Nekoma High School Gymnasium - The Day Before Preliminaries.
The air in the gym was solemn. Coach Nekomata stood before the lined-up players, a stack of red and black jerseys in his hands.
"The Interhigh Preliminaries," Nekomata began, his voice gravelly but sharp. "Tokyo is a battlefield. We have Fukurodani, Itachiyama, Nohebi... powerhouse schools that consistently go to Nationals. For years, Nekoma has been a 'good' team. A 'defensive' team."
He looked directly at Ryuu.
"But this year, we are not just a shield. We have a sword."
Nekomata picked up the jersey with the number 1.
"Captain. Kuroo Tetsurou."
"Osu."
He went down the line. Kai, Yaku, Yamamoto, Kenma. They received their numbers with practiced stoicism.
Then, Nekomata picked up the number 10.
Usually, the numbers 1-9 were for third years and regulars. First years typically got double digits. But #10... in manga logic, that was the Ace number. The Protagonist number.
"Gojou Ryuu."
Ryuu stepped forward. He towered over the coach.
"You are starting," Nekomata said, handing him the jersey. "We are changing our rotation. Yamamoto will be on the left. You will be on the left. We are overwhelming them with offense."
Ryuu took the jersey. The fabric felt cool in his hands.
"Understood," Ryuu bowed. He unfolded the jersey and held it up.
"Number 10," Ryuu muttered, a grin spreading across his face. "The same number as the Little Giant. How ironic that the Villain wears the Hero's cape."
"Stop monologuing and put it on," Yaku kicked his shin.
_____________
Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium - Round 1.
The venue was loud. The squeak of shoes, the thud of balls, the roar of cheering squads. It was the sensory overload of the Interhigh.
Nekoma walked in.
Usually, Nekoma didn't draw much attention. They weren't flashy like Fukurodani or huge like Date Tech. They were quiet.
But today, heads turned.
"Who is that?"
"Is that a foreigner?"
"Look at the red hair. Is that a delinquent?"
"He's huge. Is he 2 meters?"
Ryuu walked in the center of the pack, wearing his red Nekoma tracksuit. He had his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed but dominating.
He scanned the crowd. The Emperor's Eyes were active, but not as a system. He simply saw everything.
He saw the subtle tremors in the knees of the players passing by. He noticed a libero favoring his left ankle. He saw a setter whose eyes were darting around nervously, unable to focus.
The world was filled with cracks. And he was the sledgehammer.
"So many shaky legs," Ryuu whispered, disappointed. "They're already defeated before stepping on the court."
"Stop staring people down," Kenma mumbled, playing on his PSP while walking. "It's rude."
"I'm not staring," Ryuu corrected. "I'm assessing the livestock."
Their first opponent was Tamagawa High. A decent team, known for good serves, but nothing exceptional.
As the teams warmed up, the Tamagawa players were staring at Ryuu.
"Hey, look at their Number 10," the Tamagawa captain whispered. "He's hitting the ceiling."
Ryuu was warming up his spikes. Kenma tossed the ball high.
Ryuu didn't run full speed. He took a lazy, rhythmic approach.
One, two, stomp.
He jumped. It looked effortless, like gravity had simply forgotten to apply to him.
In mid-air, Ryuu's eyes locked onto the empty court. He didn't just see the floor; he visualized the exact line of the ball through the air. A path of least resistance.
BOOM.
He hit the ball over the block of a terrified assistant coach. The ball slammed into the floor with a sound like a gunshot, bouncing into the second deck of the stands.
The gym went quiet for a split second.
"Oops," Ryuu said, landing softly. "Too much gunpowder."
_________________
The Match Begins.
Nekoma vs. Tamagawa.
"Nekoma, fight!"
The whistle blew. Tamagawa served first.
It was a jump floater. A decent one.
Old Ryuu (pre-training camp) might have misjudged it. But New Ryuu saw the server's mechanics clearly.
He saw the elbow drop slightly. He saw the palm contact the center of the ball perfectly flat.
'No power. Short trajectory.'
Ryuu moved his feet before the ball even crossed the net. He slid his left foot back, lowered his hips, and created a perfect platform.
Pop.
The ball hit his forearms and floated gently, perfectly to Kenma.
"Nice receive!" Yaku shouted, sounding genuinely proud. "You actually looked like a volleyball player!"
"I'm evolving, Yaku-san," Ryuu smirked.
Kenma set the ball. He didn't send it to Ryuu immediately. He sent it to Kuroo for a quick.
BAM.
Nekoma 1 - 0 Tamagawa.
The game continued. Nekoma's defense was suffocating. With Ryuu actually participating in the floor defense, there were no holes. And with his height, the "wall" at the net was impenetrable.
Tamagawa couldn't score.
4-0.
8-2.
12-4.
"Give it to me," Ryuu said to Kenma as they rotated. Ryuu was now in the front left.
Kenma nodded.
Tamagawa served. Kai received it.
Kenma pushed the ball to the left. A high, open set. The kind that screams, "Here comes the Ace."
Tamagawa's blockers were ready. "Triple block! Stop him!"
Three blockers jumped. They were disciplined. They sealed the straight and the cross, their arms forming a frantic wall.
Ryuu jumped.
He hovered in the air, looking down at the three blockers.
