The final whistle echoed through the gym, signaling the end of the match. Both teams moved to the net, shaking hands and exchanging brief smiles. Despite the boys' loss, the atmosphere was far from somber.
The girls began packing up their equipment, their chatter filling the gym. Misaki, however, stayed behind, walking over to where I stood. As she approached, I caught sight of Daiki and Riku quietly discussing their performance, with Riku lamenting his missed opportunities while Daiki reassured him that everyone had room to grow. Minato, meanwhile, seemed deep in thought, his eyes occasionally darting toward the net as if replaying a particular moment in his mind. I offered her a small nod of appreciation.
"Thanks for giving us your time," I said, my voice steady but genuine. "Playing against you was a great experience for the team. It's clear where our weaknesses lie now, and I have some solid ideas for what we should focus on next in training."
Misaki tilted her head slightly, a smile tugging at her lips. "Honestly, I didn't expect such a competitive match when you first came to me about this," she admitted with a small laugh. "Your team's got potential. Let's make this a regular thing. I think it would benefit both of our teams."
I nodded. "Agreed. We'd benefit a lot from that."
With that, she turned to leave but stopped just before the gym doors. "By the way," she called out, "why does Shigeo call you 'Conductor'?"
At her question, the first-years and Hinata—who had been gathering their things nearby—perked up. Clearly, none of them had thought to ask about it before now.
Shigeo leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. "It's because Keiji here can't stop using musical terminology during training," he said with a smirk. "Always comparing plays to rhythm, movement to notes. The nickname just stuck."
His words caught me off guard. I hadn't even realized I'd been doing it.
It must be unconscious, I thought, memories of my past life creeping in. A failed musician who couldn't let go.
Misaki chuckled, a light sound that seemed to say, "Oh, that's why." The others—first-years and Hinata alike—nodded in realization, finally understanding the reasoning behind the nickname. It dawned on them that I'd indeed been using musical analogies throughout training without even noticing. Hinata, ever the bundle of energy, broke the silence with a determined expression. "Can we play another match?"
I shook my head. "We've already taken up a lot of the girls' time."
Riku groaned dramatically, clearly disappointed that the girls were leaving. "But they're so pretty..."
I ignored him and announced, "Don't worry. We'll play against them again."
Their reactions varied—cheers from Hinata, quiet excitement from Minato, and a grin from Daiki—but all of them were clearly motivated. After some light drills to wind down, we packed up and left for the evening.
The walk home with Shigeo started quietly, the kind of silence that didn't need filling. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and the crisp air carried the faint sounds of distant traffic. As we walked, I glanced over at him, catching his expression—calm, but with a hint of thoughtfulness. It made me wonder if he was replaying the match in his head, just as I was.
Eventually, I broke the silence. "You know, during the match, I realized something about the way I see the court," I began. "It's like I'm inputting every possible piece of information—positions, movements, angles—and piecing them together to predict what will happen next."
Shigeo glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. "Huh. I guess I do something similar," he admitted. "I never really thought about it, but... yeah, it's like I can see everything from above, like a bird's-eye view."
I stopped in my tracks, staring at him. "You do that... unconsciously?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Pretty much. It's always been like that in sports. Guess it's just how my brain works."
For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. This guy's a monster, I thought. A true genius.
After a pause, I asked softly, "Do you like playing volleyball?"
Shigeo's response came after a brief moment of reflection. "I don't know yet," he said honestly. "But playing with you—or against you—is fun. So I guess that's a start."
I didn't reply immediately. My thoughts, however, drifted back to the match. Shigeo's ego was evolving, I realized. The way he challenged his teammates with difficult sets, pushing them to rise to the occasion, was evidence of that. The quick set he'd given Hinata at the start, and the daring play with me toward the end, weren't just tactics—they were opportunities. He wasn't just a setter; he was more of a conductor than I was.
We shifted the conversation to Hinata, marveling at his raw physical talent. "That kid's a freak of nature," Shigeo said, half in awe, half in jest. His speed and jumping ability were unparalleled, but it was his untapped potential that truly stood out. "He's going to be terrifying if he figures out how to control that energy," I agreed. We discussed the first-years, too. Daiki's height was becoming an asset in blocking, Minato was quietly consistent in his athleticism, and even Riku's receives had shown promise despite his initial struggles. "If Riku stops getting distracted by the other team's looks, he might actually turn into a decent player," Shigeo joked, earning a laugh from me.