Chapter 9: The Mermaid Who Slips Through Hands
The scoreboard didn't look real anymore.
50 - 0
Wakutani's court felt… deceptive.
Not overwhelming.
Not suffocating.
Just… harmless.
That was the first mistake.
Because nothing about her play looked unstoppable.
No monstrous power.
No impossible angles.
No overwhelming speed.
Just,
normal spikes.
And yet,
no one could stop them.
At the center of that quiet nightmare,
she stood.
Issei Matsukawa's older sister.
Calm.
Balanced.
Watching.
Fans gave her a name they barely understood.
"Wakutani's Mermaid."
Not because she swam through defenses.
Not because she flowed like water.
But because,
trying to stop her felt like trying to grab water with your bare hands.
A set rose.
Perfect height.
Clean trajectory.
She jumped.
Nothing special.
Nothing flashy.
Her arm swung,
Contact.
The blockers closed perfectly.
Hands sealed.
Timing flawless.
The ball hit,
touch.
It didn't break through.
Didn't blast past.
Didn't deflect wildly.
It simply…
slipped.
Between fingers.
Across palms.
Through control.
The ball dropped behind the block.
Point.
Silence.
"…We had that."
No one disagreed.
Because they did.
Perfect read.
Perfect form.
Perfect block.
And still,
they lost.
Another set.
Another spike.
This time,
the libero adjusted.
Lower stance.
Better angle.
Hands ready.
This time, I've got it.
Contact.
The ball met his arms.
Clean.
Centered.
Perfect receive.
It should have gone up.
It didn't.
The ball… shifted.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
But just enough,
to slide off his platform.
Drift downward.
Hit the floor.
Point.
"…No way."
Because there was no power behind it.
No spin that made sense.
No trick they could identify.
It was just,
a normal ball.
And that was the problem.
Backline.
Frontline.
Block.
Receive.
It didn't matter.
Everything they tried,
was correct.
And still,
everything failed.
The whistle blew.
50 - 0
She landed softly.
Brushed her hand against her sleeve.
"…They adjust slowly."
No pride.
No arrogance.
Just observation.
Across the court,
Matsukawa stared.
"…That's messed up."
Because it wasn't domination.
It was inevitability disguised as normalcy.
Flashback.
"…You're hitting wrong."
Young Matsukawa turned.
"…What?"
She stood behind him.
Watching.
"You're trying to beat them."
"…Yeah?"
"That's inefficient."
"…Then what should I do?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Because,
she was listening.
"...He's forcing outcomes."
The voice inside her was quiet.
Fluid.
"…Yeah."
Matsukawa crossed his arms.
"…You doing that thing again?"
"Yeah."
"…Weird."
He accepted it instantly.
Because that was just her.
"What does it say?" he asked.
"That you're forcing it."
"…Then what?"
She stepped forward.
Picked up a ball.
"Block me."
"…Huh?"
"Block me."
He shrugged.
Got into position.
She tossed.
Jumped.
Swung.
He read it perfectly.
Hands sealed.
Timing exact.
Contact,
And the ball…
slipped.
Right through his hands.
Landed behind him.
Point.
Matsukawa turned slowly.
"…That shouldn't work."
"It does."
"…How?"
She thought for a moment.
"…You're reacting."
"…Yeah?"
"I'm predicting."
Silence.
"…Explain."
She tossed the ball again.
"Block me."
He did.
This time,
she changed nothing.
Same jump.
Same swing.
Same angle.
But her eyes,
shifted.
Watching his hands.
His timing.
His weight.
Contact,
The ball brushed his fingers,
And adjusted.
Just enough.
To avoid control.
To avoid force.
To avoid being stopped.
Point.
"…You're changing it mid-air."
"No."
A small shake of her head.
"I'm deciding it before I hit."
Inside,
the voice spoke again.
"He moves before contact."
"…Yeah."
She looked at Matsukawa.
"You show your answer before I ask the question."
He blinked.
"…That's annoying."
"It's predictable."
A pause.
"And I use it."
Silence.
"…So instead of overpowering the block…"
"You make it useless."
"…That's worse."
"…It's efficient."
From that day on,
his understanding changed.
Not just hitting harder.
But reading.
Not just reacting.
But predicting.
Because beside her,
every ball had already been decided.
Back to the present.
Another match.
Another domination.
Another 50–0.
She stood at the net again.
Calm.
Still.
A set rose.
She jumped.
Blockers formed.
Perfect.
She smiled faintly.
Not because she was stronger.
But because
they had already answered.
Her arm swung.
Contact.
The ball slipped
through everything.
Hands.
Arms.
Expectations.
And fell.
Like water returning to the ground.
Unstoppable.
Matsukawa exhaled.
"…She doesn't break through."
A pause.
"She just… isn't there to be stopped."
And that was the truth.
Because her spikes weren't overpowering.
They were inevitable.
Not by force.
But by understanding.
And somewhere deep within,
the voice remained.
Quiet.
Flowing.
"Something is watching."
She blinked slightly.
"…Yeah."
That presence again.
Drawn to prediction.
To inevitability.
To a soul that didn't fight resistance,
but dissolved it.
"…Not yet."
Because for now,
the game was simple.
Read them.
Decide first.
And let the ball,
fall exactly where it always was going to.
Like water slipping through your hands,
never held.
never stopped.
always reaching the floor.