Chapter 101 - 102

Chapter 101
———Day Two of the Prefectural Tournament

Under Coach Washijō and the advisor’s reminders, the Shiratorizawa squad headed to Sendai Gymnasium in full force.

Ryosuke had been here countless times before, but standing before the gates today felt completely different. His hands were itching so badly he nearly rubbed sparks off Goshiki’s head.

When a powerhouse makes an entrance, it never goes unnoticed. The moment Shiratorizawa stepped into the arena, camera shutters and hushed discussions buzzed nonstop.

Aside from Yamagata, every member stood over 180 centimeters. Ushijima led the way with his usual expressionless face, like a general marching his warriors onto the battlefield.

Tendō’s eyes darted everywhere, as if he were scouting for something. For reasons unknown, Shirabu and Semi had already started bickering again. Reon walked at the back, watching the group like a mother hen herding unruly chicks.

“So that’s the reigning champion, Shiratorizawa. They look incredible.”

“Senior Ushijima’s here too… Guess we can forget about the championship again this year.”

“Ahhhh! Senior Ushijima is so handsome!”

Hearing that, Ryosuke shot Ushijima a strange look. He hadn’t realized Senior Ushijima was this popular.

On their way to warm up, they unexpectedly ran into Date Tech in the hallway.

Shirabu muttered dryly, “What is this, some anime-style pre-match declaration of war?”

Honestly, it did look exactly like that.

Aone silently raised a finger and pointed straight at Ushijima. Ushijima, in turn, said nothing. The two simple-minded giants just stood there in the corridor, staring each other down.

What made it worse were the comments from bystanders.

“Whoa, a declaration of war before the decisive battle? Hahaha!”

“Fight! Fight!”

“Senior Aone’s so cool today!”

Reon rolled his eyes so hard it felt like black lines were sliding down his face.

Futakuchi reached out to push Aone’s arm down, but Aone’s strength was overwhelming. Futakuchi forced an awkward smile, then used both hands to finally lower it.

“We’re the ones who’ll win!”

Unable to stand the bizarre atmosphere any longer, Kamasaki roared and stormed off with his team.

“Senpai, why’re you walking so fast? Scared of Ushijima?”

“You brat, are you asking for a beating?!”

Reon let out a helpless sigh and led his captain away, muttering, “Declarations of war before a match… so chuunibyou.”

Ryosuke and Goshiki exchanged a glance and stifled their laughter at their seniors’ strange brand of friendship.

...

Walking down the corridor toward the court, Ryosuke—playing in such an official tournament for the first time—felt just as thrilled as Hinata had yesterday.

The stands were packed. Shiratorizawa’s brass band was in place, Date Tech’ cheering banners were unfurled. Compared to yesterday’s opening match, today’s atmosphere was on a whole different level.

Oikawa had snuck in, pouting the whole way. He swore he absolutely wasn’t here to compare Shiratorizawa and Aobajosai’s current level—Oikawa-sama was here to see little Ryosuke!

Iwaizumi stared at the same person who had sworn last night he’d never come watch Shiratorizawa, only to sneak in anyway. His fist clenched involuntarily.

“You damn Oikawa! Didn’t you say you’d never come even if you died?!”

Oikawa froze mid-sneak, then loudly blustered, “Who said I’m here to watch Shiratorizawa? I’m here to see if little Ryosuke’s playing today!”

Iwaizumi thought that even if Oikawa got beaten to death one day, his mouth would still be fine. That guy’s mouth was the toughest thing about him.

“Huh? Isn’t that Tobio-chan and the shrimp?”

Oikawa spotted the bright orange head and the perpetually scowling setter nearby. Not long ago, Aobajosai and Karasuno had played a practice match.

Now Oikawa had set his sights on someone else’s middle blocker again. Watching him fix his hair and strut over like a peacock in full display, Iwaizumi felt his fist harden all over again.

When Shiratorizawa appeared in full view, the arena erupted into waves of cheers and music.

The brass band blared their instruments. Girls holding flowers and streamers beamed with pride. Spectators leaned over the railings, eyes glued to this ace team.

