfortable yet unable to resist.

I asked, "What's the training schedule for the first-years today?"

"Let's start by successfully bumping the ball three hundred times," our captain, third-year Makino-senpai, said as she walked over, hands on her hips. "These two little rookies can't even stand steadily, and they want to learn how to serve."

The first-years turned bright red, holding their balls and standing stiffly in place.

Makino-senpai raised an eyebrow. "Keep going."

The first-years braced themselves and started bumping the ball again.

In an instant, the captain's lazy yet stern instructions rang out. Amidst commands like "Don't straighten your knees," "Why are you on your tiptoes? Go outside if you want to look at the stars," "Relax your arms," and "Ai-chan, what are you afraid of? The ball won't bite you," I noticed another figure walking over slowly.

The club manager put down her phone, her face full of worry, and sighed.

"Shihe," she called to me in a weak tone that suggested she needed someone to lean on.

I tapped the ball twice.

The volleyball hit the wooden floor rapidly with a crisp, clanging sound. I adjusted my grip, already anticipating what she would say, though my expression remained one of appropriate understanding and empathy.

"Is the coach still not coming?"

"Yeah," the manager said, looking ashamed. "She said she had to go back to the countryside to feed her chickens... but I was out with my aunt in Akihabara two days ago and saw her shopping. She's just brushing us off. I'm sorry, I might have annoyed her."

I shook my head.

"It's not your fault. It would be the same result whoever went to find her." I looked elsewhere. "What about the faculty supervisor?"

The manager said, "She came by for a moment. Told us to keep practicing and 'good luck' or something, then left."

"Thank you for your hard work, Yuri."

"It's nothing. After all, you were right, Shihe—how can a sports club run without a coach or a supervisor... I'll listen to you and keep trying to bring her back."

Yuri’s voice was listless. She shrugged with a world-weary air and waved her hand, adding, "But I can only try my best. Honestly, I don't understand how someone can refuse to even come look at a practice. It wouldn't kill them. If I hadn't been unable to find a suitable new coach, and if the supervisor wasn't always passing the buck, I wouldn't bother calling her every few days."

I heard the half-joking tone beneath her complaints and smiled helplessly.

Yuri, full name Yuri Kojima.

As manager, she was from my year and had joined the volleyball club in our first year. She might seem a bit pessimistic right now, but it was natural to feel frustrated after being rejected so many times—most importantly, she was very meticulous and genuinely cared about others.

I knew Yuri was someone who followed through on what she said.

As for the person who was giving her such a headache right now...

I remembered a few things, and when I snapped back to reality, I realized my fingers were subconsciously rubbing the volleyball.

The coach.

She last appeared in the Namimori gymnasium on the night of the first round of the junior high league qualifiers.

Back then, I had only just entered middle school and had become the starting libero due to my relatively extensive experience. Namimori had achieved a very satisfying victory in the qualifiers. Everyone was in high spirits, sitting on the gym floor, chatting enthusiastically, imagining the scene of accidentally winning the championship and being interviewed on TV.

But the coach just waved her hand expressionlessly, saying she no longer looked forward to the upcoming matches.

"As I thought, I have no interest in watching a few little scarecrows moving around on the court."

Leaving that cryptic remark, she turned and left without looking back.

That became the fuse that made our club even more scattered and aimless. Many members grew resentful of her cold bucket of water.

In the second round of the playoffs, we lost.

I was lost in my own self-reproach. By the time I had consoled myself, the club was already in an uproar.

After the loss, the coach said we should find someone else, as she didn't have time to coach middle schoolers anymore. Most people were against trying to convince her to come back. Some even blamed the loss on the coach.

"What's with her, acting all moody out of nowhere?" someone said. "And during the tournament, too, she's so incredibly selfish... Which coach is like that? I'm not going to coddle her!"

Even the third-year seniors, and Makino, who was the most competitive among us and was a second-year at the time, remained silent.

The big tournament only happens once a year.

