The match remained fiercely contested. From the sidelines, the coaches watched as the volleyball flew back and forth over the net. Spike
The match remained fiercely contested.
From the sidelines, the coaches watched as the volleyball flew back and forth over the net.
Spikes, receives, spikes, receives… back and forth, over and over, an intense tug-of-war where the ball stubbornly refused to hit the ground.
Amid the tense atmosphere, an inexplicable hint of awkwardness lingered.
Among top-tier teams, Nekoma was known for average offensive power but exceptional defense, while Aoba Johsai boasted strong offense but weaker defense.
You spike—I receive. I spike—you receive.
This mismatch in team strengths was precisely why the match had reached this stalemate.
As the two teams exchanged blows without either gaining the upper hand, Coach Nekomata gradually revealed a sly smile.
In volleyball, victory doesn't go to the team with the strongest spikes—it goes to the one that keeps the ball from hitting the floor. Unlike other elite teams, Nekoma had no prodigies. Instead, they relied on balanced player skills and impeccable teamwork to carve out their place among Tokyo's powerhouse schools.
Their strategy? Lock down the opponent's attacks and wear them out with relentless defense—"plugging the gaps." Nekoma didn't chase flashy plays; they prioritized stability, chipping away point by point until victory was inevitable.
This cunning cat-like approach had exhausted countless opponents. No one could outlast a cat, and in a battle of endurance, Nekoma would always emerge victorious.
Just as Coach Nekomata predicted, Aoba Johsai's stamina was no match for Nekoma's. Under this grueling back-and-forth, the first to falter were the Kikuzawa brothers—the team's weakest links in terms of endurance.
"TWEET—"
The ball landed on Aoba Johsai's court, far beyond Yuuki Kikuzawa's outstretched arm as he desperately lunged for it.
"Hah… hah…"
Yuuki lay sprawled on the floor, gasping for air, fists clenched tightly.
Yuma Kikuzawa forced his trembling legs to move, dragging his disheveled younger brother up and giving his shoulder a firm slap.
"The match… isn't over yet. You planning to take a nap on the court?"
"Sorry…"
Yuuki steadied himself using his brother's arm, taking several deep breaths before his breathing evened out.
Yuma glanced at the scoreboard—Aoba Johsai: 6, Nekoma: 10—and scowled.
This was already the second set. In the first, Aoba Johsai had leveraged their three powerful servers to build a sizable lead, winning 25-20.
But now, in the second set, Yuuki and Yuma's stamina had plummeted. Their power and speed had noticeably dropped, leaving them struggling against Nekoma's relentless tactics.
Beads of sweat rolled down Yuma's forehead as his lips twisted into a grimace. "Feels like we're up against one setter and five liberos… One set against Nekoma drains us more than three normal sets."
"You two, can you keep going?"
Oikawa Tooru ruffled the brothers' silver hair with each hand.
"Sorry, no. Please sub us out."
Yuma stated it bluntly, without shame.
The team shot their silver-haired underclassman disapproving looks for giving up so easily.
"Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm being realistic." Yuma pushed back his sweat-drenched bangs and continued, "Logically speaking, keeping us on the court when we can't perform at full capacity would just drag the team down. Let us rest this set, recover our stamina, and come back strong for the third to redeem ourselves!"
His words left the team momentarily silent. Oikawa pressed a finger to his chin, pondering before finally speaking:
"So what you're saying, Yuuma, is… we should forfeit the second set?"
Though Oikawa understood Yuma's reasoning was the optimal strategy, asking a group of competitive teenagers to willingly surrender a set went against their nature.
"I'd love a clean 2-0 sweep—it'd be way cooler." Yuma met each teammate's gaze, seeing their hesitation and reluctance. "But tell me, what's more pathetic—winning 2-1, or losing 1-2? The answer's obvious."
He tilted his head slightly, his usual smile fading. In that moment, his identical resemblance to Yuuki made his expression seem eerily cold.
"Total victory or narrow victory—there's no third option."
"TWEET—"
...
Nekoma noticed Aoba Johsai had subbed out two players.
Yuma and Yuuki Kikuzawa—their two deadliest weapons—were now on the bench, replaced by a spiky-haired boy and a lethargic, dead-eyed first-year.
The moment Nekoma saw this, they grasped Aoba Johsai's plan.
"They're throwing the second set to go all-in on the third."
Kuroo Tetsurou's expression darkened.
For this tournament, Nekoma had only brought their starters. Promising substitutes like Lev Haiba had been left behind in Tokyo for additional training due to their underdeveloped skills.
Inter-school competitions weren't just about the starters' abilities.
A team's depth, the quality of its newcomers, and the strength of its substitutes were all measures of a school's true prowess.
Sacrificing the second set to focus on the third was a common tactic in professional play. But middle and high schoolers, driven by pride, rarely surrendered so easily—making this strategy uncommon at their level.
Coach Jikui sighed. "We should've brought the other players."
Coach Nekomata, however, showed no regret. "At their current level, bringing them wouldn't have helped. Honestly, this match is a great opportunity for Nekoma—to face different playstyles and recognize their weaknesses."
On the court, Nekoma's players were strategizing.
"If Aoba Johsai's giving up this set to save energy for the decider, we should conserve ours too. Let's finish this set fast and show them—you can't toy with cats that easily."
Kuroo smirked, malice glinting in his eyes.
Meanwhile, on Aoba Johsai's side, the team greeted Kindaichi and Kunimi, who had just subbed in.
"You two know the plan, right? Sorry your first playtime has to be like this."
As captain, Oikawa apologized to the two underclassmen being used as temporary replacements.
As first-years, the Kikuzawa brothers had shined on the court while they were relegated to backup roles. It was impossible for Kindaichi and Kunimi not to feel some frustration.
"What are you talking about, Oikawa-senpai?!"
Kindaichi faced Oikawa earnestly.
"Even if we're just fillers, if it's for the team's victory, every player can be a tool. If one person's strength isn't enough, we combine everyone's. That's what a team is, right?"
The team fell silent, stunned by his words. After a pause, Iwaizumi Hajime snapped out of it and gave Kindaichi's shoulder an approving smack. "Didn't expect you to say something like that, kid."
Iwaizumi looked up at the growing underclassman with pride.
Matsukawa Issei stepped forward and roughly tousled Kindaichi's hair. "Damn, you actually think like that? Impressive, rookie."
The third-years crowded around Kindaichi, ruffling him affectionately. Oikawa turned to Kunimi, who wore his usual "whatever, I'm tired" expression.
"I feel the same as Kindaichi."
Kunimi met Oikawa's gaze, his tone indifferent yet firm.
"Positions don't matter. In the end, the whole team wins."
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