A story set about two weeks before Matsutaka High’s cultural festival.
We, the members of Himesaki High School Girls’ Volleyball Team, were united in our training for the All-Japan High School Volleyball Championship, commonly known as Spring High.
Our training menu had been adjusted in anticipation of matches against Matsubara Girls’ High School in the prefectural qualifiers and Kinhouzan Academy, the reigning champions of the summer Inter-High and autumn National Sports Festival.
Practice involving receiving powerful spikes had increased. The joint practices with the boys’ volleyball team were part of that.
—It’s coming!
Bang!
The moment the ball struck my palm, it echoed with a booming sound that you would never hear in a girls' volleyball match—a spike flying in.
But—
The spike was fast, yet slow. High, yet low.
At the National Sports Festival in September, Arimura-san, who came from Matsubara Girls’ High School, watched a boys’ match taking place in the same gym and said, “Yuuri’s spikes are higher and faster.”
Our training partners were the boys’ volleyball team of Himesaki High, a team ranked among the top in the prefecture. And this was their second-string squad. Naturally, their level was lower compared to the national top-tier boys’ teams gathered at the National Sports Festival.
Still, a boys’ spike is a boys’ spike. It’s not something easily received.
We started joint practices with the boys in June as a countermeasure against Matsubara Girls’ High.
At first, we had this notion somewhere in our minds—“It’s a boys’ spike, so of course we can’t receive it”—and that lack of seriousness showed.
It was Arimura-san, who had fought alongside us at the National Sports Festival, who shattered that complacency.
She regularly faces spikes even stronger than these. If we can’t receive spikes like this, we won’t stand a chance in Tokyo’s gyms.
But still, a boys’ spike is a boys’ spike. It’s not easily handled. There’s even a risk of injury.
Above all—
“If we push them too hard and they get used to losing, it defeats the purpose.”
Coach Akai would sometimes murmur that. She warned that practice with the boys must be done in appropriate amounts.
The hard truth that it’s not easy to receive. The fear that not being able to receive becomes the norm.
We didn’t know if this training was really making us stronger, if we were getting stronger at all. With that uncertainty, we found ourselves already halfway through October.
About one month until the second stage of the prefectural qualifiers for Spring High.
Let me introduce myself.
My name is Saori Nishimura.
I’m the so-called captain of the Himesaki High School Girls’ Volleyball Team—in title only.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No, not at all. I just got here too.”
On the way back from club activities to the dorms.
By the school gate, Taiki Kuroda, who had been practicing with us earlier, was waiting. Taiki-kun is… someone special to me. Both he and I entered Himesaki High in the same year on volleyball scholarships.
Which means we practically never have a day off from practice. The roughly 500 meters from the school gate to the fork in the road where the boys’ and girls’ dorms split—this is our one and only date course.
Our conversations are always about volleyball. But that too, was nearing an end.
“My volleyball days will end tomorrow, huh…”
“Huh?”
“I mean, think about it. Tomorrow marks one month until the second stage of the Spring High prefectural qualifiers. It’s the deadline for player registration. If I don’t get a uniform by then, I won’t be playing volleyball in high school anymore. And college, well…”
…
Neither Taiki-kun nor I are what you’d call super-elite high school players. So we’re not the kind of athletes who can keep playing volleyball at top-tier colleges.
Sure, we could continue as a hobby, but if that were enough for us, we wouldn’t have come to Himesaki in the first place.
And as you can guess from the fact that Taiki-kun was practicing with us girls today, he’s not at the level to earn a uniform among the boys.
For boys, practicing under the girls’ rules is a huge handicap.
First, the net height is different. Get used to the girls’ net, and you won’t be able to play with the boys’ net. Even the balls are different. Whether it’s because of sponsor preferences or something else, the official volleyballs used differ between genders. And it’s not just the brand—the way they spin, the trajectory they fly in—those are different too. Get used to one, and you’ll struggle with the other.
And even so, Taiki-kun still trains with us. That’s what this is about.
“Saori, keep playing volleyball for the both of us, okay? In January, I’ll definitely come to cheer you on in Tokyo.”
“I don’t know… You know there’s that amazing first-year setter in the same position as me.”
I finally got a uniform in my third year. But in matches, it’s always shared time with the first-year setter.
As frustrating as it is, I’m not so immature that I can’t recognize talent.
Objectively speaking—receiving, tossing, serving, blocking—she’s better in all of them. If I have anything on her, it’s that I’ve spent two more years practicing with Himesaki’s team.
