Chapter 103 - 106

Chapter 103

It wasn’t just Futakuchi who froze—even Date Tech’s coach was stunned. Something about Kawanishi’s playstyle felt completely off.

The match resumed. Reon stepped up to serve, sending a powerful jump serve cleanly across the net. Sakunami felt the weight slam into his arms and struggled to dig it up.

Moniwa still hadn’t processed what had just happened. He quickly set the ball, and Aone came in with a heavy spike—

But Ryosuke, who had been waiting at the net, got a touch on it.

“Nice!”

Yamagata shouted as he rushed in to receive. The ball popped up; he sent it to Shirabu, who then set it to Kawanishi.

The three blockers on the other side scrambled into position. Watching Kawanishi rise, Futakuchi’s brows twisted tightly together. A bad feeling crept up on him.

Kawanishi grinned.

Then, with a light push, he sent another soft, floating ball drifting gently onto the floor.

Futakuchi’s face contorted.

Wouldn’t Coach Washijō scold him for playing like that?

He glanced at Coach Washijō, who stood below with an expressionless face. For the first time, Futakuchi felt how unfair the world could be. It was like a sniper who preferred head-on firepower suddenly turning into a stealth assassin—disgusting, yet terrifyingly effective.

Reon’s expression was complicated. Was this change in Kawanishi a good thing… or a bad one?

Yamagata didn’t care at all. He slapped Kawanishi’s shoulder loudly.

“Hahahahaha! I’m dying! Did you see their faces? Like they just swallowed something nasty! Hahaha!”

Kawanishi chuckled. Ever since learning Ryosuke’s soft, floaty shots, it felt like a whole new world had opened up to him. Since it was Ryosuke who taught him, Coach Washijō had chosen to turn a blind eye.

From that day on, Shiratorizawa’s entire vibe started shifting in a very questionable direction… beginning with Kawanishi.

Under Ryosuke’s guidance, Kawanishi had stepped onto a very strange, and likely irreversible, path.

The three blockers looked awful.

Date Tech’s Iron Wall had always been built to shut down overwhelming power hitters. Now this bizarre, soft-style attacker showed up, and those gentle, floating shots seemed like a perfect counter to their defense.

So gross.

Futakuchi and Koganegawa exchanged a look—they were thinking the exact same thing. Aone, meanwhile, looked utterly confused, unable to understand how someone could dismantle the Iron Wall like that.

It was Koganegawa’s first time on court. He’d wanted to make a grand debut, to block several of Shiratorizawa’s attacks.

Instead, he got broken through immediately.

Life was harsh.

Even his usually perky cowlick drooped listlessly.

“Alright, focus on the block. Don’t get tricked by those greasy shots again,” Moniwa said, rubbing both their heads to comfort them.

“Captain! Don’t touch my hair—you’ll ruin it!”

“Tch. It didn’t look good to begin with.”

“!!”

For the rest of the half set, Date Tech—and even the spectators—were thoroughly enlightened.

Ushijima and Reon barely interfered with Kawanishi’s offense. Kawanishi was having the time of his life.

Every time he ran into the Iron Wall, he responded with pushes, taps, nudges, and lifts—an entire arsenal of soft, delicate techniques to slip past the block.

The damage wasn’t high.

The humiliation was.

Futakuchi’s resentment was practically visible. Even Kamasaki, who hadn’t participated in the Block that rally, felt awful. He’d never imagined their Iron Wall would be breached like this.

When Kawanishi once again lifted a ball off Futakuchi’s fingertips and sent it sailing over, Futakuchi finally snapped.

This is blatant targeting, isn’t it?! It is, right?!

He grabbed the net and shook it violently, his face nearly twisting out of shape.

“Why won’t you just spike it straight through?! Do you know how much this messes with people’s heads?! You’re a grown man—why are you playing like this?! Isn’t Shiratorizawa supposed to be all power and dominance?!”

Aone couldn’t hold him back and shot a helpless look at Moniwa.

On Shiratorizawa’s side, everyone collectively pretended not to see Kawanishi. Reon absolutely refused to acknowledge that this was what their team had become. Ryosuke, meanwhile, guiltily hid behind Ushijima—he hadn’t expected Kawanishi-senpai to actually use those shots in a real match.

The referee stood off to the side, unsure whether to issue a warning. Honestly, he was a little curious what Shiratorizawa would say in response.

Seeing things about to spiral, Coach Washijō and Coach Oiwake exchanged a glance. Washijō called a timeout first, giving the kids a chance to resolve their bizarre conflict.

Kawanishi, freshly yelled at by Futakuchi, looked confused.

“Well… I mean, you could put it that way. But watching your Iron Wall get broken so easily, and you guys not being able to do anything about it…”

He paused.

Yamagata’s face changed instantly, and he lunged to clamp a hand over Kawanishi’s mouth.

Too late.

Kawanishi lazily finished—

“It feels really damn good.”

Futakuchi’s mind went blank.

He flailed wildly, trying to climb over the net to argue. He, Futakuchi, had never been toyed with like this before.

Never!

Koganegawa and Aone each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him off the court.

On Shiratorizawa’s side, Goshiki’s eyes sparkled as he clung to Kawanishi.

“Kawanishi-senpai! That move was so cool! Teach me! Teach me!”

Reon’s vision darkened. He forcibly shoved Goshiki away.

One Kawanishi was more than enough. They absolutely could not corrupt the juniors.

Tendō, having finished treating his arm, had naturally witnessed Kawanishi’s complete dismantling of the Block. He gave a big thumbs up and burst out laughing.

“Kawanishi, you’re incredible! Hahaha! That totally avenged me! Hahaha—!”

He couldn’t stop laughing.

Coach Washijō glanced at Ryosuke. It was impossible to tell whether he was pleased or annoyed. After all, it was Ryosuke who’d led Kawanishi down this path.

Maybe he should apologize later…

Guilty cat mode activated.

Coach Washijō turned to Kawanishi.

“If you believe this style suits you, then train properly. Don’t neglect your fundamentals. Don’t let it affect your teammates. And when you use it, choose opponents with stronger mental resilience.”

Kawanishi had been nervous. He knew Coach Washijō disliked flashy tricks—he valued strength above all.

But Kawanishi couldn’t match Ushijima’s power, Ryosuke’s height, or Reon’s technique. If he didn’t change, he’d stay stuck at this level forever.

