The basement level of Grandi-21 was a place where summer heat had been trapped beneath the ground. The concrete walls pushed back against the humid air, and fluorescent lights illuminated the corridor with uniform whiteness. This hallway, lined with athlete waiting rooms, would normally be filled with the flow of people before and after matches, but now it existed in a quiet gap with less than thirty minutes until the opening ceremony. The footsteps of athletes from other teams moving back and forth with their belongings echoed faintly in the distance, then faded. Kunimi Akira stood at the edge of the corridor, holding a vinyl bag in his hand. Inside the bag were seven years of numbers. Copies of accounting ledgers with Mikasa Ikuo's name stamped in the approval column for seven consecutive years. What Gasshu had protected in the old club building for three years now rested in Kunimi's hands. And Gasshu's smartphone—containing testimony audio data downloaded from the cloud. Gasshu stood beside him. Short hair with deep crimson mesh running through jet black, his mismatched eyes fixed on Kunimi's hands. He said nothing. He wasn't preparing words. He was simply there. Kunimi looked at his own hands. They were trembling, finely and noticeably. He understood all too well. The body doesn't lie. His body understood far better what he was about to do. He was going to stand in that arena where Mikasa Ikuo sat in the front row of the officials' section and read numbers and proper names aloud to everyone present—that's what he was about to do. It's okay to tremble, he thought. It's okay to tremble. The body is allowed to shake. Kunimi raised his face. His eyes met Gasshu's. "[serious]Let's go" He didn't realize it himself. His voice didn't waver in the slightest. Gasshu's golden eye moved slightly. As if confirming something, he looked at Kunimi's face for just one second. Then he nodded quietly. Kunimi understood in that moment. His hands were shaking. But his voice wasn't. Something deep within his body, affirmed by the fact that he had chosen this, refused to be shaken. The two climbed the stairs. --- The main gymnasium of Miyagi Prefecture General Sports Park Grandi-21 was an arena with a capacity of seven thousand. Immediately after the opening ceremony of the summer intensive joint training session ended, the floor was lined with coaches and supervisors from each school, members of parent associations, and officials from the Miyagi Prefecture High School Athletic Federation. This training session, which brought together the prefecture's strongest schools, was held every year at the end of summer after the Interhigh preliminaries. Participating athletes sat in the spectator seats. Kunimi had informed the staff member in charge beforehand. He was requesting an official opportunity to speak. The staff member had granted permission after the program ended, to be held at his discretion. This was why there was no forced removal. When he stepped up to the podium, murmurs rippled through the floor. Kunimi Akira, eighteen years old. Idate Industrial High School Volleyball Club, already retired. To most people in the arena, he was an unknown boy. Kunimi opened the vinyl bag. He pulled out the copy of the ledger and pressed it directly into the hands of one of the Miyagi Prefecture High School Athletic Federation's standing directors in the front row. Before the director could open his eyes wide, Kunimi began speaking into the podium microphone. "[serious]I am accusing the Shiratori Sawa Sports Promotion Association of having linked donation amounts to the selection of sports recommendation slots over the past seven years" The atmosphere in the arena transformed completely. Kunimi didn't stop. He stopped thinking about how he appeared now. He killed only the tremor in his voice and read the numbers. He spoke while cross-referencing the ledger page numbers with the years of recommendation selection. The fact that donations from Mikasa Construction increased by three million yen year-over-year in a certain fiscal year. The names listed in the hiring roster for the following year. And—the alignment between the year Koshiba Keita's recommendation was overturned and the movement of donations that year. The fact that the same name was stamped in the approval column for seven consecutive years. Kunimi read the name Mikasa Ikuo clearly to the arena. The sound of a chair being pulled back came from the officials' section in the front row. Mikasa Ikuo had stood up. Fifty-two years old. His short hair, a mixture of silver and white, was neatly styled, and a Shiratori Sawa alumni badge gleamed on his gray suit. The thin smile that usually played at his lips was gone. "[cold]This is baseless slander. It is merely something obtained through the unlawful acquisition of private documents" His voice was calm. It was a calculated composure that seemed to refuse to carry emotion. But Kunimi showed the ledger pages. "[serious]Please explain whether the numbers recorded in this ledger are accurate. You should have the page numbers. Not the circumstances of acquisition—explain the numbers" Mikasa opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. He couldn't explain the numbers. Murmurs spread through the arena. Not in agreement with Mikasa, but as confusion over the contradiction. Coaches exchanged glances with one another. Coaches' eyes fell to the programs in their hands. Athletes in the spectator seats leaned forward. Mikasa began to say, "I will respond through my lawyer—" when it happened. The entrance door to the main gymnasium opened. --- No one had anticipated it. The boy who had submitted a withdrawal notice, whose contact status was unknown—was there. Koshiba Keita. He stood beside his father, who was dressed in work clothes. Seventeen years old. The middle blocker selected as a candidate for the Miyagi Prefecture All-Stars was surveying the floor from the