The years after kindergarten passed faster than Elena expected.
Not quietly—because nothing involving Matteo had ever truly been quiet—but steadily. Therapy sessions slowly became less frequent. School became easier, then frustratingly easy. Volleyball stopped being something he simply enjoyed and slowly turned into the center around which the rest of his world seemed to organize itself.
At six years old, he began spending afternoons drawing serve-receive rotations in tiny notebooks instead of superheroes. At seven, he started pausing college volleyball broadcasts just to explain defensive mistakes to Henrique with alarming seriousness. Somewhere along the way, the coaches at his little developmental camp stopped treating him like "the smart kid" and started treating him like a player.
And socially… things became easier too. Not perfect. But easier.
Liam remained his best friend despite their personalities being fundamentally incompatible on almost every conceivable level. Charlie became the first person Matteo had ever met who could argue volleyball strategy with him for over an hour without getting bored halfway through. Slowly, awkwardly, Matteo began learning how to exist around other children without feeling entirely disconnected from them.
By the time his eighth birthday arrived in early June, Southern California had already started slipping into summer. Matteo was finally old enough to try out for real club volleyball.
And somehow, that felt bigger than turning eight itself.
The gym inside Stormbreaker Volleyball Club felt completely different from the small developmental camps Matteo remembered from when he was younger.
Everything looked bigger now. More organized. More serious.
The moment Henrique pushed open the heavy glass doors leading into the facility, the sound hit Matteo all at once — sneakers screeching across hardwood, volleyballs ricocheting off platforms, whistles echoing through the building, coaches calling instructions across courts divided by hanging nets.
The place smelled faintly like polished wood, rubber, and sweat. Real volleyball smell.
Matteo slowed down instinctively near the entrance, eyes moving rapidly from court to court while he absorbed everything around him with almost frightening focus. Older teams practiced on the far side of the building, some teenagers already jumping high enough to make Matteo stare openly in disbelief. Players rotated through serve-receive drills while coaches stood with clipboards near the sidelines shouting corrections over the noise.
"Move your feet first!"
"Call the ball earlier!"
"Hands high, hands high!"
A libero in a dark jersey dove across one of the distant courts, sliding several feet across the hardwood before popping back up immediately.
Matteo watched the entire sequence without blinking.
The positioning. The defensive read. The angle of the platform. His brain immediately started pulling the play apart piece by piece.
"Buddy."
Henrique lightly touched his shoulder.
"We should probably check in first."
Matteo snapped out of it instantly.
"Oh. Right."
Near the front desk, several other families had already formed a small line beneath a large Stormbreaker Volleyball Club banner hanging from the wall. Kids around Matteo's age stood beside parents holding volleyball backpacks and water bottles, some talking excitedly, others looking quiet and overwhelmed.
Matteo noticed all of them immediately. A tall blond boy spinning a volleyball on one finger while pretending not to be nervous. A shorter girl with knee pads that looked brand new, squeezing her mother's hand tightly.
Two boys arguing about NBA players instead of volleyball. A kid already wearing expensive volleyball shoes Matteo recognized from YouTube reviews.
His eyes lingered there for half a second longer.
"Mizuno Wave Lightning," he muttered quietly to himself.
Elena heard him.
"You recognize volleyball shoes now?"
"They're good for lateral movement."
"Nevermind."
The woman at the registration table smiled warmly as they approached.
"Name?"
"Matteo Smith."
She checked a clipboard before handing Elena a packet alongside a laminated temporary player badge attached to a blue lanyard.
"Court 4 for the U10 evaluations. Parents can sit upstairs or along the side seating areas. Coaches will explain everything before they start."
Matteo immediately looked down at the badge like it was some kind of official credential from the Olympics.
PLAYER — MATTEO SMITH — U10
For some reason, seeing it written there made everything suddenly feel real.
Not casual classes. Club volleyball. Competitive volleyball.
As they walked deeper into the facility, Matteo's pace unconsciously sped up.
Court 4 sat near the center of the gym surrounded by several other active courts. About sixteen kids had already gathered there, most around eight or nine years old, wearing a mix of athletic shirts, club gear, and nervous expressions.
Some bounced volleyballs repeatedly to stay busy.
Others stretched awkwardly while parents watched nearby.
One boy was already practicing dives onto the floor dramatically despite nobody asking him to.
