The game continued, but for me, it felt like I was standing in the eye of a storm. The score climbed steadily, 20 to 18 in favor of the opponents, and yet, I had barely contributed. A few solid receives here and there, but nothing game-changing. No powerful spikes, no decisive plays. To anyone watching, it must have looked like I was just another weak link, barely holding on.
But I wasn't doing nothing.
Every second on the court, I was watching, analyzing, absorbing every movement like a sponge. I wasn't just studying the opponents—I was studying my own team as well. Their dominant hands, their foot placement, how they shifted before a jump, even the tiny tics and habits they probably weren't even aware of.
I had already noticed some key things. The setter on the other team had a slight twitch in his fingers before setting a quick. Their right-side hitter adjusted his shoulder whenever he planned to tip instead of spike. One of their blockers always favored his left side, slightly slower to react to his right.
Even my own team was revealing themselves to me. Renji was aggressive, always looking for a chance to strike, but that also made him predictable. Kenta was more controlled, adapting on the fly, but he relied too much on reading body language rather than pure instinct. And some of the others… they were losing trust in me. I could see it in how they hesitated before passing, in how they looked away when I moved into position.
And then there was Yuuma. He barely looked at me anymore, as if I wasn't even worth his attention. But every time I didn't go for an attack, every time I let an opportunity pass, I caught the slight smirk on his face. Like he was amused. Like I was proving his point without him even needing to say anything.
A few muttered comments reached my ears.
"Is that kid even doing anything?"
"We might as well be playing five-on-six."
I clenched my fists but kept my breathing steady. It wasn't time yet.
I wasn't just standing still—I was making conscious decisions not to act.
There were moments where I could have jumped for a block, but I held back because I would have just gotten in the way. There were times I could have rushed forward for a receive, but I let Kenta take it because his positioning was better. Every move I made—or didn't make—was deliberate.
Because I wasn't just playing.
I was waiting.
Like a predator, patient and still, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
And when that moment came, I would make sure they never forgot it.
Now.
22 to 21. Their lead.
Yuuma stepped up to serve, rolling his shoulders back before tossing the ball into the air. His movements were fluid, precise, honed by experience. The moment his hand met the ball, a loud thwack rang through the gym, the force behind his spike serve undeniable. The ball cut through the air like a missile, veering toward the space between me and Kenta.
In that instant, our eyes met. There was no need for words—just a silent understanding. I shifted slightly to the side, giving Kenta the space he needed. He reacted without hesitation, planting his feet firmly and absorbing the full impact of the serve with a controlled receive. The ball shot upward in a near-perfect arc, heading straight for our setter's waiting hands.
Exhaling, I shifted my focus forward. Now, what will they do?
I scanned the court quickly, noting every shift in position, every slight adjustment in the blockers' stances. They were still prioritizing Renji. Even before the set was made, two blockers were already eyeing him, waiting to react. Just as expected.
The setter sent the ball to Renji once more. I read his movements—his approach, the tension in his shoulders—it was clear what he intended. Another rebound. He had been relying on them for most of the match, using the block to reset the play. But this time, something was different.
The blockers knew.
As soon as Renji went up, the two blockers mirrored his movement perfectly, but instead of allowing the ball to bounce off cleanly, they angled their hands downward, cutting off his escape route.
The ball shot straight for the floor.
There!
I moved before anyone else did, throwing myself forward just in time to catch it inches from the ground. Gasps echoed from both teams, but I barely registered them. The impact sent a sting through my arms, and I felt the ball veer slightly out of my intended direction—too high, sailing over my head toward the backline.
But I wasn't worried.
I knew exactly where everyone was.
Without turning, I took three quick steps backward, already preparing for the approach. My body coiled like a spring, every muscle ready. They had underestimated me all game. It was time to use that to my advantage.
Renji was in front of me, the setter to his left.
Perfect.
Adjusting my run-up, I curved my path just slightly, slipping through the cracks of the opposing defense. I could feel it—their focus shifting, the moment of hesitation as they realized too late that I was moving. Up until now, they hadn't seen me as a threat. Now, they didn't even know how to react.
Then I jumped.
A sideways leap, perfectly timed with the ball's descent.
And there it was—right above me, just as I knew it would be.
The blockers froze.
Their once-tight defense had crumbled in an instant, leaving a gaping hole where they least expected it. No one was there.
The moment stretched, frozen in time.
Then I swung.
My hand met the ball with all the power I could summon. The impact thundered through the gym, the ball cutting through the air like a cannonball before slamming into the floor with a deafening bang.
Silence.
I landed, chest rising and falling, my heartbeat echoing in my ears.
When I looked up, everyone was staring at me.
Yuuma. My teammates. The entire gym.
Speechless.