On the Kitagawa Daiichi bench, unlike Kageyama and Kindaichi, Akira Kunimi never stepped back onto the court until the last possible moment.
His personal creed was simple: If you can sit, don't stand. If you can lie down, don't sit.
Kunimi sat lazily on the bench, slowly taking another sip of his sports drink.
He let the cool liquid swirl around in his mouth before swallowing, one measured gulp at a time.
"The other side's so cocky," he muttered, patting his thighs to keep them loose. "They win one set and suddenly they're yelling about dominating the whole country."
He clicked his tongue. "Like it's that easy. You think just shouting about it makes it happen?"
"Do they even know how many powerhouse schools there are across Japan?"
He let out a small sigh. "There's probably some team out there with three guys over one-ninety, forming an iron wall of a block."
As the referee raised the whistle to signal the end of the timeout, Kunimi reluctantly stood up and started stretching his shoulders and neck.
He glanced toward the other side of the court, Yukigaoka was still huddled together, probably discussing their next move.
Though he seemed lazy, Kunimi's mind worked fast.
If it weren't for that guy Kageyama dragging us down, beating them wouldn't even be that hard.
Well, whatever. It's just club activities. The coach can do what he wants. Not like I care enough to say anything.
Finishing his internal complaints, Kunimi followed the referee's whistle and stepped back onto the court.
Across from him, Yukigaoka's team had taken their positions, every one of them wearing confident expressions.
And right at the net, Ichinose Guren locked eyes with Kageyama Tobio in a silent stare-down.
Kageyama's gaze said: I've already found your weakness.
Ichinose's eyes shot back: You think you're the only one?
Kageyama blinked. What—?!
Kageyama might have been brash and socially tone-deaf, but compared to Ichinose's slicked-back hair, lazy smirk, and mocking glare, his expression was practically innocent.
The score stood at Yukigaoka 7, Kitagawa Daiichi 4.
Before the timeout, Yukigaoka's middle blocker, Yudai Hyakuzawa, had shattered Kitagawa's serve with a heavy-handed spike, breaking their rhythm completely.
Now, after the rotation, Yukigaoka's formation was arguably their weakest lineup.
Their front row consisted of two rookies, Suzuki and Kawashima, plus Ichinose Guren.
The back row had Yudai Hyakuzawa, Hinata Shoyo, and a rookie setter.
Their libero, Katsuri Hoshino, their defensive anchor, had been substituted out for Kawashima earlier, meaning he couldn't re-enter for anyone else this set.
So with Kawashima now rotated into the front, Yukigaoka's back row had no defensive specialist at all.
Ichinose, one of their reliable receivers, was now up front, while Hoshino was out of play.
It was, without question, their weakest setup for both blocking and receiving.
Still, if they could just survive Kawashima's three turns in the front row, the team would regain its strongest formation in both blocking and defense.
Kageyama studied their lineup and smiled faintly, an expression burning with hunger for victory.
This set… I'm taking it.
BEEP!
At position one, Hinata Shoyo stepped up for the serve.
He stood still, tossed the ball naturally with a flick of his arm, and struck it with a clean palm.
The ball sailed over the net, an ordinary, almost boring serve.
Kitagawa's players, still on edge after facing Ichinose's earlier power jump serves, were caught off guard by the simplicity.
But Kitagawa's libero, sharp from years of training, reacted purely on instinct, sliding smoothly into position and delivering a perfect first pass.
Kageyama quickly scanned Ichinose's movements before setting the ball to his front-row spiker at position four.
Though not particularly tall, barely hitting one-eighty, the player used his timing and power to break through the rookie blockers, hammering down a clean quick attack.
Score: 7–5.
Rotation. Suzuki moved to the back row, while Hinata rotated to the front.
Their reception was still shaky, but with Hinata up front, their offensive firepower improved instantly.
After Ichinose's "quick-attack boot camp," Hinata had reached the point where he could run a successful quick with nearly anyone on the team.
He'd learned feints, mastered the art of light touches, and after countless frustrating whiffs, developed a sharp sense for timing, trajectory, and landing angles.
Of course, Kitagawa Daiichi had no idea about any of that.
All they saw was the shortest player on the team rotating into the front, and the three blockers across the net immediately straightened with hungry grins.
Kitagawa's captain now stood at position one for the serve.
He patted the ball twice, then unleashed a fast, steady standing serve, clean, efficient, and perfectly executed.
Up in the stands, Daichi Sawamura watched closely. "That serve… it's textbook perfect. It's like something straight off an assembly line, consistent quality, but nothing special."
Tanaka Ryunosuke grimaced. "If that's just 'standard quality,' then what the hell does that make my serves… factory rejects?"
Daichi waved his hands quickly. "No, no, I didn't mean it like that! It's just… compared to that powerhouse serve from Shirayuki's captain, this one feels kind of plain."
Sugawara huffed. "Obviously. After seeing that kind of jump serve, any standing serve's gonna look dull."
Daichi scratched his head with an embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. That's not what I meant anyway."
Even if Kitagawa's serves all followed the same technical model, the captain's form was flawless, every motion honed to precision.
The serve wasn't just fast; it had a subtle float, shifting ever so slightly in the air.
It wasn't much, but it was enough to make life hard for Yukigaoka's receivers.
Despite three months of intense passing drills, receiving was still the hardest skill to master.
Spikes, sets, and serves all had tricks and mechanics that could boost your performance, but receiving was different.
It was the purest one-on-one between player and ball, demanding coordination, instinct, and perfect fundamentals.
No shortcuts. No hacks. Only daily, grinding repetition could build that skill.
And just when things looked dicey, Yudai Hyakuzawa stepped up.
Seeing the two rookies hesitate, he lunged forward, planting himself in front of them.
"I got it!"
With a firm, heavy underhand pass, he absorbed the serve's momentum and lifted it cleanly into the air.
"Don't worry! I'm here. I might not match Hoshino's level, but I'm not about to let them score off me!"
His deep voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unshakable confidence that rippled through the team.
Yudai-senpai… that was so cool!
The crowd roared as Yukigaoka rallied back into formation, eyes blazing, ready for the next strike.
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