I exhaled as I stepped out of the shop, rolling my shoulders to shake off the stiffness from work. Another overtime shift. I checked my phone and saw an incoming call—Renji.
"Yo." I answered casually.
"What's up? Can you tell the guys I'll be there in a minute? Had to do some overtime."
I sighed. "Same here. Where are you now?"
"Near the bus station."
"I'll meet you there."
When I got off the bus, Renji was already waiting, waving lazily. We fell into step, heading toward the gym. The walk was mostly silent, save for a short exchange about the sessions.
"Annoying, isn't it?" Renji muttered. "Not having enough guys for full games. Feels like forever since we played proper sixes."
"Yeah. Half the guys are drowning in work. Can't blame them."
"Mm. But it sucks. I get rusty playing like this."
I snorted. "Like you were sharp to begin with."
Renji scoffed but didn't argue.
As we reached the gym, we noticed a kid lingering in front of the doors, peeking inside. He had black hair, an average-looking face, but a surprisingly lean and muscular build for someone his age. Middle schooler, probably.
We exchanged glances before Renji shrugged. "Hey, kid. You lost?"
The boy flinched for a second but quickly composed himself.
"I was wondering if I could join you guys." His voice was steady, confident.
I raised a brow, amused. "This isn't a playground, you know."
The kid met my eyes, unwavering. "I'm sure I'm better than half the guys here."
I blinked. Bold.
We split into teams, and the kid ended up on my and Renji's side. The others gave us flat looks. You brought him. You deal with him.
The game started. When Yuuma launched a powerful counterattack, I watched the kid, expecting him to be useless. Instead, the moment a gap appeared in our block, the kid moved to cover it.
The ball slammed into his arms, but he couldn't handle the force, and it went out.
Lucky guess.
Then a serve came straight at him. He received it—sloppily, but he got it up.
Huh. So the confidence isn't baseless.
Still, that wasn't enough. He'd realize soon enough that he didn't belong here.
When it was our turn to counterattack, the kid positioned himself for a spike. The ball was sent his way, but Yuuma blocked him without trouble.
"One blocked spike and you lose confidence?" I asked.
"Not a chance." The kid's voice was firm.
Good. At least he's resilient.
But after that, he didn't do much. At least, that's what it looked like. The others probably assumed he was fading into the background, but I could tell—he was watching. Reading the game. He only went for balls he knew he could handle, letting the team take care of the rest.
The score was now 22-21, the other team in the lead, and the kid still hadn't proved himself. The next serve came, aimed between me and him. Our eyes met. I understood. He wanted me to take it.
Fine.
I received, setting us up for an attack. Renji, ever persistent, went for another rebound. He'd been doing it all game, giving the kid endless chances to show something.
You're too nice, I thought. The blockers had caught on, angling their hands to shut him down. The ball ricocheted back—straight toward the ground.
Well, you had enough chances—
Then, suddenly, the kid was there.
The spot where the ball was about to drop? He was already there, keeping it alive.
Gasps echoed from both teams.
The ball deflected toward me in the backline. I had no choice but to send it back. No one was in a position to attack.
Or so I thought.
The kid moved. Without looking back, he took steps for a run-up. And so he sprinted, across the court. My body reacted instinctively. It had been a long time since I felt this—excitement. Chills ran down my spine.
If that's what you want—
I ran after the ball and set it forward. The kid was already mid-motion. The ball needed to reach him fast.
Show me a miracle.
It was a reckless position. He could easily make a fool of himself. The probability of hitting this cleanly was close to zero.
Still—
Bang.
He swung. Three grown adults couldn't even react.
He actually scored that.
I stared.
He's crazy.
Who the hell even attempts something like that?
I walked up to the kid, still trying to process what just happened. He had landed smoothly, barely out of breath, like he hadn't just pulled off something ridiculous.
"And what if you missed?" I asked, still trying to wrap my head around his mindset.
Keiji met my gaze, unshaken. "That wasn't an option."
The way he said it—absolute, unwavering—sent a strange chill through me. It wasn't arrogance. It wasn't empty bravado. He genuinely didn't entertain failure. Like the concept of losing wasn't even a possibility in his world.
He's on a different level.
Not just skill-wise. There was something else. A presence, a confidence that felt… earned. Like he had already walked through fire and come out the other side. It reminded me of veteran players—the ones who had spent years in the game, weathered every loss, fought through every wall. But he was just a kid.
I let out a quiet chuckle and shook my head, still half in disbelief.
"Damn, kid."
It was match point.
I shifted my stance, barely noticing how tightly my fist was clenched. The pressure of the moment settled on my chest, but it wasn't because of the game. It was because of him.
Before I had to leave my old team in the V2 League... I wish I had that kind of confidence back then...
If only I hadn't given up after that injury... Maybe I could have played with him in a real match someday.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself back into the present. Keiji stood at the service line, rolling the ball in his palm, unreadable as ever. While the rest of us carried tension in our shoulders, he looked composed. Steady. Like a guy who already knew what was about to happen.
He tossed the ball. The second it left his fingertips, I already knew—this serve was going to be brutal.
The ball shot forward, cutting through the air with vicious speed. A sharp float. The receiver barely managed to keep it alive, sending it wobbling toward their setter.
I caught sight of Yuuma on the left. Again, I thought. Of course they'd go to their best attacker at match point. I forced myself into position, ready to block.
But my body wasn't fully there.
My mind was still stuck on Keiji's words. That wasn't an option.
I was a second too slow. My hands weren't angled right.
The spike slammed into my fingers and ricocheted toward our backline.
