Training resumed, and with it, the rhythm of daily practice settled in once more. But this time, everything felt different. The loss against Seiryuu had left a mark—not as a wound, but as fuel.
Shigeo, who once rolled his eyes at the idea of training seriously, now stayed after practice, muttering under his breath but still putting in the work. His usual sarcastic comments were still there, but he no longer made excuses. He was improving, and he knew it.
Hinata, on the other hand, was a force of nature. Every drill, every jump, every receive—he attacked them all with an obsession that bordered on reckless. He was always the first to arrive, the last to leave. I often caught him practicing his spikes alone after training, eyes burning with determination.
The first-years, who had been little more than rookies at the start of the year, were no longer the weak links of the team. Their footwork had sharpened, their serves had gained consistency, and their defensive awareness had grown. Their mistakes still happened, but they were fewer, their movements more confident.
Meanwhile, I had made a decision. Throughout all of this, I kept a close eye on my teammates, watching their growth—not just in skill, but in confidence. Among them, Minato stood out. Usually quiet and reserved, he had started speaking up more during training matches, giving quick, precise instructions when needed. I noticed the others listening to him, responding, adjusting their plays accordingly. It wasn't loud or commanding, but it was effective. Minato was stepping up. Strength training alone wasn't enough—my muscle endurance needed work. I added grueling endurance exercises to my personal routine, and despite my already exhausting regimen, I pushed through. Riku and Hinata continued to accompany me, Riku struggling but keeping at it, slowly building a foundation for a solid physique. He had taken an almost stubborn approach to it, refusing to cut corners, and I could see the slow but steady results taking shape. One day, after a particularly tough session, Riku exhaled heavily and grinned. "I'm gonna be a beast by next year." I smirked. "We'll see about that."
Then came our first training match against the girls' team.
From the very first rally, it was clear just how much we had improved. The first-years, once unsure and inconsistent, were landing spikes, reading plays, moving as a unit. Hinata was faster than ever, his jumps higher, his attacks sharper. And Shigeo? His sets were near perfect, flowing effortlessly as if he had every move pre-planned.
The final score? 25-16.
We had won convincingly, only dropping points due to minor receiving and serving mistakes.
When the match ended, Misaki and the other girls stood frozen, their expressions priceless.
"Wait—when did you guys get so good?!" Misaki blurted out, half in disbelief, half in admiration.
"I thought we were just taking it easy at the start," one of the other girls muttered. "But we were actually trying... weren't we?"
The boys exchanged grins, but I merely shrugged, watching the reactions unfold.
After that, we stopped playing as separate teams.
Mixed matches became the norm. At first, the balance was off—some players hesitated, unsure how to adjust to each other. But as time passed, things evened out, and the games became more intense.
Of course, there was one problem—whenever Shigeo and I were on the same team, we dominated.
We didn't even have to try; our coordination was effortless, our control of the game absolute. It wasn't fun for anyone else, so the others enforced an "Anti-Shiji" rule, forbidding us from being on the same team.
I found the decision amusing, while Shigeo rolled his eyes and muttered something about them being sore losers. Misaki, watching from the side, smirked. "You really have a way of making people move the way you want, Keiji. That's what makes a good captain."
I blinked, slightly caught off guard by the compliment. "I just... make sure we play well."
Misaki laughed. "And that's exactly why it works."
The words stuck with me longer than I expected.
Despite that, the new dynamic made training even better. I adapted quickly to guiding whoever was on my team, much like I had during the Seiryuu match. My ability to direct plays and predict movements became sharper, and soon, the girls started calling me "Maestro" as well.
At first, I found it awkward.
Hearing Shigeo say it was one thing—but the girls using it so casually? It made me pause every time, feeling a little strange about the nickname spreading beyond my own team.
Shigeo, of course, found it hilarious.
"Looks like you've built quite the reputation, Maestro," he teased one afternoon after practice.
I just sighed, deciding to let it go. If they wanted to call me that, so be it. Even so, every time I heard it, there was a moment where I felt just a little out of place, like the title didn't fully belong to me yet.
Meanwhile, Shigeo himself was adapting shockingly well to playing with the girls. His sets flowed seamlessly into their plays, his precision adjusting effortlessly to their movements. When someone asked why he wasn't challenging them with his usual insane sets, he simply smirked and said, "Because I'm a gentleman."
I just rolled my eyes and left him to it.
Hinata, on the other hand, had a rougher adjustment period. He had grown so used to Shigeo's perfectly tailored sets that anything else threw him off. His timing was off, his swings mistimed, his footwork rushed.
It frustrated him at first. He would glance at me after every mistake, brows furrowed, searching for some sort of explanation. But I just gave him the same answer every time—"Adapt."
And, of course, he did.
At some point, we learned that Seiryuu had placed second in the tournament. Riku groaned when he heard the news. "Man, we really were unlucky to face a team that strong right from the start."
I just smirked. "I don't see it that way. If we hadn't gone up against them, if we hadn't experienced that match, we wouldn't have improved as much as we did."
The others thought about it for a moment, then nodded in agreement.
Our team continued to evolve, and before we knew it, the school year was nearing its end.
Our training had become routine, our improvement undeniable. The players we were just months ago were unrecognizable compared to now. And though the sting of the Seiryuu match still lingered, it no longer felt like an open wound—it was a lesson. A motivation. A promise for what was to come.