That one phrase wouldn't leave his head. 　……You're clumsy, aren't you. Just that. Cold, brief, spoken without a glance back. Hinata Haruto stood frozen in the hallway, still gripping the eraser he'd picked up at the corner. --- 　The story goes back one day. --- 　Mid-April, Monday. As Haruto passed through the school gates, he looked up at the sky first. 　Blue. Incredibly blue. "Today's gonna be a good day too" 　His voice was louder than a typical mutter. An unfamiliar first-year passing by gave him a slightly awkward look. Haruto didn't notice. 　Minato Hira Minami High School. A four-story reinforced concrete building nestled at the foot of Takaoka Hill. About 960 students. Fifteen minutes' walk from Minato Hira Station, it blended into the mid-sized coastal city. The school motto was "Flight and Sincerity," carved into a stone tablet by the main gate. Haruto passed that tablet every morning but had never once paid it any attention. 　Bright orange short hair swayed in the April morning breeze. 　178 centimeters tall. Lean with some muscle, wearing a white sports T-shirt and navy jersey shorts—the kind of outfit that screamed "athlete" from a distance. Large, round amber eyes darted around constantly. His face was handsome, yet somehow full of openings. That was Hinata Haruto. --- 　Morning practice started at seven. The First Gymnasium felt different just by existing. 　The ceiling was high. Twelve meters. About four times the height of a normal room. Fluorescent light reflected off the floor, illuminating the court in white. The sound of shoes echoing up to the ceiling and back down. Haruto loved that sound. 　The approach. The takeoff. 　The moment his feet pushed off the ground, his body lifted. （This. This is it.） 　That single instant at the peak. Time felt like it slowed down. The flow of air changed. This was his favorite part, every single time. He'd started volleyball in third grade—nearly nine years ago now. Yet this feeling had never changed from the beginning. Smack. 　The spike hit the court. "Nice!" 　He said it himself. Across the net to no one. 　This summer, third-year ace Matsukawa Yamato would retire. Matsukawa was huge and looked scary, but he was incredibly skilled. Haruto would take his position. The main wing spiker. The one to lead the team. （I'm the only one who can do this.） 　Not dramatic like a flame, but quietly certain. He'd get better. He'd become a proper ace. Well, somehow it'll work out! 　The moment he was about to start his approach again, something strange flickered through him. 　That instant at the peak. It should've been the usual feeling, but today something different surfaced. （I... I don't understand anything except volleyball...） 　He landed. 　It vanished. The moment his feet touched the floor, that sensation disappeared completely. He couldn't even name it. Before he could wonder what it was, he was already starting his next approach. --- 　When first period started, Class 2-3 came alive all at once. 　Third floor of the main building. Beyond the windows, the schoolyard spread out, and beyond that, Minato Hira Bay glimmered faintly. A little hazy, but you could tell it was the sea. From his seat in the last row by the window, Haruto sometimes gazed at that view. 　First period was Japanese. 　The teacher started handing back papers. A quiz from a few weeks ago. With each sheet distributed, the classroom buzzed. "Haruto, what'd you get?" 　The boy in front turned around. "[laughing] Sixty points" 　He said it without any particular concern. "...Again?" "Well, that's about right" 　Haruto's grades consistently ranked around 240th out of 320 students in his year. He didn't really care. He was busy with volleyball, or so he told himself—the truth was he just wasn't that good at studying. But "somehow it'll work out!" so he wasn't particularly stressed. That was the kind of guy he was. 　The moment second period's break started, the girl in front spun around. "Hey, Haruto. Can I borrow your notes from yesterday's class?" "[excited] Sure!" 　He rummaged through his backpack like a schoolbag and handed over his notebook. The girl took it with slightly flushed cheeks. 　The girl on the hallway side also seized the moment to talk to him. Every break, girls gathered around Haruto's seat. "Man, this class is pretty lively, huh" 　Haruto looked around with a full smile. "[sarcastic] ...You definitely don't get it, do you" 　Kunmi Takumi, sitting next to him, sighed. The setter, Haruto's teammate in volleyball. "[surprised] Get what?" "Never mind" 　Kunmi turned toward the window. This conversation had happened five times already this semester. --- 　Lunch break. 　Haruto ran. The school store "Kamome Shop" on the first floor of the main building had a line at noon. Today he'd finally get yakisoba bread——but through the glass, the rack was already empty. "[sad] ...Sold out" 　He pressed his forehead against the glass, staring intently at the shelves. "Haruto, don't press your forehead like that" 　A round voice came from behind the counter. 　Nakamura Tokiko. Fifty-eight years old. The shop lady. Plump, with food stains perpetually on her apron. Deep wrinkles etched around her eyes that made her face irresistible when she smiled. She knew all the students well and was skilled at pretending not to. Haruto liked Tokiko. She never got angry. "[sad] You don't have yakisoba bread?" "Nope. Sold out at ten" "That's fast..." 　He grabbed a melon bread (150 yen). Well, that works. 　