Days Three and Four: The Crucible
By the third day of the Golden Week training camp, the Date Tech gymnasium had transcended a mere practice space and become a survival zone.
The initial adrenaline of Day One had completely evaporated, replaced by a deep, bone-aching exhaustion.
Tape wrapped heavily around fingers.
Kneepads were permanently stained with floor wax.
But beneath the exhaustion, a terrifying, synchronized machine was rapidly assembling itself.
TWEEET!
“Date Tech, rotate!”
On the court against a towering Osaki City collegiate prep team, Date Tech was locked in a brutal rally.
“Left!” the opposing setter yelled.
Their ace jumped, swinging hard for a cross-court blast.
But Aone and Futakuchi were already there.
They didn’t just jump; they jumped with absolute, unified intent.
Aone’s massive hands perfectly sealed the straight, while Futakuchi angled his arms to suffocate the cross.
THUD.
The ball slammed into Futakuchi’s arms and dropped dead onto the opponents’ side.
“SHUT OUT!” Futakuchi roared, landing with a predatory smirk, pointing through the net.
“You’re swinging too wide!
It’s like you’re giving me a present!”
“Futakuchi, stop provoking them before they spike it at your face!” Moniwa yelled from the backline.
“Let them try, Captain!” Kamasaki yelled, slapping his thighs.
“The Wall eats everything!”
The transition to offense was where the true evolution shone.
Sakunami, his forearms bruised purple, flawlessly dug a heavy float serve.
“Koganegawa-kun!”
Koganegawa lumbered under the ball.
His form was still stiff, but the erratic panic of the first two days was gone.
He planted his massive feet, squared his shoulders, and pushed the ball high into the air.
Operation Stratosphere.
Itsuki took his approach.
His legs felt like lead, his lungs burning, but his eyes were locked onto the opposing block.
He leaped, suspending himself at his 192-centimeter apex.
The collegiate blockers jumped, forming a tall, imposing wall.
Instead of twisting his spine and burning precious energy, Itsuki remembered Nakashima Takeru’s advice.
Vision prioritization.
Loose elbow joint.
Itsuki didn’t swing for power.
He stalled his arm by a fraction of a second, his eyes locking onto the outer blocker’s pinky finger.
With a sharp, fluid snap of his wrist, he brushed the ball against the blocker’s hand.
Smack.
The ball deflected sharply off the pinky and flew out of bounds.
“Block out!”
Itsuki landed, exhaling a sharp breath, his right shoulder completely free of the usual aching recoil.
He looked at his hand, a small, highly satisfied smile touching his lips.
Kinetic conservation successful.
The wipe technique reduces stamina consumption by thirty percent.
“UWOOOOOOHHHHH!!!” Koganegawa rushed him, nearly knocking Itsuki over with a massive high-five.
“YOU PAINTED THE WALL, NARUSE!
JUST LIKE THE LITTLE GIANT GUY SAID!”
“Indeed,” Itsuki panted, adjusting his glasses.
“Though I would prefer you not shatter my metacarpals with your high-fives.”
Behind the scenes, the camp was forging a brotherhood built on shared suffering and massive quantities of food.
During dinner on the fourth night, the club room resembled a war zone of empty rice bowls.
“I claim the last piece of pork!” Kamasaki declared, stabbing his chopstick toward the center plate.
“Too slow, Gorilla-san!” Futakuchi snickered, his chopsticks moving like lightning to snatch the meat right out from under Kamasaki’s nose.
He popped it into his mouth.
“Mmm.
Tastes like victory.”
“FUTAKUCHI!
SPIT IT OUT!
I NEED THAT FOR MUSCLE REPAIR!”
“Boys, please, there is plenty of curry left in the pot!” Moniwa pleaded, looking like a stressed mother of five, holding a giant ladle.
In the corner, Sakunami was fast asleep, leaning against Koganegawa’s massive shoulder.
Koganegawa was also asleep, snoring with his mouth wide open, a piece of rice stuck to his cheek.
Itsuki sat across from them, meticulously calculating his daily caloric expenditure in his notebook, though his eyes were blinking slowly, fighting a losing battle against gravity.
Aone sat silently beside Itsuki, eating his fourth bowl of rice, watching the chaotic family he had helped build.
The Midnight Ambush
Day 4 – 11:45 PM.
The club room was pitch black.
The heavy, synchronized snoring of the Date Tech team filled the air.
Suddenly, the harsh glare of a flashlight clicked on, illuminating Kamasaki’s face from below.
He looked like a terrifying, muscular camp counselor.
“Wake up, rookies,” Kamasaki whispered loudly, violently shaking Itsuki, Sakunami, and Koganegawa.
Itsuki gasped, his eyes snapping open.
His brain immediately registered the dark room, the flashlight, and Kamasaki’s looming face.
His social anxiety and startle reflex fired simultaneously.
“I-I did not calculate the trajectory of the curry!
I surrender!” Itsuki blurted out, throwing his hands over his face.
“What?!
Shut up, Naruse!
Keep your voice down!” Kamasaki hissed, though he looked deeply amused.