He took a deep breath and stood straight.

“Yes!”

Ushijima watched Kawanishi’s energized expression and gave a small nod. He had always known everyone wanted to score with their own hands, but many were limited by talent or physique and could only rely on him.

Today’s scene was something Ushijima was happy to see.

The one who made it happen…

He glanced at Ryosuke, who was hiding behind him, only the top of his head visible.

Ushijima smiled silently.

After the timeout, Futakuchi was benched to cool down. Takehito was subbed in.

Takehito couldn’t help laughing at Koganegawa’s dejected look. A 190-centimeter giant staring at him with watery eyes was honestly hard to handle.

The score gap had grown too wide: 23–19.

In the past, Date Tech’s Iron Wall allowed them to barely contend with Shiratorizawa. Now that it had been broken, their last bit of advantage had vanished.

Defeat was inevitable.

Date Tech still had a long road ahead.

On the final point, Shirabu once again set to Kawanishi. He deliberately hit off Koganegawa’s fingertips, sending the ball flying out of bounds.

Koganegawa blinked.

“What was that? A tool?”

Takehito nodded gently.

For some reason, Ryosuke felt a strong Goshiki-like aura coming from Koganegawa.

When the ball hit the floor, the referee’s whistle followed.

Shiratorizawa had won.

It was a dramatic match. Shiratorizawa’s traditionally overwhelming style had gained a new dimension. For the audience, it was refreshingly unexpected.

“Shiratorizawa! Shiratorizawa! Shiratorizawa!”

Yet the winners didn’t cheer. They didn’t shout.

They simply turned and walked off, carrying an inexplicable aura of top-tier dominance.

The spectators, however, went wild, waving banners and streamers without even knowing exactly what they were cheering for.

Ushijima had always been calm after matches. He never got swept up in excitement. The second- and third-years had gradually adopted the same demeanor.

Real men didn’t celebrate on the court.

After the match, Date Tech gathered, dejected. Coach Oiwake gave a bitter smile before standing up.

“You did well. We’ll come back next year.”

He looked at the third-years, hesitated, then left the rest of the time to them.

He wasn’t good at comforting words. After forcing out a stiff sentence, he turned away.

Moniwa felt a deep sense of melancholy. It felt like… this match hadn’t truly ended.

His three years shouldn’t end like this.

Futakuchi and Aone, the juniors who had spent the most time with the third-years, realized at that moment—

It was time to say goodbye.

Koganegawa was pulled aside by the team manager and missed the farewell.

Futakuchi’s chest felt tight. He’d always caused trouble for his seniors, yet they had never once blamed him. He had dreamed of taking them to the IH stage, giving their high school years a perfect ending.

When Kamasaki and Takehito turned around, they saw Futakuchi’s barely-contained tears and Aone’s reddened eyes.

Kamasaki smiled helplessly, warmth and resignation mixed together.

“Why are you all slouching? Straighten up!”

Takehito stepped forward and patted Aone’s solid arm.

“We’re graduating, not disappearing forever. Date Tech’s future Iron Wall is up to you and Futakuchi.”

Aone, usually so reserved, could barely manage a word. His voice came out hoarse.

“I understand.”

Moniwa watched them from afar.

“Hurry back. There’s still equipment to move.”

Kamasaki and Takehito nodded. After exchanging reassuring high-fives with Futakuchi and Aone, they walked away without turning back.

At the same time, Futakuchi and Aone bowed deeply.

“Thank you, senpai! For everything you’ve taught us!”

They stayed bent over for a long time.

Goodbyes always came too fast.

When Kamasaki heard their voices and turned back, tears fell instantly.

Regret. Frustration. Sadness. Confusion.

So many emotions mixed together and slipped quietly down his face.

He had personally trained Futakuchi step by step. And Aone—big and imposing as he was—was actually a little airheaded.

After he left… would Futakuchi bully him?

He was full of worry.

In the storage room, Kamasaki and Takehito found Moniwa standing in the shadows.

The three exchanged a look.

Then silently bent over and began crying carefully, trying to muffle the sound.

Moniwa covered his face, sobbing.

“I… I still want to play one more match…”

Tears poured down uncontrollably.

If only they could play one more match that never ended.

Why did people have to part?

Leaning against Takehito, Kamasaki’s voice was thick with self-blame.

“I never took them to Nationals. If I’d worked harder… I could’ve secured that point.”

His fist slammed into the wall with a dull thud.

Heavy.

Brief.

Like their three years.

Countless days and nights. Dreams of the national stage. Unbeatable opponents. Disappointed spectators.

Emotion drowned him. Tears and snot mixed together.

Eyes squeezed shut.

Hands trembling.

Takehito buried his face in Kamasaki’s jersey, tears soaking through the fabric.

At the doorway, Futakuchi listened quietly to their sobs and regret. His lowered hair hid the look in his eyes.

His fists tightened.

He didn’t interrupt.

He turned and left silently.

Seeing Aone’s worried gaze and Koganegawa’s helplessness, Futakuchi realized for the first time—

He had to become the one who carried the team.

From now on, he would move forward with his seniors’ goals and regrets.

He would never forget this day.

...

Back at Shiratorizawa, aside from Goshiki, no one seemed particularly excited about the win. Goshiki, after all, was the type who could stay happy for hours just from landing a spike.

Stronger opponents awaited.

There could only be one winner.

And it would be Shiratorizawa.

That was the unshakable status of a king.

As they stepped out of the gym, the sunlight was blinding. Ryosuke squinted against it.

Kawanishi had clearly enjoyed this make-up match. For once, Coach Washijō hadn’t stopped his unconventional style—an unspoken acknowledgment.

Meanwhile, Tendō was being thoroughly lectured by Reon.

“You never train properly, and now you regret it, huh? Look at your arm—how are you still laughing? After this match, I’m watching you train every single day. Don’t even think about slacking off—”

Tendō’s eyes had already gone dull from the nonstop scolding.

Shirabu muttered, “Is Tendō really okay?”

Semi glanced over and casually patted Shirabu’s head.

“He’ll live.”

Shirabu bristled instantly.

“Take your dog paw off my head!”

“Nope.”

“Get back here!”

...

Sendai Gymnasium wasn’t far from school. Since Shiratorizawa still had another match that afternoon, Ryosuke didn’t go home. He followed everyone back to the dorms.