The Namimori Junior High girls' volleyball team had never achieved any remarkable results. This defeat was just like a drop of water merging into the ocean; no one would notice.

"It's fine, it's just a club activity anyway—" a senior who had decided to quit said. "Just treat it like a game. But you, Vi, your level is good. You should apply to a high school with a strong volleyball program."

At that moment, I heard my own calm, relaxed voice, sounding no different than if we were just chatting.

"Thank you, Senpai. As for me, I'll see when the time comes."

"Hmm, fair enough."

The senior shouldered her bag and closed her locker.

"Your grades are among the best, too... It's truly amazing. It would be better to apply to those prestigious high schools where the libraries are always packed." She added gently, not knowing if she was saying it to me or to herself again, "A club is just a club."

I packed my bag and walked out of the locker room with her.

"Do you plan to join another club, Senpai?"

"Hm? Something like that. I just want to find a club where I can slack off and enjoy the rest of my middle school life."

The air was heavy with two seconds of silence.

"Then I'll start missing you from now on," I said, joking.

"You really know how to sweet-talk, you know that..." the senior paused. "Hey, it's not like I'm transferring schools."

She later joined the very leisurely Buddhist Literature Club. If I had time to pass by, I would often go to find her and chat, have tea, and walk home together. Even though we didn't play volleyball anymore, we still seemed to be good friends.

But for us, it was really no different from transferring.

Gradually, the atmosphere of the training became strange.

There weren't many people in the volleyball club to begin with, and some suddenly just stopped coming to practice. I found various opportunities to ask around, and the answers were nothing more than "I don't feel like playing volleyball is interesting," "I'm busy," or "I found out I'm not suited for sports."

Those who remained would spend more than half of the afternoon club time resting, chatting, and discussing gossip and fashion.

There had been arguments within the club about this situation, too.

But the results never changed.

Sometimes arguments can solve things, sometimes they can't. Most of the time, they don't work at all and only make things worse.

Soon, the third-years reached their graduation season.

I moved up to the second year.

The departure of the seniors actually made that strange, relaxed yet tense atmosphere ease up a little. I could see the reason behind it, but it was already too late.

For a long time, sports clubs had a hierarchy of seniors and juniors. As a first-year, I didn't have the ability to break it. Now that I was one of the "seniors," I could finally express my stance and make adjustments at the right time.

So after the recruitment, starting from the integrity of the club, I expressed that it didn't matter if the coach didn't want to come back, but we still had to try; we couldn't just let the club fall apart like this.

I left the task of finding people to Yuri.

The members continued to train, preparing for this year's tournament.

However, the reliable manager had persisted from her first year to her second, and now, after several months, the coach remained as immovable as a rock, her excuses becoming less and less sincere.

I thought for a moment, then spoke.

"For these next two months, let's stop trying to contact the coach."

I stared at the volleyball in my hands. Yellow, blue. The delicate lines on the surface of the ball circled and extended infinitely. I said, "We've done everything we can."

Yuri was stunned.

"Then the regional qualifiers after that..."

"It's fine, we can still participate. There's still time."

As I said this, I called Makino-senpai and the third-year spiker, getting ready to organize some serve-receive practice. The members resting against the wall climbed up slowly. Makino urged them a few more times, and only then did the girl who was still playing with her lip gloss drag herself up to answer.

I turned back, and the manager gave me a hesitant look.

"Shihe," she called.

"What is it?"

She opened her mouth, her eyes lingering on my face. A moment later, as if she were choked by something, she sighed heavily, hands on her hips.

"...I get it, I get it. Stop staring at me with those twinkling big eyes that haven't spared a single boy or girl in Namimori from falling for you."

"What are you saying?" I laughed, standing firmly in the receiving position and starting to stretch. "And using a tone like 'I'm glad I'm a survivor' makes me feel a bit unsatisfied."

Yuri, who had turned to grab the clipboard: "Are you going to rule over even me before you're satisfied, Your Highness Shihe?"

I: "I'm counting on you for today's records too!"

Yuri: "Yes, yes."