The evening sky over Miyagi was bleeding into a brilliant canvas of bruised purple and vibrant orange.
The air had cooled, but Koganegawa Kanji was still practically radiating body heat.
“DID YOU SEE KAMASAKI-SAN?!” Koganegawa yelled, throwing his arms wide and nearly clotheslining a passing stray cat.
“He goes BAM!
And then Aone-san goes WHAM!
It was like watching two bulldozers crash into each other!
High school volleyball is amazing!”
Beside him, Sakunami chuckled nervously, sidestepping to avoid Koganegawa’s wildly swinging limbs.
“It was definitely intense.
Though I thought Captain Moniwa was going to have a heart attack before practice even ended.”
Walking on Koganegawa’s other side, Itsuki dragged his feet slightly, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.
He looked like a man who had just run a marathon while doing long division in his head.
“They are incredibly strong,” Itsuki said quietly, his voice a stark contrast to Koganegawa’s volume.
“But they aren’t perfect.”
Koganegawa blinked, stopping in his tracks.
“Huh?
But they’re the Iron Wall!
They’re huge!
Well, you’re huge too, Naruse, but they’re, like, wide huge!”
Itsuki stopped and turned to face his two new classmates.
The setting sun caught the metallic highlights in his dark hair.
His usual socially anxious slouch was gone, replaced by the intense, hyper-focused posture he had on the court.
“Koganegawa,” Itsuki said, his tone blunt.
“You have the highest reach of anyone in our year, but you bleed all your kinetic energy because your arms and legs aren’t synchronized.
When you jump, your core goes completely slack.
If you tense your abdominal muscles right as your left foot plants, you won’t flail in the air.”
Koganegawa stared at him, his jaw dropping open.
“My…
core?” he whispered, suddenly poking his own stomach as if discovering it for the first time.
Itsuki turned his gaze.
“Sakunami.”
The libero flinched, standing at attention.
“Y-Yes?!”
“Your receiving platform is textbook, and your center of gravity is great,” Itsuki noted, his eyes analytical.
“But you wait until the ball leaves the setter’s hands to adjust your feet.
You need to watch the spiker’s approach angle first.
Where their shoulders point during their penultimate step is where the ball is going eighty percent of the time.
Don’t react.
Anticipate.”
Sakunami’s eyes widened in realization.
“Watch the shoulders…
not just the ball.”
“And me,” Itsuki continued, his expression darkening with deep self-frustration.
He stared at his own hands.
“My growth spurt completely ruined my muscle memory.
My approach timing is absolute garbage right now.
I jumped too early, I hung in the air poorly, and my stamina gave out by the final rotation.
If I try to trick a blocker like Aone with this clumsy body, he won’t even need to block me.
He’ll just wait for me to fall into the net.”
The heavy self-criticism hung in the evening air.
For a moment, the three first-years just stood there on the sidewalk in silence.
Then, Itsuki did something that completely caught the other two off guard.
He stepped back, pressed his hands to his sides, and bowed deeply, bending his 192-centimeter frame perfectly in half.
“I don’t just want to play,” Itsuki said to the pavement, his voice tight with raw, unfiltered determination.
“I want to go to Nationals.
I want to stand on the orange court.
But with my current timing, I am useless.
I need reliable receives, and I need a tall block to practice my mid-air adjustments against.”
He slowly raised his head, looking his two new teammates right in the eyes.
“Sakunami, Koganegawa.
Please help me fix my timing.
Let’s train together.
Let’s win together.”
Sakunami felt a shiver run down his spine.
The quiet, polite giant from his homeroom had completely vanished, replaced by an athlete with a terrifying hunger for victory.
Koganegawa’s eyes instantly welled up with anime-style tears.
“NARUSE!” Koganegawa bawled, grabbing Itsuki by the shoulders and shaking him violently.
“OF COURSE!
WE’RE A TEAM!
WE’RE THE FUTURE OF THE IRON WALL!
I’LL BE YOUR BLOCKER!
I’LL BE YOUR SETTER!
I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU NEED!”
“Koganegawa-kun, you’re shaking him too hard, his head is snapping back and forth!” Sakunami panicked, trying to pry the golden retriever off the wing spiker.
But Sakunami was smiling, a bright, fierce spark lighting up his own eyes.
“But he’s right, Naruse-kun!
We’re in this together.