It was his first time at Shiratorizawa’s dormitory, and everything felt new.

The volleyball team all lived together. Since Shiratorizawa’s program was famous, the principal and Coach Washijō believed housing them together would strengthen team bonds.

Reon, however, had strong objections.

“Why would you make this bunch live together?! Is this torture for me or for them?!”

Every night before bed, Reon made rounds like an exhausted mother, checking every dorm room to make sure everyone was inside. Ushijima, naturally airheaded outside of volleyball, paid no attention to such things.

After Coach Washijō visited once and witnessed the chaotic state of the dorms, he began to regret appointing Ushijima captain purely based on strength.

Ushijima truly managed nothing.

Since then, Coach Washijō had felt a trace of guilt toward Reon.

This kid had taken on far more than someone his age ever should.

...

Chapter 104

After finishing a match in the morning, everyone was still fired up—especially the ones who hadn’t even gotten to touch the ball. Coach Washijō had banned practice before the game, and all the spotlight that morning had gone to Kawanishi.

Ushijima, feeling a bit stifled, stayed in the dorm tossing a book into the air and catching it, entertaining himself.

Ryosuke didn’t go home at noon. He followed Ushijima back to the dorm instead.

The volleyball club dorms were all four-person rooms. Since Ryosuke hadn’t officially moved in, there was an extra bed available for a midday nap.

Ushijima, Reon, and Tendo shared a room.

Ryosuke sat cross-legged on the bed, phone in hand, still watching match footage. Tendo leaned over for a glance.

“That’s from last year.”

Lying on his stomach, Ryosuke nodded. “I’ve never really watched Miyagi Prefecture matches before.”

Reon walked over and ruffled his soft, flattened hair. “Don’t watch too long. You can still get a quick nap in.”

Ryosuke nodded obediently, like a kid being managed by the head of the household. Reon-senpai really did feel like a dad.

Under the “threat” (not really) of the dorm’s patriarch, the restless trio quieted down and reluctantly lay down for a nap.

Even someone as energetic as Ushijima didn’t make a sound.

Bang!

“Ryosuke, get up! Let’s go watch the game!”

Ryosuke had just fallen asleep when it suddenly felt like a massive weight had crashed down on him, nearly suffocating him in his dream.

Struggling to open his eyes, he saw Tsutomu Goshiki pressing down on him. For a split second, he thought he was still dreaming—a nightmare, at that.

Reon, abruptly woken, grabbed Tsutomu Goshiki by the collar and dragged him off the bed, rubbing his temples with a dark expression.

“How many times have I told you? Knock before you open the door! Who taught you to kick it open like that?!”

“Yamagata, probably,” Tendo mumbled sleepily as he sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Reon: “...I was just trying to scold him. So it really was Yamagata?”

Now fully awake—and having woken Ushijima too—Tendo didn’t hesitate to sell Yamagata out.

“Yeah. Last time at the gym, I heard Yamagata teaching Tsutomu Goshiki how to open a door with more ‘presence.’”

Reon instantly remembered how Yamagata used to open doors the exact same way during his first year. He and Ushijima had worked hard to fix that habit.

The more he thought about it, the worse his headache became. Looking at Tsutomu Goshiki’s posture and that unmistakable air about him—it had Yamagata written all over it.

Letting go of Tsutomu Goshiki, Reon gritted his teeth and stormed off to find Yamagata.

Tendo snickered to himself.

“Yamagata… good luck.”

Ryosuke, still groggy, sat on the bed in a daze, not entirely sure what had just happened.

Seeing Ryosuke like that—his sleep-mussed ahoge sticking up wildly, emerald catlike eyes misted with sleep, cheeks flushed red from being buried under the blanket—Tendo’s heart melted.

He pounced and clung to Ryosuke like an oversized accessory.

Ryosuke let out a small yawn, then effortlessly peeled Tendo off and went to splash cold water on his face.

When he came back fully awake, the four of them just sat there staring at one another until a message from Coach Washijō came through, telling them to gather at the gym.

That finally got them moving.

At the gymnasium, Ryosuke immediately spotted Yamagata in the crowd—with a huge bump on his head.

He looked again.

Yeah… he’d definitely been “disciplined” by Reon-senpai.

Coach Washijō stood as usual on the small platform at the front.

“I won’t go into detail about this morning’s match. This afternoon—get your heads in the game.

We’ll be playing Wakutani, the winner of Group Five. Wakutani doesn’t have any glaring strengths, nor obvious weaknesses. Their overall level is steady. Their offensive and defensive systems are both well-structured. As for how to break through—you’ll figure that out yourselves.”

Coach Washijō always introduced the opponent’s characteristics before a match, but he never told them outright how to win. Shiratorizawa’s strength came in large part from the players thinking for themselves—and only going to the coach when they truly couldn’t solve something.

After he finished speaking, the advisor stepped up with a small notebook.

“This afternoon’s starters are:

Ushijima, Tendo, Tsutomu Goshiki
Reon, Yamagata, Shirabu

Best of luck this afternoon!”

“Yes!!”

Hearing that he’d be on court, Tsutomu Goshiki practically sparkled with excitement. He looked like he might run laps around the gym just to burn off the joy.

Tsutomu Goshiki was the impulsive, hot-blooded, single-cell type. Pre-game nerves simply didn’t exist in his world.

From the look of him, everyone knew he was already running on adrenaline. What he’d be like once he actually stepped on court… who knew.

Ryosuke and Yunohama were genuinely happy for him. Even though Yunohama couldn’t hide a trace of regret at not being selected, seeing his teammates shine made the pain feel insignificant.

If he couldn’t fight on court, then he’d fight in his own way off it.

Semi watched Tsutomu Goshiki bouncing around and couldn’t quite hide the flicker of envy in his eyes.

If even Kawanishi’s wild style had been acknowledged, then maybe his own chance to play wasn’t far off…

They packed up and walked together toward the arena. Shiratorizawa’s match wouldn’t start until three, so they had time to observe other schools’ games first.

Along the way, Yunohama kept a firm grip on the overexcited Tsutomu Goshiki, afraid he’d bolt off and disappear at any moment.

Watching the overly responsible Yunohama, Ryosuke fell into thought.

He really does look like Reon-senpai…

Then he compared Tsutomu Goshiki—being restrained—to how Yamagata behaved in front of Reon.

