The atmosphere inside the Date Tech gymnasium was so thick you could have cut it with a volleyball net antenna.
It was Monday.
The day of the trial.
There was no ambient chatter.
The usual screeching of sneakers during warm-ups felt sharper, heavier.
Half the gym had been cleared away, leaving a single, pristine court illuminated under the overhead lights.
On one side of the net stood the seniors: Captain Moniwa, Kamasaki, and Aone.
They wore their official white and teal game jerseys.
They didn’t look like high schoolers playing a club sport; they looked like a fortified concrete bunker.
On the other side stood the challengers: Itsuki, Koganegawa, and Sakunami.
They wore plain practice t-shirts, but the physical changes from a week of absolute hell were visible.
Koganegawa’s posture was slightly more grounded.
Sakunami’s eyes were completely devoid of their usual panic.
And Itsuki stood tall, his 192-centimeter frame coiled with a terrifying, quiet tension.
Coach Oiwake stood by the referee stand, clipboard in hand.
Assistant Coach Nametsu held the scoreboard.
Futakuchi and Sasaya sat on the sidelines, acting as linesmen, though Futakuchi looked like he had bought front-row tickets to a boxing match.
“The rules are simple,” Oiwake’s gruff voice echoed through the silent gym.
“Modified 3-on-3.
One set.
First to twenty-five points wins.
Seniors, if you lose, these three take priority in the Interhigh starting rotation.
First-years, if you lose, you run one hundred laps and don’t ask me for a starting jersey until the third-years retire.”
Oiwake raised his hand.
“Let’s see what you’ve built.
Captains, to the net.”
Moniwa and Itsuki stepped forward.
Moniwa offered his hand, a serious, completely focused look in his eyes.
Itsuki shook it firmly.
“We won’t hold back, Naruse,” Moniwa warned softly.
“I factored that into my equations, Captain,” Itsuki replied, perfectly deadpan.
TWEEEEET!
The whistle sliced the air.
The trial began.
Seniors served first.
Kamasaki stepped up to the end line, bouncing the ball aggressively.
He tossed it high, took a violent approach, and launched a heavy jump serve.
It wasn’t as refined as Oikawa Tooru’s, but it possessed raw, concussive brute force, rocketing straight toward the back-left corner.
A week ago, Sakunami would have panicked, lunged late, and let the ball ricochet off his wrists into the ceiling.
But not today.
Watch the core.
Watch the hips, Sakunami repeated Itsuki’s mantra in his head.
Before Kamasaki even struck the ball, Sakunami had read the slight dip in the third-year’s left shoulder.
The libero shifted his weight instantly, his new, thickly padded Mizuno knee pads scraping the floor as he dropped his center of gravity.
He was there waiting for it.
BUMP.
The heavy spin of the ball was completely absorbed by Sakunami’s forearms.
It popped up cleanly, floating in a perfect arc toward the setter’s position.
“HE GOT IT UP!” Futakuchi yelled from the sideline, genuinely shocked.
“PERFECT RECEIVE, SAKUNAMI!” Koganegawa bellowed, lumbering beneath the ball.
“NOW!
OPERATION: STRATOSPHERE!”
Koganegawa didn’t bend his knees for a delicate set.
He planted his massive size-fourteen feet, squared his shoulders, and violently thrust his huge hands upward, pushing the ball straight into the gym’s upper atmosphere.
Across the net, Kamasaki and Aone snapped their heads up, tracking the ridiculous height of the toss.
“What kind of garbage set is that?!” Kamasaki yelled.
“It’s too high!”
But Itsuki was already moving.
Left.
Right.
Left.
He exploded off the floor.
His newly fortified muscles—fueled by a week of agonizing macro-tracking and 10-kilometer runs—fired with beautiful synchronization.
He soared, meeting the ball at an apex that made Moniwa gasp.
Itsuki pulled his right arm back, his eyes scanning the block.
Aone and Kamasaki are late.
The set height disrupted their timing.
Inner cross is open.
He swung.
But Aone Takanobu was a genius of the Iron Wall.
Aone realized mid-jump that he couldn’t reach the ball’s apex in time.
So, instead of trying to block the ball, he blocked the trajectory.
