The next two weeks fundamentally altered the biological and atmospheric makeup of the Date Tech volleyball club.
For Itsuki, the transformation was agonizingly mathematical.
His alarm went off at 4:30 AM every day.
Breakfast was exactly 850 calories, heavily weighted toward complex carbohydrates and lean proteins.
His training shifted from pure court awareness to brutal physical conditioning—heavy plyometrics, box jumps, and lateral resistance sprints.
Building muscle mass on a rapidly growing 192-centimeter frame while desperately trying not to lose his mid-air flexibility was a tightrope walk of agony.
His muscles ached constantly.
His lungs burned during the morning runs.
But as he sat in class, massaging a cramping calf under his desk, Itsuki found himself smiling.
In middle school, the pain of practice had felt hollow, a lonely grind for a team that didn’t care.
Now, it was different.
Every extra squat, every extra gram of protein was armor he was building for the Iron Wall.
He was their Ace.
He had a setter willing to toss to the moon for him, a libero willing to dive onto concrete for him, and seniors who relied on him to punch holes in the enemy’s defense.
The responsibility didn’t crush him; it was the ultimate high.
The “Itsuki Effect” was highly contagious.
Because Itsuki was working so relentlessly, Koganegawa and Sakunami found themselves accelerating their own growth just to keep pace.
Sakunami was staying late every night, forcing the assistant coach to hit nasty jump floats at him until his forearms were entirely bruised.
Koganegawa, despite his absolute lack of finesse, was doing finger push-ups and tossing medicine balls against the wall, determined to build the wrist strength required to perfectly stabilize the “Stratosphere” set.
They were shaping up months earlier than typical first-years.
And the Date Tech seniors felt it.
For the past two years, Date Tech had been the terrifying gatekeepers of Miyagi.
But they always crumbled when they reached the true summit.
Against Aoba Johsai, Oikawa’s flawless adaptability dismantled them.
Against Shiratorizawa, Ushijima’s raw, monstrous power blasted through them.
Deep down, the third-years knew why: they had the strength, but they had lacked the obsessive, microscopic discipline to evolve during the match.
Watching their kohai—watching Itsuki calculate his exact jump apex, watching Sakunami repeatedly throw his body onto the floor without a single complaint—ignited a massive, roaring fire in the seniors.
Aone became a demon at the net.
He stopped relying purely on his massive size and started actively studying Itsuki’s hip rotations, forcing the freshman ace into increasingly ridiculous mid-air contortions just to score a single point in practice.
Futakuchi’s snark was suddenly backed by a vicious, competitive work ethic; the second-year was secretly practicing his jump serves until his palms bled, refusing to let a rookie outshine him on the service line.
Even Kamasaki stopped just lifting weights and started working on his transition speed.
Coach Oiwake watched the gym hum with this terrifying new rhythm.
The Iron Wall wasn’t just a defensive concept anymore.
It was an ideology.
In late April, Oiwake blew his whistle, calling the team to the center of the gym.
“Listen up,” Oiwake commanded, his heavy gaze sweeping over the sweaty, panting players.
“Golden Week is approaching.
We have exactly one month before the Interhigh Qualifiers begin.
You’ve improved your individual specs, but your synergy in a chaotic match environment is still untested.
Therefore, we are holding a Golden Week Training Camp.”
“A CAMP?!” Koganegawa bellowed.
“LIKE…
WITH SLEEPING BAGS AND CAMPFIRES?!”
“We are sleeping in the club room and eating curry, Koganegawa, calm down,” Moniwa sighed.
“I have arranged a series of practice matches,” Oiwake continued, ignoring the interruption.
“For the first few days, we will host several local Osaki City teams here.
It will be a gauntlet to test our stamina and lock in the new rotation.”
Oiwake paused, looking down at his clipboard.
The gym went entirely quiet.
“But on the final day of Golden Week,” Oiwake said, his voice dropping an octave, “we will board a bus and travel to Sendai City.
We have an away match.”
“Shiratorizawa Academy.”
The name dropped into the gymnasium like a lead weight.
Absolute, suffocating silence swept over the Date Tech players.
Shiratorizawa.
The undisputed champions of Miyagi Prefecture.
The absolute pinnacle of high school volleyball power.
For the seniors and second-years, the name carried a heavy, traumatic weight.
Aone and Futakuchi remembered their first year, standing on the court in the qualifiers, staring up at a left-handed monster named Ushijima Wakatoshi.
They remembered the sickening sound of his spikes tearing through their double blocks like wet tissue paper.
They remembered the absolute despair of being crushed by pure, undeniable force.
Aone’s massive hands slowly curled into tight fists.
A terrifying, dark aura erupted from the giant middle blocker, his pupil-less eyes narrowing into deadly slits.
Futakuchi’s usual smirk vanished entirely, replaced by a cold, hardened scowl.
Kamasaki cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet gym.
They were nervous, yes.
But beneath the nerves, a fierce, undeniable hunger was boiling over.
While the upperclassmen were internally preparing for war, Itsuki was sitting on the floor, calmly double-knotting the laces of his Mizuno volleyball shoes.
“Shiratorizawa,” Itsuki murmured, straightening up and adjusting the collar of his practice shirt.
He looked at Coach Oiwake.
“I see.
