The morning sun had barely crested the Miyagi mountains when the Date Tech volleyball team loaded onto their chartered bus.
The physical toll of the Golden Week camp was evident in the heavy bags under everyone’s eyes and the distinct scent of muscle rub permeating the air.
But as the bus engine rumbled to life, the atmosphere wasn’t exhausted.
It was vibrating with a heavy, dangerous voltage.
They were heading to Sendai City.
The Eagle’s Nest.
“Koganegawa, if you kick the back of my seat one more time, I am going to throw you out the emergency exit,” Futakuchi threatened from the middle of the bus, a dark aura radiating from his slumped frame.
“I CAN’T HELP IT!” Koganegawa yelled, his knees bouncing so fast they were practically a blur.
“WE’RE PLAYING SHIRATORIZAWA!
THE BIG BOSSES!
I HAVE TOO MUCH ADRENALINE!”
“Then do some mental imagery and shut up,” Kamasaki grunted from across the aisle, currently crushing a grip-strengthener in his massive hand.
In the very back row, Itsuki Naruse sat in perfect, motionless silence.
He wore a black sleep mask and noise-canceling headphones, sitting perfectly upright with his hands folded in his lap.
To the untrained eye, he looked like he was meditating.
In reality, his brain was rapidly breaking down game tape.
Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Left-handed opposite hitter.
Because the spin on his spike is reversed, the ball hooks differently off the block.
If Aone-san and Futakuchi-san block straight up, it’ll tool right off their outside arms.
Itsuki visualized the Iron Wall in his mind.
They need to angle their outside arms inward.
Force the ball to drop, don’t let it ricochet.
“Naruse-kun looks so calm,” Sakunami whispered admiringly, sitting next to Koganegawa.
“He’s not calm, he’s obsessing,” Sasaya chuckled from the seat ahead.
“Look at his fingers.”
Sakunami looked closer.
Itsuki’s right index finger was microscopically twitching against his knee, tracking invisible spiking trajectories in the fabric of his tracksuit.
An hour and a half later, the bus slowed, turning onto a wide, immaculately paved road.
“Whoa…” Koganegawa gasped, pressing his face flat against the bus window, fogging up the glass.
“They have their own bus stop!
And a horse pasture?!
Is this a high school or a country club?!”
Shiratorizawa Academy loomed before them, sprawling and majestic.
It was an institution built on prestige, wealth, and absolute athletic dominance.
The bus hissed to a halt.
Moniwa stood up at the front, his usual anxiety entirely swallowed by the fierce responsibility of his captaincy.
He looked at his team.
“Grab your bags,” Moniwa ordered, his voice steady.
“Remember what we forged this week.
We do not look down.
We do not flinch.
We are Date Tech.”
Aone stood up, the giant casting a shadow over the aisle.
He gave a single, terrifying nod.
They filed off the bus and walked across the pristine campus.
They moved in a tight, synchronized pack.
Even off the court, Date Tech naturally formed a wall.
Students in sharp Shiratorizawa uniforms stopped and stared as the intimidating, towering squad from Osaki City marched toward the third gymnasium.
They reached the heavy gym doors.
The distinct, booming echo of volleyballs hitting the floor with terrifying velocity bled through the walls.
Itsuki slipped his headphones off.
The social anxiety that usually plagued him in new environments was completely suppressed by the sheer, overwhelming gravitational pull of the court.
Moniwa pushed the doors open.
The Shiratorizawa gymnasium was massive, brightly lit, and humming with elite activity.
The players wore rich purple and white.
“Date Tech is here,” a sharp voice called out.
The Shiratorizawa regulars stopped their drills.
Standing near the net was a player who looked less like a high schooler and more like a statue carved from solid oak.
Ushijima Wakatoshi.
His presence alone felt heavy enough to alter the air pressure in the room.
Beside him stood the rest of the monstrous roster: Reon Ohira, the sturdy vice-captain; Kenjiro Shirabu, the cold, intense setter; Tsutomu Goshiki, the fiery first-year; and Satori Tendou, the red-haired, wide-eyed middle blocker who looked like a creature out of a nightmare.
“Oya, oya,” Tendou sang out, a deeply unsettling smile stretching across his face as he sauntered toward the net.
