There’s such a thing as talent. Some people gain 10 points of skill for 10 points of effort, while others gain 20. On the other hand, there are people who can only gain 5 despite putting in the same 10 points of effort.
After living for nearly 18 years, you can’t help but notice the reality of talent—of limits.
The volleyball team at the prefectural Matsubara Girls’ High School, which I enrolled in, was apparently considered a powerhouse in the past. But now, it’s just a mid-level team within the prefecture. Even so, the quality and intensity of our training remained the same as during its glory days.
Meanwhile, Matsubara Girls’ High School itself didn’t have any particularly defining features—unless you count its long history. The students who enrolled were mostly average, ordinary girls.
Would ordinary students really want to devote most of their high school life to volleyball? The majority wouldn’t. Most come here hoping for a normal high school experience: dressing up, hanging out, studying every now and then.
If you really want to play volleyball seriously, you’d go to a school known for it.
That’s what most people think—and yet, there were some who didn’t think that way and still joined the volleyball team.
Back when I was a first-year, the training was tough. But we still didn’t see results. Despite all our hard work, we couldn’t beat the elite private schools who recruited promising middle schoolers with height and power.
By the end of that year, the harsh training had whittled our ten-member first-year group down to just four before the new year even began. The third-years when I joined stayed until November, when we lost in the Spring Nationals qualifiers, then retired. The new captain—a second-year—stood before us and said:
“Let’s be realistic.”
Spring Nationals Prefectural Qualifiers—defeated in the fourth round. We didn’t even make the Best Four. All that remained were four second-years, four first-years, and no manager.
Given that reality, should we really keep playing volleyball the way we were?
Logically speaking, Inter-High or Spring Nationals were out of reach. So wouldn’t it be better to stop pushing ourselves so hard and just enjoy the game?
From that day on, our training gradually became simpler and shorter.
Our advisor at the time had been coaching the team for over ten years, even during the years we made it to Inter-High. He was against simplifying the training at first, but in the end, he gave in.
I don’t think the previous captain was wrong. Honestly, even we—the ones who stayed—no longer knew what we were playing volleyball for.
Just painful practice. Practice that brought no results.
Then came another blow: when we became second-years, not a single new student joined the volleyball team. With things the way they were, the only way to keep members from quitting was to ease up on practice.
Of course, we eventually paid the price for that.
In our second year, we lost in the first round of the Inter-High prefectural qualifiers.
Becoming strong takes so much effort, but becoming weak happens in the blink of an eye. That summer, the third-years retired. Only four of us were left—not even enough to enter a match. Everyone had lost their motivation.
We did manage to get some people to help us and entered the Spring Nationals qualifiers, but we lost our first match again. Before we even moved up to third-year, one of the members quit to focus on college entrance exams.
I couldn’t blame her. Honestly, that was probably the smarter choice.
To make things worse, our longtime advisor transferred to another school due to a faculty reshuffle. We had no idea who would replace him—but this was a public school. We couldn’t expect an experienced coach.
But then, something unexpected happened.
“Huh. Only three of you left? The place sure got quiet.”
On the day of the opening ceremony, the new advisor—a young teacher—showed up.
She was a graduate of Matsubara Girls’ High School, just six years prior, and had been on the volleyball team back when they made it to Inter-High.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough—
“Class 1-2, from Shirasawa Middle School. My name is Tohira Asuka! My preferred position is wing spiker! I’m the younger sister of Tohira Kyoko, who graduated two years ago!”
Yes, the Tohira—our captain two years ago, known for being stricter than anyone else.
Her little sister had joined the volleyball team.
The new advisor, Saeki-sensei, didn’t know that our training had been eased up since last year. And the new recruit, Asuka, only knew the stories her sister told her about our volleyball club.
Before we knew it, practice was back to being as tough as before—no, even tougher.
The Tachibana sisters, who joined as freshmen, had an older sister who was not only a former member of the elite Himesaki High School Girls’ Volleyball Team, but had also represented Japan at the age-level national team—and just this March, she was selected for the all-generation senior national team.
They managed to get Himesaki’s practice regimen from her.
“If we want to beat Himesaki, we’ll have to train even harder than they do.”
