---
The gym felt normal again.
Quiet.
Still.
Almost too calm.
Hinata stepped inside, rolling his shoulders slightly, eyes already scanning the court.
Empty.
For now.
Fukuda walked in behind him.
"…No one here yet."
Sato stretched his arms.
"Good. Warm-up first."
Takeda adjusted his glasses.
"…Let's start clean today…"
Nakamura nodded slightly.
"…Move early…"
Mori said nothing.
Just observed.
As always.
---
They began practice.
Simple drills.
Receives.
Footwork.
Controlled sets.
The rhythm came back quickly.
Better than before.
More stable.
More connected.
Hinata moved with confidence.
Every set clean.
Every decision sharp.
Everything—
Working.
Until—
The door opened.
---
Six players walked in.
Different.
Not loud.
Not flashy.
But—
Organized.
They didn't talk much.
Didn't waste movement.
Just stepped in—
And took their side of the court.
Fukuda narrowed his eyes.
"…Another team."
Sato exhaled.
"Of course."
Takeda stiffened slightly.
"…They look serious…"
Nakamura shifted closer.
"…This feels bad…"
Mori watched carefully.
"…Structured."
Hinata noticed it too.
Immediately.
Spacing.
Positioning.
Even while standing still—
They held formation.
That was different.
That was dangerous.
---
One of them stepped forward.
"Practice match?"
Direct.
Simple.
Hinata nodded.
"…Yes."
The player looked at his team.
Then back.
"One set."
Fukuda smirked.
"…Fine by me."
---
They took positions.
The air changed.
Not tense.
Not heavy.
But—
Focused.
The whistle blew.
---
First serve.
Clean.
Fast.
Takeda moved.
Received.
Good.
Hinata stepped forward.
Options.
Clear.
He set—
To Fukuda.
Fukuda jumped.
Hit—
Returned.
Clean.
The opponent didn't panic.
Didn't scramble.
They adjusted.
Set.
Spike—
Point.
Just like that.
Silence.
Fukuda exhaled.
"…That was clean."
Hinata nodded.
"…Yeah."
Too clean.
---
Second rally.
Sato received.
Hinata moved.
Set—
Fast.
Fukuda hit—
Blocked.
The ball dropped instantly.
Point.
Fukuda landed.
"…They're reading it."
Mori spoke.
"They are positioned early."
Hinata frowned.
"…Already?"
"Yes."
That was fast.
Too fast.
---
Third rally.
Nakamura received.
Not perfect.
But playable.
Hinata moved.
Options—
He chose quickly.
Set to Sato.
Sato hit—
Returned.
The opponent adjusted again.
Always in position.
Always ready.
No gaps.
No hesitation.
They set.
Spike—
Takeda touched it.
Ball stayed up.
Hinata chased.
Set again—
Fukuda hit—
Blocked again.
Point.
Silence.
---
Fukuda clicked his tongue.
"…What is this?"
Sato looked confused.
"They're everywhere…"
Takeda whispered,
"…I can't find space…"
Nakamura added,
"…They don't panic…"
Mori spoke.
"They don't react."
Hinata looked at him.
"…What?"
"They anticipate."
Silence.
Because that—
That changed everything.
---
The match continued.
But now—
It felt different.
Every attack—
Met resistance.
Every set—
Predicted.
Every move—
Countered.
Not perfectly.
But consistently.
Like they already knew.
---
Hinata tried speed.
Fast set.
Fukuda jumped.
Spike—
Blocked.
Again.
No hesitation.
No delay.
Perfect timing.
Fukuda landed.
"…That shouldn't be that easy to read."
Hinata nodded.
"…It's not."
But it was.
Right now—
It was.
---
He tried variation.
Sato.
Then Fukuda.
Then Nakamura.
Then himself.
Different plays.
Different angles.
But the result—
Stayed the same.
The opponent adjusted.
Always.
Quickly.
Calmly.
Effectively.
---
Mid-set—
The gap widened.
Not because Hinata's team collapsed.
But because the opponent—
Didn't make mistakes.
Not simple ones.
Not easy ones.
They played—
Correctly.
Every time.
---
Hinata felt it.
That frustration.
That pressure.
But different from before.
This wasn't speed.
Wasn't power.
Wasn't chaos.
This was—
Control.
A system.
Something his team didn't fully have yet.
---
"Again!"
Hinata called.
The ball came.
Fukuda received.
Perfect.
Hinata moved.
Options appeared.
He chose fast.
Set—
To Fukuda.
Fukuda jumped.
Spike—
Blocked.
Again.
The ball dropped.
Point.
Silence.
---
Fukuda stepped back.
"…No openings."
Sato nodded.
"…Nowhere to hit…"
Takeda added,
"…They're always there…"
Nakamura whispered,
"…We can't break through…"
Mori looked at Hinata.
"You see it."
Not a question.
A statement.
Hinata clenched his fists.
"…Yeah."
He did.
They weren't just reacting.
They were positioned before the attack even happened.
They read the play—
Early.
Not the ball.
The pattern.
The structure.
The team.
---
"We're predictable."
The words came out quietly.
But they landed.
Fukuda frowned.
"…What?"
"They know where the ball is going."
"Because you're setting it."
"Yes."
Silence.
Because that was the truth.
Simple.
Clear.
Dangerous.
---
The final rallies came.
No comeback.
No sudden shift.
Just—
A steady loss.
The whistle blew.
End.
---
They stepped off the court.
Breathing heavy.
Sweat dripping.
But not exhausted from effort—
From being shut down.
Fukuda ran a hand through his hair.
"…That was bad."
Hinata nodded.
"…Yeah."
Sato sat down.
"They knew everything…"
Takeda looked shaken.
"…I couldn't keep up…"
Nakamura whispered,
"…We didn't have space…"
Mori spoke.
"They studied patterns."
Hinata looked at him.
"…Patterns…"
Mori nodded.
"Our habits. Our tendencies. Our structure."
Silence.
Because that—
Was something they hadn't considered deeply enough.
Not just playing well.
But being read.
Understood.
Countered.
---
Hinata looked at the court again.
At where the opponent stood.
At how they moved.
At how they always seemed ready.
"…We need to change."
Fukuda glanced at him.
"…Change what?"
"Everything."
Sato blinked.
"…Everything?"
"Not skill," Hinata said.
"Structure."
Silence.
Takeda tilted his head.
"…You mean… how we play?"
Hinata nodded.
"…Yeah."
Mori added,
"Unpredictability within structure."
Fukuda smirked slightly.
"…That sounds complicated."
"It is," Mori replied.
Hinata clenched his fist.
"…But necessary."
---
They gathered their things.
No jokes.
No light talk.
Just thinking.
Processing.
Understanding.
---
Before leaving—
Hinata stayed a moment longer.
Alone.
Looking at the net.
"…A wall we can't see."
Not physical.
Not obvious.
But real.
And right now—
Unbreakable.
---
He picked up a ball.
Tossed it.
Set.
Then stopped.
"…Not like this."
Because now—
He understood.
Speed wasn't enough.
Options weren't enough.
Even decision—
Wasn't enough.
They needed something more.
Something deeper.
Something harder to read.
"…We rebuild."
The words came quietly.
But with weight.
Because the next step—
Would not be easy.
---