The echo of Itsuki’s spike didn’t fade when the ball finally stopped bouncing.
It hung in the Date Tech gymnasium for the rest of the afternoon, fundamentally altering the atmospheric pressure.
Every single drill was suddenly dialed up to a hundred and twenty percent.
When Kamasaki jumped to spike, he hit the ball with so much rage he nearly tore the net.
When Futakuchi read-blocked, his hands were positioned with a suffocating, hyper-focused malice.
Even the reserve players were throwing their bodies onto the floor for loose balls, leaving trails of sweat across the hardwood.
From the sideline, Coach Oiwake stood with his arms crossed, watching the absolute chaos.
Assistant Coach Nametsu stood beside him, clutching her clipboard, her eyes wide.
“They’re terrifying right now,” Nametsu murmured.
“The whole team’s rhythm has shifted.”
“A wolf pack gets lazy if there’s no threat to their territory,” Oiwake replied, a deeply satisfied smirk hiding beneath his stern expression.
“Those three rookies just walked into the den and bared their teeth.
The Iron Wall won’t rust under this kind of friction.”
On the court, the seniors whose positions were most directly threatened were pushing themselves to the brink.
Moniwa, breathing heavily, set another perfect ball to Sasaya.
Sasaya slammed it past the block, but landed with a wince, wiping sweat from his chin.
Further back, the second-string liberos were aggressively digging up Kamasaki’s spikes, their forearms bruised and red.
We’ve sweat and cried in this gym since we were first-years, Moniwa thought, watching Koganegawa excitedly try to toss a ball to the ceiling on the next court over.
We built the Iron Wall.
We survived the endless blocking drills.
And now, these monsters show up.
Moniwa looked over at Itsuki, who was currently carefully stretching his shoulders, meticulously counting his breathing rhythm.
If they bench us…
if they take our spots…
Moniwa clenched his fists, feeling the exhaustion deep in his bones.
I don’t care.
If Naruse’s cannon and Koganegawa’s height are what it takes to get Date Tech to the orange court, I will gladly hand over the jersey.
But I am not giving it up without making them bleed for it first!
The aggressive energy from practice entirely spilled over into the walk home.
The Date Tech team moved down the twilight streets of Osaki City like a small, highly intimidating army.
In the very center of the pack, Itsuki Naruse looked like he desperately wanted to dissolve into the pavement.
“HOW DID YOU BEND LIKE THAT?!” Kamasaki bellowed, wrapping a thick, sweaty arm around Itsuki’s neck and giving him a painful noogie.
“YOU LOOKED LIKE A SNAPPED TWIG IN THE AIR!
WHAT KIND OF MUSCLES DO YOU HAVE HIDING IN THERE?!”
“K-Kamasaki-san, please, the torque on my cervical spine—” Itsuki stammered, his face violently red as he flailed his long arms.
“Let the nerd breathe, Kamasaki,” Futakuchi drawled, casually kicking Kamasaki in the back of the calf.
Futakuchi smirked at Itsuki.
“Though, I admit, for a guy who stutters when ordering ramen, you’ve got a pretty sick swing.
What was that, a hundred percent of your power?”
Itsuki finally wriggled free from Kamasaki’s chokehold, adjusting his collar and coughing.
He refused to look the second-year in the eye, staring intently at a nearby streetlamp.
“N-No,” Itsuki mumbled quietly.
Futakuchi stopped walking.
The rest of the seniors halted, looking back at the towering freshman.
“Excuse me?”
Itsuki fidgeted with the strap of his gym bag.
His analytical brain overrode his social panic just enough to explain.
“It was…
approximately seventy percent functional output.
My skeletal structure has elongated too rapidly.
If I engage one hundred percent of my kinetic chain right now, the torque on my rotator cuff and lumbar spine would risk micro-tears.
I have to limit my swing speed until my muscle mass properly anchors my joints.”
A heavy, utterly dumbfounded silence fell over the seniors.
Sasaya stared at him.
“You hit the ball hard enough to dent the floorboards…
and you were holding back so you wouldn’t break your own bones?”
“A nerd and a freak,” Futakuchi muttered, running a hand down his face.
“This kid is a nightmare.”
“SEVENTY PERCENT?!” Kamasaki suddenly roared, pointing furiously at Futakuchi.
“DID YOU HEAR THAT, FUTAKUCHI?!
