The gymnasium was a boiling pot of sound. Sneakers screeched, the echo of the ball thudding against hardwood rebounded off the walls, and above it all—cheers, whistles, and gasps. Banners hung from the rafters, colors flashing like the pulse of a crowd's heartbeat.
Miyagi Prefecture Junior High Finals.Chidoriyama Junior High vs. Kitagawa Daiichi.
In the stands, Hinata Shōyō was practically hanging over the railing. His eyes glittered with a feverish kind of excitement, his voice already hoarse from shouting."That's him! That's my best friend! Watch, watch—this next one's gonna be insane!"
Karasuno's second-years exchanged glances at his energy. Tanaka leaned over to Daichi, grinning. "Man, if Hinata's hyping him up this much, I'm expecting some kind of volleyball god."
"Quiet, it's the serve," Daichi said, eyes narrowing at the silver-haired figure standing at the net.
Akira Tōru. Chidoriyama's ace.At 187 cm, he towered over most players his age, his posture relaxed yet coiled like a spring. The sheen of sweat on his neck caught the light, making his silver hair almost glow under the stadium lamps. His blue eyes were sharp, but his expression… cheerful, almost teasing.
Across the net, Kageyama Tobio—Kitagawa's setter and "King of the Court"—bounced lightly on his feet, gaze locked on Akira like a predator sizing up prey.
The whistle blew.
Kitagawa's serve cut through the air with a sharp whoosh. Chidoriyama's receive was clean, quick—textbook. The ball sailed into the setter's hands, and in that instant, Akira moved.
His approach was smooth, like the first steps of a dancer. Each stride ate up space effortlessly. His jump—Gasps erupted.He didn't just rise; he soared.
At his peak, the court seemed to shrink beneath him. The set was perfect, high and wide. Akira's arm swung through with an elegance that belied the raw power packed in the motion.
BOOM!The ball slammed into Kitagawa's side of the court, ricocheting off a stunned defender's forearms and bouncing into the stands.
"Holy crap!" Tanaka yelled. "That's… that's not a spike, that's an execution!"
Daichi's brows rose. "His form—picture perfect. No wasted movement."
From behind them, Nishinoya shot to his feet, fists pumping. "That's my junior, baby! That's the guy I told you about!"
Hinata turned, beaming, as if soaking up the praise himself. "I told you he's amazing! That's not even his fastest spike yet!"
Down on the court, Akira landed lightly, spinning just enough to flash a grin at Hinata's section of the stands. The grin widened when he saw Nishinoya there too, and he gave a lazy salute before jogging back into position.
Kageyama's eyes narrowed. That block earlier—he'd barely gotten past it. Now, that spike…The King's pride wouldn't let it slide.
The scoreboard read 10–6, Chidoriyama.Kageyama's hands flexed at his sides, his gaze scanning for weaknesses, but every time his eyes met Akira's, he saw that same irritatingly calm grin.
The serve came again—this time from Kitagawa's captain. Chidoriyama's libero crouched, arms steady, and the ball was passed up clean.
Akira moved into position—not for a spike this time, but to block.Kageyama's set was blisteringly fast, aimed for Kitagawa's opposite hitter. But Akira was already there.
THUD!The block landed so sharply that the ball fell almost straight down onto Kitagawa's court.
The referee's whistle pierced the air. "Chidoriyama, point!"
Hinata's yell nearly shook the stands. "That's the holy wall! He doesn't let anything past!"
Tanaka blinked. "Holy wall?"
Nishinoya leaned forward, smirking. "That's what people call his blocks. You don't see the opening—one second you think you've got the shot, the next second, bam, it's shut down like a divine gate slamming in your face."
Down on the court, Kageyama frowned. The speed of the set should have been enough to slip past most blockers, but Akira wasn't reacting—he was reading. Watching every muscle twitch, every shift in body weight, and arriving exactly where the ball would go.
The next rally began with Kitagawa trying to mix things up. Kageyama pushed a quick set to the middle. Akira didn't jump—his middle blocker teammate sealed that gap. The ball came back up to Kitagawa, who tried a back set to his ace.
This time, Akira did jump. His shadow fell over the spiker as his hands closed like a guillotine.
THWACK!Point, Chidoriyama.
Karasuno's Daichi murmured, "This isn't just height or reflexes… he's forcing Kageyama into bad options."
Hinata, still vibrating with excitement, jabbed a finger toward the court. "That's what I mean! He's like—like—if volleyball had a boss battle, Akira would be the final boss!"
Kageyama's jaw tightened. He knew the murmurs from his own teammates—'Why isn't the ball getting through?'—and he could feel the trust slipping. Desperation crept into his next decision.
The serve came to Kitagawa. Kageyama called for the ball and, with lightning speed, launched a super fast set—a set so sharp it was practically invisible. The only problem…His spiker wasn't ready.
The ball ricocheted off their shoulder and spun out of bounds.
Kitagawa's frustration was palpable. Players glanced at one another, uncertainty in their eyes. Kageyama's fists clenched.
Akira's smile dimmed, replaced by something sharper. His eyes locked on Kageyama—not mocking now, but challenging. It was the shift from "angel" to "demon" that Nishinoya had warned about.
The crowd roared as the set score climbed—25–18, Chidoriyama.
Second Set
Kitagawa's morale was fraying. Kageyama still tried to quicken the tempo, but without trust between setter and spiker, the plays crumbled.
Akira dominated the net. His spikes were still elegant—picture-perfect arcs, the ball spinning with just enough top-spin to drop like a stone after clearing the block. His blocks? Suffocating. The Holy Wall was unshakable.
Every time he scored, the cheers from the Karasuno section swelled. Hinata's voice cracked from yelling. Nishinoya banged on the railing like a drum, shouting, "That's my guy! Show 'em how it's done, Akira!"
The match ended 25–15, Chidoriyama sweeping the finals 2–0.
As the whistle signaled the end, Akira looked up toward the Karasuno section, catching Hinata's wide grin and wild waving. He raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment, then pointed to the banner above the court: Champions.
Kageyama stood frozen at the baseline, his team already walking off. He glanced once at Akira, eyes burning with frustration. Akira only offered a small, knowing smile—the kind that said 'Catch me if you can.'
Up in the stands, Daichi exhaled. "If that guy ever plays against us… we're in trouble."
Nishinoya smirked. "Nah. You're thinking too small. Imagine if he played with us."