The ball hovered above Kenta's hands.
Who's he sending it to?
From an outsider's view, he looked unreadable. No wasted movement, no hesitation. But from where I stood, I caught it—a slight shift in his stance. Barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. I was 90% sure where the ball was going.
The blockers on my side reacted, shifting their weight slightly to the left. Yuuma held his ground, still waiting. If he only moves after the attack, he won't make it in time.
Then it came.
"Right!" I yelled.
The blockers who were about to jump left managed to stay grounded, but they couldn't react fast enough. Yuuma, at least, followed my call—but he was a fraction too late. His fingertips barely grazed the ball before it shot past him. Renji scored for the other team.
"Tch," Yuuma clicked his tongue, glancing back at me. "Damn, I got caught up watching the left."
"Yeah, that one's on me too, Maestro," one of the blockers added.
I sighed. "It's fine, we still have match point… but seriously, stop calling me that."
A voice came from my right, smug and unwavering. "You're stuck with it, Maestro."
I exhaled sharply, defeated. Ever since I let it slip that my old team called me "The Maestro," Kenta had started calling me "Commander" as a joke. That nickname stuck—until now. Now, everyone except Yuuma called "Maestro".
Focusing back on the game, Kenta stepped up to serve. His spike serve cut through the air, dipping awkwardly into an empty spot between the front and back line. My teammates hesitated.
"Mine!" I called out, stepping in before anyone froze.
Bracing myself, I positioned my arms and absorbed the impact. The ball still stung like hell. Damn, this ball hurts. But considering I was still a middle schooler playing against grown adults, it was natural.
The ball floated straight to our setter, who sent it to Yuuma. Too predictable. The setter had relied on Yuuma and me the entire match, and the opponents knew it.
Three blockers jumped in front of Yuuma. He swung, but the ball ricocheted off their hands. Renji chased it down, setting up another attack for the other team.
This time, the target was obvious. My blockers shifted left to cover—except Yuuma. He hesitated, then suddenly bolted right instead.
That's it.
Kenta was good. He had deliberately faked his movements, looking toward Renji just enough to sell it as a setup. But that was just a distraction.
Instead of going to Renji, the ball flew to the backline—a back attack.
The spiker was wide open, but his only viable shot was the middle. I sprinted to cover it. The moment he made contact, the ball slammed into my arms with a resounding thud. Shit, that's strong. It shot toward the ceiling, the impact knocking me off balance. I lost my footing and stumbled back, but I recovered quickly.
The ball was high. I have time.
Shaking the pain from my arms, I took a few steps back, eyes locked on the ball. Yuuma moved in sync with me. Both of us leaped—
Who would the setter choose?
The blockers hesitated. That's all I need.
The ball came to me. Two blockers barely reacted in time—but I wasn't planning on powering through them. At the last second, I loosened my grip and tipped the ball gently over their hands.
The gym fell silent for half a second before the ball hit the floor.
Point.
Game.
Cheers erupted from my team. Yuuma walked over, bumping his fist against mine.
As we backed up, I spoke up. "Hey, everyone, I've got something to tell you."
The gym quieted, all eyes on me.
"Next week, I'll be starting high school."
Renji clicked his tongue. "Tch. Don't go bullying whatever team you join, alright?"
Laughter followed.
I deadpanned. "You make it sound like I'm a tyrant.?"
Kenta crossed his arms. "Guess that means this was your last match with us, huh?"
Someone groaned. "Damn, that means we can't play 6v6 anymore."
"Hey, screw school. Just keep playing with us," another joked.
Yuuma shot them a glare. They backed off immediately. "Kidding! Just kidding."
I exhaled a short laugh. "Yeah, I'll drop by when I can." Then, bowing slightly, I added, "Really, thanks for everything. I learned a lot here."
Renji scoffed. "Whoa, this is new. The almighty Maestro actually showing respect?" Then he smirked. "Enough with the formality. You're making it weird."
Another round of laughter.
—
Two days passed.
I stood in my room, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
The summer had been brutal. At first, my body couldn't keep up, and it showed in matches. But after two weeks, I adapted. Eventually, I even increased the volume bit by bit.
Standing up, I walked over to the mirror and pulled off my shirt. My muscles were more defined now—lean but powerful. My core was tight, my shoulders broad, my legs packed with explosive strength. A body built for power, speed, and endurance.
I flopped onto my bed, exhaling.
Big day tomorrow.
A small smirk tugged at my lips.
I wonder if I'll have any of them in my class.