I cursed under my breath, already moving to turn—but someone else had covered it. The ball was still in play, but it veered too far outside the court. It was over—
Until Keiji's voice cut through the noise.
"Renji!"
He wasn't panicking. He wasn't scrambling. He commanded.
"Show me what you got!"
Keiji, who was way out of position, didn't hesitate. I barely had time to register what was happening before he lunged for the ball. Somehow, he managed to send a clean set back toward the court—an awkward, high ball heading straight for the front line.
Renji didn't hesitate. The moment the ball peaked, he was already moving.
No way.
He wasn't even second-guessing it. He knew this was his moment.
Keiji's set wasn't perfect, but Renji adjusted mid-air, pure muscle and instinct taking over. He swung with everything he had.
The impact was deafening.
The ball slammed through the blockers, straight to the floor.
Match over.
I just stood there, staring at him.
This kid…
Excitement bubbled up inside me, something I hadn't felt in years.
Keiji had challenged me with that spike before. And now, he had challenged Renji with that set.
He wasn't just playing. He was bringing out the best in everyone.
Normally, that was a setter's job. But he had done it as an attacker.
I let out a breath, shaking my head in awe.
What a player.
It's strange how quickly time passes. It feels like just yesterday that Keiji joined the team, and now, I find myself watching him every day—every session, every match, and especially every spike. The guy was like a sponge, soaking up everything, constantly improving at a rate that didn't make sense. It was as though he was made for this. No, that's not it. It wasn't just raw talent. It was… something else.
I used to think he was a genius—naturally gifted in a way I couldn't even begin to understand. But as the days blurred into weeks, I started to notice something. His progress was far too rapid to just be about skill. During the first match, I could barely watch him receive a ball without cringing, and now? Now, he was handling serves like they were nothing. His timing, his placement—everything about him screamed "superior." Even his physique was transforming. I'd noticed it over time. His muscles were more defined, and his spikes? They hit harder each session, like he was pushing against some invisible boundary. He wasn't just good anymore. He was… something else.
I was beginning to think I had been right all along. Keiji was a genius. But that was before today.
It was just after 6:30 PM when I walked into the gym, later than usual thanks to work. I didn't feel like heading home first, so I decided to come straight here. But as soon as I stepped through the door, I could already hear the familiar bounce of a volleyball and the soft squeak of shoes on the floor. There was no mistaking it. Someone was already here.
I stepped inside, and there he was—Keiji, spiking ball after ball, sweat glistening on his forehead with each jump. Yuuma was sitting by the sidelines, casually watching. I walked over to him, my sneakers squeaking against the floor.
"Yo, Yuuma, what's going on?" I asked, still a little out of breath from running over.
Yuuma didn't even look up at me, his eyes focused on Keiji. "He asked me to open the gym early for him," he said, his voice completely nonchalant.
I blinked. "Early?" I had always thought Keiji just got here before everyone else, warmed up for a few minutes, and got to it. But something didn't sit right with me. I had been arriving at the gym almost the same time every day for weeks now, and I swear—Keiji was already drenched in sweat by the time I stepped in. I always assumed he was just quick to warm up. But now…
I asked Yuuma, trying to piece it together, "How long has he been doing this?"
Yuuma leaned back and shrugged. "Since the first week. Keiji kept pestering me to let him in earlier, said he wanted to train before everyone else. Eventually, I gave him the key, but only if I was there to supervise. Can't just let some random kid have access to the gym alone, right?" He grinned, clearly amused by the whole thing.
I was speechless. Keiji had been waking up early—no, making sure to get here early—to train. Every single day. I'd been completely wrong about him.
Keiji wasn't some kind of miracle prodigy who simply picked things up without effort. He wasn't naturally gifted; he was just—driven. He had been working his ass off, day in and day out, pushing himself to get better. Every. Single. Day.
The session ended not long after that, and as usual, Keiji was the first to pack up. Normally, he stuck around, chatted for a while, maybe tossed a few more balls with Yuuma. But today, he was heading out quickly.
"Hey, Keiji," I called out. He paused mid-step, his bag slung over one shoulder.
"Yeah?" he asked, turning to look at me.
"Why are you leaving early?" I asked, genuinely curious. "You're usually the last one to head out."
Keiji scratched the back of his neck, his expression slightly sheepish. "I was up late watching a movie last night, so I woke up late. I've still got my 15K run to finish. Just got 6 more to go."
I froze for a second. "Wait, you've been doing this every day?"
Keiji nodded. "Yeah. Well, I used to do 10, but I bumped it up last week."
Six more kilometers… I couldn't even process it. This kid, this absolute monster, was running more than I could even imagine—and not just on some off day, but as part of his daily routine.
I couldn't help myself. "Why? Why train so hard?" I asked. What was driving him?
Keiji didn't hesitate. "Because volleyball is interesting. It's fun." His voice was calm, but there was something underneath—an edge to it that made me stop in my tracks.
I blinked, not expecting such a simple answer. But I couldn't leave it there, could I?
"So... you want to go pro?" I asked, a little more cautiously.
Keiji shrugged, not looking at me. "I don't know. Maybe. When I first started, I had different reasons. But now? I just want to play."
I wasn't sure if he was being evasive or just… being Keiji. Either way, I didn't push him further. The answer wasn't what I was expecting, but somehow, it felt like the right one.
"Well, whatever you do with that mindset of yours," I said, trying to hide the admiration creeping into my voice, "I'm sure you'll succeed. Don't forget to mention me when they interview you on TV, alright?"
Keiji chuckled, a small smirk crossing his face. "Sure thing, Kenta."
And with that, he was gone—vanishing into the night, leaving me standing there, a mix of awe and confusion swirling in my chest.