Players’ Waiting Room
Players wearing sky-blue uniforms were taping their fingers while chatting about trivial things.
“Unni, did you hear? Apparently the owner of Black Fury is coming today.”
“He is?”
“Yep, yep. That’s why Black Fury is completely fired up right now. They’re all trying to stand out even a little so they can get even more generous support.”
“Ah… Today’s match is going to be tough. They were already hard enough to beat, and now they’ve gotten an extra boost.”
“Exactly. We’re totally going to get crushed today.”
Eungil maintained her poker face while inwardly letting out a scathing snort.
Was it ever easy? When did we ever not get crushed?
“But he seems to make his grand appearance especially often when they play us…”
“Doesn’t he…? Anyway, I’m jealous. If a young, handsome team owner came intending to shower us with money, I’d probably fly around the court too.”
“He even cheers for them with his looks. He’s always trending because of it.”
“That’s because he’s a team owner who’s unnecessarily young, has a full head of hair, and doesn’t even have a belly. When you think about it, he’s the odd one out.”
“Exactly. Our team owner is the normal one!”
Giggles broke out here and there, filling Eungil’s ears.
Idle chatter completely unrelated to the match.
Perhaps that was Team Windmarker’s way of relieving tension as a team of survival-oriented volleyball players.
Or perhaps it was simply the pitiful consolation of a last-place team that didn’t have much tension to begin with.
“Did everyone actually memorize the coach’s instructions properly?”
Eungil’s sharp remark immediately silenced the chatter.
“Why is everyone quiet? Wasn’t this place a marketplace just a second ago?”
“……”
“……”
An uncomfortable silence followed.
Several players exchanged meaningful glances known only to themselves and pouted.
“Windmarker, get ready!”
Only when a staff member wearing a headset entered did the players finally begin filing out awkwardly, as though a spell had been broken.
“Someone who can’t even read the atmosphere of the team, yet she calls herself the captain.”
Wing spiker Choi Bora twisted the corner of her mouth mockingly.
She was the youngest member of the team, but she was the unofficial power player who had the other athletes firmly under her thumb.
She had healthy-looking tanned skin, and her wide-open eyes were strangely sharp.
“But you can’t do that, can you? Because you’re the only one who thinks you’re so great and above everyone else.”
Choi Bora bumped Eungil’s shoulder as she passed and whispered,
“Has-been.”
“Don’t worry, kid. You’re pretty impressive yourself.”
Eungil’s reply made Choi Bora’s face turn bright red.
It was an utterly incomprehensible reaction.
In truth, Choi Bora wasn’t a bad player at all.
Her physical ability, instincts, competitive spirit—she was good across the board.
She was especially agile and skilled at defense.
So Eungil couldn’t understand why everyone kept trying to stab her with the words “has-been” as though they were some kind of decisive weapon.
Compared to when I was a rookie, I definitely have… declined quite a lot.
No, not just declined.
She had practically been reduced to dust.
Still, she planned to keep playing until she was forty-five.
“The away team is ready to enter!”
Eungil stood at the front of the line, staring at the light spilling through the entrance.
The lights spun dazzlingly, while the giant electronic screen played a video introducing the teams and players.
The mascot danced, and the roar of the crowd made her ears ring.
And there it was before her.
The delicious-looking court.
The place she had once loved, yet which had taken so much from her, challenged Eungil again today.
A sensation like grabbing someone by the collar and smashing something surged through every vein in her body.
“Sunbae.”
…Ah, right.
It would be strange to leave her out.
“Today, I’m going to use left three, right three, and seven central open sets, and match everything to 337.”
The setter standing directly behind her, Do Jaehee, spoke in a gloomy monotone.
“If anything gets disrupted in the middle, I’ll reset and start again from the beginning. I want it to be absolutely perfect.”
“…Oh, okay. Personally, I liked 119 better.”
Eungil replied calmly, and there was a seasoned confidence in her voice.
Of course, she had gone through countless trial-and-error experiences to reach this level.
“Sorry, but your preferences aren’t a consideration. I certainly didn’t ask for your opinion either.”
“…Oh, okay.”
“You don’t seem to have any rules in life, Sunbae. Watching you only stresses me out. I suppose this is what being complete opposites means.”
“That’s quite a sudden and unfortunate confession.”
“Yes. To be precise, you make me uncomfortable by about 94.7%. It’s subtle, but it rises by 0.2% every time I see you. Anyway, today’s setting is definitely 337.”
The setter rattled off the words without even stopping to breathe.
It was less of a conversation and more of an announcement, but Eungil was already accustomed to her way of speaking.
A peculiar setter who brought a “number of the day” to every match.
Phone numbers, dates, book pages, even square numbers—her choices were endlessly varied.
The more impressive thing is that she even ignores the coach’s instructions.
All attacks began at the setter’s fingertips.
And opposing teams who failed to uncover Do Jaehee’s secret were always troubled by her unpredictable ball settings.
That was one of the few strengths unique to Windmarker.
Therefore, when dealing with a junior who came at her so directly, Eungil felt she should answer honestly.
Wasn’t that what a senior was supposed to do?
