Chapter Text
“I've been stuck now so long
We just got the start wrong
One more last try
I'ma get the ending right
You can stop this, and I must insist
That you haven't had enough
You haven't had enough”
“Haven’t had enough” by Marianas Trench.
Futakuchi knew he wasn’t necessarily a good role model as a player. It was hard not to know when all the seniors warned him daily to get rid of his self-centeredness and of his habit to test with his sharp tongue the self-control of opponents and some of his easily irritable teammates.
But it was fine. He didn’t aim to be perfect. He just wanted to play volleyball, give his best during practice (when he wasn’t too busy arguing with Kamasaki), and destroy his opponents during matches.
So, you can only imagine how much of a slap in the face it was for him that one morning when he discovered that the glorious days as the annoying underclassman were abruptly over when he spotted his new jersey in his locker. It was the usual white-teal jersey but with an underlined number 2 instead of the usual 6.
Futakuchi stared at the jersey for a whole minute, motionless and incredulous. His mouth was wide open but for once nothing came out.
After recovering from the initial shock, his fingers started to feel the texture of the fabric slowly, almost fearing ripping it.
He had a moment of hesitation before even daring to touch the spot where the number two was printed. When he did, the amiable face of the former shirt bearer materialized in front of him. And along with that, the echo of a conversation between the upperclassmen that he and Aone shouldn’t have heard.
“Damn it! I wanted to play more. I don’t want to retire like this…”
“I don’t think the kids will recover so quickly. But... next year... the iron wall won’t fall!”
He clenched his fists, a bitter smile wrinkling his lips.
It would have been ungrateful to disappoint Moniwa, Kamasaki, and Sasaya after spending a year and a half training with them, but did he have the makings of a captain? Would he ever live up to them?
Shit. I gotta get a grip on myself, I guess .
He puffed his cheeks and gave a long breath.
I can’t believe it. I’m nothing like Moniwa. Coach Oiwake must have gone crazy.
“What an intense look.”
Startled by the mystery voice behind him, he turned around and saw his teammate Onagawa chuckling at his surprise. Futakuchi could never tell for sure if his chill attitude was authentic or just a facade.
“Are you already thinking about the next match?”
“No.”
“Eh? What do you mean by ‘no’?”
Futakuchi shook his head and swooshed his side bangs, his eyes still fixed on the jersey. “I mean... not yet.”
“Uh-huh... unusual of you…”
Futakuchi hesitated.
Should I tell him? Eh, why not? Everyone will know anyway by the end of the day.
He nodded to Onagawa.
“I’ll show you something.”
“Hey! What is it that you want to show? And why only to him? Show us too, please!”
Futakuchi raised his eyes to the sky.
Geez, how annoying is this junior…
He turned his head towards Koganegawa to get him out of the way with some lame excuse, but after noticing that Obara and Aone had also entered the locker room to get changed, he changed his mind.
He mimicked a slight cough to draw the attention of his companions to himself. Once he got it he turned towards them, grabbed Moniwa’s shirt with a theatrical gesture, and made it adhere to his torso with a grin.
“From now on, if you want to talk to me, call me ‘Captain,’ understood?”
…
A pat on the shoulder drew Futakuchi’s attention from Fukiage’s impressively potent spike to Aone, who, after staring at him for a few seconds, gave him a barely perceptible nod. Futakuchi smiled to himself. He knew it was Aone’s way of congratulating him.
“Thanks, man," he replied, giving Aone an energetic slap.
Aone just gave him another nod as a response. After that Futakuchi positioned himself towards the line parallel to his, in front of the net, waiting for his turn to spike towards Sakunami.
“Hey, congratulations from me too,“ Obara added, behind him. “Sorry I didn’t do it sooner. But that dude is so noisy…”
Futakuchi nodded and rubbed his neck with one hand.
He was accustomed to the insults and tugs of the ear of his upperclassmen, so those praises dazzled him a little.
And they pleased him. So much. Too much.
They were intoxicating.
“Anyway,” Obara continued, “You can forget that I’ll call you ‘captain’ after practice.”
“How dare you?!” Futakuchi replied, feigning an outraged face. “As punishment, thirteen uprisings on the spot!”
“Oh, shut up!”