The resemblance was uncanny.

Coach Washijō set a meeting time and place at the arena entrance, then slung his bag over his shoulder and leisurely went off to exchange insights with other coaches.

The players glanced at each other before splitting up.

Ryosuke had messaged Hinata at noon and learned that Karasuno had won their group yesterday. This afternoon, they’d be facing Aobajosai.

Now that got him excited.

A showdown between the Freak Quick and the genius conductor—what kind of sparks would that create?

He could barely contain the anticipation in his eyes.

Without hesitation, he dragged Tsutomu Goshiki to go watch. Tsutomu Goshiki looked distinctly reluctant—he had wanted to sneak off for some extra practice before their own match.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryosuke noticed his distraction and started chatting with Yunohama.

“Yunohama, Karasuno has a middle blocker who’s incredible. He jumps so high—and his spikes are really cool.”

Yunohama froze for a second, then caught Ryosuke’s look and immediately played along, raising his voice deliberately.

“Really? That good? Better than Tsutomu Goshiki?”

One of Tsutomu Goshiki’s ears perked up.

“I’m not sure,” Ryosuke said casually, “but he looks a little better than Tsutomu Goshiki.”

“Better than Tsutomu Goshiki…”

“…better…”

“…a little…”

The words echoed in Tsutomu Goshiki’s head.

What? Better than me??

A tiny flame flared in his eyes.

Let me see just who it is that Ryosuke thinks is better than me! I’m going to be the ace someday!

His strange competitive spirit successfully derailed his secret-practice plan. Puffing up with determination, he followed Ryosuke to the match.

Watching the whole thing, Shirabu didn’t know whether to complain about Tsutomu Goshiki being too gullible—or Ryosuke being too good at manipulating a fellow single-cell organism.

Having successfully baited him, the two showed zero guilt as they happily headed toward the Karasuno vs. Aobajosai court.

They arrived just as the match was about to begin.

Ryosuke had originally thought Karasuno might end up facing Wakutani. He hadn’t expected them to run straight into Aobajosai.

Even though he believed in Karasuno, going up against Oikawa and Iwaizumi this early… that was hard to call.

The three found seats in the stands. Aobajosai’s cheering squad had already gathered—at a glance, it was practically all pretty girls.

Ryosuke sighed dramatically.

Oikawa-senpai really has accumulated quite the following.

He texted Hinata, who hadn’t taken the court yet.

Cat Hero: I’m here to watch.

There was no reply for a while—probably busy.

The next second, he spotted an orange head below the stands looking around frantically.

After seeing the message, Hinata had popped his head out to search for him. Kageyama watched Hinata spin around several times and asked,

“Idiot. What are you doing?”

Without turning around, Hinata replied absentmindedly, “I’m looking for Ryosuke.”

“Hmph!” Kageyama stalked off with a dark expression.

Hinata thought Kageyama’s temper really was getting worse lately. Then his eyes lit up—he saw Ryosuke smiling brightly in the stands.

Ryosuke waved and shouted, “Good luck in the match!!”

“Okay!!”

One in the stands, one on the court—they yelled back and forth at full volume.

Tsutomu Goshiki immediately leaned over to see who it was. By the time he looked, Hinata had already run back.

He sat down again, annoyed.

Yunohama glanced at his phone. “Our match is at three. We need to assemble at two-thirty. We probably won’t see the end of this one.”

Ryosuke shook his head. “It’s fine. Just watching part of it is worth it.”

Tsutomu Goshiki slumped back in his seat, bored, waiting for the start.

After a while, both teams came out to warm up. Tsutomu Goshiki finally sat up straighter, muttering,

“They don’t look that strong.”

He still didn’t know which player Ryosuke had meant—and Ryosuke clearly had no intention of telling him.

Fine. I’ll find him myself.

Across the net, Oikawa spotted the genius junior who used to make his teeth itch with frustration back in middle school. Smiling, he stepped forward.

“Long time no see, Tobio-chan. Shorty.”

Hinata, walking ahead, snapped his head around.

“Ah! The Great King!”

Kageyama nodded seriously. “Oikawa-senpai, I’ll defeat you.”

Then he grabbed Hinata by the collar and dragged him off, radiating a distinct “Let’s go, let’s go” urgency.

“Hey, Kageyama, let go!!”

“Daichi-senpai’s calling us to warm up.”

“Eh? Really? Let’s go, let’s go!”

A teasing glint flashed in Oikawa’s peach-blossom eyes.

So tense, Tobio-chan?

Iwaizumi took one look at Oikawa’s expression and knew he was up to no good. He smacked him on the head.

“What are you thinking? Don’t entertain rude thoughts.”

Oikawa turned in disbelief. “Iwa-chan, are you a mind reader?!”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, deciding not to argue with this childish captain.

From the stands, Tsutomu Goshiki had already figured out who Ryosuke was watching during Karasuno’s warm-up.

He stole a glance at Ryosuke, then looked back at the court.

There—a short orange-haired guy wearing number 10. He moved like a spring during warm-ups, and even his standing vertical was impressive.

It instantly reminded Tsutomu Goshiki of Kōrai Hoshiumi—and of Ryosuke’s particular appreciation for shorter players.

He figured it out right away.

Why did he think Ryosuke favored shorter players?

Because during their last training camp, when Ryosuke talked about players from each school, he’d clearly spent more time discussing Kōrai Hoshiumi.

Sometimes, Tsutomu Goshiki really was sharp.

Ryosuke noticed him sneaking glances and simply smiled.

He had to make Tsutomu Goshiki watch a match like this at least once.

Tsutomu Goshiki carried a trace of pride—it was understandable. He’d been called a prodigy since childhood.

But that pride, combined with Shiratorizawa’s title as a powerhouse, had made him a little careless. A little too confident.

Since school started, he’d been surrounded by top IH-level players. He’d learned from them—but he hadn’t necessarily noticed everything.

Ryosuke and Yunohama, who trained with him every day, definitely had.

Dragging him here to watch was meant to let him see how the players he might subconsciously underestimate could shine on the court—and to serve as a warning before their own match.

Beeeeep—

The whistle blew.

Karasuno vs. Aobajosai officially began.