Let’s go to Nationals!”
Itsuki, currently being rattled like a cocktail shaker, managed a small, genuine smile.
Back at the Date Tech club room, the atmosphere was considerably less emotional and significantly more chaotic.
“He deliberately aimed for my pinky!” Futakuchi was pacing the small room, aggressively aggressively pulling his jacket on.
“Do you know how disrespectful that is?!
‘Mathematically safe’, my foot!
He was mocking me!”
“He wasn’t mocking you, you idiot, he outsmarted you!” Kamasaki roared from the corner, violently stuffing his knee pads into his bag.
“I like that kid!
He’s got guts!
Did you see him dive for that receive?
Sure, he looked like a collapsing giraffe, but he didn’t hesitate!”
“Can you two please stop yelling for five minutes?” Moniwa sighed, rubbing his temples.
He looked over at Takehito Sasaya.
“Sasaya, what did you think?”
Sasaya chuckled, leaning back against the lockers.
“They’re a good crop.
The big blonde kid, Koganegawa, is an absolute mess, but Coach is right—you can’t teach height.
Sakunami is solid.
And Naruse…” Sasaya paused.
“Naruse is going to be a problem for our opponents.
Once he fixes his jumping rhythm, having a guy that tall who can hit sharp angles and tool the block mid-air?
That’s lethal.”
In the corner, sitting quietly on a bench, Aone nodded slowly in agreement.
“We need all the lethal weapons we can get,” Kamasaki grunted, his booming voice dropping into something far more serious.
He zipped his bag shut.
“It’s my last year.
Moniwa’s last year.
Sasaya’s last year.
We are not ending it by getting shut down in the qualifiers again.”
The room grew quiet.
The usual bickering faded, replaced by the heavy, shared weight of their ultimate goal.
“Aoba Johsai,” Futakuchi said, his snark completely gone, his eyes narrowing.
“Oikawa and his perfectly synchronized team.
And Shiratorizawa.
Ushijima’s cannon of an arm.”
“We’re the Iron Wall,” Moniwa said firmly, standing up straight, finally looking every bit the captain he was.
“We stop the unstoppable.
If those first-years are willing to bleed for it, then we will forge them into a wall that even Seijoh and Shiratorizawa can’t break through.”
Aone stood up.
The giant second-year didn’t say a word, but the fierce, unyielding glint in his eye spoke volumes.
The Iron Wall was hungry.
“Right here is my turn!” Sakunami called out, waving as they reached the crossroads near the convenience store.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow!
Let’s do our best!”
“SEE YOU TOMORROW, SAKUNAMI!” Koganegawa yelled, waving so hard his whole body swayed.
“NARUSE, MAKE SURE YOU EAT MEAT!
KAMASAKI-SAN SAID WE NEED MEAT!”
“I will,” Itsuki said softly.
“Goodnight, Koganegawa.
Goodnight, Sakunami.”
As the two of them disappeared down their respective streets, Itsuki stood alone on the corner.
The silence of the evening washed over him.
He took a deep breath of the crisp air, adjusting the strap of his bag.
Then, he dropped his bag onto the pavement.
If I just walk home, my muscles will cool down, and my brain will just keep looping that failed spike, Itsuki thought.
He unzipped the bag, shoved his school shoes inside, and pulled out his running sneakers.
He laced them up tightly, leaving his heavy school bag hidden behind a low brick wall to retrieve later.
Itsuki looked down the long, sloping road that led toward his neighborhood.
He closed his eyes, visualizing the toss Moniwa had given him.
He visualized the apex.
He calculated the exact millimeter of difference between where his feet used to leave the floor and where they needed to leave it now.
Garbage timing, he muttered in his head.
Fix it.
Itsuki leaned forward and broke into a sprint.
His long legs ate up the pavement.
He didn’t just run; he bounded, deliberately engaging his core with every stride, forcing his newly grown limbs to synchronize under pressure.
He ignored the burning in his lungs and the protest of his tired legs.
In his mind’s eye, he wasn’t running down a street in Miyagi.
He was soaring above a volleyball net, staring down Oikawa Tooru, staring down Ushijima Wakatoshi, staring down the very concept of an impassable wall.
The sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the street in deep twilight, but as Itsuki sprinted toward home, the spark in his chest only burned brighter.
The first day was over.
The real grueling work began tomorrow.