“Futakuchi, it’s your turn,” Nametsu interrupted, raising her voice to make herself heard.
Futakuchi broke away from his line and took a few steps forward with his head held high. Nametsu glanced accusingly at him before marking something on her clipboard and signaling Hamichi to prepare for his setting.
Futakuchi glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. What exactly she accused him with that look he never knew, but whatever. She was like that.
He bent his legs and stared at the ball, waiting for it to be thrown.
She wasn’t always like that, though. I remember a time when she was gentle… Oh shit!
Futakuchi immediately pulled off the ground to make amends but he was too far from the ball and had to arch his torso forward to crush it.
Unfortunately, he used too much force. The result of the attempt was tragic; both he and the ball fell to the ground with a loud thud, causing first an astonishing silence, followed by the laughter of the whole team.
Aww, man!
He bit his tongue.
With his head down, he quietly made his way to the other side of the net for a new round of spikes. And even if anyone saw his crimson face, at least they had the decency to not let him notice.
….
After checking his emails, Futakuchi mindlessly scrolled through the local news app, remembering only partially what he was reading. Not that he expected to come across anything sensational. Miyagi was a boring prefecture and only came alive when some prominent person visited it for one reason or another.
But if he was wasting his time, he might as well take a look.
He strode past the school gym gate and looked up from the screen just to ensure there was no car before crossing the road. When he reached the opposite side, something vaguely heavy hit his right side, causing his phone to slip out of his hands.
"Ouch! What the–".
With a vein pulsating on his forehead, Futakuchi turned around with a curse right on the tip of his tongue. But once he discovered the projectile was a volleyball, he simply grumbled. And once he found out the culprit was the same person with whom he had to endure a boring meeting with Coach Oiwake and all the representatives of other sports clubs, he was speechless.
Just for a second.
“What was that for?” he pouted, rubbing the spot where he was hit. He picked up his phone from the floor and put it back in his pants pocket.
Nametsu was furious. She approached him and, catching him off guard, punched him in his other side.
Futakuchi closed his eyes and bit his tongue, barely holding the annoyance. When he opened them again, he glanced at Nametsu with a grim air.
Aone and Kogane are already accidentally bumping shoulders with me. If this five-foot-two-shorty-thing plays along and starts to throw punches and stuff at me for no reason...
"Um. I don’t think I get it."
The girl crossed her arms and continued to stare at him with that severe frown he was familiar with.
"Don’t play dumb. Do you really think the coach didn’t notice you spent half the meeting playing video games?"
Ah. So that’s why. How annoying.
Futakuchi rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms behind his head and turned around with his back facing her, blowing a bubble with gum, clearly indifferent to the whole matter.
"Even if he did notice, he didn’t say anything when the meeting was over, did he? So, I don’t see any reason to dwell on that any longer. Today’s meeting was a pointless formality, and you know it."
"He hasn’t said anything yet ." Nametsu pointed out. "But he could very well ask you some questions tomorrow at practice, don’t you think?"
"Well, if you say so. But I’ll worry about it tomorrow. Now, would you excuse me? I’m going home."
He took a step away, but her sigh, for some unknown reason, made him stop in his tracks.
"Futakuchi, when will you begin to take the role of captain seriously?"
His face darkened.
All these expectations…
He slightly turned his face, looking at her sideways.
"I’ve only been captain for three days, Nametsu. Let me breathe."
"There’s no time for breathing. The qualifications for the spring tournament are right around the corner!”
Futakuchi just shrugged. "I know."
"And yet I don’t feel like you're rolling up your–"
"Listen," and this time he turned completely to her, with a certain exasperation. "I understand your concerns and, to some extent , the complaints you have towards me, but you must understand one thing: I need time. Managing problems, being a reference point, gaining the trust and respect of my peers," he sighed, "These are all new things to me. I never had to worry about them. I can’t learn everything overnight."
Futakuchi eyed her.
It was surprising how Nametsu’s gaze persisted in showing indignation even after his partial admission of self-doubt.
Long live empathy . She really must hate me for behaving like that.
"Well, you have to start somewhere, don’t you?" Nametsu said, grabbing the ball from the ground and placing it between her hand and her side. "No one has become a good captain by scratching his belly and expecting the experience to fall from the sky."
