The gym felt colder than usual, the squeak of sneakers echoing in the quiet before warm-ups. Date Tech had already claimed one side of the court, their libero and middle blockers standing with arms crossed like sentries. The air between the two teams felt heavier than any practice.
Akira adjusted his elbow sleeve, his expression unreadable. Kenma stood beside him, twirling the ball lightly in one hand, his gaze already scanning Date Tech's formation. Hinata bounced on the balls of his feet, buzzing with excitement, while Asahi stood a little back, rolling his shoulders in silence.
"Karasuno's ace is back?" Date Tech's captain called out, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Guess we'll see if you're more than just a rumor."
Asahi didn't flinch, but his grip on the ball tightened.
Kenma tossed it his way without looking. "Let's start with a serve. Make it hurt."
The first rally began with a clean, heavy serve from Asahi—straight down the middle, forcing Date Tech's libero into a sliding receive. The ball popped high, but not perfectly, giving Akira the first chance to strike. Instead of hammering it, he sent a sharp tip right over the blockers' hands, forcing them to scramble.
Date Tech recovered quickly, but the return set drifted close to the net. Akira was already there, eyes narrowing as he stuffed it back down. First point.
"You'll have to do better than that," he said quietly, but loud enough for them to hear.
The next few points were a blur of controlled aggression. Kenma fed Asahi high balls, letting him unleash his full swing. The thud of each spike echoed in the rafters, but Date Tech's famed Iron Wall stood tall, deflecting or slowing just enough to keep rallies alive.
Then came Hinata's turn. Kenma's eyes flicked toward him, and the set was fast—blindingly so. Hinata launched into the air, eyes still closed out of habit, but the ball met the unyielding hands of Date Tech's middle blocker and dropped back on Karasuno's side.
"Not bad for a warm-up," the blocker taunted.
Hinata shook it off, grinning too wide. "That one was just for you!"
But the next attempt went the same way. And the next. Each time, the Iron Wall read his approach like a book.
Akira called him over between points. "Stop charging blind. You're feeding them."
Hinata bristled. "That's my quick!"
"And right now, it's their snack."
The momentum shifted. Kenma began using Hinata as a decoy, pulling Date Tech's blockers just enough to free Asahi. The ace's spikes began finding gaps—not by brute force alone, but by reading the tiniest openings. One hit slammed so cleanly between the hands of the blockers that even Date Tech's captain winced.
"Guess the ace's back," Tanaka shouted from the sidelines, earning a grin from Asahi.
Still, Hinata burned to break through. Midway through the set, Kenma caught his eye before serve. The ball came his way again, but this time, instead of closing his eyes, Hinata forced them open, catching a split-second glimpse of the block shifting. He angled his spike off the fingertips—just barely—but it landed out of bounds.
Frustration prickled, but Akira clapped him on the back. "Closer. You'll get it."
The rest of the match turned into a display of precision. Akira read Date Tech's blockers like he'd studied them for months, Kenma kept their pace unpredictable, and Asahi hammered every ball with a calm, punishing rhythm that made it impossible for the Iron Wall to fully adapt.
The final rally saw Akira receive a hard serve, Kenma setting a high ball to Asahi on the left. Date Tech's triple block formed instantly, but Asahi's swing was pure conviction, slicing the ball just inside the sideline.
Point. Game.
Asahi stood there for a moment, breathing hard, the reality sinking in. He wasn't "fragile" anymore—he was the ace.
Hinata, despite his struggles, was grinning ear to ear. "Next time, I'm breaking that wall."
Date Tech's captain smirked. "We'll be waiting."