With his back against the wall, Kageyama Tobio could not move. The curtains were drawn tight. December morning light leaked thin and pale through the fabric's edges, drawing a faint line across the floor. His smartphone lay face-down, not even connected to its charging cable. He no longer knew when the battery had died. Tachibana Rin's approach to you was not coincidence. Kirishima Yamato's voice repeated itself. Flat. Toneless. He had admitted it. Rin had admitted it. Tears streaming, she had said, "It wasn't coincidence at first." And she had tried to say, "But it's different now." Kageyama had not heard the rest. He had turned away, saying it was enough. Had that been right? No answer came. None could come. On the court—the height of the opponent's block, the angle of their approach, their position 0.2 seconds ahead. He had seen it all. But now, even the meaning of what he had done could not take shape in words. The refrigerator held only two protein drinks. He could not bring himself to go to the convenience store. It had been the same the night he retired—Kageyama remembered. The difference between that night and this one was that on that night, what he had lost had a clear form. His knee was broken. Volleyball was over. That was certain. Tonight, he could not say what he had lost, or what he feared. The words would not come. He turned his smartphone face-up. The power was dead. He lacked the will to plug in the charging cable. He turned it face-down again. --- On the afternoon of the fourth day, that smartphone finally charged and rebooted. Notifications flooded in. Thirty-nine messages from Rin. Seven missed calls from Tsukishima. One short line from Yamato—"That day was partly my fault too." As he left them all unopened, a call came from the company number. It was Yano, a colleague. When he answered, her voice was slightly hurried. "[serious]Kageyama, this is strange, but... there's a student from Kitazora High School here. In uniform, with a letter of introduction from Tsukishima. He's been insisting at the front desk that he wants to meet you directly" Kageyama said nothing. "[serious]What should we do? Should we send him away?" After a long silence, Kageyama answered. "[serious]Understood. I'll go tomorrow" --- For the first time in four days, he stepped outside. The December air was dry, and the Kinshicho shopping street still held the cold of early morning. Kageyama boarded the train and got off at Minami-Aoyama. When the Travista Tower elevator carried him to the twelfth floor, Yano was waiting near the entrance. "[serious]He's in the lobby. His name is Miura Rikuto. Apparently he's been here since morning" When he descended to the first floor, a boy in uniform stood at the edge of the glass-walled lobby. Navy blazer. Black slacks. Around seventeen years old. Tall enough, but his body still held the softness of youth. A folded paper was tucked into his chest pocket. When Kageyama approached, the boy stood—Miura Rikuto, captain of the Kitazora High School volleyball team, Kageyama had heard from Tsukishima. Miura looked at Kageyama, and with a slightly tense expression, bowed deeply. "[serious]I apologize for the sudden visit. I asked Coach Tsukishima to write me a letter of introduction" He pulled the paper from his chest pocket. Several lines in Tsukishima's handwriting. Kageyama did not take it, only answered, "I'll listen." They sat facing each other in chairs at the corner of the lobby. Miura kept his back straight, hesitated a moment, then spoke. "[serious]Coach has been... strange lately" Kageyama prompted him with his eyes to continue. Miura interlaced his fingers on his knees and went on. "[serious]During practice, he gets players' names wrong. He zones out in the middle of giving instructions. A few times I've seen him standing motionless in the corner of the gym with his phone open" Kageyama listened in silence. Miura's voice grew quieter. Embarrassed, but serious. "[serious]I can tell Coach cares about you. He doesn't say it to us, but I saw his phone screen once... your name was on it. So I decided to come here directly" Kageyama looked at Miura's face. Seventeen years old. Serious eyes. Taking the train alone, walking into a building he did not know, all for his coach. Kageyama remembered Tsukishima saying, quietly, over drinks, that "Miura, the captain, is the only one I can truly call my first student." The actions Tsukishima had directed at him—the interruptions, the insults, the words in the hallway—suddenly inverted in his mind. Perhaps they had not been attacks. Perhaps they were the overflow of something desperately held back, the result of trying to contain what could not be contained. Kageyama said, "I understand." --- In the evening, Kageyama headed toward Kitazora High School. Twelve minutes' walk from JR Akabane Station. The north wind was strong. He walked with his coat collar drawn tight. When he circled behind the school building, he saw the gymnasium—thirty-two years old, its concrete walls discolored in patches, window frames rusted. From inside came the sound of balls being struck, and voices giving instructions. Practice ended just after 7:30 p.m. Students emerged from the gymnasium. They wiped sweat and laughed. Miura was among them. When he noticed Kageyama, his eyes widened for a moment, then he gave a small nod. Kageyama nodded back. Tsukishima remained until the end. Only the equipment room light was on. The door stood half-open, and from inside came the sound of things being folded. Kageyama placed his hand on the door and opened it. Tsukishima turned around. Pale gray short hair. Left side silver, right side gray-blue—odd eyes. He held bibs in his arms, looking at Kageyama. For a moment, Kageyama could see him trying to form some sarcastic remark—but no sound came. Kageyama entered the equipment room. He closed the door. It was a narrow space. Metal shelves, folded mats, stacked crates of balls. When the two of them faced each other, there was almost no room to spare. Tsukishima looked at Kageyama directly. The habit of touching his watch had stopped. Kageyama opened his mouth. There was a small pause before words came. "[serious]Tsukishima, I don't understand what your feelings are" Tsukishima's body stiffened slightly. Kageyama continued. "[serious]But I know you're important to me. That much isn't a lie" Tsukishima did not move, still holding the bibs. