The morning air in Miyagi Prefecture was crisp, carrying the faint scent of cherry blossoms and asphalt, but Itsuki Naruse was entirely focused on the sidewalk ahead of him.
Or rather, he was focused on trying to take up as little space on it as possible.
At one hundred and ninety-two centimeters, blending in was a mathematical impossibility.
Itsuki slouched his shoulders, adjusting the strap of his brand-new Date Tech High School bag, his dark gray-highlighted hair catching the spring sunlight.
As he walked, his eyes darted around, breaking down the world into kinetic fragments.
That businessman walking ahead leans too heavily on his left side.
Bad knee.
The middle schooler running across the street is swinging her arms too wide; she’s bleeding momentum.
He couldn’t help it.
His brain naturally picked apart human movement, looking for the seams, the tells, the weak points.
It was a habit born entirely from volleyball.
It was the only way a player who lacked overwhelming physical power could survive in the air.
The rhythmic sound of his own footsteps triggered a memory, the street noise fading into the sharp, echoing squeak of rubber soles on polished hardwood.
Seven months ago.
Miyagi Prefecture Middle School Tournament, Semifinals.
Itsuki stood at the net, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin onto the collar of his Kawakami Junior High jersey.
Across the net stood the players of Chidoriyama.
They were relentless.
Chidoriyama was famous for a suffocating floor defense that felt like playing against a brick wall.
Everyone in the prefecture knew the stories of their legendary libero who had graduated the year before—a loud, explosive player who kept the ball in the air no matter what.
Even without him, his defensive philosophy had infected the current team.
“Left!” Itsuki’s setter yelled, tossing the ball high.
Itsuki took his approach—three steps, arms swinging back, exploding upward.
The air was his sanctuary.
For that brief second of hang time, the world slowed down.
The Chidoriyama blockers leaped in front of him, a two-man wall perfectly sealing the cross-court.
A normal ace would try to blast through.
Itsuki wasn’t a normal ace.
Hanging in the air, he watched the middle blocker’s eyes.
He’s fully committed.
But his outside hand is a centimeter too wide.
At the exact apex of his jump, Itsuki twisted his torso, delayed his arm swing by a fraction of a second, and snapped his wrist, deliberately aiming not for the open court, but directly at the blocker’s pinky finger.
Smack.
The ball clipped the outside edge of the blocker’s hand and ricocheted wildly out of bounds.
“Tool!” the referee signaled.
Point for Kawakami.
But one clever spiker wasn’t enough to beat a machine.
No matter how many times Itsuki manipulated his body to slip spikes past the block, Chidoriyama’s defense picked up the scraps.
They were ground down, losing 25-23 in the final set.
Itsuki hadn’t cried.
He just stared at his hands, analyzing.
If I had held my swing a tenth of a second longer on that last rally…
If my core was stronger to allow a sharper mid-air twist…
The loud blare of a truck horn snapped Itsuki back to the present.
He blinked, the phantom sting of a volleyball fading from his palm.
Looming ahead was the entrance to Date Tech High School.
Unlike the more traditional, elegant schools in the prefecture, Date Tech looked like an industrial fortress.
Its architecture was solid, practical, and imposing.
It was fitting.
In the volleyball world, Date Tech wasn’t known for flashy plays or brilliant serving.
They were known for one thing: The Iron Wall.
It was exactly why Itsuki had enrolled.
If I practice against the tallest, most terrifying blockers in the prefecture every single day, he reasoned, my mid-air control will become flawless.
Passing through the front gates, Itsuki immediately felt the familiar, uncomfortable prickle of stares.
First-year students clustered around the bulletin boards, chattering excitedly, but as Itsuki approached, the crowd instinctively parted.
“Whoa…
is he a third-year?”
“Look how tall he is.
Is he a delinquent?”
Itsuki grimaced internally, keeping his expression perfectly blank.
He kept his head down, scanning the class placement boards just long enough to find his name.
Class 1-A.
He quickly turned and squeezed his way into the main building, eager to escape the whispers.
The standard first-day errands were a blur of minor social anxieties.
The opening ceremony in the gymnasium involved an agonizing twenty minutes of sitting on the floor with his long legs awkwardly folded, accidentally bumping the knees of the people next to him.
