The Court Strategist: Kenji Fukui’s Rise

The following week passed in a blur.

The house was quieter than usual. The air, once filled with the soft hum of chess pieces being moved and Tetsuya's gentle voice offering guidance, now felt emptier. Kenji had noticed it for a while now—his grandfather's breathing had become shallow, and his once steady hand now trembled when he moved the pieces. Yet, despite the subtle changes, Tetsuya remained unwavering, his quiet strength a constant presence in Kenji's life.

But on a crisp morning, just days before Kenji's high school entrance exams, the stillness of the house felt heavier than it had in years.

Kenji had woken early, the sun barely peeking through the curtains. He found his grandfather sitting by the window, staring out into the garden. The sight wasn't unusual, but today there was something different—an emptiness in Tetsuya's expression that Kenji had never seen before.

Tetsuya didn't look at him when he entered. He merely nodded, as if expecting Kenji's presence, and gestured for him to sit beside him. Kenji, feeling an odd tension in his chest, obeyed without a word.

"You've been practicing, haven't you?" Tetsuya asked softly, his voice weaker than usual.

Kenji nodded. "Yeah, Grandpa. But… there's something else on my mind."

Tetsuya smiled faintly, though his eyes were distant. "I know. Your father… he's hard on you, Kenji. But you know what's important. You know what you love. That's more valuable than anything."

Kenji's hands tightened into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The words stuck in his throat as he fought the sting of tears."I don't want to disappoint him." he murmured.

Tetsuya turned his head to meet his grandson's gaze, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. "Sometimes, Kenji, the people who love us want us to follow their path because they believe it's the only way to be safe. But safety isn't living. It's about following your heart. Don't forget that."

The words hung in the air, a weighty reminder that Kenji had been grappling with for so long. He was about to reply when he noticed the slight tremor in Tetsuya's hand. His grandfather's gaze shifted away, and Kenji realized, for the first time, just how fragile he had become.

The days after that morning blurred together. Kenji tried his best to focus on his studies and volleyball practice, but a growing sense of unease gnawed at him. Tetsuya had begun to fade in small, almost imperceptible ways. He was no longer able to watch Kenji's games, and when he did speak, it was often with an air of finality—as if he were preparing Kenji for something more than just the exams.

Then, one evening, after a long day of studying, Kenji returned home to find his father sitting solemnly in the living room, the chessboard between him and Tetsuya still untouched.

Kenji's heart skipped a beat. "Dad? What's going on?"

Shiro looked up, his face pale, eyes shadowed with an emotion Kenji had rarely seen from him. "It's your grandfather, Kenji. He's… gone.

Kenji's world seemed to halt. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't speak. His grandfather—his rock, his mentor—was gone.

Shiro's voice broke through the silence. "I'm sorry. He passed peacefully."

Kenji staggered back, his mind struggling to comprehend the finality of the words. His hands shook as he ran to the bedroom, where his grandfather lay, his once powerful frame now still and cold.

The sight of Tetsuya's empty eyes sent a wave of despair crashing over him. His grandfather had always been there—guiding him, teaching him how to navigate life's challenges with patience and foresight. And now, that presence was gone.

It felt as though the chessboard had been upended, the pieces scattered and lost.

Kenji sank to his knees beside the bed, his emotions too raw to contain. His chest heaved with sobs, his thoughts a blur of confusion, regret, and a deep, aching sorrow. He wished he had spent more time with Tetsuya. He wished he had listened more closely to his advice, taken more of those moments to truly understand what his grandfather had tried to teach him. The quiet wisdom that had always been there now felt so distant, so impossible to grasp.

His mind raced, and amid the overwhelming grief, one thought broke through: Grandpa wanted me to follow my heart, to pursue my passion. It wasn't just about volleyball. It was about living life fully, even if that meant challenging the status quo.

As Kenji stood, the weight of his grief began to settle into something deeper—something that felt like resolve. His grandfather had never lived a life of safety. He had lived for the game, for the strategy, for the thrill of doing what he loved. And now, Kenji had to do the same.

The tears still blurred his vision, but in his heart, a quiet vow was forming. He would not let Tetsuya's death be in vain. He would follow the path his grandfather had set out for him, the path of passion, balance, and strategy.

