My body feels light. Why is that?
Lunch was...
Come to think of it, I only had one rice ball because the match was starting soon.
I also had a jelly-type supplement, but it clearly wasn’t enough. Still, I don’t feel hungry. Maybe my body feels light because my stomach is empty?
I can feel power throughout every part of my body. I feel like I can see the ball more clearly than usual... or at least it seems that way.
The whistle blew.
As always, I take my second step and toss.
Ah, this is a good toss.
Three more steps into the approach, then I jump—and—
The serve I hit with everything I had also landed cleanly. The course was good, and it pierced straight into the opponent's court without letting them even touch it.
“Yuu-chan, nice serve!”
“Yuu-chan, your serves have been amazing just now!”
“What’s going on, Yuuri? You’re suddenly on fire!”
“That was incredible! There’s no way to receive something like that!”
“Yuuri, nice serve!”
In the brief time before the next serve, my teammates shower me with praise.
Hmm. Honestly, that serve and the one I landed near the end of the second set are the kind of perfect serves I might only manage once every fifty tries in practice. But somehow, I landed two in such a short span. I wonder why?
Anyway, the score is now 19–15.
Just one more point to reach the milestone of 20. Just six more, and we take the set.
Piiiiip!
The whistle blares. Himesaki calls for a timeout.
“So they called a timeout here, which means even Himesaki is having trouble with Yuuri’s serve. But that doesn’t mean we need to overthink it. Let’s focus on each point and repeat that six times. You’re not suddenly going to pull off something you couldn’t do before. Stay calm and keep pressing.”
Coach Saeki says this as we huddle. In short, she’s telling us not to change anything—just keep going as we are.
“Still, Yuuri-chan’s serve really is amazing. Even Himesaki can’t easily handle it when she gets into rhythm.”
“Yeah, even we rarely manage to receive it properly.”
“Though it’s only the spike serves that are getting service aces. Do we not need the float serves after all?”
In the end, it's the spike serves that score. The float serves, despite how much effort it took to learn them, just haven’t been working out.
“No, I don’t think that’s quite right. You see, Tachibana’s float serve is like a ‘setup pitch’ in baseball.”
The one to disagree with the “float serves are useless” idea is the only—well, technically one of two—male (myself included) members of the team, Coach Uesugi.
A setup pitch, huh?
“Setup pitch?”
Kaori raises her voice. Most of the team has a puzzled look like, “What’s that?”
“In baseball, before throwing the strikeout pitch—your finisher—you might deliberately throw a slow ball or something with movement to mess with the batter’s timing and throw them off. That’s a setup pitch. I don’t know much about volleyball, but people’s psychology works the same. Just making them think a slower, more unpredictable serve might come instead of that powerful spike serve—well, that’s effective in itself.”
Personally, that explanation makes a lot of sense to me. If you think of it that way, using two types of serves really is effective.
＝＝＝＝＝
Perspective Change – Same Time
Himesaki High School Girls’ Volleyball Club's Side
＝＝＝＝＝
Now that it’s come to this, Coach Akai made up her mind to finally say what she’d held back for the past six months.
Himesaki’s super rookies: Masami Tokumoto and Chika Okino.
Both are among the top of their generation.
Even back in elementary school, their exceptional talent led a no-name team all the way to the national tournament despite having no recognition. Back then, both were under 160 cm, so top junior high schools didn’t scout them, and they went on to attend their local public junior high.
But during those three years, Tokumoto grew 17 cm, and Okino 13 cm. By the third year, they barely managed to assemble six players—some complete beginners—but still won the prefectural tournament and went on to nationals again.
Both have even been selected for the U-16 squad before.
They truly are prodigies.
However, both of these prodigies share a common weakness.
When targeted by stronger opponents, they suddenly shrink back.
Since earlier, every time a powerful serve or spike comes directly at them, their performance dips. Even though they could handle it if they stayed calm.
This flaw didn’t surface in their elementary or junior high days. Maybe they themselves haven’t noticed it. After all, their teammates were always far below their level. So if the opponent was going to aim at someone, it would naturally be the weaker ones. And ironically, when they step in to support a struggling teammate, they don’t shrink back at all.
But this is Himesaki High, where national-level players gather. The two might be good enough to contend for a regular spot, but they’re not clearly above the rest. It’s only natural they’d be targeted in matches. So far, they’ve masked it well. But what about now?
For better or worse, Coach Akai has seen her share of such “noble” types—though in this case, maybe “princess-type” is more fitting.
She has some idea of how to address it, too.
Ideally, they realize on their own that they’ve become overconfident and humble themselves. If someone older like her tries to force the issue before they notice it, it can actually backfire.
That’s why she’s waited over six months.
But losing now would help no one. That’s why she called this timeout.
Just as she was about to point it out—
“Masami. Why don’t you calm down a little? With your ability, there’s no need to panic.”
The unexpected words came from a third-year she’d appointed as captain.
“Yeah, totally. Masami, have a little faith in us upperclassmen, okay? You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
“Ah, yes... Was it really that obvious?”
“It was. You looked really flustered. But you earned that uniform by outperforming us third-years. Oh, I’m not upset or anything. We all agreed you were better. The six strongest players should be the ones on the court. So we get it. We know this isn’t your best.”
The expression on the first-year super rookie shifted slightly. Coach Akai caught that subtle change and adjusted her approach.
“If I may? What I wanted to say just now, Nishimura-san already said it for me. Tokumoto-san, let’s take a breath. Since the middle of the second set, your play has been getting sloppier as the score fell behind. Have more confidence. You are the best spiker on Himesaki High’s team. There’s no high school team out there that you can’t break through. Also, we’ll tweak the strategy slightly. Specifically—”
Piiiiip!
Timeouts only last 30 seconds. The whistle sounded all too quickly.
But what needed to be said came through even better than it would have 30 seconds earlier.
And then—
“Coach Akai. Is that the difference between me and Nishimura-senpai?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like... when I’m losing—or Tokumoto is—I feel like we both get flustered and try to force it, and it backfires...”
Unfortunately, that self-reflection isn’t quite right. The issue isn’t that they’re losing. It’s when they believe their own skills aren’t enough that they start to unravel.
Still, there’s no need to correct her now. Teaching isn’t about handing out all the answers from the start.
“That’s part of it. When both the playmaker and ace go off on their own, it causes problems. Do you know the phrase, ‘One for all, all for one’?”
“Yes, it means ‘One for everyone, everyone for one person,’ right? Like, everyone working together as a team.”
“That’s close, but the proper Japanese translation would be ‘One for everyone, and everyone for one goal.’ Or, more dramatically, ‘One for everyone, all for victory.’ It originally comes from rugby. In rugby, everyone needs to fulfill their role for the team to score a try. Okino-san, there’s no doubt you have talent. You might even be stronger than some of the second- and third-years. But are you using that talent properly—for the right purpose?”
Coach Akai smiles gently at Okino as she falls silent, thinking. And inwardly, she smiles a bit wryly at herself.
Is it really okay, as a coach, to find more joy in her students’ growth than in victory? Even though the students, their parents, and the school all expect her to win...
The scoreboard reads 15–19.
We can still do this. We can still catch up.
These girls aren’t the kind to give up here.
No comments:
Post a Comment