When Kunimi Akira reached the front gate of Shiratorizawa Academy, Nomura Gasshu was already waiting. A club jersey with deep crimson lines running across white fabric. Fine crimson mesh woven through jet-black short hair. As Kunimi finished climbing the slope, Gasshu's heterochromatic eyes—left golden, right deep indigo—turned toward him. His serious expression remained unchanged, eyebrows drawn slightly inward. The air outside was that of an August morning. The hilly terrain of Izumi Ward was already thick with summer heat, and shadows from the trees beyond the stone wall stretched toward them. "[serious]You're three minutes late," "[serious]Save the complaints for the walk. Let's go," Gasshu nodded and headed not toward the main gate but toward a side entrance. In his Shiratorizawa uniform, Gasshu could walk through naturally. Kunimi wore practice clothes, but they blended in ambiguously enough—he could pass for some kind of external sports-related person. Once inside the grounds, the roof of "Washio Arena" came into view first. A facility exclusively for the volleyball club, it held three courts and two hundred spectator seats. Its presence was on an entirely different scale from Datekou's first gymnasium. From the old two-court gymnasium shared with the basketball team. Kunimi watched it pass silently. Gasshu cut behind Washio Arena and proceeded down a narrow paved path. It was clear he had the building layout memorized. No hesitation in his steps. After walking about a hundred meters, another gymnasium came into view—the second gymnasium. Clearly older than Washio Arena, its exterior walls were dull and weathered. Rust bloomed on the air conditioning unit's outdoor component. "[serious]While the regular members practice in Washio, the trainees use this facility. This is that time," He pulled open the door, and humid air flowed out. Summer heat had accumulated inside. The air conditioning was old-model, its effectiveness questionable. The floorboards were damaged in places, the pine resin discolored with age. It was older than Datekou's gymnasium—and yet this was also Shiratorizawa. The gap between Washio Arena and this gymnasium seemed to represent the organization's internal "hierarchy" itself. A single figure moved across the wide floor. A thin body hunched inward, continuously picking up balls. Pick up, roll, pick up again. Not spiking. Just picking up. The same motion repeated. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor. Kunimi stopped. A player selected as a candidate for the Miyagi Prefecture All-Stars was moving like this. Not the movement of someone aiming for something. The movement of someone passing time. Or perhaps, the movement of someone searching for a reason to be here. Gasshu called out. "[gentle]Koshiba," The boy's shoulders tensed for an instant. He looked up. Seeing Gasshu, he froze—but he didn't try to run. Seeing Kunimi's face, he shrank back slightly. Koshiba Keita didn't look eighteen. He had decent height, but his entire frame seemed soft and sunken. His hair had grown a bit too long, and thin shadows lay beneath his eyes. Not so much exhausted as—bearing the face of someone who had already given up on something. Gasshu introduced Kunimi briefly. An external acquaintance who wanted to listen in on the conversation. Koshiba looked at Kunimi once, then lowered his eyes again. "...If Gasshu brought you, then..." That was all he said before setting the ball down on the floor. --- The three of them sat along the wall. Kunimi watched Koshiba's profile. He still didn't know if the boy would speak. He understood that forcing it out would be wrong. But staying silent and waiting felt wrong too. Kunimi simply turned toward Koshiba. He kept his gaze steady and waited. Silence stretched between them. The humid air pressed down heavily on their bodies. From far off, in the direction of Washio Arena, the sound of a ball striking the floor drifted over. Regular, forceful sounds. A sound from a different world than this one. Koshiba slowly opened his mouth. "[sad]...In middle school, my homeroom teacher told me. That Shiratorizawa had reached out to me," His voice was low and hoarse. "[sad]I was on the candidate list for the Miyagi Prefecture All-Stars too, and the timing worked out. My teacher was smiling. He said it was good, that I'd done well," Kunimi listened in silence. "[sad]That night, my father came home from the construction site...covered in dirt and sweat, completely black, but he was smiling. He said, 'Keita, you worked hard.' His voice was loud," Koshiba's lips paused slightly. "[sad]He calculated that my tuition would be cut in half. The entrance fee was waived too. He and I sat down with a notebook and figured out what to do about the remaining dorm fees. My father said he'd increase his night shifts. Even though he's already past forty. Even though his body looked exhausted, he said something like that," His voice grew thinner. "[sad]In September, a letter came. The recommendation was rescinded. The reason was—insufficient ability," He spoke those four characters—"insufficient ability"—flatly. In a voice stripped of emotion. That flatness struck harder against the chest than any passion could have. Gasshu continued quietly. "[serious]The son of Mikasa Construction's president was added to the same recommendation slot. Mikasa Shota. He has almost no volleyball achievements," Kunimi's jaw tightened slightly. "[serious]Mikasa Construction's annual donation to the Shiratorizawa Sports Promotion Association is dozens of times larger than Koshiba's family's income," Koshiba kept his hands on his knees, his face still lowered. "[sad]...So my volleyball wasn't actually bad," He said it quietly, almost to himself. It wasn't a question. He wasn't seeking an answer. It was simply something he couldn't keep unspoken. Kunimi searched for words—but his hand moved before words could come. He took