The sharp squeak of rubber soles had finally settled into a heavy, exhausted silence.
The Date Tech volleyball team stood lined up shoulder-to-shoulder on the baseline.
The seniors were breathing hard, covered in sweat, while the three first-years looked like they had just survived a natural disaster.
Coach Oiwake stood in front of them, holding a cardboard box.
Assistant Coach Nametsu stood beside him, holding a stack of freshly folded white and teal jerseys.
“Listen up,” Oiwake’s gruff voice echoed through the gym.
He paced slowly down the line.
“Date Tech does not play flashy volleyball.
We don’t rely on miracles, and we don’t rely on luck.
We rely on absolute, suffocating pressure.
We break the opponent’s will to fight before the ball even hits the floor.”
He stopped in front of the first-years.
“The Iron Wall has been our pride for years.
But pride doesn’t block spikes; strength and evolution do.
You three proved today that you have the guts to evolve.” Oiwake reached into the box.
“Sakunami.”
“Y-Yes, Coach!” Sakunami stepped forward, bowing rigidly.
“Number 13.
You’re our secondary Libero.
Guard the floor when the wall is airborne.”
“OSU!” Sakunami took the jersey, his hands trembling as he stared at the teal fabric.
“Koganegawa.”
“YES, SIR!” Koganegawa bellowed, nearly deafening everyone in a ten-foot radius.
“Number 14.
You are a complete mess of a setter.
But you have a frame most teams would kill for.
Learn to use it.”
“I WILL BE THE BIGGEST MESS YOU’VE EVER SEEN!” Koganegawa cheered, grabbing the jersey and hugging it to his face.
Finally, Oiwake stepped in front of Itsuki.
He handed over the jersey he had offered at the end of the match.
“Naruse.
Number 11.
Left Wing Spiker.
Your intelligence is a weapon, but your body needs to catch up.
Eat your protein and stop overthinking your own breathing.”
Itsuki accepted the jersey, bowing perfectly.
“Understood, Coach.”
Oiwake stepped back, crossing his arms.
“The Interhigh Qualifiers are approaching.
We are not just participating this year.
We are dominating.
Dismissed!”
“OSU!” the entire team roared in unison.
Thirty minutes later, the high of receiving their official jerseys was entirely overshadowed by a rapidly approaching terror.
“MEAT TIME!” Kamasaki roared in the street outside the school gates, slinging his gym bag over his massive shoulder.
“Rookies!
You made us sweat, so we’re treating you to ramen!
Let’s go!”
Itsuki froze.
The color instantly drained from his face.
“Um.
Actually, Kamasaki-san, I have a highly specific macronutrient plan I need to adhere to—” Itsuki started, taking a slow step backward.
Futakuchi appeared behind him like a snarky shadow, clamping a hand down on Itsuki’s shoulder.
“Nice try, calculator boy.
It’s team bonding.
You’re coming.
And don’t worry, we won’t make you order this time.”
Itsuki let out a quiet breath of relief.
The memory of the double-soy-sauce-bowl disaster at Menya Osaki still haunted his nightmares.
He had spent the last week actively avoiding that street.
Ten minutes later, they squeezed into the exact same corner booth at the ramen shop.
It was just as cramped as last time.
Koganegawa was practically vibrating with excitement, Sakunami looked exhausted but happy, and Itsuki was actively trying to fold his 192-centimeter frame into the physical space of a napkin to avoid drawing attention. This chapter was taken from novelping . com without permission.
“Alright,” Futakuchi smirked, leaning back and looking maliciously at Koganegawa.
“Since Naruse practically had a stroke last time, Koganegawa, you’re on ordering duty.
Go to the counter.”
“I WILL ORDER WITH HONOR!” Koganegawa declared, shooting up from the table and marching to the front.
Itsuki immediately felt a sense of impending doom.
Koganegawa reached the counter.
He looked at the tiny, terrified waitress, then turned around to face the booth, which was a good twenty feet away across a crowded restaurant.
“HEY, KAMASAKI-SAN!” Koganegawa bellowed at the top of his lungs, causing three businessmen at the next table to spill their tea.
“DO YOU WANT THE MEGA PORK OR THE EXTRA MEGA PORK?!”
“EXTRA MEGA PORK, OBVIOUSLY!
WITH EXTRA GARLIC!” Kamasaki roared back, completely unbothered by social norms.
“GOT IT!
MONIWA-SAN!
DID YOU WANT THE SPICY MISO OR REGULAR?!”
“Keep your voice down!” Moniwa shrieked, hiding his face behind a menu.
“Regular is fine!
Please stop yelling!”
“AONE-SAN?!” Koganegawa screamed.
Aone didn’t speak.
From twenty feet away, he simply raised two massive fingers, gave a firm nod, and pointed at a picture of chashu on the menu.
“TWO ORDERS OF CHASHU!
UNDERSTOOD!”
In the booth, Itsuki had completely slid down in his seat, his knees practically touching his chin.
His social anxiety was flaring so violently he felt like he was vibrating.
I am going to legally change my name and move to a different prefecture, Itsuki calculated in his head.
It is the only logical solution.
Eventually, the food arrived, and the public embarrassment transitioned into aggressive eating.
Halfway through his bowl, Sasaya wiped his mouth and casually dropped a bomb on the table.
“By the way, first-years,” Sasaya said, pointing a chopstick at them.
“You better not get lazy just because you got your jerseys today.
Coach Oiwake is finalizing the details with the administration right now.”
Sakunami swallowed his noodles.
“Details for what?”
