Match point.
I spun the ball in my hands, feeling its weight, the smoothness of the leather beneath my fingers. The gym had gone quiet, save for the steady hum of anticipation in the air. On the other side of the net, my opponents stood ready, shifting their stance, eyes locked onto me. I could see it—the barely concealed tension in their muscles, the slightest hint of unease. They knew where this serve was going.
Didn't matter.
I tossed the ball high, my body moving instinctively, and swung with full force. The impact sent a deep, echoing crack through the gym. My target—the weak link in their receive—braced himself, arms outstretched. He had struggled with my serve before, but this time, he managed to get under it, the ball bouncing awkwardly off his forearms but staying in play.
To be expected. These were grown men, not school kids. Even if their skills weren't sharp, they had experience, instinct, and most importantly, pride. They weren't about to roll over.
The counterattack came fast.
Yuuma, their main attacker, was already moving, the ball being set his way in a textbook-perfect arc. I had been watching him this entire game, studying his movements, his tendencies. This was obvious. I knew what he'd do before he even did it. So did Kenta.
He and another teammate jumped, hands reaching high above the net, sealing off the angle. I saw the gap instantly and covered it. Yuuma's spike slammed into Kenta's hands, the force sending it ricocheting at an awkward angle towards our backline.
I saw it.
And so did someone else.
A teammate rushed after it, lunging, arms outstretched. He dove, fingers just barely making contact, sending the ball spinning upward—but it wasn't ideal. It veered left, outside the court, still playable but on the verge of being lost.
For a second, there was hesitation. Someone was about to move.
I cut them off.
"Renji!" I barked, locking eyes with him. "Show me what you've got."
Renji, a few steps behind, flinched for half a second before realization dawned. He saw what I was about to do. A smirk flickered across his face, the words 'cocky brat' barely audible under his breath as he took a few steps back, bracing himself.
That was all I needed.
I was already moving, feet pounding against the floor as I sprinted toward the ball. The moment my body left the ground, time slowed. Every movement, every position on the court was clear in my mind. I didn't need to look.
My hands met the ball mid-air, and without hesitation, I sent it towards Renji in a perfect arc.
The gym pulsed with silence, just for a second.
The opposing team reacted late, but they heard me call his name. Three blockers jumped, arms reaching for Renji, but they were too slow.
Renji tore through them.
The ball slammed through their outstretched hands with raw, unfiltered power, smashing into the floor on their side of the court with a resounding thud. The blockers winced, fingers curling slightly from the impact.
Game over.
For a beat, no one spoke. The rush of it all still crackled in my veins. Then, slowly, the tension bled from the air.
Renji landed, fists clenched, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "This feels so much better than holding back."
A few teammates chuckled, light-hearted words of approval thrown my way. "Not bad, Keiji."
"I knew you had it in you."
"Stop lying," Kenta interjected dryly, earning a few laughs.
Then Yuuma moved.
I turned, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to waver. His expression was unreadable, but there was something beneath it—something assessing, calculating. I prepared myself for whatever he had to say, but the words that left his mouth still caught me off guard.
"We play Monday to Friday at 7 PM," he said simply. "Don't be late next time."
Then he walked away.
For a moment, I could only stare after him. That was… easier than expected.
"Don't mind him," Kenta said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "That 'I just tasted shit' look is just his resting face."
Yuuma turned back to glare daggers at him, but Kenta ignored it entirely, grinning. "Once you get to know him, you'll learn he's actually good company."
I barely heard the rest of their conversation. My fingers curled slightly, still feeling the lingering adrenaline, the thrill of that last play.
This was it.
A path forward.
I clenched my fist.
I had secured my route to getting stronger.
[Author's Note: This chapter's a bit short—don't have much time. Sorry, I'm busy with exams… 100 stones and I drop out.]