Koshiba's hand in both of his. It was a thin hand. A hand that had been picking up balls. A hand that couldn't quite voice the face of a father working night shifts. "[serious]Your volleyball isn't something that can be priced in money," It was only one sentence. Clumsy. Not polished. But it was all Kunimi had, and he couldn't say anything else. Tears welled in Koshiba's eyes. They didn't spill. To keep them from spilling, Koshiba glanced briefly toward the ceiling, then drew a deep breath. Every movement was a movement to keep from crying. --- The door opened right after. Three figures entered. Shiratorizawa practice clothes. Wet with sweat, so they'd probably been in Washio Arena until moments ago. At first it seemed they'd simply come to grab equipment—but the man in front stopped when he saw Kunimi's face. He was tall. His build was solid. There was an air of a third-year about him. The corner of his mouth dropped slightly. "[cold]...What's an outsider doing in our facility," His voice was low. Not so much interrogating as confirming. But that confirmation already contained its answer. Gasshu stood up. "[serious]I brought him. An external acquaintance. We'll leave right away," The man in front—Imamura, Kunimi learned from Gasshu's tone—kept his gaze on Kunimi rather than Gasshu. "[cold]...Datekou. I've seen your face in the Inter-High prefectural tournament videos," Kunimi stood and met Imamura's eyes. His gaze was appraising. Not hostile so much as assessing. Calculating why this man was here. Heat rose in the back of Kunimi's head. But he kept his mouth shut. Gasshu stepped in front of Imamura. In terms of build, he was no match for Imamura. But the way Gasshu stood wasn't aggressive—he was simply standing between them. Imamura spoke to Gasshu. "[cold]Are you doing unnecessary things again," That single word "again" contained something. The context that this wasn't the first time was packed entirely into that one word. Gasshu said nothing in return. "[serious]We'll leave right away," He repeated it, just once more. Kunimi glanced toward Koshiba for a moment. Koshiba had made himself small against the wall. Imamura's gaze turned toward Koshiba once—that was all. He said nothing. What he didn't say was heavier than words. The three of them left the gymnasium. Just before the door closed, Imamura's voice carried through. The volume was deliberately projected to reach them. "[cold]I'm telling Chairman Mikasa about this," Only the quiet sound of the door closing followed. --- Once they left Shiratorizawa Academy's grounds, the slope of Izumi Ward's hilly terrain continued downward. The summer air remained heavy. The sound of cicadas flowed ceaselessly from between the trees. The two walked down the slope side by side. For a while, neither spoke. I'm telling Chairman Mikasa about this. Kunimi still only half-understood what those words meant. But the cold thing that ran down his spine was there before understanding. Gasshu spoke first. "[serious]It's not just Koshiba," Kunimi watched Gasshu's profile as they walked. "[serious]Over the past three years, at least five players. Removed from recommendation slots through the same structure. I cross-referenced the names, selection procedures at the time, and donation records to the promotion association by year. The patterns match," Five players. Kunimi looked ahead down the slope. Rooftops of residential buildings came into view. A child's voice sounded from somewhere. It was an ordinary August landscape. "[serious]I've written all those records in three notebooks. They're stored in the old club building at Shiratorizawa," "The old club building?" "[serious]A single-story structure about a hundred meters behind Washio Arena, away from the main school buildings. It's used as a storage room now. I borrowed a spare key from the caretaker. The promotion association doesn't think the records are there," Kunimi waited silently for him to continue. "[serious]There's one more thing I should tell you. Do you know about the Miyagi Cup incident," "I've heard of it. The improper judging from eight years ago," "[serious]That's right. The promotion association at the time directly manipulated the referees. It was discovered, and two referees had their licenses suspended. After that, their methods changed," Gasshu stopped partway down the slope. The silhouette of Sendai city was visible in the distance. The sky was blue, a cloudless summer sky. The peace of that landscape and the weight of what Gasshu was saying didn't align. "[serious]Instead of referees, they began using the inside of the system itself. Recommendation approvals are given verbally, leaving no record. Cancellations are explained with a single line: insufficient ability. The selection process is non-public. From the outside, everything looks like proper procedure. It's designed that way," As Kunimi listened to Gasshu's words, his mind was elsewhere. On the match against Shiratorizawa. On the spikes that were blocked. Again and again, blocked. Was that wall built only from volleyball strength? The wall that Oikawa Toru had fought against for three years—thinking that way, something cold seemed to fall into his chest. The possibility that part of what he'd thought was a talent wall was actually a different kind of wall built with money and systems. Not all of it. But part of it. At the bottom of the slope, Gasshu stopped. The entrance to the subway station came into view. They were planning to part ways there. "[serious]There's a possibility Imamura will report to Chairman Mikasa. If you're going to move, sooner is better. But consider the impact on Koshiba too," "[serious]I understand," Kunimi's answer was short. He said nothing more. When words wouldn't come together properly, Kunimi chose not to speak. Gasshu nodded and headed toward the station entrance. Kunimi began walking in the opposite direction. --- That night, Kunimi headed tow