gymnasium entrance. Kunimi had no way of knowing how much time it had taken for Koshiba to decide to enter this place. Only that Koshiba's face was pale. His mouth trembled slightly. Yet his feet didn't stop. His father stood beside him. A man in his forties with a sun-darkened face. His work-worn arms, sleeves of his work clothes rolled up, bore the marks of construction work. He stood beside his son's shoulder, simply present. Koshiba didn't climb onto the platform. Standing on the floor, he looked at the adults before him. Then he began to speak. His voice trembled. But it didn't stop. "[sad]I still remember the day I was told about the recommendation acceptance. My father... had just come home from a night shift, and when he called me, his voice sounded so happy" The arena fell silent. Completely. "[sad]I also knew that my father was taking on more jobs to cover the entrance fees. And then... everything disappeared with a single piece of paper. Insufficient ability, it said. Just one line of explanation" Koshiba's father was watching his son's back. He made no sound. He simply stood there. The way he stood spoke more eloquently than words about why this father had chosen to come here today. "[sad]I found out later that my father's company had become a subcontractor under Mikasa Construction. Being cut off from work... I was never told directly. But I understood what it meant. So I stayed silent. I didn't want to cause trouble for my father" The arena was silent. This wasn't a contradiction in documents. It wasn't a cross-reference of numbers. One boy and his father's life had been trampled for someone's convenience—this was the raw voice of that fact. Mikasa Ikuo was clenching his teeth. His mouth wouldn't open. Among the adults on the floor, there were those who cast their eyes down. There were those who looked away. That said everything. --- It was the standing director of the Miyagi Prefecture High School Athletic Federation who stood up, in the silence after Koshiba finished speaking. A man in his fifties with graying hair. His voice carried no excess emotion. "[serious]I formally accept the submitted materials and testimony as subjects for investigation. I declare the establishment of an investigative committee" That was all. It wasn't a decision on punishment. It wasn't a condemnation of Mikasa. Yet that single statement decisively changed the atmosphere in the arena. Mikasa Ikuo announced that he would "consider a response through my lawyer" and left his seat. His gait was steady. As if to demonstrate that social and economic power still remained in his hands—a calculated exit. But there was no smile. The Shiratori Sawa alumni badge receded into the distance. Kunimi left the podium. The copy of the ledger was now in the director's hands. The testimony audio data would be formally submitted later by Gasshu through established procedures. He had done what needed to be done. Gasshu stood against the wall. The man who had watched from the bench for three years had today, for the first time, publicly questioned Shiratori Sawa's structure of victory—he stood in a way that seemed to confirm that fact without words. Not everything was resolved. It remained unclear how far the investigative committee could push against Mikasa's power. Gasshu's isolation within Shiratori Sawa hadn't changed. But what happened today wouldn't disappear. It was recorded. Before many eyes. Kunimi stood beside Gasshu. He said nothing. Gasshu said nothing either. That was enough. --- In the corridor leading to the gymnasium exit, a figure approached from ahead. Kunimi looked up. It was Ushijima Wakatoshi. One hundred ninety-eight centimeters tall. A man with long two-tone hair in deep green and black, dressed in practice clothes. The star-shaped piercing in his left ear reflected the corridor's light. Ushijima was here as a participating athlete in this summer intensive joint training session—which meant he had heard the entire accusation from the spectator seats. The two stopped as they passed each other. Ushijima looked at Kunimi. In his dark green eyes, there was no visible emotional fluctuation. His expression was as impassive as always. "[serious]I heard your words" That was all. Nothing more, nothing less. Ushijima walked on first. Straight into the depths of the corridor. He didn't look back. Kunimi watched that back for a while. A man who had seen only volleyball had acknowledged a voice from outside the court—it took a moment for that fact to sink in. The cruel structure in which Ushijima Wakatoshi's overwhelming strength had functioned as a shield protecting Mikasa's power structure was something Ushijima himself had been confronted with for the first time today. Kunimi had no way of confirming whether there was something within that impassive expression. But the four characters "I heard" were at least the words of someone who hadn't covered their ears. For now, that was enough. --- In the parking lot of Grandi-21, the slanted light of a summer evening fell across the asphalt. The heat of the asphalt still lingered. The ridgeline of distant mountains was beginning to tint orange. Cicadas sang somewhere, and otherwise it was quiet. Kunimi opened his smartphone. There was a notification. Before he even tapped it, the account name caught his eye. Oikawa Tooru. It was his first post in years. A short text-only post with no photos or videos. —Miyagi's getting interesting. That was all. Kunimi stared at that single line for a while. For three years, he had chased that back and questioned himself endlessly. He had watched the determination of a man who had retired after striking his head against the wall of talent. He had continuously asked the meaning of his own retirement, dreaming of defeating Oikawa on the last court Oikawa had stood on. It wasn't a direct answer from Oikawa. He wasn't saying their battles had been right. But Oikawa Tooru had seen this resu