Matteo immediately recognized Charlie near the net talking to another girl nearly her height. Charlie spotted him within seconds and waved aggressively.
"There you are!"
Matteo jogged over while adjusting the strap of his volleyball backpack.
"You're late."
"I'm three minutes early."
"That's basically late."
Beside Charlie stood a taller boy with dark curly hair and long arms who looked more athletic than most of the kids there already.
"That's Matteo," Charlie told him immediately. "I told you about him."
The boy blinked once.
"The volleyball encyclopedia?"
Matteo frowned slightly.
"…That sounds insulting."
"It's accurate," Charlie replied.
The boy laughed before extending a hand.
"Ethan."
"Matteo."
Ethan looked him over curiously.
"You really memorize pro rotations for fun?"
"Yes."
"…Cool."
Nearby, another kid overheard the conversation.
"You watch pro volleyball?"
Matteo looked toward him.
The boy was shorter than Ethan, stockier, with messy black hair and an expression that somehow already looked competitive despite being eight years old.
"My dad watches Italian league games," the boy explained quickly. "He says they're better than college."
"They are," Matteo answered immediately. "Better serve pressure."
The boy stared at him for a second.
Then grinned.
"Okay, you're definitely weird."
"People say that a lot."
Before the conversation could continue, a whistle echoed sharply across the court.
"All U10 players, bring it in!"
The kids gathered near center court while several coaches walked over carrying clipboards and ball carts. The main coach, Daniel Reyes, stood in front wearing a black PACIFIC COAST hoodie with crossed arms and the calm posture of someone completely comfortable inside a gym.
Behind him stood two assistant coaches:
Coach Mia, younger and energetic, already tossing balls casually between her hands;
and Coach Aaron, tall and quiet, adjusting equipment near the net.
Coach Daniel waited until the players settled down before speaking.
"Alright guys, listen up."
The gym noise continued around them, but Court 4 grew noticeably quieter.
"First off — welcome to Stormbreaker . Some of you have played club before, some of you are brand new. Doesn't matter. Over the next couple days we're evaluating skill level, movement, effort, communication, and how you work with teammates."
Several kids nodded nervously.
One boy immediately asked:
"Are there cuts?"
Coach Daniel answered honestly.
"Yes."
The entire group straightened instantly.
"But this age isn't about building stars yet," he continued calmly. "It's about fundamentals. We care about mechanics, effort, coachability, and how you learn."
Matteo listened carefully. Every word mattered to him.
Coach Daniel pointed toward the courts around them.
"Club volleyball is different from rec leagues or camps. We train multiple days a week. We travel for tournaments. You'll learn systems, rotations, defensive positioning, serve-receive patterns, transition offense — all the stuff real volleyball teams use."
Matteo's heart sped up slightly hearing that. Real volleyball.
Coach Mia stepped forward next.
"For U10 specifically, we focus a lot on ball control and movement. At your age, passing matters more than hitting hard."
One kid looked disappointed immediately. Coach Aaron noticed and smirked slightly.
"Trust me," he said. "The kids who learn passing early become the best players later."
Matteo filed that sentence directly into his brain forever.
Coach Daniel grabbed a volleyball from the cart.
"Quick lesson before we start. Volleyball is a game of reading information early. Everybody understand that?"
Most kids nodded vaguely.
"The ball moves too fast to react late. So good players learn to read clues before contact happens."
Now Matteo looked completely locked in.
Coach Daniel demonstrated slowly.
"A hitter's shoulders tell you direction. Feet tell you momentum. Hands tell you intention. Defense starts before the ball crosses the net."
Matteo felt something click almost physically in his brain hearing that explained out loud by someone else.
Because that was exactly how he already saw the game.
Coach Daniel bounced the ball once.
"At this age, most players watch the ball only. Better players watch people first."
Beside Matteo, Ethan muttered quietly:
"That's hard."
"It is," Coach Daniel answered immediately, overhearing him. "That's why we practice."
Then he pointed toward the courts.
"Alright. We'll start with movement and platform work. Hustle between drills. Communicate loud. And one more thing, mistakes are fine. Standing still because you're afraid to mess up isn't."
The players split into lines afterward while coaches organized drills.
Matteo moved toward his group carrying his volleyball against his hip, trying very hard to stay calm despite the electricity practically buzzing through his chest.
Because for the first time in his life, it finally felt like he had stepped into the beginning of something real.