They said that with zero hesitation—and Saeki-sensei, eager to strengthen the team, immediately agreed. At that point, soft-spoken Ellie (Eriko's nickname) could no longer resist, and practice became increasingly intense.
Every day suddenly got exhausting.
And yet, the first-years seemed completely unfazed.
More than that...
Poink.
Just a simple rally in volleyball, nothing special… and yet:
“Yuuri, use your knees instead of your arms. This is the most important time to form good habits. Learn the proper form.”
“Got it, Yuki. I’ll be careful.”
“Hey, Yuuri. In Japan, when you’re being taught something, you’re supposed to speak politely. ‘I’m very sorry, Master.’”
“Stop it with the weird honorifics! You’re just going to confuse Yuuri!”
“Rei-chan, you’re, like… really stiff. Or old-fashioned. Or maybe, like, a samurai?”
“Oh! I’ve heard of that before! Japanese Samurai, right?”
“See? Now you’ve really confused her!”
They were the kind of girls who would even use the tiniest break in practice to keep practicing.
Meanwhile, I was sore with muscle pain every single day...
.
.
.
Muscle soreness?????
“Eh? When was the last time I had muscle soreness from volleyball practice? I was sore yesterday too, but...”
After club activities ended, on the way home where the first-years couldn’t hear, I asked Ellie and the others.
“What I mean is—not just yesterday—was there ever a time last year when you felt sore from practice at all?”
“…Now that you mention it, no, not really.”
So it wasn’t just me, after all.
“Fufufu.”
“Miho? What’s so funny?”
“You know, I always thought I was working hard. I thought I gave it my all last year too. But the body doesn’t lie. It knew I’d been slacking off all of last year.”
Muscles—and the body—don’t grow unless you use them. And if you use them, soreness comes as proof. I only thought I had been practicing last year.
“Now that you say it, during today’s running drills, I tasted blood in the back of my throat for the first time in ages. Back in first year, when Tohira-senpai used to make us run, that was an everyday thing.”
“Right? Back then, we could enjoy the taste of blood daily.”
“I wasn’t enjoying it at all though…”
People have called me “the hard-working one” ever since elementary school because I’ve played volleyball for so long. But how much real passion did I bring to it? Compared to this year’s first-years, can I really say my passion came even close?
There is such a thing as talent. Some people gain 10 units of strength from 10 units of effort. Others might gain 20. On the other hand, some only gain 5, no matter how hard they try.
But was that really 10 units of effort? Maybe the person who gained 20 was actually putting in 15, or even 20 behind the scenes. And maybe the person who only gained 5 was only pretending to work hard and really only put in 5.
I may have spent a long time putting in effort—but the density of that effort was low. Meanwhile, the first-years this year have incredibly dense effort. I realized that, panicked, and tried to tighten my screws again. But I couldn’t catch up. That’s why I accepted it when I lost my regular spot. I had accepted it... but—
Inter-High Prefectural Qualifiers, Day One
Match 1: Matsubara Girls’ High School vs. Kurakami High School
Before Start of Set 2
“We’re pulling Yuuri out at the start of Set 2.”
Saeki-sensei announced that she was pulling out our ace, who scored 24 of our 25 points in Set 1.
“Coach, why?”
Ellie asked the obvious question on everyone’s behalf.
“That last set—we practically won it with just Yuuri, right? That means we have no idea how the rest of the team is doing. Kurakami just happened to be a team we matched up well against, but we can’t count on that moving forward. I know we’re not some elite school that can afford to 'evaluate future potential' like some top team. We can barely even get practice matches. But I want to see the state of the whole team, not just Yuuri.”
…Was this out of kindness toward me? If Yuuri was out, then I’d naturally be the one subbing in.
“Coach, is it because I’m a third-year?”
“Absolutely not. This is purely to assess the condition and strength of the team apart from Yuuri.”
Saeki-sensei said firmly and clearly.
Set 2 Starting Members:
-
-
FL: #7 (Tohira Asuka)
-
FC: #5 (Okazaki Yui)
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FR: #4 (Tachibana Hina)
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BR: #1 (Itagaki Eriko)
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BC: #3 (Murai Reiko)
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BL: #2 (Hagino Miho)
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Libero: #8 (Arimura Yuki)
→ Substitutes in when #3 and #5 are in the back row.