"Hey! I never said I wouldn’t commit–"
"Good. Prove it then," she snapped back. And, turning her back on him, she crossed the road back to the school building.
Futakuchi made his way back home, irritated. He picked up the phone in his hands and pretended as if the exchange had never happened.
He would never admit that the words of the manager, in their brutal honesty, burned more than a slap across his face.
…
The faces of his teammates, a mixture of expectant eyes, stoic impassibility, and ill-concealed mirth, were giving him no input on how he should approach the pep talk before the start of the first round of the Spring Tournament qualifiers.
No worries. Just take a deep breath and get to it…
He would simply improvise. Improvisation was an old friend of his.
"Alright, guys," Futakuchi exclaimed aloud and earnestly, looking at them one by one. "In the last two weeks, we missed, overall, 46 spikes and 38 receives. We lost two friendly matches. Our Iron Wall was scratched 23 times. And training wasn't much better."
Futakuchi stopped to catch his breath and took the opportunity to observe the team’s reactions.
Oh sh–
Some of them were visibly perplexed (Sakunami and Onagawa), others seemed as if they wanted to punch him (Fukiage in particular), and yet others were one step away from breaking into tears (Koganegawa).
Hard to tell what was going on inside Aone’s head, but even he had a thick wrinkle between his eyes.
Harm’s done—no going back from here on now.
He picked up the speech where he left off.
"But have we ever stopped working hard? No, we've never stopped working hard. So let's keep giving our best. Learn from our failures and show us what we are made of!"
To Futakuchi’s surprise, the boys unanimously shouted a loud "Yes".
Not a bad first motivational speech .
Looking for approval of his appraisal, Futakuchi peered over the team at coach Oiwake’s thumbs up.
Very far from the reassuring speeches of Moniwa, but in any case, not bad indeed .
All that was missing was the cherry on top of the cake.
"And remember, if you can’t do it with actions, you can always subtly break the spirit of your opponents with words."
Obara burst out laughing. "You’ll never change, won’t you?"
"Should I, my dear vice?" Futakuchi replied, pounding on the last word, grinning, and putting his hands on his hips.
"Well, being too serious doesn’t suit you, so I would say no, you shouldn’t," Obara admitted to which Aone nodded.
Futakuchi was pleased with himself.
Before crossing the entrance of the field, he gave a quick look to the side to see what Nametsu thought of his speech. Ever since that last serious talk they had, she always had something to say.
He wasn’t surprised when he saw her shake her head in disapproval. But what took him off guard more than he expected was the apparent lack of her usual deadpan glare.
…
"Yu-hoo! We won!"
"The first round, Futakuchi," Nametsu said, dampening his enthusiasm and flanking him. Her right shoulder just tilted to hold the weight of the bag. "Think about the second one, instead."
Futakuchi put the sweat-soaked towel around his neck and stared at her with skepticism.
"Oh, come on! We did well. Say it!"
She rolled her eyes and sighed, placing the strap on a better spot on her shoulder. "You did... well," she said, in a monochord tone.
He furrowed his eyebrows and briefly pushed his tongue against flattened lips.
What is her problem?
"You know, it doesn’t cost you that much to put your mind to it. Try a little harder!"
"What’s the point? Enthusiasm for the outcome of this match won’t help you win the next one." She sighed again. Longer this time. "Futakuchi, honestly, I have work to do, so if you don’t mind-"
Okay. I’ve had enough.
Futakuchi took two quick steps forward and put his arms out in front of her, overpowering her and blocking her access to the exit of the sports palace.
To that gesture, Nametsu’s body froze with surprise for a moment. But in the blink of an eye, her eyebrows curled in the usual furrow and her hands crossed in front with irritation.
"What do you want?"
"A truce. What do you think about it?" He glanced at her and tilted his head to the side, waiting for her answer.
He did not believe it was possible, but the curling between Nametsu’s eyebrows became even more marked. He would have pointed it out, under different circumstances, but he didn’t want to dig his own grave. He was trying to make a point.
"What truce? What the hell are you talking about?" she asked.
Now that he had her attention, Futakuchi relaxed his arms and put his thumbs on the elastic of the shorts.
He squeezed his eyelids and rounded his cheeks before starting to speak.
