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 - Rooftop Solitude and the Final Page
The air was heavy, as if saturated with water.
The sky visible from the classroom window had been sunk in gray since morning. It wasn't raining. There was no break of sunlight either. Just a half-hearted dull color, like everything had been dimmed by thirty percent, covering the entire school building.
Sakuma Kouki sat at his desk, a textbook he had no intention of opening laid out before him, staring absently out the window.
Yesterday's cheers were still stuck deep in his ears.
The main arena of Kamisugi General Gymnasium. The roar that erupted at the moment of the comeback victory. The screams of his teammates. Mio's tearful smile. And that voice he'd wrenched from his own throat.
*(I definitely screamed at that moment.)*
His fingertips trembled faintly.
The exhilaration of that moment had been real. Something had overflowed from the bottom of his body, and he couldn't stop it. His voice had shaken the air and reached the court. The team had changed. The flow had changed. They'd won.
*(And yet, why—)*
The words "even though we won" kept pooling in his chest like sediment.
The bell rang. The end of fourth period. The classroom erupted into noise all at once. The sound of chairs scraping, bodies slumping onto desks, laughter.
"Yesterday's volleyball match was seriously insane."
"Wasn't Ren-kun's spike at the end amazing?"
"Wait, that comeback was unreal, right?"
Conversations about yesterday's match flew around the classroom. Aobano High's volleyball team had defeated Seiryuu Academy—last year's prefectural top four—in the first round of the Inter-High Miyagi Prefectural qualifiers. For this ordinary prefectural high school, it was something of an event.
"Didn't Sakuma shout something too?"
He thought he heard that voice suddenly. Kouki's spine went rigid.
"Eh, I didn't hear anything."
"Yeah, well, he's on the bench and all."
The conversation quickly moved on.
Kouki returned his gaze to the window.
*(Yeah, that's how it is.)*
No one remembered that he'd shouted. Or rather, it was doubtful whether anyone had even heard it. A substitute at the edge of the bench, screaming his throat raw—it wouldn't remain in anyone's memory.
He'd managed to raise his voice. At that moment, he'd certainly delivered words to the ears of the players standing on the court.
*(Even so, I couldn't stand on the court.)*
They'd won. But he couldn't stand there.
Those two facts kept spinning around and around in his head.
His smartphone vibrated in his pocket.
His heart jumped for an instant.
Who?
Timidly, he pulled out the screen.
It was from Takanashi Mio.
*"Kouki-kun, are you coming to practice today? I'll be waiting ♡"*
Next to the text, a single small heart stamp.
Kouki's thumb stopped over the screen.
*(I have to reply.)*
He understood it in his head. Mio had defended him so much yesterday. She'd argued back against Ren, held his hand, and helped him find his voice. "It's okay," she'd said. "We would've lost without you, Kouki-kun."
*(Just send "thank you." That's all I need to do.)*
His fingers began typing.
"Thank you. Today—"
He typed that far, then deleted it.
"I'm fine. I'll go."
He typed it, then deleted it again.
He didn't know what the right answer was.
Mio's brightness was a little too dazzling for him right now. Seeing that smile made him happy, but at the same time, it highlighted his own wretchedness.
*(Am I someone worthy of that smile?)*
He placed his phone on the desk. The screen went dark, still unread.
He'd already marked it as read.
He couldn't send a reply.
Fifth period began. The teacher's voice sounded distant.
His phone vibrated again.
This time, it was from Asakura Saki.
*"Don't push yourself today. Let's talk again."*
A short message—one could even call it curt. And yet, he sensed something like quiet heat beneath it. Saki was always like that. She didn't say unnecessary things. But she precisely pinpointed his state.
Kouki left Saki's message on read too, unable to reply.
*(Don't push myself, huh.)*
Push himself? He hadn't done anything. He hadn't stood on the court. He'd just raised his voice.
*(Both of them are too kind to me.)*
That hurt.
The version of himself that couldn't live up to their kindness felt utterly, terribly worthless.
After school.
Kouki headed toward the nearly unused staircase at the far end of the school building, as if avoiding the crowds.
*(I can't go to the clubroom.)*
Mio was waiting. Saki might be there too. If he saw their faces, he wouldn't know what to say. No—he was afraid to see their faces at all.
Only the sound of his footsteps climbing the stairs echoed against the concrete walls.
He climbed to the third floor and stood before the door to the rooftop at the end of the hallway.
The lock on this door had been broken for a long time. More precisely, it was known among club members to be broken. Someone had fixed it on their own at some point, and there'd been a period when it was locked, but now it had returned to a state where a light push would open it.
With a rusty creak, the door opened.
A strong wind violently whipped up Kouki's bangs.
The rooftop was empty.
A flat concrete plane with no one there. Through the fence, he could see the cityscape of Sendai. In the distance, hazy, even the horizon of the Pacific Ocean was visible.
*(It's always windy here.)*
Kouki walked up to the fence.
He pressed his forehead gently against the wire mesh. The cool sensation gradually cooled his heated head.
He remembered yesterday.
First set. They'd been overwhelmed completely, 25-12. The team had been utterly swallowed up. Coach Miura's instruction: "Guts!" An unchanging situation. And Fujitsuka's spike from that high contact point.
*(At that moment, I—)*
Mio had held his hand.
"Why don't you just shout?"
Those words had been the trigger.
Something tangled deep in his throat had burst loose all at once.
"Their number 10—when he goes for a back attack, his right shoulder drops! The course is cross-court!"
He couldn't believe it was his own voice. He'd never imagined such a loud voice could come out of him.
