Chapter 8

Sadly, I lost my second match, but I discovered—somewhat to my chagrin—that carrying the reputation of your organization on your shoulders during an individual match was a hard rush to get anywhere else. I even enjoyed cheering for Hanzawa as he worked his way up the bracket. Damn. This could be dangerous, I thought. There might not be any getting out now. Still, when I saw players from other schools practically weeping when they lost, I couldn’t help wondering: What made them so different from me? I didn’t have the passion within me to cry when I lost. Maybe that’s what real passion looks like. What did I have, then? It was a tough question. I couldn’t beat Hanzawa or Mr. Yamada. In fact, there were lots of opponents among the upperclassmen and, heck, the general population that I couldn’t beat. I’d gotten to where I could outdo Shirahama and the other guys my age, but there was still a high wall to scale. Looking back further, I knew that at first, I’d just hated not being able to beat the former club president. Feeling trapped in the club and not being able to win one stinking game, even my normally laid-back self had gotten pissed off. Maybe finding somewhere to practice outside of school was my little way of getting back at everyone. And it definitely made me happy to see my improvement as I played at the community center or the public bath. But something held me back, a sense that “passion” was reserved for something you really, truly loved. Something you couldn’t replace, couldn’t even dream of giving up. Ping-pong isn’t exactly the hill I would die on. But then again… “How about another game, Mr. Yamada?” I exclaimed. I didn’t start breathing hard quite as easily now. I could hold my own, at least some of the time, and I lasted longer in games than before while still keeping my hands and feet really moving. I was even able to take Mr. Yamada’s advice quicker, and my vision was clearer than before. It’s like that road I see in front of me is starting to become real. I wasn’t in love with the game, but I had an actual goal to work toward in ping-pong, rather than just spiteful, negative reasons for playing. “Too tired. Pass,” Mr. Yamada said. “What?!” “How about I take you on, then?” said Mr. Kumano, who’d been refereeing for us. He was an established veteran in his own right, someone Mr. Yamada said was “good at reading people.” This bathhouse really was a world apart when it came to ping-pong. Okay, so the “aliens” here kept my head spinning in every game, but I’m sure the reason I’d been able to keep my composure at the tournament was thanks to everything I’d experienced here. I finished my second game and headed home drenched in sweat. On the train platform, I bumped into Shirahama. The winter sky was dark already, the mist from our mouths catching the faint lights and making it look brighter than it was. “Tashiro? You’re only just going home?” he asked. Come to think of it, he was probably heading back from a team workout himself. He’d told me bitterly about how another first-year had gotten to play in a real game while Shirahama sat on the sidelines. It seemed to have lit a fire under him at practice. Basketball is a team sport, and you need a sense of unity, but the knives can still come out when it comes to who gets to be on the main squad. The way he looked when he talked about it—I could see how much he loved basketball. The shine on his face had been almost blinding. That had been a month ago. Having played in a real tournament myself since then, I thought I could start to understand how he felt. “Hey, good to see you,” I said. “You seem chipper.” “I stopped at the bathhouse.” “Oh, that place. How’re things? You better than the president yet?” “Screw you!” “Thought not.” It was only over summer break that I’d even gotten to where I could beat Shirahama. Making up the gulf in skill between us had been no easy feat, to say nothing of finally claiming that upset victory. Afterward, I had been profoundly encouraged by the sense that I’d beaten someone who was a better athlete than me. It sort of went to my head, although I didn’t mention that to this guy who’d been my friend since middle school. We didn’t exactly have a heart-to-heart there on the train platform, but we traded jabs and shot the breeze. It felt good to just be together. I may not have that burning love that Miyano and Ms. Toyoda have, I thought. But this was definitely the number one thing for me right now. After all, my right to quit the Ping-Pong Club was riding on it! “Heeey, Tashiro!” Hanzawa chirped. I froze. I was in my classroom. It was the middle of the day. What was he doing here? “Urk!” I said. Maybe he’d found out I’d skipped the previous day’s meeting. Hanzawa was on the Disciplinary Committee as well as in the Ping-Pong Club, and when their schedules clashed, he usually prioritized the committee. But I guess word of my absence reached him before we even got to club this afternoon. Thought I’d have a little more time… My understanding was that the previous day’s discussion had been about the new officers’ schedule for the next year as well as potential candidates for the next club president. That was about as interesting to me as a buzzing mosquito, considering I wanted out of the club anyway. I’d figured it didn’t matter if I was there or not. Apparently I’d been wrong. Hanzawa cornered me and spent the entirety of the midday break forcibly filling me in on what had been said at the meeting. I was left dazed and exhausted. I was going to grab some extra food! I’m so hungry from gym class… Unfortunately, the warning bell was about to ring. Well, no use worrying about it now. “Hey, President, I’m challenging you to a game!” I called. “Happy to accept! If you show up for club, that is!” This was where and how I wanted to win more than anything else right now. My current number one objective: take down President Hanzawa. Gonzaburo Tashiro stakes his youth on a game of ping-pong! The drama begins now! I could practically see the words, wreathed in flames, in my mind. Nothing seemed as scary as that. “Oh, I’ll be there!” “We’re gonna talk about who should be the next club president, too.” “Seems a little early.” “They spend a year shadowing the current president, learning the ropes.” Hanzawa sounded like he was in good spirits. I didn’t have the faintest idea that was because the “next club president” was me. Instead, I took a deep breath of the piercing December air and laughed. “Sounds like a big job!” Someone else’s big job, I figured. How could I have forgotten? I’d heard them talking about it! I’m never gonna get out of the Ping-Pong Club at this rate!