When he woke up, he was in the world of volleyball. High schooler Kota Kurose suddenly finds himself transported into the world of 'Haikyuu'. Unknown ceiling, unknown bed, and in front of him stands a giant of a man.
"You're going to be our temporary manager starting today."
He was told this at Shiratorizawa Academy. The strongest volleyball team, feared as the absolute champions. While searching for a way home, Kota ends up working as a makeshift manager. He has zero volleyball experience. Bu
Black Wings and the White Net - Broken Pillar
On the way to Sendai City Gymnasium, the cityscape flowing past the bus window seemed to move faster than usual. Kouta pressed a hand against the glass. His fingertips were cold.
Six weeks since the transfer. He had gradually grown accustomed to the work of acting manager. The words he exchanged with the players had increased considerably compared to the beginning. Oohira was as strict as ever, and not everyone had accepted Kouta yet.
Even so, he had found a place to belong.
It was just when he had started to feel that way.
(*Six weeks... huh.*)
Outside the window, the city of Sendai moved along as it always did. Shiratorizawa Academy was located in the suburbs, about forty minutes from Sendai Station by train and bus. Their destination today was Sendai City Gymnasium, fifteen minutes by subway from Sendai Station. The venue for an official practice match.
The bus swayed. Beside Kouta, Tendou Satori was fiddling with his phone, quietly humming a tune. His red-and-black hair swayed in the light streaming through the window. His fingers were unusually long. Even the way he traced the screen with those fingertips somehow evoked a spider.
"Kou-chan, are you nervous?"
Tendou said it without looking up from the screen.
"...I can't say I'm not."
"I see. Well, you're not playing in the match, and your job is recording and observing, right? Just do what you always do."
Tendou said that, then narrowed his already thin eyes and smiled. Seeing that face made some of the tension drain from Kouta's shoulders. Six weeks ago, this was the man who had whispered "You're interesting" into his ear when they first met. Now, he had become one of the people Kouta could trust most in this world.
"Tendou-senpai, don't you get nervous?"
"I do. But I try to look down at my nervous self from above."
"From above?"
"Yeah. Inside me, there's another me watching me. Interesting, right?"
Kouta smiled vaguely. Tendou's words were always strange, yet strangely convincing.
In the very back seat of the bus, Ushijima Wakatoshi sat leaning against the window with his eyes closed. He sat with his 194-centimeter frame folded up. His left arm hung limply over his knee. From the elbow down, it was abnormally thick. For six weeks, Kouta had watched the spikes launched from that arm.
(*If he's here, we can win today too.*)
Kouta thought that. But deep in his chest, there was a small unease.
Three days ago, a message from an unknown sender had arrived on his phone. *"That knowledge is dangerous. Keep your mouth shut."*
Since then, Kouta found himself checking his phone over and over at night. The sensation of being watched clung to his skin and wouldn't let go.
"...You've been told you have good eyes, right? Then use them properly."
From the seat in front, Oohira spoke without turning around. A low, heavy voice. The dorm head, and the team's cornerstone. Kouta straightened his back.
"Yes."
They arrived at Sendai City Gymnasium just before ten in the morning.
The main arena was large enough for four volleyball courts. The ceiling was high, the lighting dazzling. The spectator stands could hold 2,500 people, but today only a scattering of team personnel were seated. The floor was polished to a shine, and shoe soles squeaked against it.
Shiratorizawa's players filed onto the court.
They were overwhelming.
Oohira at the front, then Goshiki, Semi, Kawanishi, Yamagata, Tendou, Ushijima. Every one of them had a physique over 180 centimeters. Their uniforms clung tightly to their bodies. The floor resounded just from their walking. The air changed.
Kouta stood by the bench, clutching a tablet. Today's work was score recording and checking player condition. And observing the opponent's play, then reporting it to Tendou.
"Oi, Kurose."
"Yes."