In the days that followed, Kenji didn't stop his studies. But in the quiet moments between textbooks and practice, he could hear his grandfather's voice. It was like the pieces of the chessboard—scattered, yes, but still forming a pattern, a strategy, a future that Kenji was now determined to claim.

And when the day of the entrance exam arrived, it wasn't the weight of his father's expectations or the fear of failure that filled him—it was the memory of Tetsuya's wisdom, his quiet smile, and the belief that Kenji could balance heart and intellect to carve out his own future.

The Karasuno entrance exams were over, and Kenji passed with ease, his grades earning him a spot in the school. But as he walked out of the exam hall, his homeroom teacher, a stern man with a no-nonsense demeanor, called him aside.

"Kenji Fukui," the teacher began, scanning a clipboard. "Congratulations on being admitted. But I'll remind you that all students are required to join a club or extracurricular activity. It's school policy."

Kenji frowned. "Mandatory? What if I don't want to join anything?"

The teacher sighed, clearly used to such resistance. "It's not optional. Clubs are a vital part of high school life. They make sure you have extra curriculars and give you a higher chance to get a job in the future. You'll need to choose one by the end of the week."

Kenji grumbled as he walked home, his mind preoccupied with the new demand. As if the pressure of balancing studies and his father's expectations wasn't enough, now he had to deal with this. He braced himself for the inevitable confrontation with his father.

At home, Shiro Fukui sat in the living room, sipping tea. Kenji hesitated but decided to broach the subject.

"Dad," he began cautiously, "the school says I have to join a club. It's mandatory."

Shiro looked up, his brows furrowing. "Then join something useful. A science or math club. Something that'll help your studies."

Kenji clenched his fists. "I don't want to join anything like that. Maybe I'll pick something… different."

Shiro's expression hardened. "Different? Then try the robotics, debate or english clubs. They will give you a higher chance to get a job in the future."

"I want to join the volleyball club!" Kenji exclaimed, his frustration boiling over. "Grandpa always said I should follow my passion. 

"Enough!" Shiro's voice cut through the air like a whip. "I want more for you than I had, Kenji! Your grandfather's dreams didn't keep us fed. They didn't protect us from hardship. I need you to be safe."

Kenji stormed out of the room, the door slamming behind him with a force that echoed through the house. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as he walked down the hallway, his fists clenched at his sides. His mind kept replaying his father's words, the logical arguments that seemed so right, but his heart... his heart felt like it was being pulled in the opposite direction. He knew his father's intentions were driven by care, by a desire for him to succeed, but Kenji couldn't shake the bitter taste of resentment that surged within him. He couldn't accept it—not now, not when everything inside him screamed to follow his own path.

Shiro's face twisted, a moment of raw vulnerability flashing in his eyes before he hid it behind a mask of authority. "I'm doing this because I want you to have a better future than I did," he muttered under his breath. "I don't want you to end up stuck like me… struggling day after day. You have a chance to make something of yourself, Kenji."

 Kenji's chest was heaving with anger and a sense of injustice. He couldn't stay in that house—not now. He needed to cool down first. His feet carried him back to school, where the sound of shoes squeaking on a gym floor and the distinct thud of a volleyball caught his attention.

He followed the sound, peering into the gym to find a group of players in black and orange jerseys practicing. The intensity of their movements and the camaraderie they shared struck a chord within him. Among them stood two players who seemed to command the court—a boy with fiery orange hair and an infectious energy, and another with dark hair and an air of quiet confidence.

The sharp thud of the volleyball hitting the floor echoed through the gym. The sound pulled Kenji from his grief, and for the first time in days, he felt his heart stir—an unfamiliar excitement that had nothing to do with exams or expectations.

"Hey!" A voice called out, breaking his trance. It was the captain of the team, Daichi Sawamura. "Can we help you?"

Kenji hesitated, then stepped into the gym. "I… I'm thinking of joining a club. Is volleyball open?"

The players exchanged glances, and Daichi grinned. "We just had a match against Aoba Johsai, but there's always room for more. Let's see what you've got."

Kenji nodded, his heart pounding. For the first time, he felt like he was stepping onto a new board, ready to make his first move.