HE’S GONNA GET THIRTY PERCENT STRONGER!
IF YOU DON’T SQUAT MORE, HE’S GONNA BLOW YOUR BLOCK AWAY!”
“STOP YELLING IN MY EAR, YOU MEATHEAD!” Futakuchi snapped back, grabbing Kamasaki by the collar.
“I’LL SHUT HIM OUT NO MATTER HOW HARD HE SWINGS!”
We’re in public!” Moniwa panicked, waving his arms frantically as a passing elderly woman gave them a terrified look.
“Aone, help me separate them!”
Aone, entirely ignoring the fight, stepped up next to Itsuki.
The giant second-year gave the flustered first-year a slow, intense nod of approval, pointing at Itsuki’s right arm.
Make it a hundred percent, the silent gesture said.
I want to block it.
Itsuki gulped, giving a rigid bow.
They finally reached the main crossroads near the station.
Moniwa, having successfully wrestled his chaotic spikers apart, waved goodbye.
“Make sure you rest up, first-years!
The 3-on-3 is only a week away!”
“See ya, rookies!” Kamasaki grinned.
As the seniors disappeared down the street, Sakunami let out a massive sigh of relief.
“They’re so intense…
I thought Kamasaki-san was going to crush your skull, Naruse-kun.”
“I WILL PROTECT YOU NEXT TIME, NARUSE!” Koganegawa declared heroically.
“NOW, LET’S GO HOME AND DRINK TEN GALLONS OF MILK!”
Koganegawa turned to march down the left fork of the road.
Sakunami turned right.
Instantly, Itsuki’s hands shot out, grabbing the back collars of both of their tracksuits with terrifying precision.
He yanked them backward.
“Geh!” Sakunami choked.
“Hrk!” Koganegawa gagged.
“We are not going home,” Itsuki said, his social anxiety completely vanishing now that the seniors were out of sight.
He adjusted his bag, his eyes locked onto the glowing neon signs a few blocks away.
“We are going to the Osaki City Center Mall.”
Fifteen minutes later, the three of them were standing in the brightly lit aisles of a major sporting goods store.
“Naruse-kun, why are we here?” Sakunami asked nervously, checking his wallet.
“Because a system requires proper hardware,” Itsuki muttered, analyzing a row of body composition scales.
“Koganegawa, put that down immediately.”
“BUT IT LOOKS SO COOL!” Koganegawa yelled from the next aisle over.
He was holding a neon pink, vibrating thigh-master, waving it around like a battle axe.
“WHAT DOES IT EVEN DO?!”
“Excuse me, please lower your voice,” a very polite, very annoyed store clerk said, approaching them.
Itsuki’s face flushed brilliant red.
He shoved the scale he was holding into his basket and sprinted over, grabbing the thigh-master out of Koganegawa’s hands and throwing it back on the shelf.
“We are so incredibly sorry!” Itsuki squeaked, bowing frantically to the clerk, his 192cm frame bending perfectly in half.
“He does not know how to modulate his vocal cords!
We are leaving this aisle right now!”
“I’m sorry!” Sakunami echoed, bowing just as fast beside him.
They practically dragged Koganegawa to the nutrition section.
Itsuki pulled out his meticulously written notebook.
“Protein powder.
Creatine monohydrate.
Joint support supplements,” Itsuki listed off, tossing massive black tubs into their shopping basket.
He turned to Sakunami.
“You need new knee pads.
The ones you were wearing today lack sufficient lateral padding for diving digs.
Go grab the Mizuno Pro-level ones.
And Koganegawa…”
Itsuki looked at the blonde setter’s massive, size-fourteen feet.
“You need shoes with better ankle lockdown.
Your kinetic energy is bleeding out the sides of your soles every time you jump.”
Half an hour of wrangling Koganegawa away from weird massage guns, heavy ropes, and a unicycle later, they finally reached the cash register.
The cashier scanned the mountain of specialized sports nutrition and gear.
The final total popped up on the digital screen.
Sakunami stared at the number.
The color drained from his face, and his soul visibly exited through his mouth.
Koganegawa’s jaw dropped so low it nearly unhinged.
“M-My…
my monthly allowance…” Sakunami whimpered, anime tears streaming down his face as he pulled out his crumpled bills.
“I was going to buy a new manga…”
“I CAN’T AFFORD PORK BUNS FOR A MONTH!” Koganegawa wailed, slamming his money onto the counter.