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. His shoulders began to tremble slightly. Tsukishima removed his glasses. He pressed the back of his hand against his eyes. His voice broke, but it came out anyway. Kageyama sat down beside him, leaning his back against the shelf. The floor was cold. A pile of bibs lay nearby. The ceiling light flickered—one bulb was dying. Tsukishima was crying. The man who had once returned precise receives on the court now sat on the equipment room floor, voice stifled, emotions overflowing. Kageyama said nothing. He had no words. He simply remained beside him. After a while, Tsukishima spoke. Between breaths, as if cutting the words free. "[crying]I didn't understand it myself for so long. Why I was so irritated. Why I felt sick every time I saw Rin" Kageyama did not move. "[crying]...But I figured it out. Rin taking you away from the court, into a world I don't know—I was afraid of that. I hated it so much... so I said those things" His voice broke. For a while, only the sound of the flickering light remained. Tsukishima slowly steadied his breathing. Then he put his glasses back on. "[serious]...Apologize to Rin. She's serious. I know because I've been closest to her" Kageyama received those words directly. --- That same evening, in a back alley of Minami-Aoyama, the quiet of Café Halftime an hour before closing drifted through the air. Only two customers remained. The large monitor was dark. Behind the counter, Kirishima Yamato polished a glass. His pale blonde hair, almost golden, fell across his forehead each time he bent forward. The scar on his right ring finger was unconsciously traced by the thumb of his left hand. Miyamae Takuya emerged from the back. A large man, former professional basketball player. He dried his hands with a towel while leaning his elbows on the counter. Thirty-eight years old. A deep voice. Yamato was silent for a while, then, still polishing the glass, he spoke of that night waiting an hour in front of Rin's apartment building. How he could not say anything clever. How Rin had shaken her head and gone inside. Miyamae listened with his arms crossed until the end. Then he said only one thing. "[serious]Yamato, I know you like Rin. But if you turn that feeling into a chain to bind her, that's not love—it's just a cage" Yamato's hand polishing the glass stopped. Miyamae continued. Low, quiet voice. He spoke of his own time after retiring from the professional team. How he had not wanted to let go of his teammates, had tried to hold them close. How he realized that what he thought was friendship was actually just an outlet for his own sense of loss. How everything was gone by the time he understood. "[serious]After you retire, you try to own something. You try to fill the hole left by the court with someone. I lost everything that way" Yamato placed his fist on the edge of the counter and did not move. His olive-green eyes looked at the wood grain of the counter. The feeling he had directed at Rin—where had it come from? Was it dependence, an attempt to fill the emptiness left by volleyball? The outline of it became suddenly, sharply clear. Yamato did not say "I understand." He simply returned the glass slowly to the shelf. That night, Yamato sent Rin a message—one line only. "I'm sorry" There was no reply. Yamato set his phone face-down and continued polishing the counter alone. --- When Kageyama returned from Kitazora High School to Kinshicho, he checked the memo he had posted on his table. Exhibition competition. Deadline in two days. Yano had called. When he answered, exhaustion mixed with her voice. "[serious]Kageyama, Rin is still at Lab Zero working. She's doing the final adjustments to the proposal alone... it's been almost ten hours now" Kageyama left without removing his coat. He boarded the train, got off at Omotesando, and walked to Travista Tower. The area in front of the building after 10 p.m. was quiet. He spoke to the security guard, then took the elevator to the twelfth floor. He knocked on the door of Lab Zero—the experimental room with the mini court at the back of the floor. There was no answer. He knocked again. "[serious]...Come in" Her voice came. He opened the door. Under the white fluorescent light, Rin sat before a work table, her fingers moving across the computer screen. Her dark purple hair was disheveled around her shoulders. The star-shaped earring in her right ear caught the light with a small glimmer. The moment she realized Kageyama had entered, her hands stopped. She looked at his face. Her eyes were red. Whether from crying, exhaustion, or both—Kageyama could not tell. He entered the room and sat down on the work table beside her. "[serious]I'll help" That was all he said. Rin said nothing. Kageyama said nothing. After about two minutes of silence, Rin lifted her hands from the keyboard. "[gentle]...Please let me explain why I approached you" Her voice trembled. Kageyama kept his eyes on the screen and answered. "[serious]Let's finish the proposal first" Rin looked up. Kageyama continued, still facing the screen. "[serious]I'll listen to the reason after" It was a quiet statement. But Rin understood—this was the clumsy retraction of the Kageyama who had turned away saying "never mind" in that alley. He had decided to listen one more time. Rin exhaled slowly, her breath trembling. Then she placed her fingers on the keyboard. The sound of two people typing overlapped in t