And with that, I’ve gained just a bit more experience in team play, even if it’s just practice.
That difference is tiny. I can already see a future where they make the first-year the official setter.
It’s not just her. There’s a good second-year setter too.
In last week’s practice match, I only played about 10–20% of the total time. The rest was all taken by the underclassmen.
Even in daily practice, unless it’s just in my head, I feel like I’m being used to support them.
“I’ve been playing volleyball since fourth grade, you know?”
“What’s with the sudden shift?”
“You said you won’t be able to play anymore… so I started reflecting on my volleyball life. Volleyball has always been at the center of my days—especially since entering high school.”
“Yeah, same for me. And hey—”
In the end, that day too, we walked home talking about volleyball.
I wonder how many more days we’ll get to walk home like this.
＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝
Since morning practice, the third-years in particular have been visibly on edge.
It’s the registration deadline for the players competing in the second round of the Spring High qualifiers.
Nothing is decided today—it’s everything that’s happened until today that matters—but even so, everyone was nervous. Especially the third-years. If they aren't chosen as players, then today marks the end of their high school volleyball careers. And for the vast majority of third-years, that’s exactly what it means.
I was feeling nervous too—probably because of what Daiki-kun said yesterday about the end of our volleyball lives.
And then—
“We will now announce the players selected for next month’s second-round qualifiers. By position: we have chosen seven wing spikers, three middle blockers, two setters, and two liberos.”
The blood drained from my face.
Two setter spots.
If there had been three, I might not have gotten to play, but at least I’d have received a uniform. Now even that wasn’t guaranteed.
“First, the wing spikers: Masami Tokumoto. Mari Hasegawa. Chiba—”
Names of the standout players were called one after another. Coach Akai always calls names in order of strength when announcing players by position. The first name for wing spiker was Masami, a first-year who had already become Himesaki’s ace.
Meanwhile—
“That concludes the wing spikers. Next, the middle blockers—”
Not a single third-year name was called.
Akina, Mayako, Miri—
And others too. Friends who went three years without ever once wearing a uniform.
But... that’s just how it is.
Our year, often teased as Himesaki’s “gap generation,” may have more such cases than usual, but every year, without fail, there are a few who go all of high school without ever once being officially registered for a match.
Himesaki High is one of the top volleyball schools in the country, led by the renowned Coach Akai. Every year, it draws many hopefuls from nearby areas, some even enrolling through volleyball recommendations. There’s a selection process, of course, but even so, each grade has about 15 players—almost 50 total across three years.
On the other hand, the number of players that can be registered for official matches varies by tournament, but usually it’s either 12 plus 2 liberos or 14 plus 2.
So, more than half of us don’t even qualify to be on the court.
I knew that. I’ve seen it happen. Last year when I was a second-year, the year before when I was a first-year.
But this year—this time—it’s different. These girls are the ones I’ve been with since day one.
And yet… I can’t say I don’t understand why they weren’t chosen. It’s not like the underclassmen go easy in practice. It’s not like their skills are lacking. It’s not like they’re not trying. We all know that, those of us who train with them every day.
They’re chosen because they’re good. Because they’re strong.
Of course. That’s only natural.
…Until now, I never really thought about it this seriously.
For most of us, this is the end of volleyball. I’m no different.
“That concludes the middle blockers. Next, the setters—”
Not even Aiko, the tallest third-year, was chosen. She was passed over in favor of three first- and second-years with better height and skill.
Those who weren’t chosen don’t even get a final match. The ones who lose in an official game and end up crying are actually the lucky ones. The girls who don’t even get a uniform aren’t granted that right. I thought I might be one of them too—
“For setter, Saori Nishimura. We’ll go into the second-round qualifiers with Nishimura-san as our starting setter. In addition, she will also serve as game captain.”
…Huh?????
“Um… Me?”
I couldn’t believe it. Given how I’ve been treated lately, I expected—at best—to be the backup…
“I understand what you’re thinking. It’s true there are players with better individual skills than you.”
Even without her saying it outright, I knew. She meant Chika, the first-year. She was already treated like a regular…
“But I believe it’s you, Nishimura-san, who brings out the team’s full potential. Be proud. Among everyone here, you’re the most outstanding setter.”
…To be honest, it still doesn’t feel real. But one thing I do know:
“Yes. Understood. I’ll do my very best!”
At long last, in the winter of my third year, I finally became a regular on the Himesaki High team.
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