“It is an investment in our statistical probability of reaching Nationals,” Itsuki said stoically, paying for his own massive tubs of protein and the digital scale.
Though, internally, he was also calculating how many days he would have to skip buying juice from the vending machine to recover financially.
The automatic doors of the mall slid open, releasing them into the cool, dark evening air.
They stood there for a moment, their arms completely laden with heavy shopping bags.
Koganegawa was sniffling dramatically, mourning his lost pork buns, while Sakunami looked entirely exhausted.
Itsuki stopped walking.
He set his heavy bags down on the concrete.
He looked at Koganegawa, who had almost broken a store display and had zero setting skills.
He looked at Sakunami, who was terrified of his own shadow but possessed flawless defensive form.
Without a word, Itsuki stepped back, placed his hands firmly at his sides, and bowed deeply to both of them.
“Thank you,” Itsuki said, his voice stripped of all its usual analytical coldness, leaving only raw, honest gratitude.
“If you hadn’t stayed to toss for me, I wouldn’t have recalibrated my timing.
And if you hadn’t agreed to the 3-on-3 match…
I wouldn’t have a chance to prove myself.
I know I am difficult.
I know I demand a lot.
But…
thank you.”
Sakunami blinked, entirely caught off guard.
A soft smile broke across the libero’s face.
He stepped forward and gently pushed Itsuki’s shoulder, forcing the taller boy to stand up straight.
“You don’t need to bow to us, Naruse-kun,” Sakunami said warmly.
“We’re Date Tech’s first-years.
We’re teammates now.
And…
we’re friends, right?”
Itsuki’s eyes widened slightly.
Friends.
It was a variable he hadn’t fully factored into his equations.
“THAT’S RIGHT!” Koganegawa suddenly bellowed, his grief over the pork buns instantly vaporized.
He dropped his bags, raised a massive, clumsy fist in the air, and held it out toward Itsuki.
“WE’RE THE NEW IRON WALL!
ME, YOU, AND SAKUNAMI!”
Itsuki stared at Koganegawa’s extended fist.
For a second, his social anxiety flared, unsure of the protocol.
But then, looking at the fierce determination in Koganegawa’s wide eyes and Sakunami’s encouraging smile, Itsuki raised his own hand.
He bumped his knuckles against Koganegawa’s, then reached over and bumped Sakunami’s.
“Yes,” Itsuki said quietly, a determined spark igniting in his eyes.
“We are.”
A hundred feet away, hiding entirely un-stealthily behind a large, decorative mall shrub, four figures watched the exchange.
“BWAHAHA!
Look at them!
The giant nerd is making friends!” Kamasaki laughed loudly, crouching in the bushes.
“Shh!
Kamasaki, keep your voice down, they’ll hear us!” Moniwa panicked, furiously shushing the vice-captain.
Moniwa was clutching a handkerchief, wiping a massive stream of anime tears from his eyes.
“They’re growing up so fast…
they actually went shopping for practice gear together…”
“Why did I agree to follow them?” Futakuchi sighed heavily, standing with his arms crossed, making absolutely no effort to hide.
“This is borderline stalking, Captain.”
“You’re just mad because you saw Naruse buy the exact same protein powder you use, and now you have to share a brand with a nerd,” Sasaya teased from the back of the group.
Aone stood silently beside Futakuchi, staring intently through the leaves at the three first-years parting ways in the distance.
Moniwa blew his nose into his handkerchief, finally standing up straight.
The comedic, mother-hen persona washed away, replaced by the heavy, reliable aura of a third-year captain.
He looked at the other seniors in the bushes.
“They’re coming for our spots,” Moniwa said, his voice dropping low, a fierce, competitive fire burning in his eyes.
“They want to carry this team.
But we aren’t done yet.”
Kamasaki punched his fists together, a terrifying grin spreading across his face.
“Damn right we aren’t.
We’ll crush their little 3-on-3 rebellion, and then we’ll drag them to the Interhigh Qualifiers with us.”
“Shoulder to shoulder,” Futakuchi agreed, a predatory smirk returning to his face.
“Seijoh, Shiratorizawa…
I don’t care who it is.
We’re locking them all out.”
Aone gave a single, resolute nod.
The Iron Wall was fully awake, and Miyagi Prefecture wasn’t ready for it.