JSWGAS Chapter 7

Chapter 7 7.

Kokonoe Taka envied Iwaizumi and Oikawa.

When he held Iwaizumi Hajime’s hand, he suddenly thought: Ah, I envy you.

Iwaizumi’s hand was very hot, almost scalding. It was a temperature that could scorch the surface of a rock. Just the contact made him want to escape—escape. A familiar word.

He had been running away.

From his mother’s inquiries, his father’s scoldings, the increasingly empty house, and the ever-increasing number of tennis rackets. He always wanted to escape, always escaping.

His mother was a violinist, and Kokonoe Taka had seen her staring blankly at her old photos more than once. In the photos, the girl was in a formal dress, gently holding a violin, with a bright and sunny smile. The melodies she hummed inadvertently while working were more beautiful than any pop song.

After his mother quarreled with his father for the first time, his father didn’t beat or scold her, he just stopped her bank card—an effective means. He used happiness as a prison to trap her and demanded her obedience.

She had been a mental patient, and she often had to rely on medication and psychological counseling to maintain normalcy. Even so, her emotions fell to the bottom of the valley from time to time, and rose unnaturally from time to time. His father never knew the story behind this family, just as he kept walking towards the swamp.

What could he choose? He had no choice.

“Be a good boy.”

His father’s eyes said so.

After Kokonoe Taka understood that look, he felt a high-spirited emotion roaring in his chest, singing rebellion in it, eager to gush out of his throat. But soon the sudden surge of emotion sank to the bottom of the valley and turned into a deep pool. He was very successful, even deceiving himself. But occasionally, just occasionally. He would feel an uncontrollable anger howling.

Fire was burning.

He clenched his hand. He whispered a promise.

“Give me some time.”

The fire kept burning.

……

…………

Oikawa Tōru quickly forgot the small conflict with Kokonoe Taka. He happily announced that he would play as a regular setter in the next game, and Iwaizumi Hajime loyally remained silent—he was very considerate, avoiding his friend’s wounds. And although Oikawa Tōru seemed to notice something, this time he maturely chose to say nothing.

When the weekend tennis match came, although Oikawa Tōru complained about things like “Why do I have to cheer for this guy?” in the end, he still appeared in the audience seats with Iwaizumi Hajime.

“Kokonoe, do you know someone?”

The coach who was talking to him noticed his wandering gaze and couldn’t help but follow his gaze to the audience seats.

Kokonoe Taka responded: “Yes, a friend.”

He waved to Iwaizumi Hajime, who was looking over here, completely ignoring the childish ghost wearing a baseball cap and desperately shrinking behind Iwaizumi. While Kokonoe Taka continued to talk with the coach, the latter stomped Iwaizumi’s arm in a fit of pique: “Why does that guy ignore me?! He even said hello to Koiwa!”

Iwaizumi Hajime suppressed his anger: “Why would he say hello to someone sneaky when you’re hiding!”

“But Koiwa’s height can’t completely block me.”

“Pa!”

“It hurts!”

Iwaizumi Hajime couldn’t help but hit him again.

“Be quiet! The game is about to begin!”

A BABOLAT PureDrive tennis racket. Matt lacquer ground surface touch, and the strings matched with the racket are sheep intestine line, with a moderate feel.

The grip is a dark red viscous handle, with convex pattern texture on the surface, and it was rewrapped the night before the game. It’s a little too new, and it feels a little awkward to hold.

The tennis racket was a congratulatory gift from his father after he won the National Junior Tennis Tournament singles last year. The tennis rackets he has given over the years range from small tennis rackets for children to custom-made tennis rackets.

It is said that this one was custom-made by his father after he found the manufacturer and paid for it. After receiving it, Kokonoe Taka searched for this brand. Similar types of rackets sell for 55,000 yen, so the price of a custom-made one must be higher than that, right?

He has always been very generous in this regard.

Kokonoe Taka thought about this and that in his mind, while walking towards the serving area behind the baseline, the midpoint, and the assumed extension line of the sideline. He chose a serving position that was slightly further back. Looking up, the front was open, and across the net, he could see his slightly shorter opponent with a serious face.

A round, fleshy face. Wrinkled into a ball, it looked extraordinarily awkward.

No way? Are you nervous?

He felt a little funny and laughed twice in his heart.

Quiet.

He could hear his own heartbeat.

The yellow ball, with uniform fibers covering the surface, a familiar feel, something that accompanied his entire childhood.

Too familiar, as if this small yellow ball had become one with the human body.

Holding the racket with his right hand and the ball with his left hand, the smooth side lines of the racket gently touched the ball.

Turn, twist your waist and abdomen, and accumulate strength.

Toss the ball.

A beautiful vertical line of gravity, he could seem to see the direction of the tennis ball falling even with his eyes closed.

Stretch your arms, extending backward like wings, bypassing the top of your head.

Textbook-standard action.