"Listen, we still have a year and a half left working closely together, between meetings, training, recruiting, and so on. Isn’t it better, for both of our mental health, if we bury the hatchet for a while and spend all least the rest of this year in a climate of peace? The passive-aggressive attitude that you’re reserving for me could have been good at the beginning of the year, but not now. It distracts me."
More than you know , he thought to himself but didn’t say out loud.
Nametsu, for her part, kept an inscrutable gaze. Then she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Several seconds passed before they were reopened, and Futakuchi considered it a good sign. For whatever reason, he did not know, since her facial expression had not changed that much.
But at least she seemed to have considered his words.
"Passive-aggressive, huh?" Nametsu repeated.
Futakuchi opened his mouth, about to respond with a joke, but restrained himself, believing that it was better to opt for a harmless nod.
Nametsu squeezed closer the shoulder strap and thinned her lips into a thin line, perplexity painted over her face.
"Have you ever thought that if I treat you like that, it’s for a valid reason?"
A valid reason like what? Drive me crazy? He thought immediately, but once again he kept silent.
He sighed, taking a quick look to the side.
If he had been honest with himself, Futakuchi would have admitted that yes, the treatment she gave him was partly deserved. Yes, since the first year, he had teased her in all possible and imaginable ways, always feeling a certain degree of satisfaction when he could make her lose her temper. And yes, sometimes he had gone a little further with the mischief and the teasing, going even personal. But would he ever admit all that out loud? Of course not.
"What do I gain if I agree to make this truce you speak of?" she answered, unexpectedly, approaching him by a few steps.
Futakuchi shook his eyes, recording her words a second delayed.
Could I have succeeded? Did I get what I wanted?
He cleared his throat.
"My most sincere gratitude?"
Nametsu snapped her tongue. "I’m serious, Futakuchi. Better set the terms of it."
Overwhelmed, he took the fringe out of his eyes and stared at an unknown point behind the manager’s shoulders.
"I promise I won’t get too heavy with the jokes," he declared, bowing his chin to her. Then he clumsily scratched his forehead, grimacing. "I’ll try not to go hard," he corrected himself. "And I hope you realize how much it costs me to even try. You know I’m a natural prankster".
She raised an eyebrow. "I would say you’re more like a rooster in the garbage. But please, go ahead."
With a pulsing vein on his temples and his hands clenched in a fist, Futakuchi had to take a breath before continuing his speech. "As I said, I will limit my jokes. In return I want you to stop pouting every time I breathe. And if you have to scold me, it would be nice if, firstly, you let me know the reason behind it, and secondly, you did it without kicking my ass in front of the juniors. Or without making a big deal out of it in front of the coach."
I have dignity too, even if it doesn’t look like it.
He took a look at Nametsu, trying to decipher her expression, but it was impossible. Her face was an enigma. She seemed at the same time focused, reluctant, and on the fence, and interpreting such a combination of facial expressions would have put in difficulty even Aone, who despite appearances was quite good at understanding people’s moods. Better than me, at least , he thought.
Nametsu got him out of the way of further racking over what she thought and what answer she would give him when she moved the bag’s strap to the other shoulder, whispered an "I’ll think about it" and disappeared behind the exit door of the place, leaving him to gasp like an idiot.
…
Futakuchi uttered a deep, inarticulate sound of despair and pointed his finger at Koganegawa.
"Did you listen to what I’ve said?" he yelled at him. "When you raise the ball you have to read the trajectory in defense and move away from your area, do not stand still like a dead fish!"
Kogane instinctively put his hands on his head and covered his face, guilty. "Oh, what a shame! I’m so sorry." Then, in a hopeful tone, he added, "Can I try again?"
For the umpteenth time? Is he serious?
Futakuchi sighed, pointing at the clock behind the basket. "It’s late. Think about what I told you. And I mean everything I told you, " He clapped his hands hard. "Hey, everybody! We’re done for today. Warm up and go home."
He glared at Koganegawa, hoping that that was enough to keep him from insisting. Only when he saw him pulling away with his tail between his legs to the rest of the team, did Futakuchi feel free to address all the insults he could think of.
"Trouble with Kogane?" said a voice behind his back.
Futakuchi shook his head and turned to Obara.
