Volleyball isn't something you play alone.
I know that. But even so, I can't help but always think it. Over and over again, the thought comes back—
If only I could do the receives, the sets, and the spikes all by myself. I could handle them. I could raise the ball. I could hit it.
If you want to win, then move faster, jump higher, receive more accurately.
That's what I always thought. When it looked like we were going to lose—when we actually did lose.
But volleyball is a sport where your contact with the ball lasts only a split second, and the rule says one player can't touch it twice in a row. I know. I know you can never win alone.
"What the hell…!? Who are you!?"
Kageyama had taken that powerful serve, and maybe even from before the match, there was this unknown feeling welling up inside him—excitement, a rising thrill that he couldn't stop.
Sure, that No. 1's jumps are insane. His movements are quick, his athleticism is top-tier. But that's it. If you evaluate him in volleyball terms, he's an amateur. A beginner.
The others too—they're just athletes running on raw physical ability. It's no more than an extension of school gym class.
So then why…? Why, with that kind of team…?
"Shō-chan!!"
"Alright!!"
Why is it that they still manage to take points like this?
Kageyama kept glaring—no, staring—at that man, Kagami.
His face is serious, but sometimes he smiles, sometimes he looks angry, and all the while he keeps the ball moving.
Even just now, they couldn't receive Kagami's serve cleanly and ended up handing over a free ball—and got spiked on.
If it was only Hinata, Kageyama could handle him with a block. But there's no ignoring Kagami. He's forced to react late, every time. Which means—
"One touch!!"
"Got a hand on it! Cover it!"
They couldn't stuff it cleanly. Hinata was too fast, spiking before the block was set. They managed a fingertip touch, but the ball flew off too far.
And then it hit the floor.
"Hey! Chase it all the way! Don't slack off!!"
"S-sorry. But that one was impossible."
"Impossible!? You don't know till it hits the ground!!"
More than ever before, Kageyama wanted to win.
Against that single man. He refused to lose.
Because to Kageyama, Kagami looked like the embodiment of his ideal.
The first timeout… was called by Kitagawa Daiichi, despite them still leading. Who could have predicted this before the match?
"Shōyō, nice finish on that last spike! And Yuki, great toss too."
"Heheh! Seiya's serve is even more amazing! And Izumin's set was super easy to hit!"
"Hehe, only 'cause Sei-chan put it up properly. I can't move like their setter, and I can't toss like him either."
The Yukigaoka team huddled up with high-fives.
"You don't have to match their setter. Yuki, just do what you can do at full strength. I told you that from the start, right?"
Kagami grinned and held out a fist. Yuki, embarrassed at first, smiled and bumped fists back.
"Hey, Shōyō? Enough with the 'awesome, awesome!' already—it's timeout, use it to give instructions."
The excitement of scoring a spike, their first break point, Kagami's serve… Hinata was bouncing around like a little animal again.
He is our captain, technically, Sekimukai thought, pointing with a wry smile.
"Seriously. Pull it together, Captain."
"Ugh, I know! Alright, from here we're turning it around!!"
"That's a closing line. Give us something more concrete, please."
"Uhh… Okay! Sei-chi! You take it!"
"Wow, great captain's orders."
Hinata even changed nicknames mid-game, clearly riding a high. But Kagami judged that—for now—it was fine. This wasn't a conclusion he'd come to himself, but Hinata just wasn't cut out to be the one giving directions.
Hinata inspires with his play. With his sheer attitude toward volleyball.
Hinata Shōyō draws people in like that. He fires everyone up.
That one step forward when it hurts, when you feel like stopping. And that smile, right when things are toughest and your spirit's about to break.
Kagami knew well how hard that really was. You can't reach it just by "liking volleyball." It takes setbacks, experience, and a bit of luck.
"Anyway. Leave the next serve to me. I'll push it as far as I can. Liberos Suzuki, Kawashima, Mori—drop back a half-step more on defense. Shōyō and Yuki's block is working, and it's more likely we'll get powered through than cleanly bypassed. Don't be scared—get your hands up. If they sneak one past, then fine—we'll count on Koji's kick receive."
He laid out the best adjustments he could think of. The three first-years were no longer stiff. Their eyes were shining. Excited to be holding their own against a top contender.
And, more than anything, they were looking at Hinata's leaps—and at Kagami himself—with pure admiration.
Izumi and Sekimukai though… especially Sekimukai, looked dubious.
"Hey, don't pin hopes on me! If I could pull that off consistently, I'd be the soccer team's ace striker with girls lining up for me!"
"Ugh… blocking really hurts, you know…"
"C'mon, don't say that! Let's go for it, Izumin! Koji! You too, first-years! Alright, huddle up!"
They threw arms over shoulders, voices rising together.