First set lineups:

Aobajosai
Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Matsukawa
Kindaichi, Watari, Hanamaki

Karasuno
Daichi, Hinata, Tsukishima
Nishinoya, Kageyama, Asahi

Aobajosai ran a 4–2 formation. Ryosuke glanced at Tsutomu Goshiki, about to explain—

But Tsutomu Goshiki beat him to it.

“I know! Karasuno’s using the 5–1 you mentioned before!”

Yunohama gave a quiet “Mm.”

“Aobajosai and Karasuno have different styles. Karasuno tends to give more opportunities to their first-years. Aobajosai focuses more on stability.”

Karasuno had won the serve.

Asahi stepped up to the service line, exhaling slowly.

He tossed the ball high, leapt, and swung—his arm driving through with force.

Bang!

“Whoa, that had to be over 100 km/h. Karasuno really hides some monsters.”

Yamagata had appeared behind them at some point and suddenly spoke, making all three jump.

“Yamagata-senpai!” ×3

He sat down sheepishly.

Watari stared at the incoming rocket in shock.

They’d just played a practice match not long ago. How had Karasuno improved this much? Last time, that bearded ace’s serve hadn’t been nearly this fierce.

Watari shuffled quickly into position and dove, the ball slamming heavily into his arms before popping up.

“I’ve got it!”

Hanamaki, closest to the ball, hurried to adjust it and sent it to Oikawa.

Without hesitation, Oikawa went for a setter dump, trying to establish dominance right away.

Tsukishima shot forward, and Daichi covered behind him, sealing the space.

Thud!

Tsukishima was a split second late, but Daichi, who had rushed in, received the second touch cleanly.

“Nice!”

If you’re wondering why Karasuno reacted so quickly to a setter dump—even predicting the landing spot—that was entirely thanks to Kageyama.

When your own setter loves pulling that move during practice matches, you learn to defend against it fast.

In some ways, Kageyama’s style really did resemble Oikawa’s.

No wonder they came from the same school.

...

Chapter 105

Daichi picked up the falling dump and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with a sigh. “I knew someone would get fired up and try something like that.”

Tsukishima rubbed his nose—Daichi-senpai was definitely not talking about him.

The ever-reliable Daichi delivered a perfect first pass. Kageyama moved to the net with the ball, calmly surveying the court, while Oikawa watched him just as closely.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kageyama caught Oikawa’s gaze—and without hesitation, answered with a setter dump of his own.

“Huh?!”

Oikawa hadn’t even processed it before Iwaizumi rushed in to dig the ball, barking at him, “Damn it, Oikawa! What were you spacing out for?!”

“Ahhh! Sorry, Iwa-chan!”

Oikawa raked a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed.

“Brat…” That completely undisguised dump had worked—it had provoked him.

On the sideline, Sugawara watched with a fond smile. “Ah… Kageyama’s actually learned how to taunt people.”

“Suga, are you his mom or something?!”

Iwaizumi sent the ball to Oikawa, who immediately organized the next attack. Hanamaki and Matsukawa prepared for the block.

Remembering the previous dump, Tsukishima and Hinata instinctively assumed Oikawa would try it again. Tsukishima jumped hard, bringing Hinata up with him.

Midair, Tsukishima clearly saw the sly curve of Oikawa’s lips.

His heart dropped.

Sure enough, Oikawa set the ball at an extreme angle. Iwaizumi, who had already been waiting on the right, surged forward and hammered it down before anyone could react.

Point.

The stands exploded.

“Seijoh! Seijoh! We reign supreme!”
“Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan! One more!”

On Karasuno’s side, Tanaka clicked his tongue. “Damn normies. Drop dead, all of you.”

Daichi patted Tsukishima and Hinata. “It’s fine. One more point. Oikawa’s always been strong—stay calm.”

Oikawa walked to the service line with the ball in his arms. The moment he stood there, everyone on Karasuno tightened up instinctively.

Oikawa’s serve was a nightmare.

Nishinoya spread his arms wide. “One point for the side-out!”

“Oh—hey!”

With the crowd’s rhythm as backing track, Oikawa’s serve shot out, spinning viciously.

Nishinoya tracked it. A straight shot at his face? No—

It curves!

He shifted his center of gravity in a sharp lateral move and received it cleanly.

“Nice one!”

Oikawa scratched his head. “Man, Karasuno’s libero is seriously strong.”

On the sideline, Ukai narrowed his eyes in thought. Takeda-sensei looked over. “What’s wrong? Was something off?”

Ukai nodded. “That serve was aimed at Nishinoya on purpose. If he hadn’t taken it, it would’ve crushed our momentum.”

Takeda shivered. “That’s… underhanded.”

Oikawa only smiled faintly.

Nishinoya sent the ball to Kageyama.

Kageyama’s touch felt hotter than ever. He was in peak condition—he felt like he could send the ball anywhere.

After rotating, Matsukawa and Hanamaki were now in the front row, watching him closely. The pressure was real.

“I’m here!”

Hinata burst out from behind Azumane like a small orange crow. Daichi prepared to jump. Azumane lurked in the back row, ready. Tsukishima tracked the block with a dark expression.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki locked onto Kageyama. Who’s it going to?

Both instinctively focused on Hinata and jumped to Block. Anyone who had seen the Freak Quick would instinctively react.

Hinata alone drew two blockers.

And Kageyama set to the completely empty left side.

“What is he doing?!” Goshiki shot to his feet.

Hinata landed—and just like in their practice match, he sprinted laterally, slipping past the block. Fast as lightning, he chased down the still-floating ball.

He leaped.

The ball met him at the perfect hitting point.

“Bang!”

Watari felt an orange whirlwind rush past him before the ball slammed into the floor.

Karasuno scored.

The arena went silent for a heartbeat—then erupted.

“That little guy’s amazing!”
“He jumps so high!”
“Mom, is he flying?”

Hinata and Kageyama had completely ignited the atmosphere.

“What… was that?” Goshiki stared, stunned.

Yunohama, who had been slouched moments ago, sat upright. “That quick was insanely fast. And that little guy—he jumps so high. How’s he that fast too?”

Ryosuke smiled. “That’s why I wanted you guys to watch. Pretty exciting, right?”

Goshiki was still in shock. If it were him… could he have hit that?

So he’s that good.

Ryosuke had definitely achieved what he wanted.

Oikawa clicked his tongue. Another one of those annoying quicks.

