Chapter 16: The Final Set

The second set went smoothly—they managed to take a game off the seniors.

But Ryosuke’s stamina was worrying. His energy bar was practically in the red.

In the rest area, Coach Washijō was still lecturing him without pause. “What’s wrong with you? When you’re playing opposite hitter, you keep diving for saves. I put you in a position to dig, and you go and spike it anyway!
When you get back tonight, add two hundred extra spikes. I’ll be watching you!”

Ryosuke drooped like a dejected cat, his head hanging low. His thick hair was clumped together with sweat, his face flushed bright red, his uniform completely soaked through.

In the unheated gym, the damp jersey outlined the boy’s slender yet smooth muscle lines.

Tendo and the others, who had been watching from the sidelines, came over with spare jackets and draped them over the underclassmen. “Alright, alright—don’t catch a cold.”

Ushijima walked over holding several sports gels and spoke concisely. “You played well.”

Shirabu’s internal Ushijima radar instantly activated. He shot Ryosuke and the others a look sharp enough to kill. Senior Ushijima never even said that to me back then…
Somehow, it feels like we lost…

“Play the last set properly,” Kawanishi said with a grin, casually stabbing his teammates in the back. “I’m looking forward to you guys knocking Reon and the others flat.” He really wanted to see the seniors get beaten by the freshmen.

Just imagining it lifted his mood~

Tendo, ever the overly familiar one, grabbed Ryosuke from the side and leaned heavily against him, clearly lacking any sense of personal space.

“Tendo-senpai… it’s really hot…” Ryosuke muttered softly, his face burning.

“Ahh~ alright, alright. Good luck, little Ryosuke~”

Reluctantly letting go, Tendo stood beside Ushijima with an “I’ve discovered something” look on his face. “Ryosuke’s surprisingly sturdy for someone who looks so skinny. Way tougher than he seems.”

Ushijima blinked in confusion and looked at his friend with visible difficulty. “Satori… are you a pervert?”

“…………”

This was one of the rare moments in Tendo’s life when he genuinely had nothing to say.

The third set began.

Ryosuke could feel the soreness deep in his muscles, yet his steps felt unusually light.

The seniors were going all out in the third set.

Tsutomu Goshiki stared blankly ahead—this was already the third time he’d been fooled into jumping for a block by Eita Semi. He’d been playing smoothly up until now, and the frustration was starting to get to him.

In truth, before the match, Eita Semi and Reon had conspired together. They firmly believed they couldn’t lose to the juniors—how embarrassing would that be? Seniors still had their pride, after all.

So in the third set, Eita Semi began aggressively targeting Tsutomu Goshiki. Why Goshiki? Because out of the three, he was the easiest to fool.

When Eita Semi handled the ball, Goshiki kept a close eye on him and inevitably got distracted. Yunohama couldn’t withstand Reon’s heavy spike.

The ball flew into Eita Semi’s hands. Goshiki locked onto it, trying to read his intentions.

Yamagata was positioned in the backcourt, and Reon started his approach from the left. There was no doubt about it—the set had to be going to Reon.

After a brief mental struggle, Goshiki and Yunohama both moved in to block Reon.

A mysterious smile tugged at the corner of Eita Semi’s mouth.

He tipped the ball over on the second touch.

Ryosuke, stationed in the backcourt, simply couldn’t make it in time and could only watch as the ball hit the floor.

Goshiki’s pupils shrank. It felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him. He’d almost forgotten—setters were crafty by nature. In a 3v3, the setter practically carried the whole team. Such a crucial position…

“Don’t worry about it. Next ball.” Goshiki lifted his head, still a little dazed.

Ryosuke was standing beside him, ears red, quietly and awkwardly explaining, “They’re targeting you because your scoring rate is just too high.
It’s okay. Next ball, I’ll get it up for you. Don’t blame yourself.”

Faced with Ryosuke’s cat-like attempt at comfort, Goshiki paused, then sighed. He straightened up and looked firmly at Yunohama and Ryosuke. “Alright! Then let’s beat the seniors together!”

They pulled themselves back together.

“Left!”

“One touch!”

“Chance ball! Chance ball!!”

“One more time!” Goshiki shouted at the top of his lungs.

Final rally. We have to score—no matter what!

Everyone was shouting inside their hearts. No one wanted the match to end like this. On both sides of the net, every single chance was being cherished.

Goshiki avoided Eita Semi’s block, but Semi sealed off the cross shot. Goshiki realized he couldn’t break through.

Instead, he chose the line shot and slammed it down hard.

The ball flew straight to the baseline, where Yamagata was already waiting and dug it cleanly.

“Eita Semi!”

“Coming, coming!”

Eita Semi didn’t even move. Standing in place, he sent a back set straight to Reon at the three-meter line.

Back-row attack!

Ryosuke reacted instantly, sprinting toward the open space in front of the net—the only spot no one was guarding.

His heartbeat thudded unevenly as his eyes locked onto the ball Reon was about to spike. But Reon didn’t hit it. Midair, he twisted his upper body.

Ryosuke’s heart sank.

Reon’s incredible hang time gave him the chance for a fake spike into a real pass. He set the ball to Eita Semi, who had already moved forward and was waiting.

Ryosuke turned in disbelief. The backcourt was completely empty. Yunohama was at the net, and Goshiki was near the sideline.

There was no other choice. Ryosuke took off running.

Eita Semi executed a second-touch attack, slamming the ball down right in front of the net.

Only then did Goshiki react. He was about to go for the receive when he caught sight of Ryosuke moving in from the corner of his eye.

He slammed on the brakes. Dropping the ball was one thing—colliding with a teammate was another.

Ryosuke could see he wasn’t going to make it. He dove headfirst, sliding several meters across the floor, arm stretched out as far as it could go.

Still, he didn’t reach it. The ball landed four or five centimeters in front of his palm.

He lay there on the floor, breathing hard, his vision unfocused.
So… is it over?

Ah, it was fun. Really fun.
Even so, losing the match left just the tiniest, tiniest bit of regret.

A sharp whistle pierced the air. The final point came from Eita Semi’s second-touch attack, sealing the victory for his team.

Ryosuke slammed his fist against the floor in frustration, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He rolled onto his back and lay there like a salted fish.