That last spike was unbelievably fast. From Tsutomu Goshiki's approach to his jump and the swing itself, the whole sequence took only a few seconds. It carried a hint of Hinata's style.
The speed was incredible—though still not quite on par with that little monster Hinata. Goshiki's shot had a bit more technique mixed in. All things considered, it was far better than what most players could produce.
Part of that was probably thanks to how much he'd been ground down by Ryosuke in practice. Against Wakutani's level of libero and block, Goshiki found it almost effortless.
Coach Washijō didn't say anything, but the satisfied curl at the corner of his mouth said enough. Give Goshiki time. Under his seniors' guidance, he could grow into the next ace. Add in Ryosuke's genius-level defense…
The blueprint for Shiratorizawa's future was already forming clearly in Coach Washijō's mind.
Ryosuke nodded as well, cheering for the point.
"Not bad," Eita Semi muttered around a mouthful of water.
Kawanishi was still lost in thought, unable to move on from the mystery of his missing rice ball.
Takeru Nakajima shut his eyes tight and let out a long breath.
"One more!"
Goshiki skipped happily to the service line.
Reon called out with a grin, "Make it a good one!"
The moment he finished speaking, Reon, Shirabu, and even Tendo all grabbed the backs of their heads. Thinking about Goshiki's serves in practice—powerful, yes, but wildly inconsistent—made their scalps ache in advance.
The three on the bench watching the show couldn't help laughing.
Goshiki tossed the ball, took his approach, and leapt. He smashed it cleanly—a powerful, steady jump serve. Thankfully, he didn't fall apart during the match.
The ones clutching their heads all let out a breath of relief.
Seriously—if he'd messed up in a real match, Coach Washijō's spit alone would've drowned him.
On the other side, Wakutani's libero Kazuteru received the serve. The ball slammed hard into him, and he flipped backward to absorb the force and kill the momentum.
"I've got it!"
Seeing the ball tight to the net, Nakajima jumped without hesitation and hammered it down.
The ball struck Tendo's blocking arms, leaving a bright red mark. Another idiot trying to blast straight through with brute force.
Still… that was some power.
Tendo let out a cold laugh. My block isn't something just anyone can break through.
He snapped his wrists down hard, crushing the ball's momentum.
"Bang!"
The ball hit the floor.
Nakajima froze. That couldn't be right. Yesterday, when he watched Date Tech's match, they'd been able to smash straight through blocks. So why didn't it work now?
Tendo stood at the net, squinting. His tall frame cast a shadow over Nakajima, his slightly smaller-than-average pupils shifting as they settled on him.
"Date Tech? They're just a bunch of brute-force gorillas. That trick doesn't work on you."
He turned and walked away, humming a strange little tune that drifted back to Nakajima.
"Crackle, crackle, something broke~
What broke?
Someone's heart broke~"
On the last line, Tendo turned back and pointed straight atTakeru.
Nakajima flinched. If this had been his childhood, Tendo would've been pure nightmare material.
He pressed his lips together and returned to position. He absolutely would not admit he'd just been startled.
Ushijima frowned and shot Tendo a glare—clearly he'd seen the whole thing.
Tendo spread his hands innocently. He hadn't done anything.
Reon stepped between them, cutting off the stare-down. "Enough. Focus on the game. Whatever it is, deal with it after."
Ushijima nodded and said nothing more. Goshiki, meanwhile, had no idea what had just happened.
Play resumed. After several long rallies before Shiratorizawa finally secured a point, even Reon had to admit Wakutani were tough.
He exchanged a look with Shirabu, who immediately understood.
Reon wanted him to send more sets to Ushijima. Goshiki could score, sure—but in the eyes of Wakutani's seasoned third-years, his technique was still raw. They could manipulate him.
If this dragged on, Goshiki's stamina would be drained.
Shirabu glanced at Goshiki, who was bent slightly, hands on his knees, catching his breath—only to spring up the next second and blast a straight shot.
"Bang!"
Shirabu reconsidered. Maybe letting him run a little longer wouldn't hurt. Goshiki was ridiculously energetic—charging all over the court like a dog off its leash.
Still, Shirabu decisively set to Ushijima.