Watching Kageyama laughing with his teammates, Oikawa steadied himself.

The King is still the King. Your sets are still reckless. Even if you sheath your claws, it doesn’t change what you are.

His expression shifted back to his usual playful grin. “Next point—I won’t let you score.”

Hinata was still floating from the praise when Kageyama smacked the ball into him.

“Idiot. It’s your serve.”

“Oh! Right!”

Hinata served a completely ordinary, soft floater.

Sugawara and Tanaka both let out quiet sighs of relief. As long as it went in. For now, they weren’t expecting much from his serve.

Watari received it easily. Oikawa set to Iwaizumi through the crowd, and Iwaizumi spiked with perfect timing.

Tsukishima got a touch on the Block. Coincidentally, the ball dropped right between Azumane and Daichi. If either of them had taken it, they wouldn’t have been able to join the attack.

Daichi shot Azumane a look, stepped forward, lowered his center of gravity, and dug it himself.

Kageyama set to Azumane.

Boom.

“Whistle—”

Oikawa turned and called a timeout. Coach Irihata nodded, and Aobajosai gathered off court.

“Why call it now?” Goshiki frowned.

Ryosuke shrugged. “Who knows.”

Oikawa pulled his team close.

“That weird quick of Karasuno has a code. Every time the little guy shouts ‘I’m here,’ it’s the Freak Quick. When he calls for the ball normally, like “Pass to me,” it’s a regular quick.

Irihata considered it. “You’re sure?”

Oikawa nodded seriously. He never made claims without basis.

“When he shouts ‘here,’ either Hanamaki or Matsukawa marks him. When he shouts ‘pass,’ watch Kageyama first. Confirm the set direction before jumping. Got it?”

“Got it!”

Everyone straightened under Oikawa’s gaze.

On Karasuno’s side, Tsukishima and Tanaka swapped after the timeout. Tanaka roared excitedly—he’d been waiting.

Kageyama, standing beside Hinata, felt uneasy watching Aobajosai’s huddle. It felt like they’d been targeted.

From the stands, Ryosuke grinned. “I get it now.”

Goshiki tilted his head. “Get what?”

“I bet Oikawa-senpai cracked their code. I don’t know the exact signal, but from Hinata’s shouts—‘I’m here,’ or calling Kageyama—it’s probably that. So Oikawa-senpai’s having them mark both of them accordingly. Man… he’s scary.”

Goshiki’s expression turned complicated.

If anyone was scary, it was probably you—the one predicting Oikawa’s prediction.

Yunohama wasn’t surprised. He’d always known Ryosuke wasn’t normal. That was the gap between genius and everyone else.

And man… setters really are ruthless.

...

The first half of the set was evenly matched. Long rallies, back and forth.

At 15:14, Oikawa made his move.

After rotation, Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Kindaichi were up front for the block.

This time, Oikawa didn’t aim for Nishinoya.

He aimed at Tanaka.

Tanaka, freshly subbed in, had no idea he’d been targeted.

“Oh—hey!”

The serve rocketed toward him.

Tanaka could spike well—but his receives weren’t as stable as Daichi or Azumane’s, let alone against Oikawa’s jump serve.

Still, Tanaka never lacked courage. He lowered his stance and focused.

Bang!

He missed completely.

The spinning ball slammed into his shoulder and flew out of bounds. He grunted.

Daichi’s face darkened.

Oikawa had locked onto Tanaka.

“It’s fine! One more!”
“Go, Tanaka!”

Sugawara could only encourage him anxiously from the sideline.

“Ace! Ace! One more!” the girls in the stands screamed.

“Oikawa-senpai is so cool!”
“He’s the best!”

Iwaizumi’s forehead twitched—but since Oikawa was performing, he let it slide.

The next few serves proved Daichi right.

Four consecutive serves—all at Tanaka.

Not one missed.

Tanaka clenched his teeth. Each time the ball smashed into him.

He still couldn’t receive it cleanly.

“Karasuno’s in trouble.”

Ryosuke and the others turned toward the unfamiliar voice.

The man in glasses smiled awkwardly. “That shaved-head kid’s important. He’s their mood-maker—the reliable senior the underclassmen lean on. If he breaks, Karasuno’s in real trouble.”

Ryosuke nodded politely. “Thank you. I’m Ryosuke Hanyu. These are my teammates.”

“Makoto Shimada,” the man replied. “Didn’t expect someone from Shiratorizawa to enjoy watching matches.”

Yunohama spoke first. “Isn’t it interesting? I’m curious whether the Freak Quick or that serve wins out.”

Shimada laughed. “You’re right. Guess I shouldn’t believe stereotypes.”

...

After the timeout, Tanaka trailed behind.

Hinata kept glancing back, wanting to comfort him.

Suddenly—

Smack!

Tanaka slapped himself hard.

“I’m sorry! Next ball—I’ll receive it! I shouldn’t be scared! I’m sorry!”

Ukai chuckled and patted his shoulder. “That’s more like it. We’re not blaming you. You’ve got teammates behind you. Don’t be afraid.”

“Yes!”

Ukai had worried for nothing.

The timeout disrupted Oikawa’s rhythm. His next serve wasn’t as sharp.

Tanaka prepared to take it—

—but Nishinoya slid in and saved it first.

Daichi adjusted the ball.

Kageyama thought: After all that tension… who should take this?

Of course.

“Tanaka-senpai!”

Tanaka jumped without hesitation.

Across the net, Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Kindaichi formed a triple block.

In that instant, Tanaka’s vision sharpened. He could see the empty space behind them. Hear his own breathing.

His love for volleyball deepened.

Bang!

He drove the ball into the open space beside Watari. Watari lunged—

Too late.

Point.

Hinata and Tanaka shouted at each other like idiots, grinning wildly.

“Nice one, Tanaka!”
“Nice!”

Daichi walked over, dark aura radiating, and rubbed their heads roughly. “Cut it out. The ref’s watching.”

They froze instantly under the referee’s disapproving stare.

Oikawa ran a hand through his hair. “What a pain. I thought we could grab a few more points.”

Iwaizumi patted him. “We’ll get another chance.”

From the stands, Ryosuke sighed. “Kageyama and Tanaka are impressive. One dares to set, one dares to spike. They broke the flow Aobajosai built.”

Goshiki pouted. “It’s not that impressive.”

