Lab Zero held no morning light. The verification room without windows always maintained the same brightness. Fluorescent lights illuminated the floor uniformly, offering no hint of the weather outside. Late October had brought gray skies to Minami-Aoyama from dawn onward—he'd confirmed this when stepping onto the main floor—but once inside this room, such things ceased to matter. Tobio stood on the mini court's floor. It was Lab Zero as always, but today he wasn't alone. One meter from the floor, Rin sat with her laptop open. Her dark purple hair caught the light, and the star-shaped earring on her right ear swayed gently. She held a notebook on her lap, pen in hand, watching Tobio. The two of them had officially begun today as joint leads on a new athletic shoe project. The shoe's contact sensation with the floor material—specifically, the friction characteristics on both hard and soft floors and the weight distribution upon landing—needed verification through actual competitive movements. Tobio would feel it in his body; Rin would translate that into language and incorporate it into the product proposal. The division of labor was simple, but in practice, it proved far more complex. Tobio repeated the jump toss motion. Leap, land, shift weight, push off. The same sequence repeated again and again. He wore thin-soled test shoes to approximate barefoot sensation. With each landing, the soles transmitted the floor's hardness with honest clarity. "Rin, I don't know how to put it into words." He spoke, then realized his phrasing was crude. But no better words came. The sensation existed. He could feel the difference. Yet the vocabulary to convert that sensation into the language of a product proposal seemed nowhere to be found. Rin remained silent. She didn't rush him. She waited as Tobio stopped moving, paused, and gazed at the floor as though searching within himself. Her pen had stilled. "...There's a slip the moment I push off." He said it briefly. That was all. "[gentle]The moment you push off. Which direction is the slip? Lateral? Or does it slide forward with the propulsion?" "[serious]When I push after landing. Not like I'm slipping forward—more like I'm sliding sideways." "[gentle]So the outsole's lateral grip is insufficient." Her pen began moving. Rin scribbled in her notebook while simultaneously typing something into her laptop. "[gentle]With a jump toss, there are two strong floor contacts—the push-off and the landing. Since the next movement begins before the body weight fully transfers forward on landing, weak lateral grip causes the motion to scatter. I think that's the true nature of what you call the 'slip.'" Tobio listened to Rin's words. They were precise. What his body had felt emerged from another person's mouth as language. That strange sensation—the quiet shock of his inner self appearing externally. *(Is this the first time I've felt something like this?)* During his volleyball days, he'd failed countless times trying to convey the sensation of play to teammates. Words couldn't keep pace, so he'd used his hands, demonstrated the movement itself. Even then, it often didn't translate well. Sensation lived within the body, and something was always lost in the translation to language. He'd believed this for a long time. But Rin approached from a different angle. She observed his movement, read the subtle shifts in his expression, narrowed her questions—and found the words Tobio couldn't speak. Tobio didn't respond. But he said he'd try once more and returned to the floor. "[serious]One more time, testing from a different angle." Rin repositioned her laptop on her lap and adjusted her posture to watch him. Tobio confirmed this from the corner of his eye before beginning the motion. —To be honest, confirmation wasn't necessary. He knew Rin was there. But he checked from his peripheral vision. Why, he couldn't say. --- At 2 p.m., twenty-eight people gathered in the product planning department's conference room. It was the mid-progress sharing meeting for the planning competition. Team A and the other team would each present their concept framework. Tobio and Rin's Team A was still in draft stage. The other team would present first. Iwato, Team B's leader and a senior employee two years ahead of Yano, stepped forward. Team B's materials showed high completion. A current V-League player—specifically, a collaborative development format with a famous player, already having obtained three rounds of feedback from the player themselves. The data volume was substantial, lending persuasive power to the proposal. More than anything, the "famous player's name attached" carried immediate sales floor appeal. Low murmurs of admiration echoed throughout the conference room. After the presentation, Department Head Miyamoto wrapped up with "Let's each move forward toward next time." In the hallway, a senior with a more composed expression than Yano—Iwato—approached. Tall, broad-shouldered. His gaze wasn't unkind, but confidence seeped through his manner of speaking. "[sarcastic]It might be rough on the new grad team. Sorry about that." His tone was gentle. But certainty resonated in his voice. Not hostility—just stating fact. That very quality amplified the weight of his words. Tobio said nothing. He watched Iwato with an expressionless face. No words came. Not anger, not rebuttal—simply no language emerged. Beside him, Rin looked at Iwato. "[serious]I'll paste those words on the cover of our proposal." Her face was