They all shouted the same name:

“Shiratorizawa! Shiratorizawa! Shiratorizawa!”

Every year at the prefectural tournament, new fans traveled across Miyagi just to see this legendary powerhouse said to be unbeatable.

Even in the corridor outside the court, Date Tech could hear the roar inside.

Futakuchi clicked his tongue. “Tch. They’re shouting like Shiratorizawa’s already won.”

Moniwa smacked the back of his head. “Watch your mouth!”

“Hmph!!”

If Moniwa had to rank his most troublesome juniors, Futakuchi would undoubtedly sit firmly in first place.

Suppressing his irritation with a tight smile, Moniwa chose not to argue—there was a match to focus on.

He turned to look at his teammates. Every face carried firm determination. The coach and manager stood at a distance, smiling just as they always did before a match.

Moniwa took a deep breath and faced forward like a general charging into battle.

“Let’s go!”

Date Tech’ entrance was just as imposing. Known for their burly players, they were one of the most recognized schools alongside Shiratorizawa and Aobajosai. With their “Iron Wall” reputation, they were an established powerhouse with plenty of fans.

Before the match even began, the cheering squads were already clashing.

“Go! Go! Let’s go, Yinda Tech!!”

“Who’s our opponent today? Yinda Tech!”

“Yinda Tech! Charge! Charge! Charge!”

“Shiratorizawa will win!”

Faces red, necks strained, both sides shouted with everything they had.

Hinata, watching from the stands, was completely stunned. His mouth hung open in a perfect “O.”

“So cool!”

He’d only ever seen scenes like this on TV. Now he was so excited he nearly leaned over the railing to get a closer look.

Kageyama rolled his eyes. What was so impressive? What an idiot.

The next second, Hinata cupped his hands and yelled at full volume:

“Ryosuke! Go! Shiratorizawa! Go!”

The sheer volume made nearby spectators turn. Kageyama covered his face, silently praying no one thought they were together, and dragged Hinata away by the collar.

Down on the court, Ryosuke looked up in confusion. Had someone just called his name?

Washijō smacked him on the back.

“Ow!” Ryosuke yelped, shooting him a wounded look. Washijō glanced away, slightly guilty—he might have used too much force.

“Ahem… Don’t get nervous. Just play properly.”

Not good at comforting people, Washijō could only manage that stiff sentence before storming off to scold the rest.

Ryosuke grinned. He understood Washijō’s awkward pride. As long as one of them understood, that was enough.

Reon walked over and ruffled Ryosuke’s soft hair. The feel was so good he gave it another thorough rub.

“Let’s go. Time to warm up.”

For some reason, Ryosuke was especially obedient around Reon. As long as Reon was nearby, everything felt steady and reassuring—like having a father figure beside him.

Reon. Old-man energy. Reon: Listen, thank you… (death smile)

For two straight years, they’d warmed up on the court. This time, Washijō had even made the bench players join.

While spiking during warm-ups, Ryosuke unexpectedly locked eyes with a familiar face. Angry Bird—no, wait, Koganegawa Kanji. Koganegawa gave him a simple nod and went back to practice.

Since Yunohama wasn’t playing, he helped with tosses. For every ball he sent up, Reon spiked one down. Ushijima noticed and joined the line.

As soon as Ushijima prepared to spike, countless eyes—both obvious and subtle—turned toward him. Yunohama alone couldn’t keep up, and Shirabu was busy warming up.

Semi stepped in to help and tossed a ball high.

Ushijima took two powerful steps, leapt, and smashed the ball with his left hand. The ball’s surface visibly rippled under the force.

Bang!

The ball crashed into the basket of spare balls in the corner, bounced several times, and finally ricocheted out.

Takehito, who had been quietly observing, clicked his tongue.

“Still as brutal as ever.”

He turned and nearly jumped when he saw Kamasaki’s pained expression.

“Hey! What’s wrong with you? Don’t tell me you’re choking at a time like this!”

Kamasaki clutched his stomach weakly. “No… I just saw that middle blocker and now my stomach hurts…”

Takehito fell silent.