However, his eyes naturally drifted to the gym’s ceiling height, the lighting fixtures, and the traction of the floorboards.
Good friction, he noted, rubbing his shoe against the wood.
By the time he finally escaped to Class 1-A, he was exhausted.
He found his assigned seat near the back and sank into it, grateful to be off his feet.
“U-Um.
Excuse me.”
Itsuki looked down.
And then slightly further down.
Standing next to the desk adjacent to his was a boy who couldn’t have been more than 164 centimeters tall.
He had wide, slightly nervous eyes, light brown hair, and an earnest expression.
He was gripping his school bag like it was a shield.
“I think…
I’m sitting right next to you,” the boy squeaked, looking up at Itsuki with a mixture of awe and mild terror.
“Ah.” Itsuki immediately pulled his long legs in, realizing they were sprawling into the aisle.
“Sorry.
I take up too much space.”
The boy blinked, surprised by the soft, polite tone coming from someone who looked like they could bench-press a vending machine.
His tense shoulders dropped in obvious relief.
“Oh!
No, no, it’s totally fine!” The boy smiled, pulling out his chair and sitting down.
“I’m Sakunami Kousuke.
Nice to meet you!”
“Itsuki Naruse,” Itsuki replied with a small nod.
“Nice to meet you too.”
An awkward silence settled between them as the rest of the classroom filled up.
Itsuki stared straight ahead, overthinking whether he should initiate more conversation to prove he wasn’t a threat.
Before he could decide, Sakunami leaned over slightly.
“Naruse-kun, with your height…
do you play basketball?”
“Volleyball,” Itsuki answered instantly, a rare spark of energy entering his voice.
Sakunami’s eyes lit up like fireworks.
“Really?!
Me too!
I mean, I’m a libero, obviously.
Because, well…” He gestured vaguely to his own height, laughing nervously.
“But wow!
192 centimeters…
Date Tech’s volleyball team is famous for having giant blockers, but you might be the tallest first-year!”
Tallest first-year.
Itsuki thought briefly of the rumors he’d heard about a monstrously huge recruit from another middle school who was also joining Date Tech, but he kept that to himself.
“I’m a wing spiker,” Itsuki said.
“I actually came to Date Tech because of the Iron Wall.”
Sakunami tilted his head.
“Because you want to block with them?”
“No,” Itsuki said, his voice dropping into a quiet, intense register that made Sakunami blink.
“Because I want to practice breaking through them.”
Sakunami stared at him for a second before bursting into a laugh.
“That’s amazing!
You’re really confident, Naruse-kun!
I was so scared when I first saw you, I thought you were gonna be a terrifying delinquent, but you’re actually a total volleyball nerd!”
Itsuki felt a flush of embarrassment hit his ears.
“I’m…
not a delinquent.
I just have bad posture.”
“Well, I’m just glad we’re in the same class,” Sakunami beamed.
“It’s nerve-wracking not knowing anyone.
Hey, since we’re both joining, do you want to head to the gym together after homeroom to submit our club applications?”
For the first time all day, a genuine, albeit small, smile tugged at the corner of Itsuki’s mouth.
The anxiety that had been buzzing in his chest since he walked through the school gates settled down.
He liked Sakunami.
The libero was easy to read—his center of gravity was light, his movements energetic, entirely lacking in malice.
“I’d like that,” Itsuki said.
Hours later, as the final bell of the day rang out, the newly formed odd couple of Class 1-A navigated the busy hallways.
Students gave them curious looks—the towering, quiet giant with metallic-highlighted hair, and the short, bubbly libero excitedly chatting beside him.
“I heard the third-year captain is really nice,” Sakunami was saying as they descended the stairs toward the athletic facilities.
“But the second-years are supposed to be super intense.
We’ll just have to give it our best!
Right, Naruse-kun?”
“Right,” Itsuki nodded, his eyes fixed on the heavy double doors of the gymnasium at the end of the walkway.
He could already hear the rhythmic, thunderous sound of volleyballs slamming against the hardwood floor.
His heart rate picked up.
It was time to meet the Iron Wall.