-
Net
—————————————
FL FC FR
BL BC BR
—————————————
End Line
Set 2 turned into a back-and-forth seesaw game, unlike Set 1. Kurakami High’s spike success rate was low, but their receiving and organized blocking were strong, making it hard to score points. On top of that, they made very few mistakes. They were the textbook kind of team that excels in rallies—perfectly suited to girls’ volleyball.
Even so, the current score is 13–11. We’re leading by 2 points. And the reason is—
“Reiko!”
I used my knees and arms to toss a high set.
“!! The spike’s coming from #3! If we time the block right, it’s not an unreachable height!”
“Block! Match it! Rea—dy—go!”
The opposing coach and blockers shouted in sync.
There are two main advantages Reiko has when she spikes that differ from Yuuri’s.
First, her spatial awareness is higher. If I send a high toss, even if it’s too high, she can still time it and hit it cleanly. With Yuuri, if the toss is too high, her timing sometimes gets thrown off mid-air. But that doesn’t happen with Reiko. As a setter, this is a godsend.
…Of course, Hina never misjudges the height when setting for Yuuri. So it’s probably just my lack of skill as a setter.
Second, the difference in spike height. Yuuri’s spikes come from a height that just can’t be blocked. In contrast, Reiko’s highest contact point is currently around 300cm. From there, she swings down, meaning you might be able to touch it if you block above 260cm.
Of course, a vertical jump reaching 260cm or more (without a running start, since it’s a block) is extremely difficult for a girl—but not impossible.
That’s why people don’t even try to block Yuuri, but with Reiko, like Kurakami is doing now, it’s worth the attempt.
However, committing multiple people to the block reduces the number of receivers. That opens more gaps in the court—and Reiko can target those gaps.
More than anything—
“Yaaaaaah!!!”
Kurakami’s blockers shouted and leapt together in perfect sync. They did touch Reiko’s spike.
But—
Even though they touched it, it was just a fingertip. And with the kind of spike that, in Yui’s words, could rip a finger off if it hit cleanly, that little touch wasn’t nearly enough to kill its momentum. The ball surged past the blockers and into the opponent’s court—block-out.
The score moves to 14–11.
Saeki-sensei’s plan wasn’t wrong. Reiko’s spike had shattered the opponent’s block and earned us points—that’s why we were in the lead.
But why was the lead still so small?
The answer’s obvious. It’s me.
Right now, among all the players on court, I’m the shortest. I can’t jump as high. Of course they’d target me with spikes. They’re hitting right over me.
Once you’re on the court, you can’t help but notice. It’s not just Reiko. All the first-years are incredible.
Yuki just received another spike that was hit over me. And not just that—she passed it perfectly to the setter.
Honestly, if Yuki weren’t here, the scoreboard would probably already be reversed.
Rotation again. Court positions change.
“Hah!!”
Hina returned the flying ball directly into the opponent’s court. I couldn’t have reached that height. So doing a direct return like that is impossible for me.
But that’s not all there is to Hina. Her toss distribution is also excellent. If it were me, I’d likely focus too much on Reiko, but Hina observes the opponent carefully, quickly judges which spiker has the best chance to score, and sets the ball accordingly.
This time it’s a C quick by Asuka and Hina. That one also landed cleanly.
“Nice ki!” (short for “nice kill,” said when a spike scores)
“Nice toss!”
“Yaaay!!”
Though they only met for the first time in high school, watching the way they interact, you’d believe they’ve been best friends for ten years.
It’s… a difference in talent.
No.
That’s not it.
Asuka and Hina practiced everything from A to D quick attacks thoroughly. Sure, they may have picked it up faster than most, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t put in the effort.
Whether they worked hard or didn’t. Whether they held back on effort or gave it their all. That’s a huge difference. That’s why the first-years are amazing.
The match progresses and now it’s 24–20.
It’s our match point. But that last point feels so far away.
We were at 24–16, but they scored four points in a row.
Why? Because we’re currently in what’s likely our weakest rotation.
Our front row, from left to right: Ellie, Reiko, and me.