As Tokiko rang it up, she grinned mischievously. "[sarcastic] Hey Haruto" "Yeah" "Girls have been coming by here pretty often lately" "Really? The shop's popular, huh" "...I mean because of you" "[laughing] Huh? Me? No way, no way! Everyone just likes the shop!" 　Tokiko sighed deeply as she put the money in the register. "Sigh..." 　Then she pulled out a small notebook from under the counter and scribbled something quickly—at an angle Haruto couldn't see. He didn't pay attention. "Thanks" "Come again" 　Chewing on melon bread, Haruto headed back to class. Tokiko watched his retreating figure for a moment, then added another line to her notebook. The notebook was filled with numbers and dates arranged carefully. A record of what each student bought and how many—particularly the number of bottles of coffee milk, meticulously documented. --- 　After school. 　Volleyball practice ran from five to seven-thirty. When it ended, his body felt pretty heavy. He untied his shoe laces and left the club room, walking along the path at the foot of Takaoka Hill before leaving school. 　The air changed when he turned onto the path along Hayase River. 　The smell of the river. The smell of young grass. The cherry blossoms had mostly turned to leaves, rustling gently in the evening breeze. The water surface of Hayase River caught the sunset, swaying in orange waves. The eighteen-kilometer river widened to about twenty-five meters here, its concrete embankment weathered with age. Eight benches lined the path—jogging uncles and dog-walking aunts frequented this spot in the evening. 　Haruto passed a bench where no one sat and suddenly stopped. 　He looked up at the sky. 　The sunset spread across it. A few clouds, orange and purple mixing together. Beautiful, he thought. But it wasn't just that. Something else crossed his mind. "...Is it okay to just keep going like this?" 　He'd spoken without thinking. 　He loved volleyball. Really loved it. Practice wasn't easy, but he didn't hate it. He liked his teammates too. Kunmi had a sharp tongue but was reliable, and Matsukawa was incredibly skilled. 　But. 　Every day was the same. 　Go to school, take classes, play volleyball, go home. Talk with friends, laugh, eat, sleep. Repeat. It's not like it's not fun. But something. 　Something's missing. 　He didn't know what that "something" was. When he tried to think about it, he couldn't quite shape it. It was like fog. Something without a name. 　The river water flowed on, dyed orange. 　Haruto looked at the sky once more, sighed, and started walking again. "Well, somehow it'll work out!" 　His usual catchphrase. 　But today, it was just a little quieter than usual. --- 　Night. 　Haruto's room, second floor of the Hinata house. 　Lying on his back on the bed, he watched volleyball match videos on his phone. A foreign match—he couldn't understand the language, but the plays were incredible. The spike form captured in frame-by-frame clarity. 　His mother's voice came from downstairs. "Take a bath!" "Okay!" he called back, but didn't move. His younger sister Himari pattered down the hallway. She was a first-year middle schooler now, but still ran like an elementary schooler. 　The video ended. The next one auto-played, but Haruto wasn't watching anymore. 　He was staring at the ceiling. "Tomorrow's gonna be the same, huh" 　Not sad. Just vaguely thinking it. 　He closed his eyes. The phone screen went dark. 　Before long, he was asleep. --- 　Tuesday morning. 　Haruto was late. 　For no real reason, he was running down the hallway. His bag bounced against his back. Second floor of the main building, the corner—turn right and there's the stairs—— 　Crash. 　A huge sound. Half of it came from Haruto himself. 　His hands hit the floor. His bag flew. His phone, pencil case, and an eraser he'd picked up somewhere scattered across the ground. （I messed up...） 　When he looked up, his vision went black. 　Long, black hair. 　It spread across the floor right in front of him. A pale hand slowly pressed against the ground. There was a pause—was she trying to stand up? Haruto stood up. 　Their eyes met. 　Cold eyes. Sharp and narrow, emotionless. Dark pupils looked straight at him. She slowly held back her disheveled black hair with one hand. 　Haruto tried to say something. Sorry, or Are you okay? "...You're clumsy, aren't you" 　The girl's voice was quiet. Not angry. Not blaming. Just stating what she thought. 　That said, she began picking up her scattered belongings. Her movements were careful, unhurried. She aligned her files, picked up pens one by one. The moment Haruto started to say "Oh, let me help," she was already standing. 　She walked away without turning back. 　Her long black hair swayed. Her uniform was perfectly neat. Before Haruto could call out, she'd disappeared down the hallway. 　Haruto crouched and picked up the eraser. 　That was weird. 　He hadn't apologized properly. That was part of it. But not just that. （...You're clumsy, aren't you） 　Walking toward the classroom, that voice repeated in his head. Short, faint, emotionless. Why was it bothering him so much? He hadn't been scolded. He hadn't been hurt. She'd just stated a fact. 　But. 　Still, that voice kept replaying. （You're clumsy, aren't you——） 　He opened the door to Class 2-3. The usual noise. The usual faces. 　Haruto took his seat and glanced out the window. Beyond the schoolyard, Minato Hira Bay glimmered faintly. 　The same view as yesterday. The same morning as yesterday. 　Yet somehow, it felt just a little different. 　He didn't know why yet.