The whistle's sharp Piii! cut through the gym like a blade.
Oikawa stepped to the service line, ball in hand. The crowd leaned forward as if they knew what was coming. Karasuno's formation tightened instinctively.
Akira crouched slightly, eyes fixed not on the ball, but on Oikawa's stance, on the subtle shift of his weight. His toss is higher than in high school tryouts… wind-up angle's cleaner. He's serving to break our rhythm right from the start.
BOOM!
The serve was a cannon—spinning, dipping viciously. Nishinoya lunged, arms absorbing the impact with a sharp thud!
"Up!" Noya barked.
Kageyama set to Tsukishima—quick, precise. The ball cleared the block, but Seijoh's libero dove, sending it back into play.
Oikawa barely seemed to touch the second ball—one smooth motion, like drawing a bowstring—and suddenly Iwaizumi was airborne, spiking with a CRACK! that shook the floorboards.
0–1, Seijoh.
The stands erupted. Seijoh's bench slapped the floor in rhythm, chanting:
"One more! One more!"
Hinata whispered, wide-eyed,
"That… was so fast."
Akira's tone was even, almost lazy.
"And it'll get faster. Watch his eyes, not the ball. A setter shows you the play before it happens."
Second serve—another missile. This time, Daichi got under it. Kageyama pushed the set to Akira, who swung with deceptive ease, a clean cross-court. But Oikawa's read was instant; his middle blocker sealed the lane and the ball ricocheted out of bounds.
0–2, Seijoh.
Kageyama frowned. He's reading me already?
From the sideline, Tsukishima called,
"Hey, genius setter—try not to make it that obvious."
By the third rally, the difference in Seijoh's energy was undeniable. Oikawa's presence was like oil on their gears—everything ran smoother. His sets weren't just accurate, they were manipulative, pulling Karasuno's block out of position, baiting Nishinoya into covering the wrong angle, making Kageyama hesitate for a split second too long.
Score climbed: 0–3, 1–3, 1–4.
Hinata clenched his fists.
"We can't just let them roll over us!"
Akira, still calm, raised a hand.
"Then stop reacting and start predicting. Trust Kageyama. You jump—he'll find you. Right, setter?"
Kageyama met Akira's gaze. Something in that look wasn't a challenge—it was a demand.
"…Got it."
Next serve came in. Nishinoya dug. Kageyama didn't even look—he just sent the ball into empty air.
Hinata was already there.
The super quick detonated before Seijoh's blockers even moved—Hinata in midair, ball meeting hand at the apex of his leap, BANG! straight into the floor.
Gasps. The crowd roared.
2–4.
Oikawa's smile didn't falter, but his eyes sharpened.So… you've got that in your arsenal now.
From the Karasuno bench, Ukai smirked.
"Looks like things are about to get interesting."
The crowd's energy shifted. Karasuno had just planted a seed of doubt in Seijoh's clean momentum, and Oikawa knew it.
He spun the ball in his hand, taking an extra moment at the service line. The referee didn't rush him—this was Oikawa's stage, and everyone knew it.
Fine, he thought, if you want to race, I'll control the track.
His serve came like a meteor—low, fast, diving wickedly just over the net. Nishinoya flung himself sideways, digging with one hand. The ball popped up awkwardly, wobbling.
"Mine!" Daichi called, steadied it, sent it to Kageyama.
This time, Kageyama looked straight at Hinata—then snapped his gaze away at the last second, setting behind him to Akira on the wing.
Akira rose without urgency, but his arm whipped through the air with a sharp crack! The ball kissed the sideline—just in.
3–4.
From the stands, Nishinoya's voice boomed,
"That's my junior! Show 'em how Karasuno flies!"
Oikawa caught the ball from the ball boy, spinning it with a small smirk. "Not bad, first-year."
The rallies got longer. Oikawa fed Iwaizumi sharp, angled sets that forced Karasuno to twist mid-block. Kageyama answered with quicks and sharp pushes to Tsukishima, whose height finally started pressing Seijoh's middle line.
6–6.
From the bench, Takeda-sensei leaned toward Ukai. "They're… reading each other in real time."
Ukai nodded. "That's volleyball. The ones who adapt fastest win."
On court, Oikawa tilted his head, meeting Akira's eyes across the net."You're waiting for me to crack?"
Akira grinned lazily."Nah. I'm waiting for you to slip."
The next rally was chaos. Nishinoya's dig nearly hit the ceiling. Kageyama chased it down, back-setting blindly. Akira adjusted midair, slamming the ball into Seijoh's backcourt.
The libero got it up—Oikawa ran, set a lightning-fast ball to his opposite hitter—blocked by Daichi and Tsukishima. The rebound shot into the air.
Hinata dove, keeping it alive.
Akira took the free ball, faking a spike before tipping it gently over the blockers. The ball dropped untouched.
The whistle shrieked.
8–7, Karasuno.
Karasuno's section erupted.
From Seijoh's side, Matsukawa muttered, "Man… this first-year's reading Toru's sets like a book."
Iwaizumi slapped Oikawa's back. "Shake it off, Captain."
But Akira wasn't done. Every time Seijoh inched ahead, he chipped it back. Kageyama began mixing his sets—half looking at Hinata, half at Akira, letting the blockers commit too early.
By 14–14, the gym was buzzing. Every dig, every set, every spike felt heavier.
In a quiet moment before serve, Oikawa crouched slightly, murmuring toward Kageyama."A setter's job isn't just to give the spiker the ball… it's to control the entire game. Can you do that, Tobio-chan?"
Kageyama's reply was calm."Watch me."
The whistle blew