The score was 24–19, with Kitagawa Daiichi still holding serve.
For a moment, they had almost caught up, but the gap had widened again.
(So that's it… the density of their strength really is different…)
Wiping the sweat dripping down his face with his arm, Kagami thought to himself.
If you were to rate a middle school team on a five-point scale, across the six typical categories used even in the original series—
Power, Speed, Technique, Brains, Stamina, Jumping Ability—
then even accounting for the standout player Kageyama, Kitagawa Daiichi would still score consistently high across the board.
Their hexagon would look nearly like a perfect circle.
On their side, though, no matter how generously you judged it, the shape was warped, lopsided, with sharp points sticking out.
That was the difference in team strength. They were absolutely lacking. Even if they fought hard, the chance of victory was almost zero.
(That's how it should be, if you look at it rationally…)
Objectively, remembering the past, seeing it from the reader's perspective, you'd say the same thing again and again. But right now was different.
This time, no one's eyes were dead. No one was hanging their head. Not a single player was failing to chase the ball.
(They're really reliable… from the bottom of my heart.)
It was like everyone had "become Hinata Shouyou." The absolute reason they kept fighting was simple: they hadn't lost yet.
"We haven't lost yet, you know?"
Maybe they'd never hear that line in this match—or ever again. But that was fine. That was better. This wasn't that world anymore. This was something similar but not the same.
(If everyone else is giving 100%, then how could I, the one who's basically cheating, not put out 120%!)
Kagami narrowed his eyes. The gym echoed with voices and sounds, loud yet somehow quiet in his intense focus. That focus pushed everyone forward. It was like electricity, buzzing through their bodies. Every player felt it, without exception.
"That tall wall—I'll smash right through it…!"
Hinata responded, his own focus sharpening. Still undeveloped, still an unhatched chick, yet the intensity he could show in a clutch moment was enough to send chills down the spines of the opponents, especially those in the front line.
The entire team united. And the trigger was Kagami. This was what it meant to inspire with your back.
"Bring it on!"
On the other side, Kitagawa's coach barked:
(If we don't end it here, that #2 will serve again… Finish it now! Land the final blow!)
The lead was still five points. They'd dominated the latter half with consecutive scoring runs. But even so, an uneasy feeling lingered—like something was right behind them, ready to grab their backs. Like if they let their guard down, they'd be devoured by some small, mysterious beast.
"…Of course, coach," Kageyama muttered quietly.
He had been playing as if that score difference didn't even exist. Unusually, he was far less irritated with his teammates than normal—an unexpected advantage for him.
The fact that Kagami had accidentally raised everyone's fighting spirit—including his enemies—was not part of Kagami's plan.
Now, Kageyama stepped up to serve.
Up until now, he'd been doing standard float serves. But this time, he was going to do something different.
This wasn't some reckless gamble. He had practiced it countless times. His confidence was absolute.
Though Kageyama often felt isolated from his team, there were seniors he respected and feared. He'd watched and learned—blocking, serving, timing, power. He'd stolen everything he could with his eyes, and worked at it relentlessly.
And now—he had seen a serve surpass even those of his seniors. From a boy his same age.
(So this is what strength feels like… how good it can feel, whether friend or foe.)
Relaxing his body, Kageyama let his irritation melt away. He would unleash it all—not against his teammates, but against his opponent.
Even if the coach scolded him later, he didn't care. Right here, right now, he'd put everything into this serve.
"I'll smash this at you…!"
He took a longer run-up than usual. Changed his stance. Tossed the ball high. Stepped in, jumped, and struck at the highest point.
(…Perfect.)
The sudden jump serve shocked both sides, but only for a moment. The ball shot powerfully into the opposing court, on par with Kagami's serve.
Normally, it would have been an untouched ace, or at best ricocheted out of bounds. Snow Peak's (Yukigaoka's) weak receive line shouldn't have been able to handle it.
…But this time was different.