Ushijima's face stayed expressionless as he crushed the ball down.
"Bang!"
The sound was thunderous.
Kawanishi, who had slid from sitting to lying down, murmured so quietly no one heard:
"That one sounded like Ushijima's in a good mood."
From there on, the latter half of the set turned into a pure slugfest. Both sides blasted back and forth, each spike fiercer than the last.
And with Ushijima and Reon on Shiratorizawa's side, it was like having two artillery cannons. They aimed directly at Wakutani's blockers, each heavy "bang" echoing through the gym.
Even Ryosuke, sitting below, winced on behalf of Wakutani's middle blockers. Some of those hits clearly carried a bit of personal grievance.
After one spike, Reon arched a brow at Nakajima.
"Next time, don't aim at our middle blocker's arms."
Nakajima: …Are they really that petty?
Under Shiratorizawa's relentless bombardment, the first set ended quickly. Wakutani's two middle blockers had arms mottled blue and purple, like they'd been beaten up. Even their libero's arms looked better by comparison.
Narita and Todo sat there grimacing, pressing ice packs to their arms. It was a pitiful sight.
Coach Onikōbe sat in silence for a long time. The loss was crushing. Completely one-sided.
So this… was the reigning king, Shiratorizawa.
Nakajima sat in the far corner, a towel draped over his head, staring at the floor in defeat.
He didn't dare look up at his parents in the stands. He was afraid of seeing disappointment in their eyes. Afraid his younger siblings would laugh at him for being short and still chasing volleyball. Afraid his classmates would call him delusional…
A hand rested on his shoulder.
He looked up blankly to see Coach Onikōbe walking over with the team. He opened his mouth, about to apologize—
But Onikōbe cut him off.
"No apologizing. This isn't your fault.Takeru, you've always been amazing. You've led us to see sights we never imagined. Now stand tall, and face the second set with everyone.
Even if we lose, Wakutani will lose in a way people remember. Understood?"
Nakajima's nose stung. He straightened his back.
"Understood! I'll do it!"
Kazuteru leaned toward their setter, Hanayama. "What did Coach mean?"
Hanayama ruffled his junior's hair. "He means we hang on as long as we can. Ideally, we become the team that drags Shiratorizawa to exhaustion."
Kazuteru nodded, half-understanding. Whatever. Just follow the seniors.
...
When the second set began, Ryosuke could clearly feel Wakutani's morale had changed. It was like watching someone lift their head from defeat and charge forward without hesitation.
In the first set, only Nakajima—the short outside hitter—had really shone. The rest had been fairly ordinary.
So what would Wakutani show now?
Ryosuke found himself looking forward to it.
"Beep—"
Second set. This rotation brought Shirabu to serve. As Ushijima's dedicated setter, Shirabu's serve wasn't anything special within Shiratorizawa.
"Bang!"
He deliberately sent a powerful jump serve into the seam between the libero and the player in position one.
Both turned at the same time to receive it, startled into staring at each other.
Kazuteru gritted his teeth. "Senpai! I'm the libero!"
He stepped back and cleanly received the ball.
Watari gave an awkward smile as the pass arced up and everyone transitioned toward the net.
When the ball reached Hanayama's hands, Wakutani unveiled something new.
Just like their coach had said—even in defeat, they would be unforgettable.
Narita jumped first. Based on instinct, Tendo judged he wouldn't be the one to get the set. He held back.
Behind Narita, Todo sprang up, ready to spike.
Tendo narrowed his eyes. "A staggered attack?"
It wasn't something you saw often these days. Most teams relied on raw talent. Tactics like this were rare.
"Using two hitters to pave the way… interesting. How many decoys are there?"
He muttered to himself. When Todo still didn't swing, irritation flickered through him. Even if his blocking was instinctive, constantly being forced to guess was annoying.
Hanayama set to their ace—Takeru Nakajima.
Using Todo as cover, Nakajima approached from the right. By the time Tendo's attention shifted to the staggered formation, Nakajima was already airborne.
Coach Onikōbe clenched his fingers below the court.
You have to score this,Takeru. The momentum of this set depends on this first ball.
"Bang!"
Nakajima smashed it down hard.
The only blocker in front of him was Goshiki, who had rushed over, arms splayed awkwardly like tree branches.
