The volleyball club at Matsubara Girls' High School has a long history. Apparently, it dates back to before the war, when it was known as the Girls’ Volleyball Club. It was disbanded during the war, but nearly ten years later, in 1950, it was revived under its current name. At the time, it was more of a casual hobby club.
That all changed with the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. The Japanese women’s volleyball team—nicknamed the Oriental Witches (though the core of the team was a corporate team)—captivated the entire nation.
Naturally, young girls in elementary school at the time became obsessed as well. Since there weren’t as many girls' sports back then and strong private schools had yet to emerge, many of these girls played volleyball through elementary and middle school and then enrolled in Matsubara Girls'. As a result, 50 to 60 students per grade joined the volleyball club, leading to fierce competition for regular spots. The six who made the cut (this was before the libero position existed) were truly elite, and from the early '70s to the early '90s, Matsubara Girls’ became one of the two powerhouse teams in the northern part of the prefecture, rivaling Tamaki Commercial High School. In fact, during this golden era, they even made appearances at the Inter-High and Spring High tournaments.
The turning point came in the late '90s. Private schools that invested heavily in women's volleyball began popping up. These schools recruited top talent from both inside and outside the prefecture. As a result, fewer and fewer strong players chose to attend the public Matsubara Girls’. The club began losing. And once a team starts losing, good players stop coming, which leads to more losing.
Caught in this downward spiral, the club still managed to win the prefectural qualifiers for the summer Inter-High six years ago—thanks to diligent recruitment at local middle schools, tough practice sessions, and a stroke of luck in attracting talented players. But that was the peak.
Nowadays, the team is known by the not-so-flattering title of “former powerhouse.”
"So, yeah! I want to bring the volleyball club back to its former glory! It’s just wrong that private schools with money get all the advantage in student sports, right? Let’s smash that with passion and effort and aim for national victory!"
"Hmm."
Tohira-san was so caught up in her explanation that she didn’t notice—Hina’s eyes weren’t smiling at all. And honestly, she was pitching to the wrong person. The last time Matsubara Girls’ made it to nationals—six years ago—was when one of our older sisters, Mika-nee, was a first-year student. Mika-nee went to Himesaki High, a prestigious private school for athletics in the prefecture. Her team made it to both the Inter-High and Spring High every year except for the summer tournament during their first year. And the girl standing in front of us now, Tohira-san, is essentially inviting the enemy.
Her choice of words was also irritating. The way she made it sound, private schools were just buying wins with money. But that only applies to facilities.
We know how hard Mika-nee worked during high school. Hearing Tohira-san reduce that to “money” really pissed us off.
And then there’s how Hina feels. Back in elementary school, she was expected to perform because she was tall (already over 160 cm in 5th grade) and Mika-nee’s little sister. She joined the girls’ volleyball club, which had gone to the national elementary tournament during Mika-nee’s time.
But Hina didn’t perform that well. Or rather, she did very well, but she was constantly compared to Mika-nee, and that made her achievements seem smaller. She didn’t have teammates as skilled as Mika-nee did either, and in the end, they placed second in the prefecture and didn’t make it to nationals. By the end, she was only playing out of obligation. When she entered middle school, she declared she would never touch volleyball again.
“—So, what do you think?”
She probably meant no harm. I understand her point. But I didn’t like it.
“Let me just clear up two misunderstandings.
One. Private schools aren’t strong because of money. They're strong because they nurture talent through constant effort.
Two. You think effort guarantees victory? Do you believe strong private schools don’t work hard? It’s the opposite. While we’re studying, playing, or sleeping, they’re practicing. They devote every minute of high school life to their club. That’s why they’re strong. It’s exactly what you said, right? ‘Effort doesn’t betray you.’ It may sound harsh, but it’s the truth. You mentioned that our team just barely lost in the prefectural finals six years ago and missed nationals, right? Our big sister was on the team that beat Matsubara that year. And she worked really hard. In winter, she’d leave for school before sunrise and come home late every night. Only with that level of dedication can you say you're aiming for a national championship. If you talk about effort, don’t insult the effort of others! Let’s go, Yuu-chan.”