serious. Not joking. She looked straight at Iwato and spoke with finality. Iwato paused for a moment, then gave a wry smile. He said only "...I see" and walked down the hallway. The hallway with just the two of them grew slightly quieter. Rin turned to face Tobio. Her amber eyes met his directly. The same expression she'd worn speaking to Iwato. No hesitation. "[serious]Let's win for sure." Brief. That was all. Something in Tobio's chest made a quiet sound. He couldn't name the emotion. It resembled the heat of facing an opponent on court—but was entirely different in quality. Not the pure burning sensation of wanting to win in a volleyball match. A separate sensation altogether. For the first time outside of volleyball, the desire to win had taken root. And Tobio didn't yet realize that this emotion was inseparable from standing beside Rin. --- Night fell, and rain began. Water droplets struck the office's glass windows with sound. The product planning department's floor still glowed with light past 10 p.m., and Tobio and Rin continued final adjustments to the proposal. Most employees had left. Only the two of them remained on the floor. Tobio confirmed materials while listening to the rain. Minami-Aoyama's night rain seemed slightly quieter than rain in other parts of Tokyo. Fewer people with umbrellas at convenience stores and restaurants. The streets became rain alone. Rin began rummaging through her bag. After a moment, a small voice emerged. "[surprised]...I left my umbrella behind." Nearly a whisper. But spoken where Tobio could hear it. Tobio's eyes left the computer screen. He looked at Rin. Her bag sat on her lap, her expression slightly troubled. Outside, the rain sound had grown slightly stronger. Tobio stood and walked toward the lockers. Without speaking, he opened his locker and retrieved a folding umbrella. He held it out to Rin. Rin looked up. "[surprised]But what about you?" "[serious]It's close." That was all. Kinshicho was twenty-five minutes by train, but trains were still running, and the walk to the station was manageable. He didn't know which direction Rin's home was, but assumed it required train travel. Rin looked between Tobio and the folding umbrella for a moment. Then she accepted it. She pressed the elevator button. The doors opened. Rin stepped inside. Just before the doors closed, she turned back. That expression burned itself into Tobio's memory. Gratitude, and something else. A color like loneliness seemed to show through behind that smile. She was smiling, yet something felt distant. "[gentle]Thank you. But Tobio, take care of yourself too." The elevator doors closed quietly. Tobio stood in the empty hallway, motionless for a time. It didn't feel like a comment about physical health. Not about avoiding overwork. Then what was it? The answer couldn't be found anywhere. The weight of emotion beneath the words "take care of yourself too" wouldn't process properly in Tobio's mind. He couldn't understand why Rin had worn that smile. He retrieved his jacket, turned off the floor lights, and rode the elevator down. Walking to the station in the rain without an umbrella, he replayed Rin's expression again and again. A smile, yet lonely. That contradiction lingered more than the rain-soaked night path. --- Halftime held a calm atmosphere even during daytime hours. White exterior walls, green eaves. A small café tucked into a side street in Minami-Aoyama, with sports digest footage playing on a large monitor. Twenty-two seats, six at the counter. Tobio and Rin visited here during lunch break the next day. Rin had suggested it, citing competitive research, so they sat side by side at the counter. The proposal's data collection provided their framework. A barista approached from behind the counter. Hair a pale blonde, styled in casual medium layers. Eyes a settled olive green. Tall, broad-shouldered. White apron, two coffee cups in hand. "[gentle]Drip coffee, here you go." As he set the cups on the counter, his hands stopped. Just for an instant. Truly just an instant. But they definitely stopped. Kirishima Yamato's gaze met Tobio's face mid-placement. Expression drained from his face. The eyes beneath the blonde bangs froze upon recognizing Tobio's features. The right hand holding the cup trembled slightly. The coffee's surface rippled faintly. "[serious]Thanks." Tobio accepted the cup and returned to conversation with Rin. About proposal data. About competitor display configurations. About what would communicate the concept's differentiation. Yamato remained motionless behind the counter. Watching Tobio and Rin sitting side by side through the counter. The two speaking familiarly. Rin's profile—that profile he'd known for so long. Something sharp cut through his core. The owner, Miyamae, called from behind the counter. A large man, former corporate basketball player, who'd always looked out for Yamato. "[surprised]Hey, you look pale, Yamato." Yamato turned his back to the counter and began washing dishes. "[cold]Reminded me of someone I know." That was all he answered. His left thumb unconsciously touched the scar on his right ring finger. An old habit. Tobio and Rin gathered their research notes and drank their coffee quietly. When they left the shop, Rin said toward the door, "Thank you for the meal." Her voice was bright. Yamato continued washing, never turning around. The café's door chime rang as they departed. Only the scent of house-roasted coffee remained. Yamato's movements had slowed slightly.