“The Iron Wall made the trip all the way from the countryside.
And my, my…
you brought some new bricks.
Very tall bricks.”
Tendou tilted his head, his wide eyes locking onto Itsuki and Koganegawa.
Aone immediately stepped forward, placing his massive frame halfway in front of the first-years, staring Tendou down with a lethal, pupil-less glare.
“Scary as always, Aone-kun,” Tendou chuckled, entirely unfazed.
Before Date Tech could respond, a sharp, authoritative whistle sliced through the gym.
Coach Tanji Washijo, a short, fierce older man with a scowl etched permanently into his face, marched onto the court.
His sharp eyes scanned the Date Tech roster, entirely dismissing the seniors and locking instantly onto the 192-centimeter freshman standing near the back.
Washijo crossed his arms, his posture radiating pure, unadulterated authority.
“Naruse Itsuki,” Washijo barked, his voice dripping with a mix of recognition and heavy disdain.
Itsuki stepped out from behind Aone.
He placed his hands at his sides and bowed deeply.
“Washijo-sensei.
Thank you for hosting us.”
The Shiratorizawa regulars blinked.
“You know him, Coach?” Shirabu asked, narrowing his eyes at the polite giant.
“I sent this brat an invitation to play for a real academy,” Washijo stated bluntly, glaring at Itsuki.
“I gave you a golden ticket, Naruse.
You have the height and the frame to survive on my court.
Instead, you sent my letter back.
You threw it away to play with a team that has a decent shield and absolutely zero firepower.”
A collective gasp rippled through the Shiratorizawa reserves.
Rejecting Washijo wasn’t just rare; it was athletic suicide.
Ushijima turned his heavy gaze toward Itsuki, acknowledging the freshman for the first time.
“You told my recruiters that our way of playing was too simple for you,” Washijo continued, his eyes narrowing fiercely.
“You think you’re too clever for simple strength, boy?”
Moniwa flinched.
Kamasaki grinned fiercely, clenching his fists.
Itsuki stood up straight.
His heart was hammering against his ribs, but he did not break eye contact with the legendary coach.
He didn’t sound robotic; he just sounded intensely, stubbornly determined.
“With all due respect, Coach Washijo,” Itsuki said, his voice quiet but echoing clearly in the silent gym.
“Shiratorizawa’s strength is absolute.
But playing just to clear the path for someone else’s spike isn’t why I play volleyball.
I don’t want to live in a system built for one ace.”
“I came to Date Tech because I want to beat the strongest team,” Itsuki finished, his dark eyes burning.
“I came here to build a spear that can pierce your shield.”
For three seconds, nobody breathed.
Then, Tendou burst into a cackling fit of laughter, clutching his stomach.
“BWAHAHA!
Oh, Wakatoshi-kun, did you hear that?!
The freshman just declared war on your left arm!”
Ushijima did not laugh.
His expression remained an unreadable mask of absolute stoicism.
He simply stared at Itsuki.
“A shield breaks when it meets true strength,” Ushijima said, his deep voice carrying absolute certainty.
“If you believe your tricks can stop me, you are free to try.”
“Alright, that’s enough talking!” Coach Oiwake barked, stepping into the gym behind his team, holding his clipboard.
He locked eyes with Washijo.
“We didn’t drive an hour and a half to chat.
Let’s warm up.”
Washijo grunted, waving a dismissive hand.
“Fine.
Let’s see if this ‘spear’ of yours is sharp, or if it breaks on the first swing.”
The gym instantly erupted into motion.
During the spiking warm-ups, Shiratorizawa put on a terrifying display of force.
When it was Ushijima’s turn, Shirabu tossed the ball high.
Ushijima approached with heavy, rhythmic steps.
He leaped, hanging in the air with terrifying stability, before whipping his left arm forward.
KABOOM!
The ball struck the hardwood with such concussive force it bounced directly into the second-floor viewing gallery.
Sakunami swallowed hard, his face turning pale.
“That’s…
that’s a high schooler?”
“Don’t look away, Sakunami,” Itsuki said, standing beside him, his eyes meticulously tracking Ushijima’s landing.
“He’s incredibly strong.
But look at his approach.
He comes in at a heavy angle.
He favors the deep cross.