Then, using the strength of his body, his left hand retracted. The coach had said in casual conversation that ‘angular momentum is conserved’, which can make the speed faster.

The world almost turned into a silent film composed of slow motion, and he was the only moving creature.

Undistracted.

Swing.

“Bang!”

The sound of breaking through the air and the sound of landing rang out almost at the same time. After leaving a dark mark on the ground, the yellow ball was reduced in power. Even so, the height of the bounce should not be underestimated.

The opponent only had time to take one step before the ball had already landed and rolled backward.

So strong.

A drop of sweat fell from his forehead. He looked at the calm-faced peer and couldn’t help but roll his throat.

After a brief silence, enthusiastic applause rang out in the audience. And the referee also turned a page of the scoreboard.

“Good shot!”

“Wow! This game is nothing to watch, it seems that Kokonoe will win.”

“This kid is only in the fifth grade of elementary school, right? This strength and speed are too terrifying.”

“It seems that his father is a tennis player, so he taught such an excellent son.”

“Ah… I really envy him.”

Listening to the heated discussions of the audience in the back rows, Oikawa Tōru snorted and leaned back on the back of the seat: “It doesn’t have much to do with whether his father is a tennis player, right? Taka is so strong obviously because of his own efforts…”

He watched the person in the arena score several times with serves again, and shook his toes: “That uncle doesn’t even come to watch his son’s game, it’s really annoying.”

Iwaizumi Hajime stared intently at the court, palely trying to excuse him: “Maybe he has something to do.”

“Has something to do? Is he so busy that he rarely comes home?” Oikawa Tōru said harshly, “Aunt Sumiko has been staying at my house with my mother these two days.”

“As for that guy,” he raised his chin at the player in the arena whom they were familiar with, “he said it’s okay for him to stay at home alone.”

Iwaizumi Hajime was unwilling to speculate about other people’s family affairs behind their backs. But listening to Oikawa say this, and recalling his friend’s confession a few days ago, he couldn’t help but feel a little dissatisfied with Mr. Kokonoe.

Fortunately, Oikawa Tōru quickly changed the subject.

“Taka’s speed and strength seem to have improved again? Compared to the last game, his movements are also more concise and powerful.”

“When did you last come to watch?” Iwaizumi Hajime sneered, “You still remember the game a month ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Oikawa Tōru blinked, “After that, I have to watch the men’s volleyball videotapes at home. I can’t compare to Koiwa in this regard. I’ve almost watched the entire process of his game.”

He smiled and said: “How is it, loyal supporter of Kokonoe? Are you going to abandon volleyball to play tennis?”

Iwaizumi said calmly: “Don’t provoke me casually, do you think I won’t beat you just because there’s a game going on?”

“I didn’t, Koiwa.” Oikawa tilted his brim, “I really want to know the answer? After all, Koiwa seems to have always been worried about Kokonoe—like a mother—”

Iwaizumi expressionlessly raised his foot and stomped down fiercely. A scream immediately came from beside him—mixed in with the cheers that rang out when Kokonoe scored again, it wasn’t that noticeable.

Only Kokonoe glanced over here thoughtfully.

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!”

“The Trash River.” Iwaizumi lifted his foot amid Oikawa’s pleas for mercy, and the latter immediately shrank into the corner, “Next time you say something like that, I’ll beat your face into a pig’s head.”

“Violence! Violent people aren’t likable, Koiwa!”

Oikawa Tōru paused, “I just think that the way that guy looks on the court, the pressure his opponent has to bear must be great.”

He looked at the other player on the court, and his amber-like brown pupils revealed a kind of cold, straightforward, and shallow color: “How will this greasy glasses classmate escape in the silent gaze of the beast?”

“Ah, I feel so excited!”

“…”

“What’s with that perverted look?! I’ll get angry, okay? I’ll really get angry!”

Iwaizumi cursed: “Scum.”

Tennis is a solitary sport. When you stand on the court, you can’t trust anyone but yourself.

—Standing on the other side of the court, Yamato Yūta felt this kind of will.

Removing all human desires, the only thing that existed in those gray eyes was a strong desire to win or lose. Yamato Yūta seemed to be in the mountains and fields, staring at a hideous beast. Those beast-like eyes were like predators in the darkness, powerful, oppressive, until victory.

His psychological defenses were gradually collapsing.

In the fifth game, his movements were still full of power and precision. Does this kind of person really exist? Yamato Yūta couldn’t help but doubt his life. He panted, trying his best to reach the tennis ball that was pressed on the baseline.

But almost as soon as he hit the ball back, the opponent even more quickly hit the tennis ball to the other side with a backhand.

The fifth game ended.

Yamato Yūta was no longer as relaxed as he was at the beginning. Sweat blurred his vision, he blinked, trying desperately to identify the blurry color blocks.

The opponent he was chasing with his eyes moved his shoulders expressionlessly, like an insurmountable mountain.

His eyes were tired, silently saying.

‘Hurry up and end it.’!