Kouki Sakuma, a second-year on a Miyagi high school volleyball team, is a benchwarmer hidden behind the star ace. He's not flashy, but he has watched more games than anyone. One day, manager Mio Takanashi finds his notebook packed with detailed analysis of rival schools' weaknesses. 'Wait, you wrote down all the weak points of that powerhouse school?'
From there, Mio becomes interested in Kouki. But the popular ace Ren Hayami also likes Mio. Ren sees Kouki as a rival and starts making snide rem
Screaming from the Shadows - The Analyst in the Corner of the Bench
The sound of a spike slamming into the court shook the air of the gymnasium.
A heavy *thud*. Then a moment of silence. And then, cheers erupted.
"Nice kill, Ren!"
"As expected of our ace!"
Sakuma Kouki sat on a folding chair against the wall. He could feel his own hands clenched tight on his knees. The nails of his right hand were digging into his left palm. It hurt. But that pain was the only thing holding him together right now.
After school, in the first gymnasium. The practice scene of Aobano High School's volleyball team.
In the center of the court, Hayami Ren landed, his bright brown hair—almost blond—swaying. A 184-centimeter frame. His bluish-gray eyes narrowed with a faint smile. That expression after blowing through a block with a single hit. A face that looked down on people, yet seemed to be enjoying himself more than anyone.
"...Next one, give me something faster."
Ren's voice echoed across the court. The first-year setter nodded frantically.
Kouki looked down at his own knees. 170 centimeters tall. A thin build. The knee pads he'd scraped against the floor during receiving practice were a little dirty. A navy jersey over a white T-shirt. The standard-issue kind. The appearance of someone who wasn't in the starting uniform—just another benchwarmer, the kind you'd find anywhere.
*(I can't stand out there.)*
That fact was shoved in his face, every single day, right before his eyes.
Ren's leaping power. The cheers of his teammates. That powerful sound of the ball striking the floor. All of it chipped away at Kouki's heart. And yet, he couldn't look away. Because he loved volleyball. Even though he couldn't stand on the court, he still loved it—and he had the pride of having watched this team's matches more than anyone.
"Alright! That was good, Ren!"
A low voice called out from the edge of the gym. Coach Miura. Thirty-eight years old. A former corporate league player who'd retired due to a knee injury. Now he was a PE teacher at Aobano High and the volleyball team's advisor. A man who believed in merit above all.
The coach, arms crossed, nodded only toward Ren.
"Your spike is this team's weapon. It's sharp today, too."
"Obviously."
Ren smiled. A confident, dazzling smile.
Kouki caught himself hoping for something. That the coach might glance his way, even for a second. That he might say a single word to him, sitting there taking notes.
But Coach Miura's gaze stayed only on the court. As if he had no interest whatsoever in what a second-year benchwarmer was doing by the wall.
*(I knew it.)*
Kouki muttered inside his heart. He knew. That's why he wouldn't expect anything. He'd decided that—and yet, every time, it still hurt a little.
The air in the gym was thick with the heat of practice. The white LED lights illuminated the court. The ceiling was high. Nine meters. The ball rose effortlessly to that height.
Kouki touched the back of his neck with his right hand. A habit he did without realizing it whenever he wanted to speak up. But right now, there was nowhere for his voice to go.
"Gather up!"
At Coach Miura's voice, the team members gathered in the center. Eighteen of them. Eight second-years, ten first-years. The third-years had retired before summer. This team now revolved around Ren.
Kouki stood up too and lined up at the end of the row.
"The bracket for next week's Inter-High Miyagi Prefectural Qualifiers has been decided."
The coach held up a sheet of paper.
"Our first opponent is Seiryuu Academy. Last year's prefectural top four."
A small murmur spread through the team. Seiryuu Academy. A private powerhouse in Miyagino Ward, Sendai. With sports scholarships, they had thirty-two members. Two dedicated coaches. A purpose-built facility with two full courts. Even the facilities were different from their old first gymnasium.
"Isn't that a rough opponent?"
Ren twisted his mouth.
"But if I'm here, we'll win, right?"
Laughter broke out. The team trusted Ren. No—more than trust, everyone knew they couldn't win without him.
Kouki felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. Seiryuu Academy. The opponent he'd been writing about in that notebook, all this time. Their rotation patterns. The shot selection of their 192-centimeter ace. The setter's habits. All of it was in his head.
*(My analysis will be needed.)*
He wanted to speak up. But he couldn't. He didn't have the courage to raise his hand in front of everyone, in front of the coach.
"...Kouki."
A teammate from his class, standing next to him, whispered.
"Do you have data on Seiryuu?"
"Huh?"
"Your notebook—you've written a ton, right?"
At those words, several people turned around.
*(So they knew.)*
Kouki lowered his chin. He couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or happy. But then Ren looked his way. Those bluish-gray eyes, disinterested—but unmistakably directed at him.
"Like that scrap of paper's gonna be any use."
Ren said it with a laugh.