“Do Jaehee, just send the ball up nice and strong. I don’t give a damn about your numbers. Honestly, whenever I look at you, I wonder if the ‘gu’ in volleyball—gu—means the ‘gu’ in guseori, meaning mouth.”
“…Gu, twenty-eight.”
“What?”
“Gu sam, twenty-eight…”
“Isn’t gu sam twenty-seven?”
“That’s your multiplication table, Sunbae.”
…Oh, okay.
Apparently, hers was different.
Gong Eungil, the national traitor who had become captain more or less simply because she was the oldest.
Do Jaehee, the obsessive-compulsive setter.
And Choi Bora, the youngest player who enforced the team’s brutal seniority culture.
“Windmarker, entering!”
This team is really something.
『Windmarker blocks—! Ah, it gets through! Black Fury scores consecutively! Good! When you get an opportunity, you have to put it away decisively!』
『If they don’t widen the gap now, Windmarker is the kind of team that will come back and haunt you later. They need to get as far ahead as possible while they can!』
After losing several points in a row, Eungil glared viciously at her juniors.
“Are you not blocking properly? Snap out of it! Your jumps are losing momentum!”
Her voice wasn’t even particularly high-pitched, yet it sent chills down their spines.
The juniors exchanged subtle looks that said Here she goes again, but they were clearly tense.
They were instinctively intimidated by the ferocious presence of their captain.
Eungil’s eyes had already gone wild.
Her play was frightening—calm, yet always carrying something slightly unhinged.
Because Gong Eungil remembered everything about them—their habits, number of jumps, movements in the air, arm angles, moments when their posture broke down, their breathing, even the split-second when they tried to gloss over a mistake.
At times, the opposing team actually felt more comfortable to them.
Once they stepped onto the court, they had to do everything they could not to get eaten alive by their own captain.
It was always Windmarker’s own battle.
A match between Gong Eungil and the rest of her team.
BOOM!
At that moment, a powerful spike tore through Black Fury’s center.
『Windmarker! They stop Black Fury’s charge right here!』
『Gong Eungil hammered the ball back with a quick attack after it was sent to the backcourt! It’s amazing that she hasn’t lost any speed at all!』
『This is just an aside, but it’s well known that Gong Eungil especially bares her claws whenever she faces Black Fury. Despite her poor overall performance, she plays like a completely different person whenever she meets Black Fury!』
『Haha, that’s right. Black Fury was once her former team, after all. I wonder if she still holds a grudge?』
However, Windmarker gave up another point.
And another.
Soon, they were in a position where they had practically handed over an entire set.
24–19.
『Black Fury sends it dangerously close to the corner! That was a ball given to a player they can rely on! There was a slight wobble, but Black Fury is trying to finish the set safely through communication and stability between their players!』
Eungil wiped the sweat from her face and frowned.
I hate this.
It felt as though she were trapped inside a transparent membrane.
The momentum was cut off.
Her limbs felt bound.
The familiar smell of defeat.
Just then, Choi Bora saw Eungil’s crumpled expression and spoke.
“What’s with that face? You’re on the same crap team as the rest of us, so why are you still acting like you’re the only national team player? You’re taking this way too seriously. So dramatic. I really can’t relate.”
“……”
“Sunbae, are you seriously not quitting? Or why don’t you cause another incident or something? I feel like Windmarker might actually be a decent team if you were gone.”
“How are a bunch of idiots supposed to win?”
Eungil continued staring intently at the opposing court.
There was something chilling about the fact that she still hadn’t given up.
But Choi Bora found that very quality uncomfortable.
“Choi Bora. Stop playing politics and challenge me with your skills.”
At that moment, perhaps because the opposing team’s swing timing had been off, a weakened ball struck the blocker’s fingers and flew high into the air.
A chance.
That ball absolutely has to be connected upward.
Eungil started running after it.
A little more.
Just a little more.
She eventually ran all the way outside the court, snapped her head upward, and focused solely on the ball.
From the stands came anxious voices.
“Ah—ah…”
But all she could see was the ball.
I’ll get it.
I’ll get it.
I’ll get it.
I’m definitely putting that one back up.
She leaped over the advertising board.
BANG!
At the exact moment she barely managed to toss the ball back into play, Eungil tumbled hard to the ground.
Her reckless hustle play elicited a torrent of screams and exclamations from the audience.
“Gasp!”
“Ah!”
“Eek!”
“Whoa!”
Then came an eerie silence.
I must have fallen really badly.
Her vision was flashing, and both her knee and face hurt, so she seemed to have slammed her head against the floor.
But why—
It doesn’t hurt as much as I expected…
In fact, why is it warm?
She gathered herself and raised her head.
Instead of the polished court floor, she unexpectedly found herself face-to-face with a man.
Her entire field of vision was filled with him.
…I crashed into a person.
Her mind stopped completely.
Apparently, she was the only one who had gone sprawling.
The man remained sitting in an unwavering posture, looking almost bored despite the sudden collision with a flying athlete.
Anyone would have jumped in surprise after being struck by a player out of nowhere, but the man showed no such reaction.
Perhaps merely irritated, he simply raised one eyebrow and looked down at her.
