Ever since Aone unexpectedly found a breakthrough against Tendo, everyone on Date Tech seemed to have had their channels suddenly cleared.
They deliberately targeted Tendo with their spikes—hit hard enough, and it would either score outright or at least brush the block. At the very least, they weren't swinging blindly anymore.
The score reached 15:13.
"Bang!"
Ushijima's left hand blasted straight through Date Tech's iron wall.
Futakuchi and Tendo rubbed their arms and exchanged a look at the net. The same eyes. The same resentment. In that moment, they truly felt like kindred spirits.
When Takehito once again lined up a spike straight at Tendo, Ryosuke finally had enough.
Why aren't you spiking at me?! Are you looking down on me?
Takehito leapt high to attack. On the other side of the net, just as Tendo was about to jump, Ryosuke grabbed him and switched positions.
Midair, Takehito was already mapping out his shot. Still going for Tendo. That number six middle blocker was troublesome—better avoid him.
But in the instant he swung—
Ryosuke rose up from Tendo's position.
Takehito swore their eyes met in midair. Those eerie green eyes were unsettling at first glance. Alarm bells rang in his head as he remembered the disastrous practice match from before.
Ryosuke's arms were fully extended, eyes locked on the ball. His wrists angled slightly—
"Smack!"
He shut down Takehito's sharp cross cleanly.
"Whoa! Ryosuke, nice one! That had my Tendō Satori vibe, hahaha!"
Tendo burst out laughing. Ryosuke glanced at him, sighed, and said earnestly,
"Senior, you really should work on your conditioning…"
Tendo's expression froze.
Little Ryosuke… is he saying I'm too weak?!
Shirabu, who had heard everything clearly from behind, let out a muffled laugh.
Ushijima wasn't nearly as subtle. He nodded seriously.
"Satori, you're physically too weak. Your blocks are precise, but they can be forced through."
Tendo's eyes widened.
"So you're all saying I'm weak?!"
Reon pressed a hand to his forehead helplessly.
"It's not that you're weak. You're just too skinny. We'll talk after the match."
Before he even finished speaking, Coach Washijō's voice boomed onto the court again.
"What are you all standing around for?! Satori, you're finished after this match! Look at how many points we've lost off your hands!"
Washijō fumed on the sidelines, practically blowing his top. He'd been too lenient with this kid. Compared to Ryosuke, Tendo looked downright frail.
In the past, when Tendo didn't feel like training, Washijō had mostly turned a blind eye. Tendo relied on instinct for blocking and wasn't exactly the rule-following type.
So he hadn't pushed him.
Who would've thought this kid's physique was actually this weak? After the match, he'd have to train him properly.
Tendo felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"Hmph, I just didn't perform well today. Next ball, I'll block it for sure," the red-haired man declared.
Across the net, Sakunami rubbed his swollen, reddened arm—battered by Ushijima's and Reon's serves—looking like he might cry. One set of this match felt like enduring an entire day of Futakuchi's spikes.
The match continued.
Now rotated to position one, Ryosuke stood at the service line for the first time under his seniors' encouraging gazes.
He took a deep breath.
He'd promised himself he would master the hook serve before the IH. He had learned it—power and spin were solid.
There was just one flaw.
He couldn't reliably control the landing point.
Even so, he chose the hook serve.
Like a kid who had prepared a surprise and couldn't wait to show it off.
He would absolutely not admit he wanted to show off a little. This… this was purely for scoring.
"Is that kid serving a first-year?"
"Looks like it. His receiving and blocking are really good."
"Honestly… he's pretty cute."
Something strange had slipped into the commentary. Ryosuke's unfamiliar face had stirred discussion in the stands.
Oikawa watched from the stands with a fox-like grin. Only he and Iwaizumi knew Ryosuke had learned the hook serve.
In some twisted logic, that meant Oikawa had won against Ushijima for once.
First to know Ryosuke can hook serve = others don't know = Ushijima doesn't know = I win.