His teammates had looked at him.
And their movements had changed.
*(Was that really me?)*
That exhilaration after the comeback victory.
*(And yet, Ren—)*
"You're all brains, nothing else."
That low voice resurfaced in his ears.
The back of his throat grew hot, tight.
*(I definitely moved that court at that moment.)*
*(So why—)*
*(Why are you on the bench, and why can't I stand on the court?)*
He felt a lukewarm lump rising up his esophagus.
Kouki gripped the fence so hard it creaked.
Tears didn't come.
Instead, a hot lump remained lodged in his throat, refusing to dissolve.
How long had he been standing there?
The wind whistled past his ears.
When he came to his senses, the color of the sky had deepened slightly.
*(The notebook.)*
The thought came suddenly.
That B5 college notebook. His one and only weapon, densely packed with analysis of the Seiryuu Academy match.
*(I left it in my locker in the clubroom yesterday.)*
After the match, he'd been so shaken that he'd left it behind.
*(I have to go get it.)*
It was as important to him as his own heart.
He closed the door and descended the dim staircase.
He walked along the connecting corridor leading to the clubroom building.
The school building after hours was eerily quiet. From the grounds, he could hear the baseball team's voices. From the gymnasium, the volleyball team's practice seemed to have started—the bouncing of balls and shouts echoed periodically.
*(So I'm skipping practice today.)*
The thought made his chest ache again.
He arrived in front of the clubroom.
He reached for the doorknob, then stopped dead.
Voices came from inside.
Girls' voices. Two of them.
"...Kouki-kun's been like that since yesterday, hasn't he. I keep wondering if arguing back against Ren-kun at that moment was the wrong thing to do."
It was Takanashi Mio's voice. Her usual brightness was subdued.
Kouki's body froze.
*(Mio-san...)*
"If I'd handled it better. If I hadn't gotten into that argument with Ren-kun, maybe Kouki-kun wouldn't be suffering so much."
Mio's voice trembled faintly.
His chest tightened.
*(No. It's not your fault, Mio-san.)*
He wanted to shout that it was wrong. That it wasn't her fault. But his voice wouldn't come out.
"...That's not it."
The other voice.
It was Asakura Saki's quiet voice.
"That's not it, Mio."
Through the door, Saki's voice resonated low and clear.
"He's suffering over something else entirely. You just can't see it."
Those words were quiet, yet sharp as a blade.
He could feel, as if touching it with his hands, how the air beyond the door froze in an instant.
*(Saki-san...)*
Silence.
A heavy, heavy silence filled the clubroom.
Kouki couldn't move.
His fingertips remained touching the doorknob, frozen like stone.
*(This is my fault.)*
His mind went blank.
What was Saki thinking, saying something like that? Maybe she hadn't meant to hurt Mio. But that was clearly a way of speaking that drew an invisible line between Mio and Kouki.
"...Saki-chan, do you know something?"
Mio's voice finally came out, as if squeezed from her throat.
"It's not about knowing or not knowing."
Saki's voice was as quiet as ever.
"...I see."
Mio's voice sank.
After that, both of them fell silent.
Kouki slowly, silently, pulled his hand away from the door.
His heart was pounding.
His fingertips trembled.
*(Because of me, a rift is forming between them.)*
His chest felt like it would burst.
Unable to stay there any longer, Kouki muffled his footsteps and left.
As if fleeing.
He couldn't retrieve the notebook.
He ran through the connecting corridor at a light jog.
His lungs gasped for oxygen, making wheezing sounds.
*(What am I doing?)*
*(I'm just leaning on their kindness and running away.)*
The sunset streamed through the corridor windows, dyeing the floor orange.
That was when it happened.
He saw a figure walking toward him from ahead.
Casting a long shadow, step by heavy step.
It was Hayami Ren.
His bright brown hair, nearly blond, glittered in the evening sun. A tall frame of 184 centimeters. When his bluish-gray eyes caught sight of Kouki, the corner of his mouth curled up as usual.
Kouki's feet stopped.
Ren also stopped.
Right around the middle of the connecting corridor.
Between the two of them, only the light of the sunset silently filled the space.
Ren wiped the sweat from his neck with the towel in his hand.
"Hey."
A low voice broke the silence.
"Skipping today? That's rare for our diligent benchwarmer."
Kouki couldn't say anything.
He stood frozen, his gaze dropped to around Ren's chest.
Ren slowly approached Kouki.
One step, then another.
Then he stopped right in front of him.
"Well, whatever. Even if you came, there's nothing for you to do."
Ren's right hand reached out and pressed down on Kouki's left shoulder.
It was heavier than it looked.
Tension shot through Kouki's entire body.
"From tomorrow on, that spot's your reserved seat, forever."
His face drew close to Kouki's ear.
The smell of sweat mixed with artificial soap assaulted his nose.
"The bench. Nice and warm, right? Perfect for a useless scrap-paper guy like you."
A whisper.
And yet, each word stabbed into Kouki's eardrums like a knife.
*(Again.)*
*(Again, he's telling me I'm all brains.)*
He clenched his fists.
His nails dug into his palms.
It hurt.
But that pain alone kept him tethered to reality.
"Besides, even if you did shout, it's not like we won because of your instructions. I took everything at the end. That's all."
A lie.
Kouki's mind went red with those words.
*(We won because you changed your movements based on my instructions.)*
*(Because I saw through all of Fujitsuka's habits and communicated them.)*
He wanted to scream.
The words were rising to the back of his throat.
But they wouldn't come out.
Again, his voice wouldn't come ou
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