The gym reverberated with the rhythmic beat of rubber soles and rapid-fire volleys. Sweat dripped down foreheads, breaths came short, but no one slowed down—not when pride was on the line.
Ayato stood tall on his side of the court, beside Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. Across from him, Kageyama, Hinata, and Tanaka looked like a storm brewing, but the momentum was clearly in Ayato's favor.
Every spike he delivered cut through their defense like a knife. Every block was perfectly timed. Even with Yamaguchi's inconsistent sets, Ayato adapted effortlessly, making the awkward balls look deliberate.
"Again!" Kageyama barked, his brows furrowed deep as his hands gestured sharply at Hinata.
"Faster! You're late again!" he snapped.
Hinata gritted his teeth and nodded. "Got it!" he shouted, his fists clenched.
Ayato stood calmly across from them, not saying a word. His cool demeanor contrasted sharply with the rising tension on the other side.
Heh... this part's just like I remember, he thought, recognizing the signs of the freak duo's eventual breakthrough. Still, even with all his memories from the show, witnessing it unfold in real-time was something else entirely.
Hinata was struggling. That much was obvious. His timing was all over the place, and despite his speed and jump height, he couldn't keep up with Kageyama's razor-precise sets. Worse, Tsukishima was relentlessly marking him.
The tall blocker was clinical in his timing, reading Hinata's movements like an open book. Every time Hinata went up, Tsukishima was already there, arms raised, hands ready. He didn't need to be flashy—just well-positioned.
Tanaka didn't fare much better. Ayato marked him tightly, staying just out of reach until the very last moment before shutting him down with eerie precision. He wasn't even breaking a sweat. Every time Tanaka swung, Ayato anticipated, moved, and made the block.
Kageyama was getting visibly frustrated. His sets were precise, fast, and crisp—but they weren't converting. Block after block shut his spikers down. He tried to switch it up, even going for a 1-2 play, feinting a set and going for a dump attack himself.
But Tsukishima read it like a book. He was already airborne before Kageyama's fingertips pushed the ball over. A swift block denied the sneaky attack.
The thud echoed in the gym.
Kageyama clicked his tongue and landed hard.
His frustration wasn't just from Hinata's timing—it was the wall that Tsukishima had built. Kageyama knew if Hinata could be even a split-second faster, they could break through that block, get past Tsukishima's long arms, and finally put points on the board.
"Come on, Shouyou! You got this!" Tanaka tried to rally him.
Hinata nodded again, trying not to let his frustration show. But every missed jump, every blocked spike added weight to his shoulders.
"Again!" Kageyama shouted.
"We can't score if you're not there on time!"
Hinata jumped. The ball was already past him. He landed hard, frustration painting his face red.
Ayato crossed his arms, watching. He'd seen this struggle a hundred times. He knew the pattern. Kageyama's demand for perfection. Hinata's determination to reach it. The inevitable clash.
And then—
"Hey," Sugawara called from the side, his voice calm but firm.
Kageyama turned, sweat dripping from his chin. "What?"
"You're asking too much from him. Hinata's not gonna magically match your tosses right now."
Kageyama looked frustrated, but Sugawara continued.
"Try adjusting to him instead. Just once. Watch him, not just the ball."
There was a pause. Kageyama clenched his jaw, then gave a stiff nod.
"Fine."
Ayato's brow lifted slightly.
Here it comes.
The serve came from Yamaguchi. It was weak, but playable.
Tanaka received. The ball flew toward Kageyama.
Kageyama took it, eyes not on the ball—but on Hinata.
Hinata didn't wait. He sprinted, full tilt, even before the ball was fully in Kageyama's hands.
It was a blur.
Ayato saw the movement—Hinata's feet lifting, body curling mid-air—and then the sound of leather on flesh as the spike connected with a resounding smack.
The ball shot down at a brutal angle. Tsukishima didn't even flinch. He hadn't seen it coming.
The gym fell silent.
Hinata landed, stunned.
"I hit it," he whispered, voice filled with disbelief and joy.
Kageyama stood frozen, eyes wide. For a second, he didn't even blink.
Tanaka let out a triumphant laugh. "You did it, Shouyou! That was sick!"
Everyone started to stir again, energy rushing back into the gym.
Then Daichi, watching from the sidelines, suddenly pointed. "Wait—were your eyes closed just now?"
Hinata blinked and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Ah… yeah. I had my eyes closed."
"What?! Why?" Tanaka asked.
Hinata looked at Kageyama, then at his teammates. "When I keep my eyes open, I get distracted. I think too much. I try to adjust. And I always end up late or missing the ball completely."
Kageyama narrowed his eyes. "But if your eyes are closed, how do you know the ball's even there?"
Hinata looked back at him, expression sincere.
"Because I trust you to get the ball to me."
Kageyama's mouth opened slightly, then closed. He had no reply.
Ayato blinked, expressionless for a second.
Then a grin tugged at his mouth.
So this is what it looks like up close, he thought, heat rising in his blood. That really is something.
The rally reset. The energy on the court had changed.
Ayato leaned forward slightly.
"Guess I'll have to step it up too," he muttered.