The sound of sneakers squeaking across the polished wood of the gym echoed through the high ceiling.
Some students, who had nothing to do after school, came to watch from the second level of the gym, which was designed for spectators. The gym was clearly bigger than the one Karasuno had back at their school.
"Eh? Oikawa-san isn't here?"
"Aw, so unlucky! We came just for him!"
"Ugh, should I just go home now?"
Most of the audience was made up of girls, their disappointed murmurs spreading like ripples through the crowd.
On the court, Karasuno's players wore red scrimmage vests and faced off against Aoba Johsai's players, who wore green scrimmage vests.
"Karasuno, eh?"
"Isn't that the team that defeated us last year?"
"Huh, really? Why are they so weak now, though? Are you actually joking?"
Other students, who knew a little of their history, murmured among themselves as they pointed at the scoreboard in confusion.
On Aoba Johsai's bench, Coach Irihata observed the game intently while seated, with Assistant Coach Mizoguchi standing beside him, yelling instructions to their players.
Aoba Johsai had the lead, but he wasn't entirely pleased—or dissatisfied.
He followed Karasuno's movements closely to observe them. Then, his eyes settled on the short, orange-haired player darting across the court.
'That one… he's their problem.'
The boy's nervousness was obvious. He lunged for balls not aimed at him, often stepping out of position and disrupting the flow of his team's plays.
'Their coordination is completely off because of that.'
Irihata sighed at the sight. This wasn't the Karasuno team they had faced before.
A year ago, Karasuno had crushed Aoba Johsai in a match that none of the players—or the coaching staff—could forget.
The aftermath of that defeat had been brutal.
It was their lowest point. They continued to train, but their focus wavered, as the court always reminded them of the nightmare of being utterly overpowered by a single player: Karasuno's #9, Tsunayoshi Motomatsu.
However, fate had dealt its hand, and Karasuno was later defeated by Date Tech High. The news spread quickly—their ace had been in an accident and was forced to step away from the competitive scene for an unknown period of time.
A talent that once shone so brightly, so overwhelmingly, had disappeared just as suddenly as it had appeared.
'A shooting star,' Irihata thought.
It felt like a loss, not just for Karasuno but for volleyball as a whole.
As a coach, Irihata couldn't help but feel a bit regretful about that loss.
Deep down, he had wanted to see such raw potential grow into something even greater. But fate could be cruel, and an unfortunate accident had snuffed out what might have been one of the brightest talents of this generation.
While it was a tragedy for Karasuno, for Aoba Johsai, it had been something of a blessing.
Irihata had heard rumors that Karasuno was in disarray after their crushing defeat at the hands of Date Tech.
The demon they had feared so much had disappeared without warning, dragging the team down into despair along with it.
For Irihata, this turn of events had allowed him to pull his own players out of their nightmares.
The fear they had harbored after their loss to Karasuno had finally begun to fade.
Now, as he watched Karasuno's shaky performance on the court, he thought, 'Testing Kageyama was one thing…'
His eyes flashed thoughtfully as he saw the short, orange-haired player from Karasuno mess up a simple serve, handing the first set to Aoba Johsai.
"Very good..."
They only had Iwaizumi filling in for the position, as some of their first-years were absent today. But to Irihata, this was more than enough. He had prepared for this moment and had intentionally left out some of their key players from the practice game.
He wanted the senior players to know. He wanted them to understand. To understand that the Karasuno team, which had once put a dent in their unwavering hearts, no longer existed.
They were just another team—a team they could defeat.
As both teams returned to their benches for a short rest between sets, Akira Kunimi, a first-year from Aoba Johsai with dark hair neatly parted in the middle, glanced at the scoreboard.
The bold numbers read 12 - 25 before being reset by another member.
Kunimi muttered under his breath, "They're such a mess..."
"Yeah," Yutaro Kindaichi, another first-year with his distinctive turnip-shaped hair, scoffed. "Have we really been beaten by them before?"
He thought it was ridiculous that they had lost to such a team last year, considering they had many better players.
And although their setter, the so-called King of the Court, his nemesis, had been called a genius and somewhat of a strong opponent, Kindaichi could only disdain such a notion.
That guy could never pass the same way their captain did.
Kindaichi truly believed that, level- and experience-wise, their captain, Oikawa, was leagues apart from Kageyama.
"Don't speak nonsense."
Iwaizumi's sharp tone cut through the air like a knife, startling the two first-years.