"Today's opponent is Aoba Kita High School. A regular powerhouse in the prefecture. Last year they pushed Shiratorizawa to a full set. Don't underestimate them."
"I'm not underestimating them."
"Good."
Oohira said that, then walked toward the court. Kouta silently watched his retreating back.
Aoba Kita High School. It was definitely a team that had appeared in the original story. One of the thick walls standing before Shiratorizawa. He tried to pull up his knowledge of the original, but in this altered world, he still couldn't be sure how much was the same and where the differences began.
(*Anyway, I just have to watch.*)
Kouta opened his tablet.
That was when it happened.
"You're Shiratorizawa's manager, right?"
A voice came from behind.
A low, smooth voice. It lingered strangely in the ear. Kouta turned around.
Standing there was a man with dark brown hair swept back. He was about 177 centimeters tall. Slender. His dull gray eyes, devoid of light, stared steadily at Kouta.
"Ah, yes... but I'm just the acting manager."
"Acting or not, it's the same. A young person like you managing the players' bodies. I'm impressed."
The man smiled.
He was smiling, but his eyes weren't. Something cold crawled up the back of Kouta's neck.
"I'm Seo Hayato. I've been asked to serve as Aoba Kita's trainer today."
Seo held out a business card. It bore the logo of "Vortex Fitness." Kouta had heard of it—a sports gym in Sendai. Near the station, if he remembered correctly.
"I'm Kurose Kouta."
"Kurose-kun. A good name."
Seo's gaze dropped to Kouta's tablet. Then he slowly looked over Kouta's body, from top to bottom. An appraising gaze.
"You seem to put a lot of effort into managing the players' condition. There are rumors about it at other schools too. Impressive, for a high schooler."
"...You're giving me too much credit. I'm just taking records."
"No need to be modest. An eye that can accurately assess a player's condition is a powerful weapon for a trainer. Have you noticed anything at Shiratorizawa? Anything at all that made you think, *huh?*"
Seo's voice was gentle and kind. And yet, sweat was slowly seeping down Kouta's back.
"...Nothing in particular."
Kouta took a step back. It was reflexive. He didn't want to be any closer to this man than necessary.
Seo didn't miss the movement. His dull gray eyes narrowed, just slightly.
"I see. Well, that's fine then. Lately, there have been a lot of cases nationwide of players getting injured in accidents during practice, right? Those things are usually the result of pushing too hard somewhere. You should keep a close eye on them too."
Seo paused there.
"Dangerous players are everywhere, after all."
He was smiling.
His mouth was definitely smiling. But behind it, Kouta sensed a bottomless coldness.
(*This man... knows something.*)
Intuition sounded an alarm inside Kouta.
"...Thanks for the advice."
Kouta bowed politely and left the spot. He could feel Seo's gaze piercing his back.
The match began.
Shiratorizawa dominated from the opening.
Ushijima's spikes shattered Aoba Kita's blocks. Heavy, fast, unavoidable blows hammered down from a level above everyone else. Every time the ball stabbed into the court, the gymnasium fell silent.
Goshiki's serves. Semi's tosses. Tendou's guess blocking. Everything was working. Shiratorizawa took the first set, 25–18.
"Good, keep it up."
At the bench, Oohira raised his voice.
While recording the score, Kouta observed the opposing team's movements. Aoba Kita was certainly strong. But Shiratorizawa's power exceeded even that.
(*We can keep going like this.*)
That was what he thought.
It was during a rally that began shortly after the second set got underway.
Ushijima returned a spike receive from the back row. The ball came back toward Aoba Kita's court at a somewhat soft angle. A chance ball. Aoba Kita's setter tossed it to the center.
Aoba Kita's ace began his approach.
Those eyes.
At the edge of Kouta's vision, he saw Aoba Kita's ace clearly charging toward Ushijima's left knee, still in spike form.
"!?"
That wasn't a spike.
That was a movement of throwing his entire body into Ushijima's knee.
