JSWGAS Chapter 111

The Oohira short quick attack scores.

Iwaizumi’s back-row attack responds in kind.

Tendō blocks Miyano’s cross-court shot.

Possession is once again transferred to Ushijima. This ball brushes past Saijō’s fingertips and is then received by Furuhata. Oikawa feints a pass to Arahata but unexpectedly goes for a second attack.

This is Ushijima’s eighteenth spike of the second set, the tenth failure—although they are leading by a solid six points, everyone’s face shows a hint of unease.

Especially the setter.

Kokonoe Taka, standing in the waiting area at the side of the court, takes all of this in. He smooths out the wrinkles in the bandage on his finger as he watches those shifting faces. He can clearly feel a hot, itchy sensation at his fingertip through the fabric. This itch only disappears triumphantly when he high-fives Furuhata for the rotation.

“The other team’s setter has a really stable mentality.” Shiratorizawa’s setter breaks the silence. “That kid’s only a first-year… Are all the rookies these days this scary?”

He’s referring not only to Aoba Johsai’s setter, but also to the number 12 who just rotated onto the court, as well as their own Ushijima and Tendō. Following his words, Somura glances over at the Aoba Johsai team. “Not arrogant or impatient when behind, a decisive and meticulous play style, and no drop in the accuracy of his sets… No wonder Ushijima can’t stop thinking about him.”

Only then does Ushijima Wakatoshi, who has been silent all along, look up. “Oikawa is a very talented player.” He frowns slightly and looks at the setter on the other side of the net. “He should have come to our team.”

Somura sighs, originally intending to say, ‘Even after being rejected so many times?’, but he hears Ushijima finish his sentence.

“His abilities could be better utilized on a stronger team.”

The implication is that they are stronger.

This kid is surprisingly easy to understand sometimes.

Somura can’t help but smile, then clears his throat in response to his junior’s confused gaze. “Well then, let’s show Oikawa with facts that his choice was wrong.”

“—Let’s take this set.”

This rotation brings Oikawa Tōru to the one position for the second time.

He habitually spins the ball, but his mind is replaying the shortcomings of his previous serves: angle, timing, power, speed… the defensive layout, the offensive preparations, the receiving habits… integrating all of those observations into his weapon, aimed at his opponent.

“Serve a good one.”

“Show them what you’ve got!”

The voices of each teammate mix together, along with the rhythmic cheers, reaching Oikawa Tōru’s ears. But after the whistle blows, everything returns to silence.

Toss, approach, jump—a familiar process, but this time there’s an indescribable… peculiar feeling. It’s as if a gust of wind behind him is pushing him, making him jump higher than usual, and the volleyball in front of him has become unfamiliar, yet in a fleeting moment, it aligns with his heart, like an old friend he hasn’t seen in years.

How strange, I’m not like Koiwa with his serious old-man style, nor am I a talent-type player like Taka.

Compared to his scattered thoughts, this serve appears powerful and dangerous to others, loudly proclaiming its presence. The volleyball is small, and it’s even more blurry from the back rows of the audience. But everyone clearly sees that blazing, shooting-star-like trajectory that slices through the retina!

It’s aimed at Ushijima again!

Since the end of the first set, Aoba Johsai’s serves have been targeting Ushijima Wakatoshi to varying degrees—secretly blocking his attack routes, disrupting his first touch, forcing him to receive… Oikawa is of course one of them, and his targeting is even undisguised. Ushijima stares at the ball’s path, takes a diagonal step, and raises his arms to find the right angle to receive—but the power of this ball exceeds his original judgment. It’s heavier and has a trickier angle than Oikawa’s previous serves, and it bounces directly back into Aoba Johsai’s half of the court.

“Chance ball!”

Miyano calmly bumps the ball up, and Oikawa quickly fills the position, his eyes scanning Shiratorizawa’s still-forming defense… Don’t underestimate our offensive power. Ushiwaka, you’re not the only monster.

“—Give it to me!”

—Especially since our spikers have been holding back for too long.

