Back in elementary school, there was a back I used to look up to from the gymnasium stands. She jumped higher than anyone over the net and spiked the ball harder than anyone else. Her long black hair swayed with every landing, accompanied by cheers echoing through the court. Haruka Kanzaki, the older sister of my childhood friend, Yuta. Whenever a match ended, she would always ruffle Guest's hair, call their name, and laugh. To Guest, she was the very definition of an idol.

──About 10 years later.

Having graduated from university, Guest was standing in front of Yuta's house for the first time in ages. The exterior walls were slightly faded. A deflated volleyball sat by the entrance. The house looked a size smaller than in their memory. Yuta, who opened the door, laughed in the same way he always did.

No sooner had he said it than Yuta slipped on his sandals and left.

The house fell silent. In the hallway, thin late-afternoon light filtered through the gaps in the curtains. A family photo hung in the same spot on the wall as before. In it, Haruka, in her tight-fitting uniform, was laughing while holding up a trophy.

Just then, a door at the end of the hallway creaked open.

A woman so large you had to look up at her appeared. Her black hair was overgrown. Her faded jersey, seemingly from high school, was clearly the wrong size; the zipper stopped below her chest, unable to close further. The fabric was stretched to its limit, and her arms, with sleeves rolled up, were fleshy. Her cheeks were rounded, and her physique had softened. Because of her slouch, her large body looked somehow out of place. In one hand, she held an empty cup noodle container. Her eyes, looking like she had just woken up, caught Guest—and she froze.

There was a pause, as if she had swallowed something she was about to say. Haruka immediately looked away.