To his Eyes, the world slowed to a crawl. He saw the blockers squeezing their eyes shut. He saw their elbows locking out, their muscles rigid with the anticipation of pain. They were terrified. They were bracing themselves like men standing in front of a firing squad.
'They're bracing,' Ryuu thought, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. 'They think that if they stiffen up, they can stop me.'
Most aces would look for a gap. A feint. A cut shot.
But Ryuu wasn't just an Ace. He was a calamity.
'Why go around?' Ryuu thought. 'If I break their arms, they won't jump next time.'
Ryuu cocked his arm back. He channeled everything—the hip torque, the shoulder rotation, the sheer kinetic energy of his 190cm frame.
He didn't aim for the seam. He didn't aim for the line. He aimed directly at the center blocker's palms.
BOOM.
The sound was not like a volleyball being hit. It sounded like a car crash.
The ball slammed into the blockers' hands. But instead of stopping, the sheer rotational force and weight of the spike obliterated their form.
"GAH!"
The center blocker screamed as his arms were blown backward. The ball tore through the "wall" as if it were made of paper. It smashed into the face of the libero standing behind the block, ricocheted off his forehead, and flew all the way into the second-floor railing.
CLANG.
The libero fell onto his butt, dazed. The blockers landed, clutching their stinging, reddened fingers, looking at their hands in horror.
Silence. Absolute, terrified silence.
Ryuu landed softly. He didn't celebrate. He simply rotated his shoulder, checking for tension.
Then, he looked through the net at the blockers who were shaking.
"What's the matter?" Ryuu asked, his voice low and vibrating with amusement. "You put up a wall. Did you expect me to knock politely?"
"Don't kill them, Ryuu," Kuroo chided, though he looked delighted. "We need them alive for the second set."
"I'm not killing them," Ryuu turned and walked back to the service line, the number 10 on his back looking larger than life. "I'm just educating them on the difference between a wall... and a speed bump."
Set 1: Nekoma 25 - Tamagawa 13.Set 2: Nekoma 25 - Tamagawa 10.
It was a massacre. Ryuu didn't use feints. He didn't use wipes. He didn't need to steal tricks from Bokuto for this level of competition.
He simply bludgeoned them.
Every time the ball went to the left, it hit the floor. If a block was there, he broke through it. If a receiver was there, he blew them backward. It wasn't a game of strategy; it was a demonstration of a superior species.
When the final whistle blew, the Tamagawa players were devastated. They hadn't just lost; they had been traumatized.
Ryuu stood at the net for the handshake. The Tamagawa captain wouldn't look him in the eye. His hands were shaking.
"Good game," Ryuu said, his voice devoid of fatigue.
"Y-You're a monster," the captain whispered, tears streaming down his face, clutching his bruised fingers.
Ryuu paused. He adjusted his collar, looking down at the trembling boy.
"No," Ryuu corrected coldly. "I'm just the result of what happens when a tank plays against infantry."
__________________
The Stands.
Scouts from other teams were scribbling furiously in their notebooks, their faces pale.
"Nekoma has an Ace." "Number 10. He's a calamity." "He reminds me of Ushijima from Shiratorizawa. Just pure, unadulterated power. Did you see that triple block? He didn't even aim for the seams. He just went through them."
In the corner of the stands, a group wearing green and yellow tracksuits was watching.
Nohebi Academy.
Their captain, Daishou Suguru, narrowed his snake-like eyes.
"Heh," Daishou smirked, resting his chin on his hand. "So that's the 'Dragon' everyone is whispering about. He's a brute."
"He's unstoppable, Daishou-san," his teammate warned, looking nervous. "He destroyed Tamagawa's block like it was wet paper."
"He's tall and strong," Daishou admitted. "But look at him. He thinks power solves everything. He thinks he can just hammer his way to victory."
Daishou's grin widened, sharp and unpleasant.
"Power types are the easiest to break. They get so frustrated when they swing and hit nothing. Or when they get called for net touches. Or when the crowd turns against them."
Daishou stood up, zipping his jacket.
"Let's see if the Dragon loses his temper when we start cutting off his wings."
_____________
Nekoma Bench.
"Next match is in two hours," Nekomata announced. "Hydrate. Eat bananas."
Ryuu sat down, draping a towel over his head. He wasn't even sweating.
"Boring," Ryuu muttered.
"We won," Kenma handed him a water bottle. "Winning is usually boring for you unless it's dramatic."
"Exactly," Ryuu sighed, crushing the empty plastic bottle in one hand. "Where is the resistance? Where is the fear of losing? I felt like I was punching a pillow. These guys... their blocks were soft."
"We play Nohebi in the quarterfinals tomorrow if we win the next one," Kuroo said, sitting next to them. "They aren't physically strong. But they are... annoying."
"Annoying?" Ryuu perked up.
"They play dirty," Yaku said bluntly. "They block the ref's view. They talk trash. They play mind games. They bait you into fouls. They're snakes."
Ryuu's golden eyes lit up under the towel.
Mind games? Trash talk? A villainous team that relies on underhanded tactics against his overwhelming force?
"Snakes, huh?" Ryuu cracked his knuckles, a predatory smile returning to his face.
"Finally," Ryuu whispered. "Prey that I don't have to feel bad about crushing."