There’s no screen at all, no protection in case of a block. Because the speed after the first touch is so fast that even his teammates can’t keep up, Oikawa Tōru, who sent out the incredibly fast ball, realizes with disappointment upon reconfirming that he actually set it a step too slow… That’s right, he forgot that the air is also a domain to which this person bows down.

Give me this point.

I want to take this point.

The similar but different thoughts between two different individuals connect into a solid and decisive track, merging indistinguishably into a desire to score. Kokonoe Taka seems to belong to the air by nature. The invisible wind that rushes up from all directions gently lifts his body, allowing him to linger in the air… until he awaits the volleyball.

“Bang!—Bang!”

Two sounds with extremely short intervals, coming from the palm spiking the ball and the ball hitting the ground, respectively. The volleyball barely pauses, leaving as soon as it touches, and once again becomes a shooting star severing the two worlds of motion and stillness. When Ushijima sees the ball’s path clearly, a chill runs down his back. Before his raised foot can land, the volleyball arrives in front of him in an instant, only a hair’s breadth away from his subconsciously turned face. Even as he looks back at the ball’s landing point, he can still feel a faint, numb pain on his cheek.

The referee’s flag points downwards.

It’s in.

“A perfect quick attack targeting Ushijima! A counterattack from Aoba Johsai!” The commentator’s voice almost cracks, but no one cares about that now. “Because Aoba Johsai has to frequently rotate their libero to defend the ground. So Kokonoe has been quiet for quite some time in the second set. But clearly, he didn’t feel constrained. He made a beautiful offensive quick attack as soon as he came on!”

“Oikawa’s powerful jump serve targeting Ushijima has also effectively gained an offensive rotation for his team…”

Ushijima Wakatoshi turns his head and meets the eyes of Kokonoe Taka, who has landed. A long whistle ends the silence between them.

“Ah, Shiratorizawa has called a timeout, interrupting Aoba Johsai’s momentum.”

The one who called the timeout is Coach Washijo, his face dark and silent, full of impending storm.

But actually, he always has that grumpy face during training. Putting that aside, at least the Shiratorizawa team has maxed out their magic resistance. Captain Somura claps his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “There was no way to deal with that last ball. No one expected that number twelve could launch an attack from that position… Looks like he’s been holding back for a long time.”

“I actually saw him jump,” the middle blocker reflects. “But I didn’t think Oikawa would pass the ball to him. I thought he was a decoy.”

“How could a decoy have that kind of presence?” The one who speaks is Coach Washijo, who has been silent for a long time. “And you guys! Not receiving well in the back row, not blocking well in the front row! Did I put you on the court to daydream?! Where has all the remedial training gone? Do you like watching the ball hit the ground? Do you expect me to help you receive?!”…

The demon coach’s lecture arrives as expected.

Tendō is the only one who dares to daydream while Coach Washijo is lecturing. He pokes Ushijima’s arm, intrigued. “They’re targeting you, Wakatoshi-kun. How does it feel?”

Ushijima Wakatoshi’s brown eyes rest on him for a moment.

“No matter who it is,” he says, “the ones who win in the end will only be us.”

On the other side, Aoba Johsai.

“…I almost feel sorry for Somura.” Arahata turns his head back, looking at Coach Irihata sitting on the bench with a kind expression as he says this. “He’s actually been able to stay under that demon for three years. He’s amazing.”

“Somura wouldn’t be happy if you pitied him.”

The only one who answers is Kokonoe.

Somura immediately understands. Although they’ve only reached the second set, the stamina both sides have expended is probably equivalent to that of a normal three-set match. Almost every ball flies back and forth for several rallies before hitting the ground. The consumption of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, who needs to jump constantly, and Miyano, is self-evident. And besides them, Saijō, who is responsible for blocking the opponent’s attacks, must not only deal with Ushiwaka’s touch but also try to block other spikers as much as possible. Furuhata needs to run back and forth across the entire court, and every successful defensive counterattack has his shadow…

Maybe it would have been more beneficial for Shiratorizawa if they hadn’t called this timeout… In the short break, the fatigue that was unnoticed before will only swiftly occupy every sense, making people wish they could go home and lie in bed immediately.