It wasn't a play over the net. Aoba Kita's ace was going over the net, shoulder-first, into Ushijima's landing spot.
Ushijima reacted.
He had been chasing the ball in an awkward position. Backward. To the left.
The moment of landing.
*Crunch.*
The sound of bone—no, of something tearing—reached Kouta's ears.
Ushijima's left knee twisted inward, unnaturally.
"Ugh... ah—!"
A short cry escaped Ushijima's lips.
The 194-centimeter giant collapsed forward. A heavy thud. The floor shook. Kouta felt his heart stop.
"Ushijima!!"
Oohira shouted.
Kouta's legs moved before he could think. Tendou was running in the same direction.
"Wakatoshi!!"
Tendou slid onto the court.
Ushijima lay where he had fallen, clutching his left knee. His face was twisted in pain. Greasy sweat ran down his temple.
"Don't move him!"
Aoba Kita's ace raised both hands.
"I-it wasn't on purpose! That just now was an accident! I reacted to the ball and that's what happened!"
Kouta heard the voice, but he didn't believe it.
No—he couldn't believe it.
(*It was deliberate.*)
To Kouta's eyes, the movement from moments ago could only look unnatural. It wasn't the trajectory of a spike. From the very beginning, he had been aiming for the knee.
"...Damn it."
Kouta bit his lip. He tasted blood.
Oohira and Semi lifted Ushijima under both arms and carried him to the bench. Ushijima's leg dragged across the floor.
At that moment, Kouta saw it.
The face of Seo Hayato, standing at the opposing bench.
Seo was smiling.
His lips twisted just slightly. His dull gray eyes fixed on the fallen Ushijima.
As if he were thoroughly enjoying the sight of his own plan proceeding exactly as intended—a thin, mocking smile.
The smile lasted only an instant.
Seo immediately composed his face into a worried expression.
"Are you all right! Towels and ice!"
Seo came over to Shiratorizawa's bench, offering towels and ice.
Kouta's body moved on its own.
He took the towel from Seo's hands, almost snatching it away.
"...I'll do it."
Kouta said it without looking at Seo.
He pressed ice against Ushijima's knee. The knee was radiating heat. Kouta could feel his own fingertips trembling.
"Is he all right?"
Seo said it while looking down.
There wasn't a trace of concern in his voice.
"Are you actually worried?"
Kouta forced the words out.
"Of course I am. A player's injury is always a tragic thing."
"...Right."
Kouta couldn't say anything more. He felt that if he did, something would break beyond repair.
The match ended with Shiratorizawa still in the lead.
They had won. But no one was celebrating.
Ushijima was immediately taken to the hospital by ambulance.
All Kouta could do was watch his back from the gymnasium entrance.
"Kurose."
Oohira spoke to Kouta. Oohira's face was also ashen.
"It's not your fault."
Oohira said only that, then walked away.
"Kou-chan, let's go."
Tendou gently wrapped an arm around Kouta's shoulder.
Tendou's voice was quiet, unlike usual.
"...I couldn't do anything."
Kouta's voice was hoarse.
"There wasn't time to do anything. It's not just you. I couldn't stop it either. No one could."
"No. I knew. That man—Seo—he was acting strange before the match. I noticed it then."
"...It's Seo."
"Right, Seo. He was smiling. When Ushijima-san fell, he was the only one smiling."
Tears spilled from Kouta's eyes.
Tendou silently pressed Kouta's head against his shoulder.
"This isn't the time for crying."
Tendou's voice was trembling.
"I'm frustrated too. I want to go storm over there. But let's save the crying for after it's all over."
Kouta pressed his tears into Tendou's shoulder.
Night came.
Ushijima's diagnosis came back.
A knee ligament injury requiring two months for full recovery.
The prefectural qualifiers were three weeks away.
He wouldn't make it. The absolute ace couldn't play in the qualifiers.
Back at the dorm, Kouta collapsed onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling. The tears had already
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