Using the lateral core strength he had secretly practiced all week, Aone violently shifted his upper body to the left while in mid-air, thrusting his massive arms directly into Itsuki’s inner-cross lane.
Itsuki’s eyes widened.
He adapted!
SMACK!
The spike slammed into Aone’s right hand.
The ball deflected high and softly onto the first-years’ side.
“One touch!” Aone grunted as he landed.
“I got it!” Sakunami called, diving to keep the ball alive.
He bumped it back up.
“Koganegawa-kun, cover!”
The rally exploded into chaos.
The ball crossed the net three more times in rapid succession.
Kamasaki blasted a spike that nearly took off Koganegawa’s head, but Sakunami miraculously got a foot under it.
Itsuki tried to tool the block, but Moniwa was there to dig it up on the back line.
The gym was entirely breathless.
The squeak of shoes sounded like a symphony of rubber and polished wood.
Twenty minutes later.
Score: 24 – 23, in favor of the Seniors.
Match point.
The first-years were drenched in sweat.
Koganegawa was panting like a dog in summer.
Sakunami’s arms were bright red, covered in floor burns.
Itsuki stood at the net, his chest heaving.
His 70-percent power limit had kept them in the game, allowing him to hit sharp, highly technical angles that drove the seniors crazy.
But it wasn’t enough to break them.
Whenever Itsuki needed a decisive, crushing point, Aone was there, a silent, immovable phantom sealing off the light.
“They’re a fortress,” Itsuki muttered, wiping sweat from his eye.
“Aone-san’s read-blocking speed has increased by at least point-five seconds since last week.
He’s downloading my habits mid-match.”
“NARUSE!” Koganegawa yelled, slapping his own cheeks to stay awake.
“WHAT’S THE MATH SAY?!
HOW DO WE BREAK IT?!”
Itsuki looked at Koganegawa.
He looked at Sakunami, who was crouching low, his eyes burning with absolute refusal to lose.
Itsuki looked down at his own hands.
His joints felt stable.
His core felt tight.
The week of strict dieting and conditioning had woven the newly grown muscle fibers tightly around his elongated skeletal frame.
The equations in his head shifted.
“Seventy percent is a statistical failure against a fully adapted Iron Wall,” Itsuki said quietly, his eyes darkening into a terrifying, hollow focus.
“We drop the limiters.”
Koganegawa gasped.
“Wait…
you mean…?”
Itsuki looked at Koganegawa, his expression utterly ruthless.
“Toss it to the moon, Koganegawa.
I will do the rest.”
TWEEET!
Moniwa served.
A sharp, tactical float serve aimed perfectly at the seam between Sakunami and Itsuki.
“Mine!” Sakunami roared.
He threw his body forward, executing a flawless diving pancake.
The ball popped up off the back of his hand, high and dead center.
“NICE DIG!” Koganegawa bellowed, taking a massive step under the ball.
Across the net, the Iron Wall assembled.
Kamasaki and Aone tracked Koganegawa.
They knew the play.
They knew it was going to Itsuki.
“Operation Stratosphere!” Koganegawa roared, pushing the ball violently upward.
It was the highest set he had ever thrown.
It nearly grazed the lighting fixtures of the gym ceiling.
Itsuki took a deep breath.
Time slowed to a crawl.
The gym noise faded out, leaving only the sound of his own heartbeat.
Left.
Right.
Left.
He planted his feet on the three-meter line.
This time, he didn’t hold back to protect his joints.
He fully engaged every single muscle fiber in his calves, his thighs, and his lower back.
BANG.
Itsuki launched off the floor with the sound of a gunshot.
The sheer explosive force of his jump left a scuff mark on the hardwood.
He soared higher than he ever had in his life, his chest perfectly parallel to the net tape, his head nearly level with the top antenna.
On the other side, Aone and Kamasaki leaped together.
They formed an absolute, flawless canopy of flesh and bone.
There were no seams.
There was no cross.
There was no straight.
It was the physical manifestation of Date Tech’s pride.
“SHUT OUT!” Kamasaki roared mid-air. The source of this chapter is g.com.
Itsuki hung in the air, staring down at the massive wall.
I am 192 centimeters tall, Itsuki thought, a cold, clinical fire raging in his chest.
I have the highest set in the prefecture.
I have perfect mid-air control.
