The whistle blew, signaling the start of the second set. The atmosphere in the gym was tense, both teams visibly focused and ready to give it their all. Riku stepped up for the first serve, his expression determined as he tossed the ball into the air. His serve was solid, arcing over the net and forcing Seiryuu into a scramble to receive. Their libero recovered quickly, setting the stage for their attack.
I scanned the court, reading their setup like an open book. The setter's posture, the shifting positions of their spikers—everything pointed to their ace, number 2, as the target. I moved into position, my body perfectly aligned for the receive. The impact of the spike reverberated through my arms, but I absorbed it with precision, sending the ball flying toward Shigeo.
The ball hung in the air as Shigeo caught his breath. With a quick glance, I could see his focus sharpen, his mind already working on how to orchestrate the play. Shigeo turned his head toward Hinata, as if to reaffirm his position for the set. The blockers on Seiryuu's side shifted slightly, anticipating the pass to Hinata. But Shigeo, ever the genius, played them like a fiddle. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the ball to me, leaving me wide open. I didn't waste the opportunity, slamming the ball down for the first point.
Riku served again, this time with more confidence. The ball sailed cleanly over the net but was easily picked up by Seiryuu's libero, who passed it effortlessly to their setter. Their counterattack was quick, and I moved into position to block. I could see the entire field like a bird's-eye view. There was a small gap for a straight shot, but Minato was there, ready to cover. The spiker saw the opening and went for it, and Minato lunged but miscalculated. The ball slipped past, scoring a point for Seiryuu.
The rally continued, and the game quickly escalated into a fast-paced back-and-forth. Both teams were relentless, trading attacks and defenses with intensity. The score climbed steadily to 16-12 in Seiryuu's favor. Minor mistakes from our first-years began to pile up—hesitation on receives, misjudged blocks, and misplaced passes. The pressure of the match was weighing on them, and their inexperience was beginning to show.
Our weakened defense was also becoming apparent. Shigeo, visibly exhausted, wasn't jumping as much for the block, leaving a noticeable gap in our coverage. Without Shigeo's usual presence at the net, there was no one to read the attacks when I rotated to the back. I had been commanding the blockers to move according to my predictions, orchestrating our defense like a conductor guiding an orchestra. The team moved in sync, following my calls, but Seiryuu's attacks were fast and precise, leaving us struggling to keep up.
Every attack from Seiryuu felt like a blur, their quick plays forcing our blockers to scramble. I found myself covering for them in the back, diving and sliding to keep the ball in play. My body was starting to feel the strain, but it was my mind that bore the brunt of it. I was processing every movement, every trajectory, and every possibility at lightning speed, and the mental toll was draining me as much as the physical exertion.
The gym was alive with the sound of sneakers squeaking against the court, the sharp echoes of the ball being struck, and the collective gasps of the audience. Despite the setbacks, I refused to let my team lose focus. My voice cut through the chaos, commanding and steady. "Shift left! Cover the cross! Hinata, watch their line!"
But even as we moved like an orchestra under my direction, the tempo of the game was overwhelming. The blockers couldn't reposition fast enough, and I was forced to pick up the slack, chasing down deflected balls and making last-second saves. Every time the ball came back to Seiryuu, it felt like the pressure mounted further.
I clenched my fists after another point slipped away. My teammates looked toward me, waiting for my next command. They're counting on me, I thought, my breath heavy but my determination unwavering. I just have to hold on a little longer.
Seiryuu served, their player's stance sharp and focused. The ball came hurtling toward me, and I stepped into position, absorbing the impact with a steady receive. The ball flew toward Shigeo, who stood ready, though his breathing was heavier than usual. I took in the court at a glance—Hinata and Daiki were primed for an attack, and the blockers on Seiryuu's side had already started moving. Most of our sets so far had gone to either Hinata or me, and Seiryuu's blockers were clearly aware of that.
As expected, they kept a tight leash on Hinata, while only one player covered Daiki. At first glance, Daiki seemed like the better option—less pressure, fewer blockers—but I knew better. Their ace, who was their best blocker, was marking Daiki, and their libero, who had pulled off some insane saves, was ready in the backline. The safer choice wasn't necessarily the right one.
Without looking toward Hinata, Shigeo sent the ball his way. Yes, I thought. This is the best option.
Hinata swung, his approach perfect as always, but then—he missed. My eyes widened. What just happened? The set was flawless, one of Shigeo's best despite his exhaustion. Hinata, looking confused, stammered an apology. "Sorry, that was my bad!"
Shigeo shook his head, his voice calm but tinged with fatigue. "Nah, that was on me. Sorry."
I frowned. On him? In my eyes, the set was perfect. Then Shigeo continued, "I put too much force into it."
So that's why, I realized, my gaze narrowing as I looked at him. What a monster.
"Hey, genius," I called out, my voice carrying across the court. "Remember what I told you? Give me your best sets."
Shigeo looked up, startled for a moment. "Yeah… sorry."
"No," I interrupted, my tone firm. "Give me your best sets."
Shigeo's eyes widened slightly before his expression hardened. He nodded seriously. "As you wish, maestro."
I heard Riku whisper to Minato from behind me, "Isn't he being a bit too harsh on Shigeo?" I ignored them, keeping my focus on the court and the game ahead. The score climbed further—18-12 in Seiryuu's favor—but I wasn't gonna let them keep building momentum.
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