Futakuchi groaned from his sleeping bag, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“Kamasaki-san, if you are doing what I think you’re doing, I am going to spike a ball into your groin tomorrow.”
“It is the final night of the camp!
Moniwa and Sasaya were standing behind him, Moniwa looking entirely conflicted and Sasaya holding a small, portable speaker.
“To defeat monsters, we must forge our mental fortitude!” Kamasaki declared.
“We are playing a Test of Bravery!”
Sakunami woke up, clutching his blanket to his chin.
“A…
a kimodameshi?
At midnight?!”
“Exactly!” Sasaya smirked.
“The rules are simple.
We placed a slip of paper with the Date Tech logo on the teacher’s podium in Class 2-B, on the third floor of the main building.
The first-years and second-years will go in two groups to retrieve it.
We, the third-years, will be waiting in the dark.”
Kamasaki flexed, casting a terrifying shadow on the wall.
“If you scream, cry, or fail to retrieve the paper…
you lose your dignity as a Date Tech player!
And you have to carry the ball carts for a month!”
“This is completely illogical,” Itsuki whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“The human nervous system is biologically programmed to react to sudden stimuli in the dark.
It is not a measure of bravery, it is a measure of the amygdala’s response time!”
“Nerd words won’t save you, Naruse!” Kamasaki grinned.
“Group One: The First Years!
Get moving!”
12:10 AM – The Main Building.
The hallways of Date Tech High School, usually bustling with students, were completely silent and pitch black.
The moonlight barely filtered through the windows, casting long, eerie shadows across the lockers.
“I don’t like this,” Sakunami whimpered, clinging tightly to the back of Koganegawa’s shirt.
“Schools are where all the haunted rumors come from…”
“DO NOT FEAR, SAKUNAMI!” Koganegawa whisper-yelled, his knees visibly shaking as he walked down the hall like a stiff robot.
“I WILL PROTECT YOU FROM THE GHOSTS WITH MY BAZOOKA SETS!”
Itsuki walked slightly behind them, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his eyes darting back and forth.
“Ghosts do not exist,” Itsuki muttered rapidly, essentially trying to mathematically negotiate with his own fear.
“To exist, a spectral entity would have to generate energy without consuming matter, which is a direct violation of the first law of thermodynamics.
Therefore, there is nothing to fear.
Statistically, the greatest threat here is tripping over a misplaced mop bucket.”
Scratch…
scratch…
scratch…
A horrific, echoing scratching sound suddenly emanated from the lockers to their left.
“HIIIIIEEEEE!” Sakunami shrieked, burying his face in Koganegawa’s back.
“WHAT WAS THAT?!” Koganegawa bellowed, dropping into a volleyball receiving stance, ready to bump a ghost.
Itsuki froze, his face draining of color.
“I-It is merely acoustic resonance!
The building is settling!”
Suddenly, a locker door violently banged open.
A figure wrapped entirely in a white sheet lunged into the hallway, holding a flashlight under its chin.
“WOOOOOOO!
GIVE ME YOUR PROTIEEEEN!” the ghost roared.
“GYAAAAAAHHH!” Koganegawa and Sakunami screamed in absolute terror, hugging each other and collapsing to the floor.
Itsuki violently flinched, leaping backward nearly a full meter.
His heart spiked to 180 beats per minute, but his brain refused to shut down.
“K-Kamasaki-san!” Itsuki stammered loudly, pointing a trembling finger at the ghost.
“Your tensile muscle mass is clearly visible through the bedsheet!
Furthermore, ghosts do not require macronutrients!”
The sheet dropped.
Kamasaki stood there, laughing hysterically.
“BWAHAHA!
You guys fell like bowling pins!
And Naruse, you totally jumped!”
“I performed a tactical retreat based on a sudden auditory stimulus!” Itsuki defended, his face bright red.
They scrambled past Kamasaki, rushing up the stairs to the third floor.
They reached Class 2-B.
The door was slightly ajar, the room bathed in heavy shadows.
“Y-You go first, Naruse,” Koganegawa pushed the ace forward.
Itsuki took a deep breath, reciting Pi in his head to calm his nerves.
He stepped into the classroom.
The slip of paper was visible on the podium.
He walked toward it, his hand outstretched.
CLANG!
CRASH!
A terrifying, metallic crash echoed from the back of the classroom, followed by a frantic yelp.
“GHOST!” Koganegawa roared, turning to bolt.
Itsuki froze, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the dark.
In the back corner of the room, Captain Moniwa was tangled in a bunch of fallen mop handles, holding a rubber Halloween mask, looking completely flustered.
“Ouch…
I tripped over the bucket,” Moniwa whispered, rubbing his knee.
“I’m sorry, did I scare you guys?”
The sheer pathetic nature of the jump scare instantly cured the first-years’ terror.
“Captain Moniwa is the least scary person in the world,” Sakunami sighed in immense relief.
Itsuki grabbed the paper, gave a polite bow to the tangled captain, and briskly walked out of the room.
“Mission accomplished.
Let us return before we encounter further statistical anomalies.”