If Aone-san seals the straight, we know where he has to hit.”
Then, it was Date Tech’s turn.
Koganegawa practically vibrated as he stepped into the setter’s position.
Moniwa had explicitly told him to show them the new system immediately.
“NARUSE!” Koganegawa roared.
He didn’t finesse it.
He planted his huge feet and shoved the ball straight up into the stratosphere.
On the other side of the net, Washijo scowled.
What a sloppy, garbage toss.
The setter has zero foundation.
But then Itsuki jumped.
The Shiratorizawa players watched as the 192-centimeter freshman soared into the air, reaching an apex that rivaled Ushijima’s.
He hung there, waiting for the ball to drop.
But he didn’t just hit it.
He twisted his torso slightly backward, holding his swing to let the imaginary block fall, before snapping forward with terrifying violence.
BAM!
The ball blasted down the line, obliterating the corner.
Tendou’s eyes widened slightly.
The creepy smile faded from his lips.
He delayed his swing mid-air…
he’s got total body control.
Washijo let out a low, unimpressed grunt, crossing his arms tighter.
“Hmph.
A decent swing.
Let’s see if he can pull off those little acrobatics when there’s a real block in his face.”
TWEEEEET!
The warm-ups ended.
The starting lineups stepped onto the court.
Date Tech: Moniwa (S), Kamasaki (MB), Aone (MB), Futakuchi (WS), Itsuki (WS), Sasaya (WS), Sakunami (L).
Note: Koganegawa remained on the bench to watch, while Sakunami was swapped in to handle the heavy artillery.
They lined up on the baselines.
“BOW!”
“THANK YOU FOR THE MATCH!”
The tension was suffocating.
Date Tech won the coin toss and elected to receive.
They wanted to test the Wall immediately.
Shiratorizawa’s server, Reon, hit a heavy jump serve.
“I got it!” Sasaya called, bumping it cleanly to the setter.
“Nice receive!” Moniwa yelled.
“Kamasaki!”
Moniwa set a fast, low ball.
Kamasaki launched himself into the air, roaring as he swung his massive arm, attempting to blast through the Shiratorizawa block right out of the gate.
But Tendou Satori was already there.
The Guess Monster didn’t read the toss.
He read Kamasaki’s aggressive, meathead eyes.
Tendou jumped, throwing his long, taped fingers perfectly into Kamasaki’s cross-court lane.
THUD.
The ball slammed into Tendou’s hands and dropped dead onto Date Tech’s side.
“BAM!” Tendou sang, landing with a creepy little dance.
“Too obvious, muscle-kun!
You project your spikes like a billboard!”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU RED-HEADED FREAK?!” Kamasaki roared, instantly riled up.
“Kamasaki, calm down!
Don’t let him bait you!” Moniwa panicked.
1 – 0.
Shiratorizawa.
“Don’t worry about it,” Futakuchi smirked, though his eyes were sharp.
“We’ll just have to return the favor.”
Reon served again.
This time, Sakunami stepped in, digging it up flawlessly.
“Naruse!” Moniwa called, setting a high ball to the left wing.
Itsuki took his approach.
He leaped.
Tendou and Shirabu jumped to block him.
Itsuki’s brain worked in overdrive.
Tendou relies on pure instinct.
He fully commits to his guess. Get faster updates on g.com.
If I drop my shoulder to sell the straight line…
Itsuki dipped his right shoulder slightly mid-air.
Tendou grinned, immediately shifting his hands to seal the straight.
Got him.
In a fraction of a second, Itsuki forcefully engaged his core, twisting his torso to the right to abandon the straight entirely, and whipped his arm for a sharp inner-cross spike.
But as Itsuki swung, a terrifying realization washed over him.
Tendou hadn’t stopped moving.
The Guess Monster’s eyes widened maniacally mid-air.
Realizing he had been tricked, Tendou didn’t panic.
With freakish, rubber-like flexibility, Tendou violently jerked his left arm backward and inward, throwing a single hand directly into Itsuki’s newly opened cross-court lane purely on reaction.
SMACK!
The ball struck Tendou’s lone palm and deflected sharply out of bounds on Shiratorizawa’s side.
“Block out!”
1 – 1.
Itsuki landed, his eyes wide in absolute shock.