Seeing Oikawa's scheming expression, Iwaizumi nearly lost control of his fist again.
On the court, Kamasaki reassured his teammates.
"Relax. That number six is only good at receiving and blocking. His serve's nothing special."
Sakunami forced a smile, though unease lingered.
"Is that so…?"
Ryosuke turned at the service line.
Left shoulder facing the net. Feet shoulder-width apart.
"…What is that?" Kawanishi frowned at his stance.
Coach Washijō shot to his feet, eyes blazing.
Ryosuke tossed the ball with his left hand, drove off his right foot, wrapped his wrist and palm around the ball, focused all his power into his hand, adjusted the angle slightly—
And struck.
The ball arced sharply toward Date Tech's court. It looked to be around 104 km/h. Ryosuke nodded inwardly, satisfied.
The greatest advantage of a hook serve was its speed and power. Under normal circumstances, unless the opposing libero was very familiar with it, it was nearly impossible to receive cleanly.
Sakunami's face went pale.
What the hell is that serve?! Why is it spinning so hard? It's almost on par with Ushijima's spin!
He dove toward the left as the ball streaked that way—
But seconds later, it suddenly curved, like a boomerang, veering back to the right.
He completely missed.
"Bang!"
A clean ace. The speed was dizzying; even Sakunami's split-second judgment couldn't save it.
Futakuchi and Aone stared blankly at the ball on the floor.
What… was that?
Takurō Oiwake's expression darkened. A hook serve… How long had it been since he'd seen one? Was this coincidence—or something more?
Oikawa was slightly taken aback. He'd known Ryosuke could do it, but seeing it in action was different. With that kind of power, if he kept landing them, it would become a terrifying weapon for Shiratorizawa.
"Hey, what was that?!"
"Ryosuke, that was insane!"
His teammates swarmed him. Reon looked stunned. A hook serve… Little Ryosuke really was something else. Tendo cheerfully slung an arm around him, praising him nonstop.
Those who understood volleyball discussed the serve's mechanics. Those who didn't just cheered for the point.
Washijō watched Ryosuke surrounded by his seniors, emotions complicated.
So he's grown when I wasn't looking.
A hook serve wasn't something mastered overnight.
Then he remembered Ryosuke coming home late for months.
What else was there to figure out? The kid had been secretly training.
Ryosuke returned to the service line and delivered the exact same hook serve.
Another point.
The score jumped to 22:20.
Kamasaki stared in confusion.
What kind of serve is that?!
Takehito closed his eyes briefly and patted Sakunami's shoulder.
"It's fine. We'll get the next one back."
But he knew this set was slipping away.
If Ryosuke scored again, it would be over.
Ryosuke did not disappoint.
Relying on the hook serve alone, he sealed the first set. Five points from that serve alone—more destructive than Ushijima's power jump serve.
It maximized his strengths to the extreme.
By the end of the set, Sakunami had thrown himself across the court repeatedly without receiving a single ball. Covered in dust, he looked utterly shattered.
Takurō Oiwake's face was unusually grim. The worst-case scenario had come true. Seeing his players' defeated expressions, he could only offer quiet reassurance.
It wasn't just about the points—it was their morale. Failing to receive even one serve was a heavy blow.
Futakuchi's expression was equally dark. Being crushed by a first-year with no way to fight back—it was humiliating.
In the stands, Yunohama—who had rushed back from a business trip just in time for the prefectural tournament—nodded with interest.
He hadn't expected to discover such a promising talent.
A middle blocker who anchored the defense, could attack, and had a hook serve? Fascinating.
He'd noticed it clearly—Ryosuke had tried several times to take the first touch, only to be stopped by the redhead beside him. He clearly didn't want to reveal too much too soon.
This trip was worth it.
He'd need to speak with Coach Washijō afterward.
...
The moment the first set ended, Ryosuke was surrounded.