“Your debut,” Moniwa smiled, the stress finally fading from his face.
“Before the Interhigh Qualifiers start, Coach wants to test the new rotation.
We’re having an official practice match against another school in a few days.”
Koganegawa choked on a whole boiled egg.
Itsuki’s chopstick froze midway to his mouth.
His eyes snapped up, instantly locking onto Moniwa.
The social anxiety vanished, immediately overwritten by the cold, calculating hunger of a competitor.
“An official practice match?” Itsuki repeated, his voice dropping into that intense, quiet register.
“Against who?”
“Coach hasn’t said yet,” Futakuchi drawled, slurping his broth.
“Probably some mid-tier school to let you rookies get the jitters out.
But don’t screw it up.
If you make me look bad on the court, Naruse, I will personally throw your diet binder into the river.”
“I will not make statistical errors, Futakuchi-san,” Itsuki replied deadpan.
Aone looked at Itsuki over his massive bowl of ramen and gave a slow, terrifyingly intense nod.
The silent challenge was clear: Prove you belong on the court with us.
The night air was cool and refreshing as they left the ramen shop.
The seniors had walked ahead, loudly arguing about whether Kamasaki’s biceps were hindering his serving motion.
The three first-years trailed a few paces behind, their gym bags slung over their shoulders.
Itsuki suddenly stopped walking.
Koganegawa and Sakunami paused, looking back at him.
Itsuki adjusted his bag, stepped back, and bowed perfectly in half.
“Naruse-kun?” Sakunami asked, confused.
“I must apologize,” Itsuki said to the pavement, his voice laced with heavy self-criticism.
“My physical stamina failed in the final moments of the third set.
The 100-percent kinetic chain recoil incapacitated my accuracy.
If my hardware was properly optimized, I could have bypassed Aone-san’s soft block, and we would have won.
I failed you both as an ace.”
Koganegawa stared at him. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Sakunami just blinked.
Then, Sakunami Kousuke—the usually timid, easily frightened libero—stepped forward and confidently flicked Itsuki right in the center of his forehead.
Flick.
“Ow,” Itsuki said, breaking his bow and rubbing his head in sheer shock.
He looked down at the libero.
“Stop doing math on our friendship, Naruse-kun,” Sakunami scolded softly, though he was smiling.
“You didn’t fail us.
You scored points on the Iron Wall!
We lost because they’re amazing, and we just have to get more amazing.
We’re a team.
We have each other.”
“SAKUNAMI IS RIGHT!” Koganegawa suddenly grabbed Itsuki by the shoulders and violently shook him.
“DID YOU SEE US OUT THERE?!
WE WERE INCREDIBLE!
SAKUNAMI WENT WHOOSH AND DUG UP KAMASAKI-SAN’S CANNON!”
“I-I did do that, didn’t I?” Sakunami blushed, instantly geeking out.
“But Koganegawa-kun, your decoy jump was amazing!
They totally fell for it!”
“THE HUMAN ECLIPSE!” Koganegawa roared to the night sky.
“AND NARUSE’S ADVANCED BAZOOKA!
YOU HIT IT COMPLETELY BLIND!
YOU’RE LIKE A NINJA!”
Itsuki, currently being rattled like a maraca, felt the tension finally bleed out of his shoulders.
A genuine, bright smile broke across his face.
“The Advanced Bazooka was a statistical anomaly fueled entirely by panic,” Itsuki admitted, laughing for the first time all day.
“But…
the Human Eclipse decoy has a high probability of success in official matches.
If we refine the timing, no blocker in Miyagi will be able to stop it.”
“WE’RE GONNA CRUSH THE INTERHIGH!” Koganegawa declared.
He held out his massive fist.
Sakunami grinned fiercely and bumped his fist against it.
Itsuki looked at his two friends.
He raised his hand and completed the trio, bumping his knuckles against theirs.
“Before the Interhigh,” Itsuki corrected, his eyes burning with a sharp, terrifying confidence.
“We have the practice match.
Whoever they are, we are going to dismantle them.”
“YEAH!” Koganegawa bellowed.
“WE’RE DATE TECH!
WE’RE THE NEW IRON WALL!”
Caught up in the sheer, overwhelming hype of their first upcoming high school match, the three of them simultaneously dropped into a low, intimidating volleyball stance right in the middle of the sidewalk.
They glared fiercely into the distance, eyes burning with invisible fire, perfectly mimicking Aone’s terrifying aura.
A businessman walking his dog down the street saw three towering high schoolers (and one intense libero) striking a menacing pose in the dark.
He yelped, picked up his poodle, and practically sprinted in the opposite direction.
The three first-years held the intense pose for another ten seconds.
Then, a cold wind blew past them.
Itsuki blinked.
He slowly stood up, looking at the street signs around them.
He looked at a nearby convenience store he didn’t recognize.
He looked at a park he had never seen before in his life.
The terrifying aura instantly shattered.
“Um,” Itsuki said, his social anxiety returning at breakneck speed.
“What is it, Naruse?” Koganegawa asked, still flexing.
“I was so focused on the post-match analysis,” Itsuki muttered, pulling out his phone and frantically opening his maps app, “that I stopped tracking our trajectory.”
Sakunami looked around, the color draining from his face.
“Naruse-kun…
where are the seniors?”
“They turned left three blocks ago,” Itsuki confirmed grimly.
“SO WHERE ARE WE?!” Koganegawa yelled.
Itsuki stared at his phone, then looked at his teammates with completely deadpan, utterly hopeless eyes.
“Mathematically speaking,” Itsuki said.
“We are completely lost.”