Yunohama snorted. “Says the one who stood up earlier.”

“Shut up!”

“Then why’s your face red?”

Goshiki flushed deeper. Ryosuke burst out laughing.

“Alright, stop teasing him.”

Behind them, Shimada watched, surprised.

So this was Shiratorizawa off the court.

They were… just a bunch of interesting kids.

...

Chapter 106

The match resumed. Tanaka’s point broke the stiff tension on the court, but the gap on the scoreboard remained the same.

Before the timeout, Oikawa had racked up four points on his own. One point wasn’t nearly enough to close that distance.

Kageyama stared at the scoreboard, lips pressed tight, anxiety gnawing at him. If he could just do a little more—there had to be a way to turn this around.

This was the burden every setter carried. As the team’s command tower, Kageyama was still inexperienced. He couldn’t put his thoughts into words. He didn’t know how to communicate. The stubbornness and pride in his bones weren’t things that could be shed overnight—let alone in just two months.

Across the net, Oikawa clearly caught the look on Kageyama’s face and curled his lips into a faint smile. Sometimes he thought he was petty and cruel. But when he reminded himself it was all for the sake of victory, it didn’t seem like such a big deal.

Azumane carried the ball to the service line. Jump. Swing.

“Bang!”

Watari dove forward, scooping the ball up cleanly with a backward sweep of his arm. The receive was flawless.

“Oikawa!”

“Coming!”

Who should I give this to? Oikawa wondered. How do I completely crush Little Tobio’s fake composure and fighting spirit?

“Iwaizumi!” No matter what, Oikawa trusted Iwaizumi.

At the call, Iwaizumi moved behind Hanamaki on the left side—the perfect spot to spike from.

Tanaka and Hinata rushed in for the Block. Iwaizumi’s technique far surpassed Hinata’s. The ball clipped Hinata’s fingertips and flew off course, but Nishinoya—who had been watching closely—managed to keep it alive.

“Bang!”

“I’ve got it!”

Kageyama heard Hinata’s shout. Behind him, three blockers loomed, eyes fixed on him.

Hanamaki, Matsukawa, and Kindaichi stared so intently it felt like they could burn a hole through his back.

Hanamaki recalled Oikawa’s words during the timeout: if that little number 10 called for the ball, someone had to mark him. Kindaichi and Matsukawa were responsible for the Block, so Hanamaki would track Hinata himself.

Hinata rushed in. Hanamaki sprang up, arms straight and firm.

Hinata still couldn’t keep his eyes open while spiking. He cracked them open just a little—and immediately saw the wall of arms in front of him. His heart skipped, but the ball was already off his hand. It brushed past the blockers’ fingertips and shot through.

Hanamaki could only watch as it slipped past his hands. Damn it. He’d known the little guy was fast—but not this fast. Head-on, there was no stopping him.

“Tsk.”

“Sorry!” Hanamaki called out, frustrated.

Oikawa waved it off. “It’s fine.”

The ball crossed the net again. Watari moved to receive, thinking it would be easy—but the force behind it surprised him. He reacted too late.

He failed to absorb the impact, and the ball rebounded high into the air, drifting dangerously toward the net.

“Ah—sorry! Free ball!”

“Kageyama!”

“Oikawa!”

They shouted at the same time.

As the ball dropped between the Blocks, Kageyama and Oikawa jumped together. Four hands pressed down hard.

Oikawa gave a slight downward push with his palm.

“Smack.”

The ball hit the floor.

Little Tobio… you still have a long way to go.

Kageyama landed off balance and fell onto the floor. His gaze fixed blankly on Oikawa’s mismatched knee pads—something only Oikawa would wear. When he looked up, he met Oikawa’s unreadable eyes.

Will I never beat him?

I want to defeat him. I want to become the “Best Setter.” Why can’t I?

Faster. Jump higher.

There’s no way I’d lose.

Kageyama stood up, face dark. His expression must have looked frightening, because only Daichi stepped forward to pat his shoulder.

A substitution was called. Tsukishima held up the number board and stepped onto the court. Without Tsukishima, Karasuno’s Block would crumble.

“Huh? Karasuno’s setter doesn’t look too good,” Goshiki said, leaning over the railing.

Yunohama grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back. “That’s dangerous, Goshiki!”

Goshiki pouted.

“Kageyama’s pride is strong,” Ryosuke said slowly, chin resting on his hand. “He probably can’t stand the feeling of losing no matter what he does.”

“Letting emotions control you on the court… that’s not good.”

Goshiki and Yunohama nodded. No one spoke again.

Both timeouts had already been used. Coach Ukai sat on the bench, anxiety twisting in his chest. He could tell something was off with Kageyama. The kid had fallen into his own spiral again. Now, it would come down to their own resolve.

The match continued. 23:19.

If Aobajosai scored one more point, the first set would be over.

Kageyama grew more and more restless.

Iwaizumi stepped up to serve and unleashed a powerful jump serve. Nishinoya received it perfectly, sending a clean pass straight to Kageyama.

It hovered right above his head.

Who? Who should he set to? How could he change the flow? Hinata? Azumane-senpai? Tsukishima?

Tsukishima.

To most people, he was just a middle blocker who focused on the Block. Their guard would be down. All eyes were on Hinata. Perfect.

Kageyama jumped, glancing toward Hinata. The naive Kindaichi took the bait and shifted toward Hinata.

But Hanamaki and Matsukawa were veterans. Their eyes never left Kageyama.

Fine. Staring won’t help.

This point—we have to take it.

Kageyama set to Tsukishima.

Tsukishima froze for a split second before jumping instinctively. Midair, he realized something was wrong.

Too high.

That wasn’t his usual contact height at all.

Kageyama froze too. He’d rushed it. The set was just a little too high… just a little…

Tsukishima can still hit it.

Jump higher. If you want to force it, jump higher!

But Tsukishima couldn’t hear Kageyama’s silent shout.

What feels dramatic in life isn’t “I believe you can do it if you try.”

It’s “I really can’t.”

The set was beyond Tsukishima’s usual range. He barely managed to brush the ball with his fingertips—only for Hanamaki and Matsukawa to stuff it straight down. A complete Block.

“Beeeeeep—!”

The first set ended.

“Seijoh! Seijoh! Supreme above all!”
“Maki! Maki! One more!”

