The small gym of Yamabuki Middle School rattled under every serve.Not because it was a big match — no one even watched — but because Ren Takahashi's balls hit the floor with the weight of thunder.
"Score 24–23!" the scorekeeper shouted, voice trembling.
It was only a local-district friendly. No cameras, no crowd, no scouts — just a forgotten team in faded jerseys.But Ren stood behind the line as if the entire world was watching.
He spun the ball once in his hand. His legs ached; the skin beneath the knee-wraps burned from overuse.For the last month, he had trained until he couldn't walk — literally.One night, after collapsing from exhaustion, he had wrapped his thighs in tight cords to restrict his jumping muscles. "If I can't jump," he had whispered, "I'll force my arms to do the work."
It worked. His arm swing became monstrous.
Now, every serve sounded like a gunshot.
He tossed the ball — perfect height.Whip—!It tore through the air and slammed into the opposite court. Ace.The whistle blew. "Twenty-four!"
Gasps from teammates, silence from opponents.He had served twenty-four consecutive points.
"Just one more," Ren murmured, staring at the trembling ball in his palm.His fingertips stung from the hundreds of serves before this match, but his eyes were clear.
One more. The perfect serve.
He threw the ball up — a little higher this time, testing the spin.He jumped, twisted, and sliced across it — a mix between a jump topspin and knuckle.
The ball flew like lightning… then caught the net.Thump.
Match over.
Ren dropped to his knees, breathing hard. The crowd, what little there was, stayed silent.His team still won — but no one celebrated. His classmates whispered, "He's crazy," "He hurt himself for volleyball."
Ren only smiled weakly. "Almost perfect."
Later that night, he limped home with his gym bag dragging behind.The skin around his knees was purple, and his right shoulder twitched with pain.He looked up at the dark sky.
"There's got to be a place where this serve means something," he whispered.
On the way, he stopped by an electronics store. The TV screens showed the Spring High Volleyball Tournament — a tall left-handed ace from Shiratorizawa, launching a brutal serve that shattered the opponent's receive.
The announcer's voice thundered:
"Ushijima Wakatoshi! Another service ace!"
Ren stared at the replay, his heart hammering. The same motion — but bigger, cleaner, effortless.
He tightened his fist around the strap of his bag."I'll get there," he said quietly."Even if it breaks me."