Somura is even belatedly aware of his heavy limbs. Among the official players who are slightly panting and adjusting their condition, only Kokonoe is unfazed, relaxed, and shows no sign of strain.

“Ushiwaka’s spikes are numerous, but because of your combined blocks, his scoring rate is actually only about half.” Coach Irihata opens his mouth, almost calling him Ushiwaka by mistake. “His consumption will be more than yours. If we drag out the battle, we can still fight them for the later sets. How’s your stamina? Do we need to make substitutions?”

“My stamina is still okay.” Oikawa estimates. He stubbornly followed Kokonoe Taka’s long-distance running habits for a while, and he now has more leeway than he imagined. “Most of Furuhata-senpai’s receives aren’t difficult to cover.”

“I’m still fine too,” Iwaizumi nods, wearing a half-wet towel on his head. “At least I can play through the first three sets.”

Miyano raises his hand. “I’m okay for this set, but I should probably come down for a rest in the next set.” Furuhata is focused on receiving Ushijima’s spikes, while he makes up for most of the ground cover and screening attacks.

“I can still hold on for a while.” Furuhata’s tone is hesitant, but there’s someone else who can replace Miyano, while he’s the only libero with a good level.

Coach Irihata nods and looks at the other middle blocker, who hasn’t spoken yet. The other party’s stamina has always been a weakness, and he’s bearing a heavy pressure at this time…

“I can finish this set.” Saijō, who is sweating more than everyone else, finally looks up. “I’m currently the main blocker, and there’s no way to urgently switch to someone else… Let me finish this set.”

Kokonoe watches all of this, tilting his head back to feel the clear water flowing through his throat.

“Tōru.”

“Hmm?”

“Set to me.”

Oikawa Tōru raises his head, not too surprised. Two strands of his soft brown hair peek out from the towel covering his head, gently swaying with his movement. “…”

The timeout ends, and the atmosphere of the two teams changes.

Oikawa Tōru spins the ball, deciding that after this match is over, he must add a training regime to control his condition so that he can launch a powerful jump serve at any time.

This time, his serve isn’t too tricky. It’s received by the libero, Somura sets up a short quick attack, but suddenly rushes towards the setter, spiking a near-body half-high ball, wanting to make a quick front attack.

Doesn’t he know Coach Washijo well enough? He doesn’t want to be scolded out of the volleyball club in his last year… This thought makes his actions even faster.

This move is usually very effective, often fooling the blockers around. But this time, he hits a wall again. Someone coldly watches him bustling around, appearing in front of him quickly and accurately just as he’s about to spike!

…Just like that quick attack earlier, it’s as if the volleyball is attracted to Kokonoe’s palm, obediently falling into Shiratorizawa’s half of the court according to his will.

The commentator immediately stops praising Somura’s past glorious achievements and this technique. “17:13! Kokonoe scores a block on the first ball after the timeout!”

“Don’t mind!” The setter immediately comforts loudly, patting Somura’s shoulders with a loud thwack.

On the third serve, Oikawa Tōru suddenly switches from a spike to a push when touching the ball. This ball is aimed at the setter, who has no choice but to raise his arms to receive. “Ōhira!”

Ōhira Reon’s overhand pass is decent, especially since the team has an undemanding main spiker. “Ushijima! I’m counting on you!”

Ushijima Wakatoshi only needs a high ball.

His eyes focus on the incoming ball.

He has already started moving when he hears Ōhira’s shout. He steps out with one foot while jumping out with the other. The reaction force allows him to jump higher, enabling him to look down at the court from a high vantage point. But this isn’t his exclusive privilege. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees another pair of outstretched hands high above. The owner of those hands left a scratch on his cheek not long ago, and now the wind stirred up by their jump is making it itch.

Touch, block.

Impact, breakthrough.

“Boom—”

The ball slams into Kokonoe’s fingertips, leaving a gray mark on the bandage before flying high into the air.

“Touch out! Shiratorizawa ends Aoba Johsai’s continuous scoring run!”