Nakajima's air battle was exquisite—delicate, controlled. Against Shiratorizawa's straightforward power, Wakutani's style was almost pleasing to watch.
He deliberately guided the landing spot far from Yamagata and toward Shirabu—close enough to pressure him.
He broke through Goshiki's block with ease.
Everything happened in a flash. The moment he jumped, Nakajima knew this point would score.
But in Tendo's eyes, every detail—the strategy, the players' positions—felt etched frame by frame into his mind.
For the first time, Tendo had read it wrong.
His expression darkened.
When had he started underestimating opponents?
That wasn't good.
"Nice one,Takeru!"
"Takeru's amazing!"
Watari and Narita rushed him in celebration. That clean point crushed the lingering doubt and anxiety in their hearts.
From the sidelines, Coach Washijō exploded.
"Satori! What was that?! Where was your block?! And Goshiki—what was that hand position?! What have you been doing in training these past months?! And you! Kawanishi! Who told you to eat snacks during a match? Put that away!!"
He slammed his chair furiously. These problems had never shown during practice—but the moment they faced resistance, every flaw surfaced.
He was close to passing out from anger.
The instant Nakajima scored, Ryosuke had quietly swapped seats with Kawanishi, successfully placing Kawanishi right within range of Coach Washijō's fury.
Clutching the snacks he'd painstakingly scavenged from Semi, Kawanishi stared at Ryosuke speechlessly.
Backstab me?
Ryosuke, sweating slightly: No.
Tendo and Goshiki both shrank into themselves. The two unfortunate souls exchanged a glance, seeing the same guilt reflected in each other's eyes.
Shirabu stepped forward with a three-hit combo of sarcasm.
"Pathetic. Couldn't block. You too."
Tendo snorted. "You didn't receive it either, did you?"
Goshiki hadn't seen the play clearly, but Tendo had.
Shirabu was caught off guard. "I—"
"Enough."
Reon stepped in smoothly, separating them before it escalated.
From the backcourt, Yamagata watched like he was at a show, practically missing a bowl of popcorn.
"Tsk."
That rally had been entertaining—Tendo misled, Goshiki failing to block, Shirabu hesitating. What a performance.
The bickering ended there.
Narita walked to the service line with the ball, and everyone reset.
He stood still, tossed it, and with a light swing of his arm sent out a high, drifting float serve.
Yamagata's brow twitched.
A standing float? Interesting. Why hadn't they brought this out earlier? He'd barely had any presence in the first set.
Watching the ball wobble unpredictably over the net, Yamagata decisively chose an overhand receive.
If he went underhand, he might misjudge the force and send it off line. Float serves needed to be gently pushed.
Tilting his head back, searching for the drop point under the gym lights, he raised his hands overhead. The ball carried a faint rightward spin.
He received it firmly.
The ball floated up in a clean, high arc.
Narita's face turned pale.
They'd handled it that easily? This was one of Wakutani's few trump cards. If even that didn't work…
What he didn't know was that Yamagata hadn't had an easy time either. Looking up into the bright gym lights had made him dizzy for a moment.
And controlling the force on an overhand receive wasn't simple. The ball hadn't originally been meant to float that high—he'd misjudged the strength slightly.
"Sorry!" Yamagata called.
Shirabu cursed under his breath, craning his neck to track the ball—earning a quiet chuckle from Yamagata.
The set went to Goshiki.
Still fuming about his earlier failed block, Goshiki deliberately aimed at Nakajima—who wasn't involved in blocking—and slammed it down hard.
The ball sliced past Nakajima's ear. The block formed by the two middle blockers and Watari was shattered instantly.
For a split second, Nakajima felt the air brush his ear. His expression darkened.
No wonder Goshiki was called the future ace.
That reckless, brute-force style… it was exactly like Ushijima's.
Reon covered his face and sighed.
He'd have to guide Goshiki more carefully. Shiratorizawa already had one dense Ushijima. They couldn't afford another Goshiki.
He didn't expect Goshiki to be as smooth as Kawanishi—but at least the kid needed to learn how to talk properly.
Shirabu's lips curved upward as he offered rare praise.
"Nice one."
...
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