Both Kunimi and Kindaichi froze under the vice-captain's glare.
Kindaichi looked away, muttering, "…But I'm just stating the truth."
His words only deepened Iwaizumi's frown.
The tension on the bench thickened as the coaches and players turned their attention to the conversation.
"..."
Iwaizumi's jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on Karasuno's players across the court.
After what seemed like a long and uncomfortable pause for the first years, Iwaizumi finally spoke. "We were never defeated by them..."
"Huh? What do you mean, senpai?" Kunimi asked hesitantly.
Kindaichi furrowed his brow, equally puzzled. Was Iwaizumi agreeing with them or disagreeing?
"We weren't beaten by them." Iwaizumi simply nodded toward Karasuno's side of the court, "We were beaten by one player. That's all it was. Just one player... who happened to be on their team."
"Ah...?"
Kunimi and Kindaichi exchanged glances, still baffled.
"Umm..."
They opened their mouths to press for more details, but before they could—
"Listen to me! In volleyball, everyone on our side is your ally!"
A loud, brash voice echoed across the gym, drawing everyone's attention.
The players of Aoba Johsai turned their heads, curious about the commotion.
On Karasuno's side, the bald player—Tanaka, if they remembered correctly—stood with one hand on his hip and the other pointing dramatically at his teammate.
"Ohh!"
Tanaka puffed out his chest. "Call me senpai..."
"Yes, I understand, Tanaka-senpai!" the orange-haired boy replied, his shaky gaze slowly turning firm.
The first-years on Aoba Johsai's bench stared in disbelief. The exchange on the court looked quite funny. Yet, there was no denying it—Tanaka's words, loud and simple as they were, had seemingly calmed the clumsy player down.
Kunimi shook his head. "What the heck was that...?"
"Guess even their team is just a bunch of weirdos, huh?"
Kindaichi sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back on the bench.
He turned to Iwaizumi, hesitating before asking, "Still, Iwaizumi-senpai, uh… about that one player you talked about? Is he even real?"
Iwaizumi sharply turned to Kindaichi, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. However, before he could reply, someone else did.
"He's real..."
The deep, steady voice made everyone fall silent.
All heads turned toward Coach Irihata. Kindaichi was taken aback, blinking in surprise. "Coach?"
"That player," Irihata began, "was a walking disaster."
His words sent a chill down the spines of the first-years.
The disbelief on their faces contrasted sharply with the stiff expressions of the seniors, who sat quietly, as if recalling a memory too painful to relive.
"He was the kind of player you'd only see once in a generation. I doubt there were many like him, even at international levels. He was gifted in a way that felt almost unfair to anyone who stood across the net from him."
"W-what?"
"Are you saying he was, like, some international-level prospect?"
"T-that's really hard to believe..."
The murmurs among the first-years grew louder.
But Irihata didn't seem to mind their reaction as his gaze shifted to Karasuno across the court, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Now, look at your opponent."
The players, both first-years and seniors, turned their heads toward the other side of the court.
"What do you think?"
His question lingered in the air as Irihata's eyes swept over his team, pausing meaningfully on the senior players. "Can you beat them?"
"Of course!"
Kindaichi scoffed, his voice sharp as he stared daggers at Kageyama.
The same went for the rest of the first-years.
But Irihata wasn't looking at them. His focus remained on the seniors, watching their reactions carefully.
Slowly, their eyes brightened, making Irihata's expression soften briefly into a smile.
'I don't usually use tactics like this to rile up my team,' he thought, his gaze flickering back to Karasuno.
Irihata's smile faded, replaced by his usual stern expression. 'But the wound he left on us is still too deep. It's made me take this extreme measure.'
'Karasuno… you will be our stepping stone.'
Meanwhile...
Whoosh!
A sharp gust of wind blasted through the side of the road as a white Lexus zoomed past a red light, narrowly avoiding an oncoming truck.
"Hahaha! We've arrived in your town, Tsuna-kun!"
Behind the wheel, a short-haired, dark blue-haired woman cackled like a maniac. Her knuckles gripped the steering wheel tightly as if she were playing an intense arcade racing game.
"Why are you so quiet, Tsuna-kun? You said you wanted me to go faster! Is this not fast enough?"
"...Yeah, we're fast enough to meet Jesus now."
In the passenger seat, Tsuna's face had turned an alarming shade of pale.
His trembling hands clutched the edges of his seatbelt, and his wide eyes darted between the speeding scenery and the rearview mirror.
Was that... police sirens?