That will be an excellent benchmark for our defensive algorithms.
I am familiar with their facilities.
I was there for a tour last year.”
“A tour?” Moniwa asked, blinking.
“Did your middle school go on a field trip?”
“No,” Itsuki replied, perfectly deadpan, casually grabbing his water bottle.
“I was scouted by their head coach, Washijo-sensei, during the Miyagi Middle School Tournament.
They sent me a formal invitation to join their sports advancement program.”
The entire gymnasium froze.
Kamasaki’s jaw unhinged.
Futakuchi choked on his own spit.
Sakunami stared at his friend as if Itsuki had just announced he was an alien from outer space.
“YOU WERE SCOUTED BY SHIRATORIZAWA?!” Koganegawa roared, his voice cracking violently.
“Yes,” Itsuki said, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just detonated a psychological bomb in the middle of the gym.
“They noted my height and spatial awareness.
The offer included a full athletic scholarship and guaranteed placement in their elite training bracket.”
“And…
you’re here?” Sasaya breathed, entirely dumbfounded.
“Naruse, anyone who gets a letter from Shiratorizawa goes to Shiratorizawa.
Why on earth did you come to Date Tech?!”
Itsuki took a sip of water, swallowed, and looked at his seniors with absolute, chilling sincerity.
“Because their system is mathematically uninspired,” Itsuki stated bluntly.
“Shiratorizawa’s entire philosophy is to funnel every single ball to Ushijima Wakatoshi.
They rely on simple, overwhelming force.
If I went there, I would merely be a decoy or a secondary piece of artillery designed to make Ushijima’s life easier.”
Itsuki’s eyes darkened, the competitive arrogance of a true Ace bleeding into his voice.
“I refuse to live in someone else’s shadow,” Itsuki declared.
“I am not a supporting character. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
I came to Date Tech because I want to be the Ace of the team that tears Shiratorizawa’s empire to the ground.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
It was the most badass, intensely confident, downright terrifying thing anyone in the gym had ever heard.
Aone was staring at Itsuki with what could only be described as starry-eyed reverence.
Kamasaki looked ready to cry manly tears.
And then, Itsuki processed the silence.
His analytical brain suddenly realized that twenty towering, incredibly intense athletes were staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
The adrenaline of his sports-anime monologue faded, and his social awareness violently re-engaged.
Itsuki’s face instantly flushed the color of a ripe tomato.
“I—Um!” Itsuki stammered, his posture instantly collapsing from ‘Terrifying Ace’ to ‘Frightened Giraffe’.
His shoulders shot up to his ears, and he frantically waved his hands in front of his face.
“I-I mean!
Statistically speaking!
The commute to Sendai was also very long!
And I really like the teal jackets here!
I didn’t mean to sound so arrogant!
Please disregard my previous statement!
I am just a freshman!”
He backed up so fast he nearly tripped over the ball cart, shrinking behind Sakunami, who was half his size.
The absolute whiplash between the cold, calculating demon who just insulted the reigning champions of Miyagi and the blushing, stammering mess currently trying to hide behind a libero was too much for the Date Tech team to handle.
“BWAHAHAHAHA!” Kamasaki threw his head back and roared with laughter, slapping his knees.
“DID YOU HEAR THAT?!
HE CALLED SHIRATORIZAWA ‘MATHEMATICALLY UNINSPIRED’!
OH, I LOVE THIS KID!”
“You’re a complete freak, Naruse,” Futakuchi cackled, wiping a tear from his eye.
“You reject the best school in the prefecture because they’re ‘boring’, and then you have a panic attack because we looked at you too long.”
“N-Naruse-kun, it’s okay, you don’t have to hide behind me!” Sakunami sweatdropped, patting the giant spiker’s arm.
“I wish to evaporate,” Itsuki mumbled into his hands, his ears burning.
“Alright, alright, settle down!” Moniwa yelled, clapping his hands to restore order, though he was beaming with immense pride.
He walked over to Itsuki, offering a reassuring smile.
“You don’t need to be embarrassed, Naruse.
You’re our Ace.
It’s good that you have that kind of pride.”
Itsuki peeked through his fingers.
He took a deep, shaky breath, actively forcing his social anxiety back down into its designated mental compartment.
He stood back up, adjusting his posture.
His face was still slightly red, but his dark eyes found Coach Oiwake’s.
“Coach,” Itsuki said, his voice no longer stammering, regaining that sharp, quiet intensity.
“Shiratorizawa may be the strongest in the prefecture, but strength without adaptability is just a brittle wall.
They are not invincible.”
Itsuki looked around the gym, meeting the eyes of Aone, Kamasaki, Futakuchi, and Koganegawa.
“If their Ace scores a point with brute force,” Itsuki declared, the absolute certainty ringing in his voice, “my pride dictates that I will score two with geometry.
We will not be crushed again.”
Aone raised a massive fist, slamming it against his chest.
“UWOOOOOOHHHHH!!!” Koganegawa unleashed a battle cry that shook the dust from the gym rafters.
“THE MATH ACE WILL DESTROY THE CANNON!
DATE TECH TO NATIONALS!”
Coach Oiwake allowed a full, terrifying grin to spread across his face.
“Golden Week starts Monday,” Oiwake barked, his voice laced with pure anticipation.
“Prepare to go to war.”