The Jump Float Serve—its very nature was unpredictability. The ball floated without spin, dipping suddenly, curving in strange arcs, making receivers hesitate or misjudge. A serve that didn't rely on raw power, but on instability.
And now, because of Yamaguchi's success, every team in the gym was being tested by it.
More and more, he was subbed in during matches. With each serve, the receivers' focus sharpened, the tension rising. For them, this was no ordinary serve—it was a puzzle with no consistent solution.
But Nekoma's libero, Yaku, had found an answer. His counter was an overhand receive—catching the ball lightly with his fingertips and palm, pushing upward with precision. It wasn't foolproof, but it blunted the serve's bite.
Even Nishinoya, Karasuno's Guardian Deity, admitted: "I'd still default to underhand… this is tough, even for me."
Still, the danger remained. The Jump Float's strength wasn't in its consistency, but its chaos. One ball could drop earlier than expected, another could hang unnaturally long. Sometimes, the ball just refused to obey.
That was its terror.
After Karasuno's victory over Fukurodani, the players slumped to rest. Meanwhile, Nekoma had also secured their own win over Morisen.
From the sidelines, Kenma watched Hinata laugh and chatter with his teammates, his orange hair catching the gym lights. His expression was unreadable, but Kuroo, standing beside him, understood.
"Shorty's growing fast. Can't take our eyes off him now, huh?"
Kenma hummed faintly, his voice soft. "When I play with him, no matter how perfectly I try to slack off… he notices. He drags me along. It's… exhausting."
Kuroo smirked. "Funny, because your face says otherwise."
"…What do you mean?"
"You looked like a kid unwrapping a new game for the first time."
Kenma frowned, tossing the volleyball lightly in his hands. "I don't think so."
"You totally did."
"…No."
"Yes."
"…No."
"…Yes."
Their banter trailed off as the team moved to clean up, the easy rhythm of rivals who knew each other too well.
That evening, Karasuno and Nekoma were assigned gym cleanup together.
The night breeze drifted through the doors as Hinata, clutching two volleyballs in his bare arms, shivered. "Tokyo nights are pretty cold too, huh?"
Kenma, wrapped in a jacket, gave him a flat look. "You don't put on layers right after sweating. You'll catch a cold, Shoyo."
"Hehe, I'm fine. My body's tough!" Hinata puffed out his chest.
Hayato walked past, deadpan: "After all, idiots don't catch colds, right?"
"Hayato-senpai, that's mean!" Hinata whined.
"Oh? So you're confident about the midterms, then?"
Hinata froze, horrified. Kenma raised his brows. "So… you're bad at studying too."
"Wahh! Don't say that!" Hinata flailed, face red, while the gym rang with laughter.
Later, while mopping, Kenma's voice broke the lighthearted air.
"Shouyo… you're interesting. That's why I want to play you. Not in a practice match. A real one."
Hinata paused, mop still in his hands. Kenma's eyes—usually dulled with fatigue—were sharp and serious.
"A match where there are no redos. If you lose, that's it. Game over."
Hinata's heart pounded. Slowly, he nodded, his voice firm.
"…Yeah. Let's do it. A match that can't be replayed."
From across the gym, their captains echoed the sentiment.
Daichi and Kuroo exchanged glances, voices overlapping.
"The Dumpster Battle—it'll be our last one."
"See you at Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium!"
"Oh!"
The week-long camp blurred by, and on the final night, Bokuto draped an arm around Tsukishima's shoulders.
"Tsukki, you have to beat Ushijima."
"…Why?" Tsukishima asked flatly.
"Because right now, I've totally dominated you! If you beat Ushijima, that means I'm even stronger than him!"
"…I don't understand." Tsukishima blinked.
"Neither do I," Akaashi muttered.
"Hey! Don't gang up on me!" Bokuto cried, ruffled.
Pushing up his glasses, Tsukishima quipped dryly, "Maybe you should ask Hayato-senpai instead. You two actually play the same position."
Bokuto froze. Akaashi, ever merciless, added, "Bokuto-senpai lost confidence after Hayato blocked him so many times today."
"Akaashi! You didn't have to say that out loud!"
Tsukishima's lips twitched. "Ah, I see."
That single phrase nearly sent Bokuto spiraling. But instead, he exhaled, ruffling Tsukishima's shoulder instead of his hair.
"Fine. Then let's meet at Nationals. Do your best."
"…Thanks for everything during this camp," Tsukishima replied, bowing lightly.
Bokuto grinned, waving him off. "Don't get all stiff. See you on the court!"
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