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 notebook I found, and my first person who understood me.
The clubroom after school was quieter than usual.
Outside the window, the shouts of the sports clubs echoed faintly in the distance. The soccer team's whistle. The satisfying crack of the baseball team's metal bats. All of it felt like events from another world.
Sakuma Kouki sat in front of the old pipe desk in the center of the clubroom. Hunched over, he stared intently at a B5-sized college notebook. The cover was darkened with hand grime, one corner slightly bent. It was his third notebook, carried everywhere since the autumn of his first year.
*(Who was that yesterday?)*
After practice yesterday. Kouki had been spreading out his notebook in the clubroom, which should have been empty, when the door suddenly opened. He couldn't see the face against the backlight. A small silhouette. Long hair. He could tell it was one of the managers.
Takanashi Mio or Asakura Saki.
*(If they saw it—)*
Just thinking about it made his stomach go cold. The final page, with his secret strategy tucked inside. If someone saw that, Ren would laugh at him again. With those eyes, calling it "scrap paper."
Kouki let out a long breath. Slowly, as if replacing every bit of air in his lungs.
Then, he opened the notebook.
"Seiryuu Academy High School Volleyball Team — Analysis"
Rows of text. Numbers. Court diagrams. Arrows.
Seiryuu Academy. A private powerhouse school in Miyagino Ward, Sendai. Multiple players admitted on sports scholarships, two dedicated coaches. Their gymnasium was a purpose-built facility with two courts, grandly named "Ryuujin Arena." It was on a completely different level from Aoba High's old First Gymnasium.
Last year's prefectural top four. Their first-round opponent.
*(Their ace is 192 centimeters. When his second approach step is delayed, he drifts to the cross.)*
Kouki traced the lines on the court diagram with his finger. His fingertip slid across the paper. Lines he'd written countless times. Footage he'd watched countless times. Match videos downloaded from YouTube, replayed at 0.25x speed, transcribed until his hand ached.
*(The setter always drops his hips once before a back toss. It's a habit. The block can get there in time.)*
He recited it in a low murmur. Speaking aloud calmed him, just a little. It's like a spell, he thought to himself. Not just before matches — even at times like now, when he felt anxious, he couldn't help but recite it.
The hand turning pages trembled slightly.
Yesterday's sound of the door was stuck deep in his ears. That metallic *clack*. Someone had come in. Someone had seen his notebook—
"...It's fine."
He muttered quietly, as if telling himself. The voice was absorbed into the clubroom walls and vanished.
There was no way it was fine. But he had no choice but to say it.
He turned back to the notebook, trying to focus on the analysis.
Seiryuu Academy's libero. First-year. Their receive positioning was always just a little too far forward. They hadn't fully measured the court's dimensions. Feints would work.
The ace's shot distribution. Sixty percent straight. Thirty percent cross. The remaining ten percent feints. However, when two or more blockers committed, the cross percentage rose. Was he weak under pressure, or did he double down—
*(If I do it like this, I can probably stop it.)*
The phrase, like a verbal tic, rose naturally in his mind. *Even someone like me, if I do it like this.* That was how he'd always thought. What someone who couldn't stand on the court could do for the team.
Kouki's expression had become serious before he knew it. He was quiet, with a faint presence. That's what people usually said. But the version of himself with the notebook open was a little different. At least, he believed so.
*Clack.*
The door opened.
The same sound as yesterday.
Kouki reflexively tried to close the notebook. No — closing it wasn't enough. He had to hide it. Under the desk. Behind his back. Somewhere it couldn't be seen—
"Oh, Sakuma-kun. You're here."
A bright voice bounced into the clubroom.
Takanashi Mio. Second-year. Manager of the volleyball club. Her chestnut-brown hair, grown to her chest, was tied up in a ponytail again today. Her bright brown eyes narrowed as if smiling. A small volleyball necklace swayed at her neck.
A small frame, 163 centimeters. But her voice carried incredibly well. The club's mood maker, she treated everyone equally, without distinction. A person like the sun.
"I forgot something. I think I left the score sheet on the desk."
Mio glanced around the clubroom from the entrance. Then, she started to pass by Kouki's side—
And stopped.
"...What's this?"
Her gaze was fixed on the desk.
*(Crap.)*
Kouki tried to hide the notebook with his right hand. But he was too slow. Mio was just slightly faster.
"Let me see."
There was no time to refuse. Mio casually picked up the notebook. She flipped through the pages. At first, it was a nonchalant gesture. Really, just idle curiosity.
But after a few pages, Mio's fingers stopped.
"...Huh."
A small exhale.
Kouki couldn't produce a sound. He couldn't say *stop*. He couldn't say *give it back*. All he could do was reach out. His fingertips cut through empty air.
"Wait. What is this?"
Mio's eyes raced across the page.
"Seiryuu Academy... the 192-centimeter ace, his approach habits... weaknesses in the receive formation..."
She was reading it.
His heart moved strangely. Something pounded violently deep in his chest. Loud enough that he felt he could hear it. His palms grew clammy with sweat.
*(Please stop. I'm begging you.)*
But his mouth wouldn't open. It stayed shut as he watched Mio's expression change.
Mio's brown eyes grew wider and wider. The movement of her fingers turning pages became gradually more careful. As if handling something fragile.
"Wow..."
Her voice trembled.
"Amazing. This is amazing."