He stared through the net at Tendou.
He adjusted mid-air after already committing?
Itsuki thought, his eyes narrowing.
That defies basic reaction time…
he didn’t read me, he literally just threw his hand out on instinct.
“Oya, oya!” Tendou cackled, wagging a taped finger at Itsuki through the net.
“You’re a tricky one, freshman!
You try to lead with your brain.
But thinking too hard just slows you down against a monster!”
Itsuki wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
His social anxiety was completely gone, replaced by an icy, stubborn focus.
“He’s a freak,” Itsuki muttered under his breath.
“Fine.
I just have to swing faster.”
The rotation shifted.
It was Shiratorizawa’s serve.
But more importantly, Ushijima Wakatoshi had rotated to the front row.
Shirabu served a float.
Sakunami dug it, but it was slightly off-target.
Moniwa had to scramble to set Sasaya, who was softly blocked by Reon.
The ball popped up on Shiratorizawa’s side.
“Shirabu!” Ushijima called out.
His voice wasn’t a yell.
It was a heavy, inevitable command.
The gym seemed to hold its breath.
Shirabu set the ball high to the right side.
Ushijima took his approach.
On Date Tech’s side of the net, the Iron Wall assembled.
Aone, Kamasaki, and Futakuchi moved in perfect synchronization.
A three-man wall.
Nearly six meters of combined height and muscle, rising into the air to blot out the gym lights.
It was the exact same wall that Ushijima had shattered a year ago.
He’s taking a wide angle, Itsuki watched intently from the back row.
He’s going for the heavy cross.
Ushijima hung in the air.
He looked at the massive, inescapable wall of Date Tech.
His expression did not change.
Ushijima pulled his left arm back like a heavy artillery cannon.
He didn’t look for a seam.
He didn’t try to wipe the block.
He swung with pure, unadulterated, absolute force.
KRA-KOOM!
The impact was horrifying.
The ball struck the exact center of Aone and Kamasaki’s perfectly formed block.
But the sheer rotational torque and raw power of Ushijima’s left arm was staggering.
The ball didn’t deflect.
It didn’t stop.
It violently bent Aone’s massive hands backward.
The ball tore right through the Iron Wall like a bullet, rocketing down toward the Date Tech floor at blinding speed.
But directly in the path of the shattered block, crouching incredibly low with his eyes burning with absolute defiance, was Sakunami.
I am not just watching this time!
Sakunami screamed in his head, throwing his forearms under the descending meteor.
The ball struck Sakunami’s platform.
The sheer force lifted the small libero entirely off his feet, sending him skidding backward across the polished hardwood.
The ball ricocheted off his arms, flying high into the air toward the back of the gym, well out of bounds.
2 – 1.
Shiratorizawa.
The gym went dead silent.
Ushijima landed silently, turning his back and walking to his position.
Aone landed, staring at his red, stinging palms.
Kamasaki gritted his teeth, his arms trembling.
Sakunami lay on the floor, breathing heavily, his forearms throbbing with a dull, burning agony.
He had touched it.
He had reacted in time.
But the power was just too absolute.
Itsuki stood in the back row.
He looked at his shaking libero, he looked at his stunned seniors, and finally, he looked at the stoic, immovable champion across the net.
The perfect block had been overpowered.
Itsuki took a deep breath, pushing his glasses up his nose.
A cold, terrifying smile touched his lips.
“He’s amazing,” Itsuki said, his voice cutting through the heavy shock of his teammates.
The competitive fire in his chest roared to life.
“But he’s not invincible.”
Itsuki walked over to Sakunami, offering a hand to pull the libero up.
He looked toward Captain Moniwa and the Iron Wall.
“Aone-san,” Itsuki called out sharply.
“His swing pulls heavier to the cross than we thought.
Angle your arms inward by just another inch.
Sakunami, take one step deeper.
We need to absorb the blowback, not fight it head-on.”
Aone turned around, his pupil-less eyes locking onto the freshman.
Kamasaki wiped the sweat from his brow, a fierce grin returning to his face.
Itsuki stepped back into his position, his dark eyes locking onto Ushijima Wakatoshi.
“We don’t break,” Itsuki said, the spear standing firmly behind the shield.
“We adapt.
Let him try it again.”