“Sorry, Tohira-san. Hina-nee, wait for me!”
“She totally insulted Mika-nee!”
Hina was in full-on angry mode, stomping as she walked.
“I don’t think she meant any harm,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Yuu-chan, didn’t that bother you?”
“Of course I’m mad. But Tohira-san just doesn’t know how hard private school students work. There’s no shame in not knowing. I’d think differently if she knew and still acted that way.”
“…”
“What’s wrong, Hina-nee?”
Hina hugged me and whispered into my ear.
“You’re right. She doesn’t know, so I shouldn’t be mad at her. Thank you, Yuu-nii.”
“Well, even if I look like this, I am your big brother.”
I whispered back just as softly.
“Okay! That’s enough being mad. Let’s get that bike commuting permit and go home!”
Hina had cheered up. She’s definitely cuter when she’s happy.
“Hina-nee, let’s stop by the supermarket near the station. I think today’s the big meat sale.”
“Oh, right! I wonder what I should make for dinner…”
The anger from earlier vanished like it had never existed. She's back to her cheerful self. But seriously—if she calms down this easily, I’m kind of worried her future boyfriend might take her for granted...
“I’m sorry.”
The next morning, before school, I planned to apologize to Tohira-san for what I said the day before. But the moment we saw each other in the classroom, she beat me to it.
“I said bad things about private schools without knowing anything about them.”
“I was too harsh as well. I’m sorry.”
Tohira-san isn’t a bad person. She probably just tends to charge forward without thinking. Hard to say for sure—we’ve only known her for a day.
“I’m really sorry. I have this tendency to rush into things without thinking…
I even asked the younger Tachibana-san about her family situation the first time we met… and then I went off about private schools without knowing much at all…”
“You can’t help not knowing about my family. And you’re not wrong about private schools, either. Ideally, high school should prioritize academics first, then sports. But in sports-centric schools, it’s the other way around. That’s not really healthy for developing high school students, don’t you think?”
“I agree… but still, it’s amazing how much you know about Japan, considering you used to live abroad, right? Where did you learn all that?”
Oh crap, I said too much! There’s no way someone who’s only lived in Japan for nine months would know this much about the dark side of high school sports!
“Ah, she just heard me venting about it before. Anyway, what was that you said earlier—‘younger Tachibana-san’ (Tachibana imouto)?”
Nice assist, Hina! She answered the question and smoothly shifted the topic!
“Oh, um, well… you two are always together, right? But sometimes I want to call just one of you, and I didn’t know what else to say…”
Ah, the classic Satou-san/Suzuki-san problem. Once we get to know her better, calling us “Hina” and “Yuuri” will probably be fine, but for someone you’ve only just met on day two, using first names is understandably awkward.
"Ah, yeah. I guess that makes me Tachibana-nee, huh?"
"Sounds about right... Speaking of which, the older sister of the Tachibana siblings you mentioned yesterday—is that Mika Tachibana? There was only one person with the surname Tachibana on the team that won the prefectural qualifiers for Spring High six years ago. She was just selected as the libero for the All-Japan women’s team, right?"
"That's right. Mika-nee is our big sister. That’s why she knows how tough private high schools can be. Also, I don’t want to get your hopes up, but unlike Mika-nee, I’m not good at volleyball. As for Yuu-chan, she’s never even played."
That part was half a lie. Sure, compared to Mika-nee, Hina might be worse, but that’s because the comparison is unfair. We're talking about someone chosen for the national team. At the very least, Hina was quite skilled when we were in elementary school.
As for me, I only played a little during PE and helped out during Mika-nee’s practices from time to time. It’s not like I’ve never played, but it’s close enough to the truth.
"The Tachibana sisters’ older sibling is amazing. Even after facing setbacks in high school, she worked her way up to the national team. Look, there’s even a feature on her in this month’s Monthly V-Ball!"
Saying that, Tohira-san opened the magazine she was holding to the feature on Mika-nee. The headline read: “Unconventional Tall Libero – Her Origins Lie in Her High School Years”, and it showed Mika-nee striking a pose as if turning a pottery wheel.