Cheers roared from the stands. Karasuno’s side sighed in frustration.

“It’s fine! We’ll get them next set!”
“Yeah, yeah.”

Nishinoya and Daichi comforted the younger players.

Kageyama gripped his towel without lifting his head.

Ukai stepped in front of him, expression conflicted.

“Kageyama. Let Sugawara take the next set.”

It felt like his heart had been crushed in someone’s fist. Sweat poured down his face. For a moment, his hearing blurred—he could barely process the coach’s words.

Memories from junior high surged up again. Panic. Helplessness. Disbelief.

After a moment of silence—just when everyone thought he might explode—Kageyama gave a heavy nod.

He didn’t lose his temper?

Tsukishima found it almost unbelievable. The proud King had lowered his head. Rare indeed.

Over these past few months, Kageyama had come to understand Ukai’s intentions. It was nothing more than giving him time to cool down—to watch the match from the outside. As long as he still had a chance to step back onto the court, it wasn’t the end.

He clenched the towel so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Kageyama doesn’t look so good…” Yamaguchi muttered.

Hinata, passing by, grinned.

“Don’t worry! Kageyama’s not that fragile. He wants to win more than anyone. He’ll get back up!”

Hinata didn’t believe Kageyama was someone who’d fall over a small setback. After all—he was the King of the Court.

Oikawa thought back to the final point of the set and narrowed his eyes with a mischievous smile.

Kageyama… you’ve still got a long way to go.

“Beeeeep—”

The second set began.

When Oikawa stepped onto the court, he noticed Kageyama wasn’t there. The setter now was a boy with a bright, easy smile—someone who hadn’t played before.

Oikawa bounced the ball lightly.

Let’s see what you’ve got, third-year setter.

Ryosuke blinked when Sugawara entered the court. Sugawara-senpai’s style… huh… kind of similar to Oikawa-senpai’s.

He glanced at the time—and shot to his feet.

Goshiki and Yunohama tilted their heads in sync. “What’s wrong?”

“Let’s go! We’re about to assemble! If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late!”

The two of them jumped up at once.

“Why didn’t you say so earlier?! We’re dead!”
“Go, go, go!”

Yunohama grabbed his bag, only to see Ryosuke still packing at a snail’s pace. Goshiki had already stuffed the volleyball into his bag, but Ryosuke was still fiddling around.

“Wait… I’m not done.”

A vein throbbed on Yunohama’s forehead. You were the one who stood up first—why are you the slowest now?

Goshiki and Yunohama exchanged a panicked look.

Goshiki: Aaaaah we’re so late!
Yunohama: Let’s just carry him!
Goshiki: Aaaaah we’re so late!
Yunohama: …Hopeless.

In the end, Yunohama took action. One kid under each arm—Goshiki on the left, Ryosuke on the right—he bolted. All that endurance training finally paid off.

“Wait—you guys—!”

“Make way! Make way!”

They tore off like a gust of wind. Goshiki’s blank stare reflected Ryosuke’s equally vacant one, his cowlick flapping wildly in the air.

“What just flew past?” a passerby muttered.

“Probably a cat,” his friend replied lazily.

...

It normally took at least fifteen minutes to walk from the venue to the meeting point. Yunohama dragged two people there in five.

Ushijima and Reon were already waiting.

Reon looked at the dust-covered trio, expression complicated.

“You were gone for five minutes and came back like this?”

Yunohama scratched his cheek awkwardly.

Ryosuke steadied himself and looked around. “Where’s Yamagata-senpai? Wasn’t he with us just now?”

Yunohama froze.

“I forgot Yamagata-senpai!”

Reon closed his eyes. He should’ve known better than to expect competence from this group.

“I’ll go find him,” Ushijima said calmly.

Reon nodded. Leaving Ushijima alone here would probably result in him being stared at like some rare animal.

Honestly… this team really can’t function without me.

Reon motioned for the three to sit and rest.

Coach Washijō had chosen a hidden spot near the back entrance of the arena—hard to find, tucked behind the spectator stands and down the athletes’ corridor. Shiratorizawa was too famous; one wrong turn and they’d drown in fans.

Reon started messaging the group chat.

Photo.jpg
“The first-years are here! Where are the rest of you?!”

Meanwhile, Yunohama began reorganizing the other two’s bags.

Ryosuke’s was messy—but Goshiki’s was a disaster.

A half-eaten rice ball. Last week’s quiz paper. Finger tape. A toy snake.

And—

A sock.

Yunohama’s hand trembled as he pulled it out. He grabbed Goshiki by the collar.

“What is this?! Isn’t this the sock I washed a few days ago and couldn’t find?!”

Goshiki looked guilty.

“I told you I couldn’t find my sock! Are you three years old?! When we get back, you’re finding every single one of mine—or you’re not sleeping tonight!”

“I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t care! No more stuffing random junk into your bag!”

Even Yunohama’s calm philosophy had finally cracked.

Reon sighed deeply. Every day with them was louder than the last.

Ryosuke, meanwhile, had closed his eyes peacefully on the steps. Not my problem.

Then Reon’s phone chimed.

Tendo: I can’t find the way~ This place Coach Washijō picked is so hidden. Reon, come get us.
Shirabu: +1
Semi: +2
Kawanishi: +3
Tendo: Report your locations!
Tendo: Restroom in Hall A.
Kawanishi: No idea. There’s a vending machine.
Shirabu: Probably the kids’ area.
Semi: Photo.jpg — I’m in a sea of people.

The photo showed Semi surrounded by fans.

Reon trembled with fury.

He messaged Ushijima.

@Ushijima, found him?

A moment later, Yamagata sent a photo.

Ushijima stood in the middle of a crowd of girls asking for autographs, looking oddly helpless.

…

Reon inhaled slowly. Ten minutes left. Still time.

He turned back to the three with a tight smile. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

The two who had been fighting instantly stiffened and nodded.

Ryosuke took a sip of water. “Ahh, refreshing.”

Under Reon’s glare, he added lazily, “Got it, senpai.”

Reon left, looking less like he was going to retrieve teammates and more like he was heading into battle.

“Good thing I checked the time,” Ryosuke muttered.

“You call that smart? I dragged you here!” Yunohama roared.

Ryosuke shrank back. Goshiki stood quietly now, hands neatly behind his back—two fresh bumps on his head still practically steaming.

Justice had been served.