He punched Kamasaki lightly on the shoulder. “Man up. You’re a core member of the Iron Wall.”

Kamasaki looked like he might cry. “But he can block me all by himself.”

Takehito rolled his eyes and walked off to warm up, leaving Kamasaki to wallow in despair.

...

Fifteen minutes flew by. Both teams took the court and bowed.

Date Tech’ lineup was nearly the same as during their practice match:

Aone, Futakuchi, Moniwa
Kamasaki, Sakunami, Takehito

Ryosuke glanced toward the bench when he noticed Koganegawa wasn’t on court. Sure enough, Koganegawa stood there with his neck hunched, looking utterly miserable—apparently scolded by Coach Oiwake.

Strangely, Ryosuke felt completely calm now. All his pre-match nerves had been blasted away by Washijō’s earlier shouting.

“Beep—”

The whistle blew.

Date Tech vs. Shiratorizawa had officially begun.

Across Miyagi—on televisions in shops, on home computers—people were watching.

The captains had already drawn lots earlier. Because Ushijima’s luck was notoriously outrageous, Washijō had sent Vice-Captain Reon instead.

Luck was a funny thing. Reon drew the right to serve.

Moniwa stared at the empty slip in his hand, annoyed. He’d thought that if Ushijima drew, maybe they’d have gotten the serve.

Reon, already in Position One, cradled the ball and stepped up.

The referee signaled.

Reon took a deep breath and closed his eyes, feeling the strength coiled in his muscles.

The first serve had to score.

He tossed the tri-colored ball, took several quick steps, bent his knees, and launched upward. The ball tore through the air with speed and force, hurtling toward Date Tech’ court.

Sakunami froze for a split second. Since when was Reon’s serve this terrifying?

If Reon heard that, he’d probably cry. Under the triple torment of Ryosuke, Tendō, and Yamagata, if his serve hadn’t improved, he’d have lost all dignity in the club.

Sakunami dove to receive. The force of the ball blasted off his arms and popped high into the air.

“Cover it!”

Date Tech’ start was already shaky.

Kamasaki looked up for the falling point but was briefly blinded by the arena lights. Squinting, he managed to pass it to Moniwa.

At the net, Tendō and Ryosuke stood poised like predators waiting for prey.

The moment Moniwa saw their expressions, he knew scoring would be difficult.

He jumped off one foot, feigning a set to Aone on the left. Aone was already locked onto Ryosuke.

But in the next instant, Moniwa executed a fake set into a true second attack.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryosuke saw it—but he wasn’t worried.

Because Tendō would block it.

Tendō’s red eyes gleamed. His instincts told him to wait right there.

Noticing the subtle movement of Moniwa’s left hand, he jumped.

Smack!

The ball was stuffed straight down.

“Beep!” Shiratorizawa scored.

“It’s fine. We’ll get the next one.”

“Nice one, Tendō!”

Tendō raised a finger proudly. “Today’s me is a hundred-point Tendō Satori!”

Moniwa massaged his temples. With those two in the front row, everything felt suffocating.

Reon returned to the line and unleashed another powerful jump serve.

This time, Sakunami received cleanly.

Moniwa glanced at Aone. “Aone!”

The ball arced perfectly above him.

As Aone jumped, Tendō and Ryosuke rose together, arms taut.

Bang!

The spike smashed off Tendō’s arms and flew far out.

Tendō, who slacked off in training more often than not, now had less muscle than Ryosuke. Ryosuke might look slim, but months of conditioning were no joke.

Aone looked like a brute, but he was sharper than he seemed—he deliberately targeted the weaker blocker, using the block-out.

“Ow!” Tendō landed, clutching his arm.

Then he grabbed onto Ryosuke’s sleeve, whining dramatically.

Even Aone, famously dense, looked momentarily confused.

Yamagata rolled his eyes. He was about to speak when Washijō’s furious roar rang out.

“Tendō Satori! What are you doing?! If you don’t block properly, I’ll personally supervise your practice after this match!”

Tendō immediately behaved, pouting as he rubbed his arm.

Seeing he was fine, Aone reset his stance and prepared for the next rally.

...

Chapter 102

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.