Our sister, Mika Tachibana, had been athletic since she was a kid. On top of that, she was taller than average, and was invited to join a local volleyball club. That’s when her talent really bloomed. The team had been a mid-tier contender in the prefecture, but thanks to Mika-nee’s performance and good teammates, they won the prefectural qualifiers for the All-Japan Elementary Tournament. They even made it to the national top eight.
She went on to attend the local public middle school, and her winning streak didn’t stop there—defeating many top-tier private schools, they advanced to the national middle school tournament. Though they lost in the first round at nationals.
Her momentum stalled in high school. Mika-nee had been a wing spiker up until then, but unfortunately, there were players over 180 cm tall both in the grade above and in her own year. Mika-nee herself was 176 cm at the time.
In volleyball, height is a powerful asset. But height isn’t something you can gain through effort alone. To beat out her tall teammates and become a regular starter, Mika-nee used me on weekends to relentlessly hone her receiving skills.
Thanks to that, she managed to stay in the fight for a regular spot in her first year, as the best-receiving wing spiker. But in her second year, she faced another stroke of misfortune—an incoming first-year aspiring to be a wing spiker who was also over 180 cm tall joined the team.
The coach asked Mika-nee to switch positions to libero.
“Man, that was a tough time. I cried a lot back then (lol).”
In the magazine, it’s mentioned lightly, but in reality, Mika-nee cried her eyes out at home out of sheer frustration.
The libero is the only position in volleyball where being short is actually an advantage. Shorter players can more easily pick up balls that are about to hit the floor. Even in terms of balance, shorter players are better suited for underhand receives.
So, at over 170 cm, Mika-nee didn’t seem like a good fit for the libero position. But her natural athleticism overcame the disadvantage of her height. In fact, height does have its perks—the longer stride means she could cover more ground. Naturally, her defensive range was wider than liberos in the 160 cm range, and she polished her receives with relentless effort. As a result, she was chosen for the national team.
That said, the amount of effort it took to get there was extraordinary. Knowing that, I don’t really like hearing people casually say, “She overcame her setbacks in high school and made it to the national team through hard work.” But it’s probably too much to expect a stranger to understand that. I looked over at Hina, who was also giving a wry smile. Of course she was.
"Having the little sister of a national team player at the same school can’t just be coincidence—it’s fate! Come on, let’s play volleyball together!"
"...Tohira-san. What are you aiming for with volleyball? Is it just to add some color to your high school life? Or are you seriously aiming to get strong enough to reach the Inter-High or Spring High tournaments?"
"Like I said yesterday—aiming for the national championship!"
"...I don’t want to be cold, but in that case, you’ve already made a mistake choosing this school. I mentioned it a bit yesterday, but powerhouse schools train like crazy. If you want to beat them, you’ve got to train just as hard. Are you prepared to do that? And it’s not just you—everyone on the team has to be ready for that level of commitment."
Both Mika-nee and Hina were part of a local volleyball team when they were in elementary school. Mika-nee made it to nationals. Hina didn’t. The difference wasn’t so much their own talent as it was their teammates. Mika-nee’s teammates were all proactive and regularly did voluntary training. The whole team got stronger because of that. Hina’s teammates weren’t like that, so it became a one-girl team with her carrying everything. Maybe that’s why she joined the tennis club—a solo sport—in middle school. Maybe she got fed up with team sports.
"It—it’s okay! At the very least, I’ll give it my all! Actually, I have an older sister too—she graduated two years ago. Of course, she was in the volleyball club too. So I know what the volleyball club’s training menu is like at Matsujo. I’m sure the current students are still training with the same routine."
I’d heard that the Matsujo volleyball team’s training regimen was tough. But can every member really keep up with it? This is a regular girls' school, after all.
That uneasy feeling would prove to be spot-on.
That day, periods 1 to 3 were academic tests in Japanese, English, and Math. Afterward, we had a school tour and an introduction to club activities. That’s when I learned the current state of the volleyball club.
There were only three members. All of them were third-years. If no new members joined this year, the club would be disbanded.
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