A circle of tall upperclassmen hemmed him in. He wasn't short, but somehow he still looked like he might get bullied.
Ryosuke trembled slightly.
Reon asked sternly, "When did you learn that?"
Before Ryosuke could make excuses, Kawanishi slung an arm around his neck.
"Confess and we'll go easy on you. Resist and suffer."
Turning around, he met Goshiki and Yunohama's accusing stares. Their eyes screamed: You trained without us.
Ryosuke forced an awkward smile.
"I wasn't hiding it. You just never asked."
Washijō gave a heavy snort but said nothing. Considering the surprise today, he'd let it slide.
Tendo affectionately clung to Ryosuke's arm.
"Our Ryosuke's a genius! He's good at everything!"
Ryosuke calmly peeled Tendo off.
"Tendo-senpai. It's hot."
Then added helpfully,
"Coach Washijō is watching you."
Tendo stiffened and slowly turned—
Only to meet Washijō's hawk-like stare.
He snapped his head back so fast he nearly twisted his neck.
Reon handed Ryosuke a cup.
"So if we didn't ask, you wouldn't have said anything?"
Ryosuke lowered his head guiltily.
"I just wanted to surprise you."
Reon sighed.
"It was definitely a surprise. Next time, tell us. We don't really need surprises."
After all, he'd taken five points by himself. There wasn't much to complain about.
Ryosuke nodded, wearing an expression that clearly said: I understand… but I'd do it again.
When the chatter died down, Washijō stepped forward.
"Tendo and Kawanishi switch next set. Tendo, go get your arm treated."
Only then did everyone notice the bruises on Tendo's arm. He'd been smiling the whole time, so no one had paid attention.
Tendo blinked, then returned to his usual carefree look.
He high-fived Kawanishi.
"Then I'll leave it to you."
And headed toward the team doctor.
"Next set, focus on offense! Leave defense to Ryosuke and Yamagata! Our scoring rate was too low—wake up!"
"Yes!"
"Let's go."
As the whistle blew, Reon led them back onto the court.
Date Tech made substitutions. Takehito and Koganegawa were swapped, and Takurō Oiwake set up a double-setter formation.
It was a curious choice.
Koganegawa, a rare 190-centimeter setter, stood tall. Who knew what he might pull off?
Kawanishi opened the set with a powerful jump serve—far easier to handle than Ryosuke's or Ushijima's.
"Got it!"
Sakunami steadied himself and received cleanly.
That's more like it.
"Nice!"
Moniwa adjusted and set to Kamasaki, Date Tech's strongest attacker on court.
Kamasaki puffed his cheeks and spiked hard.
Ryosuke appeared seemingly out of nowhere, reading the trajectory midair and forming the block.
Kamasaki's pupils shrank.
Not again! How is he here?!
He put everything into it.
Ryosuke's fingertips stung. He softened slightly. It was a touch, not a stuff block—his fingers weren't taped.
"One touch!"
Yamagata sprinted right and dug it up cleanly to Shirabu.
Shirabu scanned the court.
Everyone was watching the ball.
He sent a long, flat quick.
Kawanishi's eyes lit up.
The opposing side formed a triple block—Aone, Futakuchi, and Koganegawa.
Three towering figures formed an iron wall.
Takurō Oiwake smiled with satisfaction. Whatever Koganegawa lacked in finesse, he made up for in height. That trio would be the next iron wall.
Washijō almost wanted to laugh.
Go ahead. You won't be smiling in a second.
Shirabu eyed the triple block with rare mischief.
Kawanishi cheered inwardly, flicked his wrist—
And gently brushed the ball over their fingertips.
A slick, soft tip floated over the block.
"What the hell was that?!" Futakuchi blurted, stunned.
Since when did upright Shiratorizawa play dirty like that?!
His brows knotted in disgust.
That ball was infuriating.
Ryosuke—the true instigator—smiled faintly, hiding his contribution without a word.
...
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