Our back row, from left to right: Asuka, Yuki, and Hina.
First problem: the blockers in the front row, where height is crucial, are (Reiko’s fine) Ellie and me. Compared to the other four, Ellie is 15 cm shorter, and I’m a whole 20 cm shorter. Because of that, we haven’t been able to block their spikes—they just keep slamming them through.
And to make matters worse, our strongest spikers—Asuka and Hina (she’s technically the setter, but she’s better at spiking than Ellie or Yui)—are in the back row. Seriously, I’m completely useless!
That leaves us relying entirely on Reiko for spiking, but her spikes aren’t quite the kill shots that Yuuri’s are. In fact, she’s been successfully received a few times. Her scoring rate is about 80% (which is ridiculously high even for boys' matches, but still).
A spike is coming from the opponent!
“It’s coming! Match the timing! One, two, now!”
Ellie calls out the block cue.
Smack!
The ball hit someone’s hand.
“!! One touch!”
Ellie shouts.
Tch! I thought they’d aim at me, since I’m shorter, but they went for Ellie? And she touched it?! The ball is flying way past the sideline.
No way we can get that…
.
.
.
…Like I’d give up that easily! I’ve become the type who refuses to give up in these past two months!!
I sprint toward the ball with everything I’ve got. I dive! Stretch out my hand!
The ball’s about to hit the floor! Please, let me reach it!!
Just before the ball touches down, my right palm (if it had been a fist, I wouldn’t have made it) slips into the gap between the ball and the ground. I jerk my right arm up forcefully!
I did it! I popped it up! But unless someone makes the second touch, the ball won’t go back over—
“Miho! You’re in the way! Move!!”
Ellie crashes in from behind me! I don’t even have time to stand, so I roll aside to dodge.
Ellie makes the receive!
The ball comes back into our court. Now if someone sends it over to theirs… but we need to get back in position too.
“Everyone back off! I’ve got it!”
Yuki shouts. What’s she—?
She uses her entire small frame—knees, legs, arms—to send the ball flying high and back over into the opponent’s court!
Nice!
The ball goes so high it could be mistaken for a ceiling serve, and that hang time gives Ellie and me a chance to hurry back into position.
The opponent receives well. Despite the arc of the ball, they pass it cleanly to their setter.
“Reiko, a sec?”
I whisper to Reiko, who’s next to me at the net.
.
.
.
“Line up the block! Let’s go!”
Ellie calls out and we jump.
Of all places, the opponent’s spike goes toward Reiko—the tallest blocker.
If it had been aimed at me or Ellie, maybe we’d have barely gotten our fingertips on it. But Reiko’s block is high. The ball hits her broad arms and rebounds into the opponent’s court.
No one covers it. The ball hits the floor.
Game set.
Matsubara Girls' High School VS Kurakami High School
Set 2: 25–20
Set count: 2–0
“Miho-senpai, what was that last move?”
Reiko asks.
“Oh, that? It’s called a ‘switch’—a technique where blockers change positions just before the opponent spikes. They kept aiming over me the whole match, right? So I wanted to get back at them.”
…Though I couldn’t get back at them myself, so I used a junior instead. In the end, it wasn’t me but Reiko who pulled off the block. Just like a fox borrowing the lion’s roar.
Seriously. These past two months I’ve had sore muscles every day, coughed up metaphorical blood, struggled with midterm studies, and even started drinking energy drinks because my grades dropped and Mom would’ve killed me if I failed. Even after all that, the first set without me was 25–3, and with me it was 25–20. That proves I’m worse than Yuuri. And I’m a third-year.
Dragging down the team, suffering through practice, and on top of that—
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝
Woooah, we won! I thought we had it when it hit 24–16, but they scored four in a row—pretty tenacious of them. And that last move, switching blockers… what was it called again?
I’ll ask Hina later. Anyway, it was Miho-senpai’s (I think?) strategy that won us the game. She said something to Reiko at the end, after all. Time to line up—wait, huh?
“Miho-senpai? Did something good happen?”
“Ah, Yuuri. It’s nothing. It’s just… I realized something.”
Miho-senpai beamed as she said it.
“Volleyball is really fun.”
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