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.
...
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