After the timeout, Oikawa returned to the court without saying a word. In his mind, this was a match they were destined to lose—just like every other time they'd faced Shiratorizawa. Now, with new blood added to the lineup, the pressure felt even more suffocating.
His expression was serious as he tossed the ball in his hand. There were no thunderous cheers in Shiratorizawa's gym for him this time, and he didn't dare look back.
His palm struck the volleyball hard enough to leave a deep indentation, ripples spreading across its surface like layered waves.
Once the ball flew off, Oikawa's gaze locked onto Ryosuke.
"I've got it!" Ryosuke called out, signaling Kawanishi in front not to take the ball.
Like a black cat, Ryosuke's presence on the court wasn't loud or overwhelming. He seemed almost soft, almost quiet—curled in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to bare his claws, silently dissolving every crisis.
He moved fast, targeting the three-meter line. Two quick steps—then a clean dive.
Right before hitting the floor, he adjusted his hand position slightly against the ground. As the ball met his arms, he lifted it gently, using just the right touch to perfectly correct the angle of the first pass.
The ball floated toward Kawanishi. A textbook pass—any attacker would spike it without hesitation.
"Thanks!" Kawanishi spread his arms and hammered it down.
At the net, Semi shut his eyes and clutched his head. "Did you all forget there's still a setter standing here?!"
"Ah, sorry, sorry! With a ball like that, any hitter would want to spike it!" Kawanishi scratched his head with a grin that didn't sound particularly apologetic.
Watari stared at Ryosuke, who was once again at the center of everything. He would be lying if he said he wasn't envious. Ryosuke was only a first-year.
Watari quietly clenched his fist.
Shiratorizawa swept through the first set with unstoppable momentum.
Aobajosai's side felt noticeably subdued.
Their advisor, Mizoguchi, quietly nudged Irihata. "Aren't you going to comfort them?"
Irihata patted his round belly. "Every young person goes through this. This old man won't interfere. Oikawa may be unreliable in daily life, but when it comes to volleyball, he's dead serious."
Sure enough, Oikawa, who had been sitting alone in thought, suddenly gathered everyone into a huddle.
That familiar carefree smile returned to his face. He rubbed a few heads in passing and clapped his hands.
"Alright! I know no one wants to lose. Don't sulk.
"When the gap in skill is real, beating yourself up won't change anything. Treasure this match. Treasure every match."
Hanamaki scratched his head. "I'm not upset. I just ate too many cream puffs at lunch and now I'm hungry." His voice trailed off under Iwaizumi's murderous glare.
Iwaizumi shot him a look. "All you think about is cream puffs!"
Oikawa rubbed his forehead. "Then sit out and rest. Kunimi will sub in next set."
"Got it."
"Huh?!" Kunimi, who had been dozing in the corner, looked up. "Captain, I'm only a first-year."
Oikawa slung an arm around his shoulders. "So what? They've got two first-years too. You're already a starter, right? Of course you have to contribute. We're all counting on you."
Kunimi rolled his eyes. "Oikawa-senpai, don't try to trick me like I'm Kindaichi."
Oikawa: "…"
He couldn't help kicking Kunimi lightly. "When I say you're playing, you're playing! How dare you defy Oikawa-sama? Want me to turn you into Godzilla?"
Iwaizumi's glare shot over. Oikawa instantly fell silent.
"Childish," Kunimi muttered.
Still, he went onto the court, looking as unmotivated as ever.
At the start of the second set, Aobajosai's atmosphere improved slightly.
Even Shiratorizawa relaxed a little. No one enjoyed that suffocating tension, not even opponents.
Ryosuke quietly observed Kunimi. At first glance, he reminded him of Kenma… that detached air, like nothing mattered unless it personally interested him. Definitely Kenma No.2.
And the more he watched, the more accurate the comparison felt. Kunimi wasn't good at socializing or explaining tactics. He functioned in his own rhythm. Maybe he still needed time to mesh with the team.
Goshiki, meanwhile, seemed to have locked onto Kunimi. Over several rotations, they kept lining up opposite each other.
Goshiki disliked players who lacked visible fire.
A trace of provocation flickered in his eyes. As he prepared to spike a set from Semi, he deliberately aimed to brush the ball past Kunimi's ear.
Kunimi waited like a hunter, watching for the slightest flaw.
The moment Goshiki swung—
Kunimi's hand shot up and stuffed the ball cleanly.
Goshiki stared in disbelief.
Kunimi flexed his slightly throbbing arm and didn't even look back, radiating the kind of coolness that said real men don't turn around after an explosion—leaving Goshiki standing there dumbfounded.
Tendo patted Goshiki's shoulder. "It's fine, it's fine. Get the next one."
Kunimi, meanwhile, glanced at his swelling arm and thought, Blocking too many of those might actually kill me.
The match continued.
At 20–20 in the second set, Irihata opened his eyes. "Ah… they're about to lose."
Mizoguchi looked puzzled. "It's still tied."
Irihata chuckled. "You're young—you can't see it yet. We're running out of steam. Some can't keep up physically. Some are shaken mentally. Some are too stubborn to accept it.
"Shiratorizawa still has a libero on court, and their middle blocker and setter are resting on the bench.
"These freshmen… the younger generation is formidable."
Oikawa threw himself at one of Ushijima's spikes, but the ball smashed into his shoulder and ricocheted away.
Ah. Lost again.
The thought echoed in his mind.
He'd lost many times before. But this was the first time he felt the gap between Shiratorizawa and Aobajosai had widened this much.
A heavy sense of defeat settled in his chest.
Was this what it felt like—to be ordinary among geniuses?
He hated that part of himself. So many geniuses…
After the match, both coaches exchanged friendly greetings.
Ryosuke noticed Oikawa sitting alone in the corner, staring blankly.
He quietly shuffled over and tugged at Oikawa's sleeve. For a long moment, he couldn't find the right words. Finally, he blurted out,
"Don't be sad…"
Oikawa forced a smile. "Thanks, little Ryosuke…
"I just feel useless. Everyone put their hopes on me as captain. In three years, I never led them to Nationals even once. Do they think I'm useless?"
Ryosuke crouched down and drew circles on the floor, quietly listening.
"Do we have to win?" he asked softly. "Does playing volleyball mean you have to win?"
Oikawa didn't answer.
"Winning makes you happy. Losing makes you sad. But nothing is absolute. That's what you told me, Senpai. You can't trap yourself like this.
"You're amazing. Ushijima-senpai, Iwaizumi-senpai, Reon-senpai, Kageyama… so many people think you're amazing. I think you are too."
Oikawa let out a quiet huff. "But you still received my serve."
Ryosuke thought for a moment, then carefully suggested, "Then… next time, should I go easy on you?"
Oikawa blinked, then rubbed his head with a sighing laugh. "You're so dumb. Hmph. I don't need you going easy on me. I'm Oikawa-sama.
"Bring me milk bread for a week, and I'll forgive you."
Not quite sure what he needed forgiveness for, Ryosuke still nodded obediently. As long as Oikawa-senpai was happy.
Men were really hard to cheer up. Iwaizumi-senpai and Akaashi-senpai must have it tough.
"Hey! Trash-kawa! Aren't you leaving?"
"Don't call me Trash-kawa, Iwa-chan! I'm coming!"
Oikawa ruffled Ryosuke's hair one more time. "See you tonight, little Ryosuke. Bye~"
Ryosuke waved back blankly. "Bye~"
...
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