And now…
I have the hardware to match the software.
Suspended at his absolute apex, Itsuki violently twisted his spine backward, coiling his entire body like a heavy siege engine.
Aone’s eyes widened in mid-air.
The giant second-year recognized the posture.
It was the exact same impossible, bow-like bend Itsuki had done a week ago—but the rotational tension was doubled.
The Date Tech blockers reached their peak and began to fall.
Itsuki didn’t fall.
He hung there for one fraction of a second longer, defying gravity purely through core stabilization.
Then, he snapped.
His core engaged, dragging his shoulder forward with terrifying velocity.
He didn’t try to tool the block.
He didn’t try to wipe it.
He aimed dead center at Kamasaki’s incredibly thick right arm.
100% Kinetic Chain.
Itsuki’s hand struck the ball.
KRA-KOOM!
The sound was deafening.
It didn’t sound like a volleyball spike; it sounded like a car crash.
The ball flattened against Itsuki’s palm before exploding forward.
It struck Kamasaki’s forearms with the force of a meteor.
The sheer, overwhelming rotational velocity of the spike blew the third-year’s heavy arms completely backward.
“GWAH!” Kamasaki choked out, his block entirely shattered.
The ball blasted through the gap between Kamasaki’s blown-back arms, ricocheted off the floorboard mere inches from Moniwa’s diving face, and slammed violently into the back wall of the gymnasium, bouncing wildly into the bleachers.
Silence.
Absolute, ringing silence.
Itsuki landed.
He stumbled forward half a step, the sheer force of his own swing nearly throwing him off balance, his right arm throbbing with a dull, burning ache.
He straightened up, his chest heaving, his dark gray-highlighted hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
He looked across the net.
Kamasaki was standing there, staring at his red, stinging forearms in utter disbelief.
He had just been overpowered.
Brute-forced.
Not by Ushijima Wakatoshi, but by a socially anxious first-year who calculated his macros on a spreadsheet.
Aone landed silently.
The giant stared at Itsuki.
Then, very slowly, the corners of Aone’s mouth twitched upward into a terrifying, genuine smile.
TWEEET!
Coach Oiwake’s whistle finally broke the spell.
“Point, Challengers!” Oiwake yelled, lowering the whistle.
He looked at the scoreboard.
“Deuce.
24-24.
Switch courts.”
The gym instantly erupted into absolute pandemonium.
“UWOOOOOOOOHHH!!!” Koganegawa screamed, running in a circle with his arms raised like he had just won the Olympics.
“HE BLEW THE WALL AWAY!” Futakuchi yelled from the sidelines, grabbing Sasaya by the shoulders and shaking him.
“SASAYA-SAN, HE BLEW KAMASAKI AWAY!
I HAVE IT ON MY MENTAL CAMERA FOREVER!”
“Shut up, Futakuchi!” Kamasaki roared, his face entirely red, though he was grinning like a maniac.
He pointed a finger at Itsuki.
“YOU BRAT!
WHAT WAS THAT?!
I THOUGHT YOU SAID SEVENTY PERCENT?!”
Itsuki, realizing everyone in the gym was staring at him again, instantly curled his shoulders inward, his terrifying aura evaporating as his face turned beet red.
“I-I updated the firmware!” Itsuki squeaked, hiding behind Sakunami, who was currently crying tears of joy.
“I am so sorry, Kamasaki-san!
I will buy you an ice pack!”
Coach Oiwake stood on the referee stand, watching the first-years celebrate their deuce-forcing point.
He looked down at his clipboard, at the roster sheet for the upcoming Miyagi Interhigh Qualifiers.
He didn’t cross out the third-years’ names.
The match wasn’t over, and the seniors would undoubtedly fight to the bitter end.
But Oiwake took his pen and firmly circled the names Naruse Itsuki, Sakunami Kousuke, and Koganegawa Kanji.
Assistant Coach Nametsu walked over, smiling brightly.
“They’re undeniable now, aren’t they, Coach?”
“Yes,” Oiwake grunted, stepping down from the stand.
He looked at the court, where Aone was currently giving Itsuki a very aggressive, silent fist bump that nearly dislocated the first-year’s shoulder.
“The shield is intact,” Oiwake murmured, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
“But now…
Date Tech finally has a spear.”