12:30 AM – Group Two: Futakuchi & Aone.
“This is so stupid,” Futakuchi complained, walking down the dark second-floor hallway with his hands in his pockets.
“Kamasaki-san has the maturity of an elementary schooler.”
Aone didn’t respond.
He simply walked forward, his heavy, silent footsteps making absolutely no sound.
The giant middle blocker was completely unfazed by the darkness.
He looked like the monster that other monsters checked under their beds for.
They reached the staircase.
Sasaya, hiding in the stairwell, pressed play on his Bluetooth speaker.
A terrifying, high-pitched horror movie scream echoed through the concrete stairwell.
Futakuchi flinched violently, his shoulders jumping to his ears.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” he yelled, grabbing Aone’s arm.
Aone slowly turned his head toward the dark corner where the speaker was hidden.
He didn’t blink.
He just stared into the void with his terrifying, deadpan glare.
In the corner, Sasaya felt a chill run down his spine.
The sheer, oppressive weight of Aone’s gaze in the pitch-black stairwell was genuinely terrifying.
Sasaya slowly reached out and turned the speaker off, sweating nervously.
Futakuchi cleared his throat, quickly letting go of Aone’s arm.
“Pfft.
Obviously a speaker.
Nice try, Sasaya-san.”
They reached the third floor.
Kamasaki, having reset his trap, waited behind the door of Class 2-B.
He heard the footsteps approaching.
I’m gonna get Futakuchi so good, Kamasaki thought, gripping his white sheet.
The door slid open.
“WOOOOOO!” Kamasaki roared, lunging out of the darkness with his flashlight under his chin.
But he didn’t lunge at Futakuchi.
He lunged directly into the massive, towering chest of Aone Takanobu.
Kamasaki looked up.
In the harsh, under-lit glow of the flashlight, Aone’s face looked completely demonic.
The giant had zero eyebrows, his pupil-less eyes catching the light, looking down at Kamasaki with absolute, soul-crushing silence.
Kamasaki’s brain completely short-circuited.
The meathead forgot he was playing a game.
“GYAAAAAAAHHH!” Kamasaki shrieked, a high-pitched, entirely un-manly scream tearing from his throat.
He dropped the flashlight and the sheet, scrambling backward on his hands and knees.
“DEMON!
THE IRON DEMON!”
Futakuchi, standing behind Aone, completely lost it.
He doubled over, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Aone stared down at the trembling vice-captain on the floor.
Slowly, respectfully, Aone bent at the waist and gave a deep, formal bow to the “ghost” he had just terrified.
1:00 AM – The Club Room.
The team was gathered in a circle in the dark club room, illuminated only by a single lantern in the center.
Kamasaki was sitting in the corner, his arms crossed, pouting aggressively while Futakuchi mercilessly mocked him.
“Did you hear him?
‘The Iron Demon!'” Futakuchi wheezed, wiping away a tear.
“Kamasaki-san, you screamed louder than Koganegawa!”
“SHUT UP!
IT WAS DARK AND HE LOOKED CREEPY!” Kamasaki defended, his face bright red.
“Regardless of the screaming,” Moniwa smiled warmly, looking around at his team.
“Both groups retrieved the paper.
No one ran away.
You faced the unknown.”
The captain’s expression slowly hardened, the comedic atmosphere fading away, replaced by the heavy, serious weight of their ultimate goal.
“Tomorrow, we face Shiratorizawa,” Moniwa said, his voice quiet but echoing in the small room.
“They are the biggest, scariest unknown in this prefecture.
They have crushed us before.
They have crushed everyone.”
Moniwa looked at Aone and Futakuchi, the veterans of that traumatic defeat.
He looked at Koganegawa and Sakunami, the new blood.
And finally, he looked at Itsuki.
“But we aren’t the same team we were last year,” Moniwa said with absolute certainty.
“We have the best blockers in Miyagi.
We have a setter who can touch the sky.
We have a libero who will not let the ball drop.
And we have an Ace who can outsmart a cannon.”
Moniwa held out his fist into the center of the circle over the lantern.
“Tomorrow, we don’t just defend,” the captain declared.
“Tomorrow, the Iron Wall strikes back.”
Without a word, Aone thrust his massive fist forward, bumping Moniwa’s.
Kamasaki grinned fiercely, slamming his fist in.
Futakuchi smirked, adding his.
Sakunami and Koganegawa eagerly bumped their knuckles against the seniors.
Itsuki looked at the circle of fists.
The social anxiety, the overthinking, the fear of his own stamina limits—it all vanished in the warm glow of the lantern.
He was a piece of the machine now.
A vital, lethal piece.
Itsuki reached out, his dark eyes burning with competitive fire, and pressed his fist against the others.
“Mathematically speaking,” Itsuki said quietly, “their reign is over.”
The Date Tech boys pulled their hands back, a fierce, unbreakable bond forged in the dark.
They climbed into their sleeping bags for the final time.
The Kimodameshi had worked.
They weren’t afraid of ghosts anymore.
And they certainly weren’t afraid of eagles.