The power was there—but his control wasn't. It was his first time using the jump serve in an official match.
And so—
"Seiya!!"
"Sei-chan!!"
"Kagami-senpai!!"
The ball flew straight to the one reliable receiver—Kagami. Maybe Kageyama had aimed for him, wanting to test himself against the one player who had received so many tough serves already.
But Kagami returned it with a flawless A-pass.
"Perfect receive…! As expected…!"
Using his arms and entire body to absorb the power, Kagami responded completely. He hadn't expected Kageyama to pull out a jump serve here, but his extreme focus let him handle it.
(No… I think I could tell it was coming. He had that look in his eyes.)
Grinning, he met Kageyama's gaze. Kageyama looked frustrated, hungry to surpass even this—but there was also a touch of satisfaction. For a first attempt, it had gone well.
Now it was Yukigaoka's turn to attack.
And Kagami, as if to say "thanks for that serve," sprinted forward right after his receive.
"Yuki!!"
He would end it here. If they didn't take this set, there would be no next chance.
It was time for Kagami's secret weapon #3.
An attack he could sync with Izumi, the inexperienced setter—right now, in this moment.
It was the first set-up of the match. Until now, most tosses had gone to Hinata or Kagami for open attacks. Some had shifted center or right, with mixed results. But now, Kagami crashed in early.
The signal was clear.
"Block #2!!"
All eyes went to Kagami. Hinata and Seki also moved in, but no one looked at them. The block was set—three players against Kagami.
They jumped together, full power. Against Kagami, their assumed ace.
The timing was perfect. Any quick attack should have been stopped, or at least touched for a counter.
But Kagami had planned for this.
During a timeout, he had told Izumi:
"Most of the time, you can just call the attacker's name when you toss. But in key moments—if I make a good receive, I'll call your name at full volume. Then set to me."
Hinata had pouted, wanting in too, but had agreed.
Izumi, nervous about his inexperience, had worried:
"But I can only toss like this… nothing fancy like those guys…"
Kagami had laughed:
"That's fine. Just toss to me like you would normally. I'll match it."
And now, Izumi did exactly that.
Kagami feinted the jump, sank low, then leapt in perfect sync with the toss. A delayed attack—one-man time difference.
His spike cut right through the center of Kitagawa's court.
"YEEAAAHHHHH!!"
The gym roared like thunder, more like a battle cry than cheers. His teammates mobbed him in celebration.
Hinata immediately begged:
"Teach me that attack! I wanna do it next! I have to!!"
Kagami shook his head:
"That's a one-time trick. The feint only worked once, and the toss height is predictable. Next time, they'll block it. But Yuki—your toss was perfect. And Koji too."
Izumi and Seki both waved it off, embarrassed but grinning.
Hinata tried it later, but without a run-up his jump lacked power. He glared at the net, frustrated.
Meanwhile, Kitagawa's blockers cursed. They had been sure they had him. But that feint had fooled them completely.
Their captain pulled them back together:
"Now we know. They don't have real quicks. Their only weapons are what Kagami can reach. Stay disciplined on the block. Don't get baited again."
Even in middle school, Kitagawa showed their composure.
The coach, too, sat back down. Victory wasn't about one great spike or serve. The team that drops the ball loses. The team that takes 25 points wins.
And so he trusted his players' plan.
After that, Kagami's serve brought them to 24–23. But his final serve hit the net.
Set count: 25–23, Kitagawa Daiichi.
Kagami apologized, but his teammates reassured him—it was proof he was human, and in a way, it put them at ease.
With all cards revealed, the true all-out battle would begin in Set 2.
Kitagawa Daiichi's plan was simple: mark Kagami relentlessly, never underestimate Hinata, and never dismiss Yukigaoka as a whole.
And after nearly an hour, the match finally came to a close.
------------------
You can continue reading through chapter 16 on Patreon and support us. Links for the next chapter are available in the comments section.