"Analysis? What's that? On the court, the strongest guy wins. That's all there is."
The people around him gave awkward, wry smiles. The atmosphere said: *Ren's right.* Kouki couldn't say anything back. He didn't even have the energy to argue. The words "scrap of paper" pierced straight through the center of his chest.
*(...Scrap of paper, huh.)*
How many hours had he spent turning the pages of that notebook? Playing videos at 0.25x speed, drawing court diagrams until his hands hurt. And he called it a scrap of paper.
But Ren's words weren't wrong, either. What value was there in paper written by someone who never stepped onto the court?
"Well, still—having information doesn't hurt. Kouki, show me your data later."
Coach Miura suddenly said that.
"...Yes."
Kouki answered quietly. He worried whether his voice was shaking.
Practice intensified after that. Ren's spikes were unstoppable now.
Kouki sat back down on the folding chair. This time, he straightened his back just a little more than before. The coach had told him to "show it." That alone made him feel, just slightly, that his existence had been acknowledged. It was simple. He thought he was being stupid. But he was happy.
7 PM. Practice ended.
The team members tidied up in scattered groups and headed home. Kouki lightly ran a mop over the gym floor, turned off the lights, and stepped outside.
Second floor of the clubroom building. The volleyball team's clubroom. A small room of about twelve tatami mats. Eighteen steel lockers lined the wall. Two old pipe desks. Tomorrow's practice menu was scrawled on the whiteboard.
After confirming no one was there, Kouki sat down at the desk.
He pulled a B5-sized college notebook from his backpack. The cover was slightly darkened with hand grime. His third one. He'd started writing in the fall of his first year. Over twenty major schools in the prefecture. Collecting match footage, replaying it over and over.
He opened the page.
"Seiryuu Academy High School Volleyball Team — Analysis"
Below the title, numbers and court diagrams filled the page densely.
Rotation patterns. The libero's movements. Serve-receive formations. What he'd focused on most was the opponent's ace. 192 centimeters tall. One of the prefecture's top spikers. He'd quantified the tendencies of his shot selection by line type. Straight, cross, feint. Block timing. Approach rhythm.
*(This guy—when his second step is late, he drifts to cross...)*
Kouki traced the court diagram with his finger, murmuring under his breath.
"The setter always drops his hips once before a back toss. That habit means the block can get there in time..."
Speaking aloud eased his anxiety.
He always did this the day before a match. Repeating the opponent's weaknesses in his mind. Like a spell.
Seiryuu Academy's setter was right-handed and excelled at tossing to the opposite left. An orthodox attack that used the center line widely. But when going for a quick, there was a distinctive way he opened his left hand. That was a habit. Confirmed on video.
Kouki touched the back of his neck again. His voice caught without meaning to.
"If I could just... speak up..."
He couldn't. Shouting on the court? Impossible. He just recorded things from the shadows.
He flipped to the last page.
The final page of the notebook. A folded memo was tucked inside. White paper. The corners slightly worn.
Kouki opened it for just a moment.
Hastily written characters. Diagrams and arrows. A secret strategy—one he hadn't shown anyone—for changing the flow of a match.
*(Will the day ever come when I use this?)*
As long as he couldn't stand on the court, he wouldn't be the one executing this strategy.
But this was born from his own head. No one else could have come up with it. He wanted to believe that.
His chest tightened.
A strategy written in secret. He couldn't tell anyone. If he did, they'd laugh. Ren would call it a "scrap of paper" again. The coach probably wouldn't take it seriously either.
*(But I want to win with this notebook. I want this team to win.)*
Alone, selfishly, he held onto that wish.
He was lonely.
It wasn't quite sadness or grief. Just the sensation of becoming transparent in this place. Not needed by anyone. But this notebook was the only thread connecting him to volleyball.
...He decided to close it.
At that moment.
A *clack*.
The clubroom door suddenly opened.
"...Oh."
The voice cut through the air for an instant.
The fluorescent light from the hallway backlit the figure, pouring into the room.
Kouki reflexively hid the notebook behind his back. His heart jumped in his throat. His breath nearly stopped.
*(Who is it?)*
He couldn't see the face against the backlight. But he could tell from the silhouette. A small frame, the line of the shoulders. Long hair.
The manager.
Aobano High's volleyball team had two managers. Takanashi Mio and Asakura Saki.
*(Did she see? The notebook?)*
He could feel the blood draining from his face.
"...Sakuma-kun?"
The voice was quiet, slightly surprised.
Kouki couldn't respond. Cold sweat seeped at the back of his neck.
*(Please. Don't look at anything.)*
The hand hiding the notebook trembled faintly. The secret strategy. The last page. He didn't even know if she'd seen it.
But he still didn't know who she was, either.
The backlit silhouette slowly took one step into the clubroom.
The fluorescent light traced the outline of her hair in white.
*(...Stop.)*
His heartbeat was too loud—her voice sounded distant.
*—There's no place for me here, either.*
Kouki stayed frozen in place, holding his breath.
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