The Court Strategist: Kenji Fukui’s Rise

The soft sound of the chessboard pieces being shifted across the worn wooden surface echoed through the small living room of the Fukui household. The smell of home-cooked food wafted in from the kitchen, blending with the slight scent of aged wood and paper that filled the air. The television was muted in the corner of the room, the flicker of light from its screen casting shadows across the walls.

In the midst of the room sat Kenji Fukui, his dark eyes focused on the chessboard in front of him. The pieces were positioned mid-game, each one a calculated move—a reflection of the careful, strategic thinking his grandfather had taught him over the years.

Kenji was used to this—his grandfather's voice gently guiding him through the game, his words more insightful than any move on the board. But today, as his hands hovered over the pieces, Kenji's mind wasn't as focused as usual. He found himself distracted, staring out the window, lost in thoughts of the upcoming high school entrance exams, of Karasuno High, and of his father's words.

"Kenji, are you even listening?" His grandfather's voice cut through the silence, warm but sharp with a hint of amusement.

Kenji blinked and refocused on the game. He looked up at Tetsuya Fukui, his grandfather, who sat across from him, the silver in his hair reflecting the soft glow of the overhead light. Tetsuya had always been a man of few words, but when he did speak, his words carried weight.

"I'm sorry, Grandpa," Kenji murmured, his fingers instinctively shifting his bishop across the board. "I just... I've been thinking about what Dad said."

Tetsuya chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with wisdom. "Your father is a practical man . He doesn't see the world the way we do."

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "He wants me to focus on academics. He keeps telling me volleyball won't get me anywhere."

Tetsuya's smile faded slightly, replaced by a knowing expression. "And you disagree."

Kenji nodded, though his heart felt heavy. The tension between his father's expectations and his love for volleyball had been growing for years now. It was hard to ignore the path his father had laid out for him—the secure, predictable future that came with academic success and a stable career. But there was always a part of him that longed for something more, something that ignited his passion. Volleyball was his escape, his one true love.

"He doesn't understand," Kenji muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "He says I should be like him—get a good job, live a secure life. But that's not what I want. I want to be more than that."

Tetsuya's expression softened. "Life is more than just following a predetermined path. It's about finding your own direction, even if it means challenging the people who care about you." He paused, his gaze thoughtful. "Remember what I taught you. Strategy is more than just thinking ahead—it's about balance. You need both heart and intellect to succeed. Don't lose sight of what makes you passionate."

Kenji stared at the chessboard, the words sinking in. His grandfather's wisdom had always been about balance—in the game of chess, yes, but also in life. Tetsuya was a master at chess and had played many international tournaments of chess. He had seen the world through his own eyes and wanted to impart some knowledge of it to his family before leaving them forever. He had spent years teaching Kenji how to approach challenges with strategy, patience, and foresight. But now, Kenji felt torn between following his grandfather's philosophy and the practicality his father demanded.

The sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts, and Shiro Fukui, Kenji's father, entered the room, carrying his briefcase. He was dressed in his usual attire—dark slacks, a simple button-up shirt, and a tired, somewhat distant expression on his face. Despite his somewhat unremarkable job as a community college math teacher, Shiro held a sense of intellectual authority in the house. His words were often precise and calculated, much like the lessons he taught. But it was clear to him that Shiro saw volleyball as a passing phase, not worth the time and energy Kenji seemed to give it.

"Kenji," Shiro said, his voice firm as always, "did you complete the topics I told you to finish or did you waste your day playing as usual?" He set his briefcase down on the table beside the chessboard, not bothering to glance at Tetsuya.

Kenji stiffened, his chest tightening at the all-too-familiar words. "I've been studying, Dad."

Shiro frowned. "It's not enough. You can't rely on sports to get you anywhere. A career in volleyball is a long shot. In the entire country barely 150-250 people earn money playing volleyball, that is less than 0.00002% of the population. You need to build a future, not chase a dream."

Kenji felt the familiar tension rise in the room, the same tension that had existed for years. His father wanted him to follow the safe path—studies, a good job, and a stable future. But he couldn't help but feel a nagging desire to break free from this. He wanted to pursue something he truly loved.

"Don't you understand?" his voice wavered slightly, gripping the chess pieces tightly in his hand as he looked at his father. "I want to play volleyball. It's what I love. What I feel… is real."

Shiro shook his head, the weight of his own frustrations settling onto his shoulders. "I understand . But I don't want to see you waste your potential. It's just a game, it's not going to pay the bills or give you a stable life."

Tetsuya, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up. "Shiro, let the boy choose his path." His voice was calm, but there was a quiet authority to it. "Not everything in life can be predicted, and not everything is about stability. Sometimes, you have to take risks."

Shiro's eyes hardened. "And most of the time, risks lead to failure."

Kenji glanced between the two men—the father who sought security and the grandfather who had always encouraged him to follow his passions. He wanted to tell his father that he wasn't just chasing a fleeting dream—that he believed volleyball could become his future. But those words stuck in his throat. His father's disapproval was so clear, so undeniable. 

Kenji glanced at the window, the dimming sunlight casting long shadows on the floor. His father's words echoed in his mind: Volleyball won't get you anywhere.

But they couldn't drown out the memory that always came to him in moments like this—the day his life changed forever.

It had been three years ago, on a warm summer afternoon. Kenji had been sitting in the corner of a small community gym with Tetsuya, who had dragged him along to "watch something different." He remembered sulking, his young mind unable to comprehend why his grandfather, a chess master, was so intent on watching what he'd dismissed as just another sport.

The gym had been packed, the air electric with energy. It was the match between Karasuno High School and Kiyose Higashi High School. He could barely see past the crowd at first, but when he found a spot, his breath caught. On the court, players soared into the air, their movements fluid and purposeful. Each spike, block, and rally seemed like a dance, perfectly choreographed yet unpredictably thrilling.

Then came the moment that etched itself into Kenji's heart forever. A match point. The outside hitter on one side made an incredible feint, drawing the blockers, while the setter performed a back set so precise it seemed impossible. The ball was slammed into the opposing court, by the shortest player on the court and the crowd erupting in cheers.

"AAANNNNDD THE LITTLE GIANT SHOW THE BLOCKERS OF KIYOSE HIGASHI HOW IT IS DONE." Shouted the commentator 1 in middle of the celebration.

"See that?" Tetsuya had murmured beside him, his voice low but filled with admiration. "That wasn't just strength. That was strategy. Every move had purpose. It's just like chess, Kenji. Anticipate, adapt, and surprise."

Kenji nodded, his young eyes fixed on the court. For the first time, he saw volleyball not just as a game but as a test of the mind and heart. It was a perfect balance of strategy and passion—a balance he desperately wanted in his life.

From that day on, volleyball had become his world. He'd begged his parents to let him join the local team and spent every spare moment practicing, pushing himself to improve. Tetsuya had supported him, of course, often watching his games and offering advice with a knowing smile.

By the twist of fate that match four years ago had changed the lives of two young boys: an orange-haired boy pedaling home with a dream and Kenji, sitting in the stands with a newfound purpose.

Now, as Kenji sat in the quiet living room, the memory brought a faint smile to his lips, even as tears pricked his eyes. His love for volleyball had been born in that moment, and no amount of disapproval from his father could take it away.