The scoreboard blinked 5–3 in Karasuno's favor when Nekoma started to show their teeth.
Kenma absorbed Akira's heavy serve, his arms soft and steady, sending a perfect pass to Kuroo without even glancing up. Kuroo went for a clean, sharp swing cross-court. Tsukishima read it late — his block grazed the ball but didn't kill it. Nishinoya dove, barely keeping it alive, but his dig floated too close to the net.
Kuroo was there instantly, smirking."Thanks for the freebie," he muttered, tipping the ball just past Kageyama's desperate reach. Nekoma point.
From the stands, Oikawa leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Classic Kuroo — even his trash talk has rhythm."Aya crossed her arms beside him. "So do you think they'll keep targeting Kageyama?""If they're smart? Yeah," Oikawa replied, smirking. "If they're really smart, they'll realize it won't matter for long."
Yamamoto took serve for Nekoma, a clean jump float toward Hinata's zone. Hinata stumbled but got it up to Kageyama. No hesitation — the set wasn't for Hinata, but for Akira.
Akira rose with that slow, deliberate motion of his — almost lazy until the very last instant, when his arm cut down with a sound so sharp the gym air seemed to snap. The ball drilled into the seam between Shibayama and Yaku. Neither libero moved in time.
Nekoma's bench let out a collective exhale."That guy's spikes…" Yamamoto muttered. "It's like he's got GPS for weak spots."Kuroo's grin was tight. "Then we jam the signal."
Karasuno rotated to Kageyama's serve — a darting bullet down the sideline that forced Kenma into a low, quick pass. Kenma didn't even look winded."Back!" he called, sending it to Kuroo for a fast-paced hit.
Kuroo swung — but Akira was there already. No wasted motion, just a wall of silver hair and cold blue eyes above the tape. The block landed so cleanly the ball hit the floor before Kuroo touched down.
The crowd roared, Oikawa leaning back smugly."That's my little brother. Makes it look like Sunday practice."Aya rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
Nekoma rallied back. Kenma slowed the game, drawing Karasuno into long rallies. Yaku scraped balls just off the floor, Kuroo mixed in tips and feints, and Inouka found gaps in Karasuno's block. Slowly, the score tilted — 15–13, Nekoma.
Oikawa's grin thinned. "Here we go…"
Akira's expression changed, subtle but unmistakable. His posture sharpened, his gaze leveled like a blade. The silver in his hair caught the light, making him seem brighter somehow.
The next serve came to him in the back row. He leapt high — higher than most dared — and crushed a straight-line kill that froze Yaku mid-step.
The crowd exploded. A voice rang out: "Is he even human?!"
From there, Akira was everywhere — covering backcourt, shutting down cross-court attacks, serving with punishing accuracy. One rally went so long the cheers rose and fell like ocean waves — Hinata's quick getting dug, Tsukishima blocking Kuroo, Kenma tipping over the block, Nishinoya sliding for a miracle save, and finally Akira finishing it with a smooth, unreadable cross-court smash.
By 20–17 Karasuno, Coach Nekomata chuckled on Nekoma's bench. "Looks like these little crows found themselves a silver-winged guardian."
Karasuno sealed the set at 25–21 — Akira's last point coming from a brutal cross that Yamamoto's dive couldn't save.
In the stands, Oikawa clapped lazily. "Not bad, little brother! You might even get dessert tonight."Akira didn't look at him — just a single eyebrow raised. Hinata caught the faint smirk anyway.