Mio looked up. Their eyes met. Her ponytail bounced on her shoulder.
"Did you write all of this, Sakuma-kun?"
*(I want to say no.)*
His throat made a faint wheeze. Only air passed through. No voice came out.
"...No, um, that's—"
The end of the sentence dissolved into mumbling. This always happened when he panicked. He'd start talking fast, his voice getting quieter and quieter, until it disappeared.
"It's just, like a scribble... um, don't worry about it."
"A scribble?"
Mio tilted her head slightly.
"There are six rotation patterns written out, the setter's habits quantified, and it says 'the serve-receive breakdown can be targeted from P2'... and this is a scribble?"
*(She's reading it. Every corner.)*
Uncomfortable, Kouki touched the back of his neck with his right hand. A habit when he spoke. Even though he couldn't speak now.
"Sakuma-kun."
Mio's voice suddenly turned serious.
"Does this have all the weaknesses of that powerhouse school written down?"
Which of them held their breath?
The air in the clubroom went taut. The baseball team's voices outside the window sounded terribly distant.
Kouki couldn't look directly at Mio's face. His gaze dropped to the desk. Mio's hand gripping the notebook. Her fingers were white.
"...Not all of them."
He forced the words out with everything he had.
"Just the main points... the rest is, still, unfinished."
"Unfinished."
"You've written this much and it's still unfinished?"
Mio's voice was dizzyingly bright.
"That's amazing, Sakuma-kun! I've never met anyone who could analyze things this thoroughly!"
He felt dizzy.
It wasn't that he was unwell.
The center of his chest grew warm, gradually. It was a little different from *hot* or *painful*. A duller, but certain sensation.
*(Never met?)*
*(Did someone just say that about someone like me?)*
Kouki froze, his right hand still on the back of his neck. His face wouldn't move properly. Making an expression suddenly became difficult.
"...It's not that impressive."
That was all he managed to say.
"I just watched a lot of matches. That's all."
"'That's all'?"
Mio smiled a little. But it wasn't a mocking smile.
"Do you think just anyone can do 'that much'?"
"These numbers can't be produced without watching the footage over and over. I know because I write the score sheets. This is the kind of thing that only someone who properly watches matches and properly analyzes them can write."
Kouki had no words to respond.
Managers write score sheets. Spike counts, serve success rates, receive positions. They record all the numbers during a match. If Mio said so, there was no mistake.
"...Managers really understand that kind of thing, huh."
"Of course. It's a manager's job."
Mio puffed out her chest.
"I take pride in my work as a manager."
Those words hit him hard.
A straightforward confidence he didn't have. A brightness with no hidden side.
*(This person is amazing.)*
Kouki thought it honestly. Even without standing on the court, she had the awareness that she was contributing to the team. Her voice was loud. Her attitude was confident.
And this Mio had called his notebook "amazing."
The fact seeped into him, slowly.
"Hey, Sakuma-kun."
Mio lowered her voice a little.
"Back in middle school,"
Her face suddenly turned serious.
"I was a benchwarmer on the volleyball team the whole time."
Kouki's back straightened.
"I couldn't play in matches, and every day I wondered what I was even doing on the bench. Just watching everyone run around the court. The only time I touched the ball was during cleanup."
Mio hugged the notebook to her chest.
"And I gradually got bitter. *What's the point of someone like me.* My practice got sloppy, I started showing up late. I thought about quitting so many times."
Kouki listened in silence.
He hadn't known Mio had struggled like this. She was always cheerful, always talking to every club member. The mood maker. She even spoke normally to a benchwarmer like him.
"But I didn't quit. One day, a senior manager said to me: 'You're good at keeping records.'"
Mio smiled softly.
"That alone saved me. *Even if I can't stand on the court, there's something I can do.* After that, I became a manager."
Then Mio looked straight into Kouki's eyes.
"So I really think this is amazing."
Mio hugged Kouki's notebook tightly.
His chest felt full.
Someone had acknowledged him. The contents of the notebook. The thing he'd been secretly continuing, with his own strength alone.
He'd grown bitter in middle school too. A benchwarmer, unable to speak up, thinking *what's the point of someone like me.* But he hadn't quit. He couldn't quit. Because he loved volleyball.
*(This person is like me.)*
*(But she's so much stronger than I am.)*
Kouki's heart moved strangely again. Earlier it had jumped from fear, but this time it was something else. Hot, and tight, but not unpleasant.
"...Thank you."
When he said it aloud, the words came out so honest that even he was surprised.
"Yeah!"
Mio smiled.
A bright smile, like the sun itself.
After that, the two of them left the clubroom.
Mio walked beside him, flipping through Kouki's notebook.
"Tell me more about this part. The Seiryuu setter's habit — he drops his hips when doing a back toss, right?"
"...Yeah, right."
His voice trembled with nervousness.
The covered walkway connecting the school building and the gymnasium. A roofed passage about forty meters long. On rainy days, some club members did stretching exercises here. Now, the western sun streamed in, dyeing everything orange.
"I confirmed it on video. That setter always drops his weight onto his right foot once, right before releasing the toss. It's especially obvious on back tosses, so I think the lead block can get there in time."
"I see. And that's visible from the P2 position?"
"...Right. From P2, the right-side position, the setter's habit is directly in front of you."
He got carried away without meaning to.
The words flowed out smoothly, surprising even himself. It was as if he wasn't his usual self.
*(Why is th
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