At first, everyone but Hinata and Kagami honestly thought they didn't even stand a chance. The opponent's size, their technique—it would only be a contest of stamina, if that.
But now, not one of them thought that way.
"Let's win this! Yukigaoka, fight!!"
"""""OOOOHHHH!!!"""""
They were fired up, ready to keep battling. But right then—
"Shōyō, why're your eyes teary?"
"Whoa, what's wrong, Shō-chan!?"
At the height of their spirit, Hinata's eyes were glistening. Kagami instantly understood.
"It's like—'I've always wanted to do this!!'—right? But crying's not the timing here."
"I'm not crying! But! Teams are awesome!!"
"Okay, okay, I get it. Save it for the end. C'mon, group cheer."
And with Kagami pushing them forward, they returned to the court.
Meanwhile, Kitagawa Daiichi's timeout talk was almost entirely about countering Kagami.
Hinata's jumps shocked them, his sudden blocks were a real threat—but the real problem was Kagami. Not just the serves, but how he held up a team full of rookies almost singlehandedly.
"Dedicate the shift and put pressure on No. 2. Against No. 1, commit hard to read blocks. Their setter probably doesn't have quicks—stay calm and respond."
"Yes, sir!!"
The players took it in, but Kageyama seemed distracted.
That bad habit—the one that earned him the title "King of the Court"—wasn't gone. But he was talking less than usual.
"…Kageyama. I'll say it again and again. Think less about your own technique, and more about bringing out your spikers. If you don't want to lose to that No. 2."
"…I know that!!"
The coach decided to gamble. He knew this change in Kageyama was because of Kagami—and Hinata too.
He wanted him to realize: he couldn't win alone. He had to focus on the team.
Kagami moved to bring out the best in everyone. And Hinata was the one flying most freely in that space.
(That No. 2. A monster, in a different way from Kageyama. I've seen kids for years, but he's terrifying. That's skill and experience—leadership too. There's no way a player like that could've been hidden till now.)
Yukigaoka hadn't entered tournaments for years. Their club was practically gone. Even when they had members, they were never strong.
A freak occurrence. A chemical reaction. Call it what you will—it didn't make sense otherwise.
"…Forget the lead. Go all out. Do not underestimate them."
That was all he could say.
Kageyama wasn't failing to understand. But more than that—he couldn't stop thinking it.
"What the hell are you…? Alone, just one person, and you're…!"
"16–12, huh. (Still only two serves. They're not shocked anymore, but they're not used to it either. …Then let's shake it up again.)"
Kagami stepped back for another serve. He locked eyes with Kageyama, who seemed to be glaring (or maybe it just looked that way).
"Go for it, Kagami!"
"Nice serve, Sei-chan!"
"Hit us with your killer serve! And teach me later!!"
"Nice serve, Kagami-san!!"
One voice was sneaking in wishful thinking. Kagami chuckled, raised his hand.
With everyone's expectations, he couldn't hold back.
And he realized—he hadn't felt like this in a long time. Back at Spring High, everyone's level was insane. The ace was someone else. He was trusted, but not really relied upon.
"Alright… here we go."
He stepped slowly from the end line.
This time, four steps.
Of course, he was aware of him. Maybe even looking forward to meeting them.
But Kitagawa Daiichi—and their coach—had no way of knowing the difference. Not until the toss. Not until they realized—this wasn't just a safe serve.
A gentle toss with both hands, rising slightly ahead and right. He jumped without a backswing.
Perfect form, arm swinging—then cutting it short.
No spin on the ball. Just enough force.
Secret weapon, number two.
"Jump floater…!? Now!?"
The Kitagawa Daiichi coach shot to his feet.
That powerful jump serve was still burned in their minds. It looked flawless. He could've kept it up another two, three times easily. Nobody would have guessed he had another weapon like this.
But only the coach panicked.
The players, friend and foe alike, were underwhelmed. Compared to the earlier cannon shots, this one had far less power.
…But only those who receive it understand its true menace.
"Out!!"
One defender judged the trajectory—over the end line. Hands raised.
If it had flown straight, yes, it would've gone a ball's width long.
But this serve was different. No clean parabola. The ball's path shifted—dropping right on the line. In, of course.
Point three. A second service ace without a touch.
They froze for only a second.
[UOOOOHHHH!!!]
The gym erupted again for Kagami.
"It moved like crazy."
"It should've been out…"
Their faces twisted in frustration.
Even Kageyama didn't bark at them this time. He only clenched his fists, equally frustrated.
"Jump floater. No-spin serve. Catch it overhead. Doesn't need to be perfect A-pass—just get it up! But don't forget, he still has the jump serve! If you step up too far, he'll blast you!"
The coach's commands cut like whips. But honestly—they felt impossible. Two different serves, both perfected, both unreadable until the last second.
"…Monster."
They still led by three. But by now, nobody believed the score gap meant anything.
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