"A fortress may be mighty. Even one armed with overwhelming firepower… but the easiest way to break it, is still from within."
Oikawa Tooru calmly observed how Karasuno's offense would move without their setter.
And just as he predicted,
Without the commander, Karasuno's attack became painfully straightforward.
Even spectators who weren't volleyball fans could already guess who the ball was going to.
Because once Kageyama was forced to receive, Yudai Hyakuzawa immediately moved two steps forward into the front row,
Hands ready to set.
Their intentions couldn't be clearer:
Everyone except #15 Ichinose Guren stayed grounded to conserve stamina.
Not even Hinata, Karasuno's so-called strongest decoy, moved.
"If Kageyama gets forced into the receive, Yudai will set me the highest ball he can."
"The others only need to follow up. My high-ball power strike doesn't need decoys. Doesn't need disguise."
The memory of that bold declaration remained carved in every Karasuno member's mind.
No decoys needed.
Such overwhelming confidence.
"So that's how it is… You're really underestimating us, huh."
On Oikawa's handsome face, often praised as Miyagi's #1 pretty boy, there was now a sharp, twisted expression.
Aoba Johsai's front row, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and just rotated-in Matsukawa, their expressions all darkened.
"It's been a while."
"Since we've seen arrogance this blatant."
"A pure, unmasked power attack, huh."
No feints.
No misdirection.
No concealment.
Just a declaration:
I will break you head-on.
It was the exact style of a certain person who had suppressed Aoba Johsai for years.
A playstyle of pure force.
Cool. Emotionless.
An unwavering certainty of victory, even though his team never once passed the national quarterfinals.
His nickname was shared with a legendary hero of the late Heian era,
Ushiwaka
He is like crane spreading its wings in the sky,
Slicing through clouds.
Diving with predatory focus.
On open plains stood a warrior clad in Japanese armor, mounted on a white horse, long blade at his side,
Cutting down Aoba Johsai's defenders again and again.
Behind him, loyal retainers followed.
And then, just before the strike reached them, Aoba Johsai's three blockers snapped back to reality.
Iwaizumi spoke first, fast and firm:
"Focus on every ball in front of you!"
Simple. Clear.
It made all three third-years share the same sharp grin.
"3… 2… 1!"
On Oikawa's call, the moment Hyakuzawa's fingers touched the ball, the three blockers took a step forward and jumped.
Not just to block, but to strike back with all the rage of three years pent up.
This block had height. Timing.
And the power of a swing-through press.
If Guren hit this wall directly, even Asahi at full strength might not break through.
But.
As Jinsei Shijuurou once said: Strength is meaningless if it never reaches the target.
A block is worthless if you cannot even touch the ball.
Aoba Johsai's triple block maxed out, but Ichinose Guren was not something that could be stopped by just power.
Because the ball was already gone.
BOOM! BOOM!
Twin sonic blasts echoed across Sendai City Gymnasium.
Even without the difficult left-spin, even if raw force still fell slightly short of Miyagi's #1 ace,
A spike that ignores the block entirely…
The real threat is that with enough height, he can choose any angle he wants.
In volleyball, blocking does not always mean stopping the spike.
More importantly, it means cutting off attack angles so the back row can defend clearly.
But Guren and Hyakuzawa's high-altitude strike,
Aoba Johsai could neither seal nor touch.
And worse, their jump blocked the back row's vision.
For Watari, Hanamaki, and Kunimi,
Guren's downward spike was already difficult enough to defend.
Now the spike path itself was invisible.
It felt impossible.
And Kunimi Akira did something very Kunimi-like.
Seeing the odds of receiving the ball approach near zero, he simply gave up.
Not even raising his arms.
There's a difference between being stubborn and being efficient.
Don't waste stamina on what cannot be done.
As if expecting it,
Guren's spike cut just barely past Kunimi's lowered hands.
So close.
If you had just held the receive stance, you would've touched it.
But you gave up.
Even someone as emotionally calm as Kunimi felt a spike of anger.
This was psychological warfare,
not to make him lose control completely,
but to shake the foundation of his efficient style.
Just one crack was enough to disturb rhythm.
But Kunimi, the smartest mind on Aoba Johsai, was already analyzing the situation even while angry.
If he rose to the bait, efficiency collapsed.
His play rhythm would shatter.
The cost was too great.
His clenched fingers relaxed.
He walked, expression flat, picked up the ball, and returned it to the staff.
His face clearly said:
I won't be swayed.
Come again if you want.
This silent battle of wits ended in seconds.
Only two people understood:
Karasuno's Tsukishima Kei.
And Aoba Johsai's Oikawa Tooru.
Everyone else was clueless.
Tsukishima looked annoyed,
at Guren's beastly talent paired with venomous precision,
and at how exhausting Aoba Johsai's players were to deal with.
Meanwhile, Oikawa looked… thrilled.
Only Kunimi knew why.
Everyone else simply assumed,
Oikawa was being Oikawa.
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Completed version available on Patreon.com/Veltoria