Kenta walked over, his eyes sharp, his expression unreadable. He stopped in front of me, arms crossed, studying me like I was some kind of anomaly.
"Kid… how did you know?" His voice was calm, but I could hear the curiosity beneath it. "What on earth made you attempt that play?"
I exhaled, my body still buzzing from the rush of adrenaline. Then, I met his gaze.
"I've been observing you," I said simply.
Kenta's brow furrowed slightly, waiting for me to continue.
"Your movements," I explained. "They don't match a typical middle blocker. You barely go for spikes, and even when you do, it's mostly to push the ball into open spots rather than hit for power. You focus more on blocking and—more importantly—you sometimes avoid receives altogether. It's like you're used to positioning yourself for something else… something like setting."
His lips parted slightly, but he didn't respond right away. I could tell I'd caught him off guard.
"But how did you know I'd send the ball to you from that position?" he finally asked.
"I didn't," I admitted, shaking my head. "I haven't seen you set a single ball this whole match. But I knew you would send it my way."
Kenta's eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued.
"You and Renji have been covering for my mistakes this entire game," I continued. "Giving me opportunities without outright handing them to me. You played like you were waiting for me to wake up and do something."
Kenta studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled sharply, tilting his head slightly.
"That was a hell of a gamble. And what if you'd missed?"
I met his gaze, unwavering. My body was still buzzing from the play, but my mind was clear. Focused.
"That wasn't an option."
I didn't say it with arrogance, just pure certainty—as if the very thought of failure had never crossed my mind.
Kenta's eyes flickered with something—surprise, maybe even amusement—but he didn't say anything at first. Instead, he just let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
"Damn, kid."
Renji whistled low. "Sheesh, now that's confidence."
I didn't need to respond.
Because I meant every word.
"You're pretty bold, assuming I was helping you," he said, stepping closer. He smirked. "And here I thought you just got lucky."
I turned my head toward him, unfazed. "The rebounds," I said. "You kept going for them, even when you didn't have to. At first, I thought it was just your playstyle, but then I realized… you weren't doing it for yourself. You were doing it for me."
Renji let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."
"Keiji," I corrected, standing straighter. "My name's Keiji."
Renji's smirk widened slightly, and Kenta let out a small, amused huff.
"I knew you were interesting, Keiji," Kenta said, stretching his arms out. Then, he turned back toward the court. "Alright then, let's wrap this up, shall we?"
I exhaled and rolled my shoulders, feeling lighter than I had all game.
"Let's."
I stepped up to the service line, rolling my shoulders as I exhaled slowly.
This is it… this feeling…
My mind was clear, my body weightless, every movement flowing together seamlessly. I could see the court, the players, the space between them as if I had complete control over everything. The flow state.
I lifted my hands, staring at them for a moment. Until now, I hadn't used a spike serve. I had been laying low, preserving my energy, waiting for the right moment.
Now is the time.
I tossed the ball high, stepping into my approach with perfect rhythm. My body felt effortless, fluid, like I wasn't forcing anything—just moving exactly as I envisioned. I swung my arm, making contact at the peak of my jump, snapping my wrist sharply.
The ball shot forward like a missile, but not just with power—with spin.
Yuuma's eyes widened for a split second before he masked it, planting his feet and bracing to receive. He was quick—his reaction time solid, his posture stable.
But then the ball curved.
Not much, just enough.
His hands were in position, but the sudden shift threw him off. The ball ricocheted off his arms, the force sending it flying off target and straight out of bounds.
For a moment, silence.
Then Renji let out a low whistle. "Damn."
Kenta crossed his arms, nodding slightly.
I landed smoothly, barely winded, my gaze locked on Yuuma. He was stiff, unmoving, his jaw clenched as he stared at his arms, then at the ball now resting against the gym wall.
I smirked.
Let's see how you handle the next one.
I stepped back to the service line, rolling my shoulders as I took a slow breath.
22 to 23. My serve again.
The first serve to Yuuma had just been me letting out some of my frustration. I had wanted to see the look on his face when he failed to receive it. But I wasn't careless—I knew that wouldn't work twice.
I hated to admit it, but Yuuma was good. His reactions were sharp, and he adjusted fast. If I targeted him again, he'd be prepared.
So I didn't.
During my observation period, I had taken note of everyone—not just the strong ones, but the weak ones too.
And I had found one.
Back-left. Weakest receiver on their team.
I tossed the ball high, feeling its weight in my fingers for a split second before I stepped into my approach. My body moved on instinct now, refined by countless reps, but the execution wasn't perfect yet.
I snapped my wrist, trying to add spin again—curve it slightly, just like before.
But the ball went straight.
Tch. I felt a flicker of annoyance but brushed it aside. Not consistent yet.
Even so, the power was there.
The serve shot across the court, a fast, cutting bullet aimed straight at my target.
I saw it the moment he realized it was coming for him. His body tensed, his arms moved just a second too late—his stance was stiff, too rigid. He managed to get his forearms under the ball, but the angle was off.
It ricocheted awkwardly off his arms, flying out of bounds before anyone could react.
For a second, there was only silence.
Then, a shift.
Not just on my side of the court—the other side too.
I could see it in their expressions, their posture. My presence on the court wasn't an afterthought anymore.
Yuuma's smirk had faded slightly, his sharp eyes locked on me now. A teammate muttered something under his breath, glancing my way. I saw someone whisper to their setter.
Now they're taking me seriously.
I smirked.
"Match point."