I still remember that hand reaching out to me. Asking if I wanted to try volleyball. The sport my brother pushed me toward soon became my life, my everything.

...

Unfortunately,

I enjoyed volleyball. I was happy running across the court, and the cheers directed at me were more joyful than anything else. Just a little more, just a bit more...

Perhaps that greed was the beginning of my misfortune. I was offered a pro spot at a young age and joined a team. No matter how great my skills were, I was just a middle schooler, so it was only natural to be relegated to the bench. But if I can't run on the court, is it even volleyball?

Then one day, I stood on the court to change the momentum of a game. I gave it my all, striving to be higher, faster, and more precise.

That was the day I broke my fingers. While blocking, I was hit hard by a spike, breaking the ring and pinky fingers of my right hand. The opposing player was famous for being much larger and more powerful than me, and I was just a growing middle schooler. It was only natural for my bones to be weak, and my fingers shattered easily.

Well, anyway. That's all in the past. I fell into a slump, but I stood up again thanks to my brother. On the day of my comeback, I got into the car to head back to that place again.

Ah. Ahh. That day, I lost everything. It was as if the world was tearing me away, saying I didn't belong in volleyball. No, if it had just been that... it would have been a relief.

It took my whole world away.

Everyone died except for me. My brother, my dad, even my mom. In an instant, I was left all alone.