"Honestly, even if it’s true that the guy has golden hands, his technique is almost worse than that of Karasuno’s number 10."
"Well, what did you expect? He’s still green. We were all kind of like that at our first volleyball experience."
"Sure about that?" replied Futakuchi, unconvinced, reaching out and stretching his arms. He threw an eye to the side, towards the empty chair usually occupied by the manager.
"Remind me why Nametsu isn’t here today. I think I’ve forgotten."
Obara looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "She needs to prepare for the math test she has tomorrow."
"Ah. Right. Yes." Futakuchi put his hand on the wall, lifted his right leg off the ground, and began to swing it back and forth.
"Strange that you mention her. Do you have to ask her anything in particular?" Obara asked him in an amused tone.
Futakuchi increased his leg swing for a few more seconds. Then he changed his leg to repeat the same process.
"I wanted an update on the validity of certificates to carry out the sports activities of new members."
And I want to know whether or not this blessed truce will be , he thought. The annoyance of not having an immediate response was consuming him. He wasn’t the patient type.
"As far as I know, the boys' papers are all in order, but if you want confirmation directly from her send her an email,'' Obara proposed, while Futakuchi completed the leg warm-up to switch to the hip one. "Or call her if you want."
Futakuchi got dark again.
I would have done so by now if the young lady, in our first year, hadn’t categorically refused to give me any kind of address.
"You have her number, right?" Asked Obara, still with that amused tone.
Futakuchi turned to him and cleared his throat.
"About that..."
….
Lying on the bed of his room, Futakuchi turned on the phone screen and opened the inbox.
He started typing the text of the email, writing a bit at random.
To: Mai
Subject: You-know-what
From: Captain Futa
Are you aware that you’re the only one still using email for remote communication? Update yourself! We normal people use instant messaging apps, and so should you. You’re 17, what the hell...
I’m Kenji Futakuchi, in case you have any doubts.
He sent the mail immediately. Then he turned off the phone screen and put two hands behind his neck, staring at the ceiling.
The probability that the manager would read his email immediately was very low, if what Obara told him that afternoon was true. So he didn’t expect an immediate response. Or a response in general, seriously.
He was stunned when he heard a notification sound not twenty seconds later.
He opened his e-mail immediately.
To: Captain Futa
Subject: You-know-what
From: Mai
Who did it?
Futakuchi chuckled and replied, keeping the same tone as the previous email.
To: Mai
Subject: You-know-what
From: Captain Futa
For someone who’s getting ready for a school test, I have to say you answered in the blink of an eye. I don’t know if I should be impressed or suspicious.
Anyway, who did what?
To: Captain Futa
Subject: You-know-what
From: Mai
What do you think?
Who gave you my number?
To: Mai
Subject: You-know-what
From: Captain Futa
*deep breath*
Obara, but I didn’t force him. Don’t take it out on him.
By the way, seriously, switch to apps. I don’t find myself writing like that. It takes too long.
To: Captain Futa
Subject: You-know-what
From: Mai
Futakuchi, you just wasted two minutes of my precious time. So if there’s something you need to tell me, get to the point.
He read the last part of the message, hoping he’d misunderstood.
Is it possible that she has already forgotten it? he thought resentfully. It matters so little what I-
Shit!
He typed the words and sent them in a violent outburst.
To: Mai
Subject: You-know-what
From: Captain Futa
Doesn’t the subject line suggest anything to you?
Anything at all?
Come on, make an effort.
Think about our last conversation.
Ah. While you’re at it, can you fill me in on the new members’ certificates?
A minute passed. Then two. Three.
He almost thought to give up, but at the fifth minute, the phone finally signaled the email notification.
To: Mai
Subject: You-know-what
From: Captain Futa
Let’s start with order.
First of all, the certificates are all right. The new members can all carry out sports activities.
Second of all, I understand.
If I were you, I would have used other words as the subject line. Plain words. Like, I don’t know, ‘ Peace: Yay or Nay? '. I would have gained time and patience.
It doesn’t seem to me that the subject matter is taboo. Or am I wrong?
Anyway, I’m ok with it. It’s never going to be a real ‘truce’, like you said, given our natural tendency to annoy each other. But sure, we can try.
I hope I won’t regret it.