Chapter 9: What Makes a Superstar?
The whistle shrieked again.
The ball sailed through the air.
Set 3 continued.
Neither side had backed down.
Mao's eyes followed the ball.
Set.
Approach.
Block.
Defense.
Everything happened faster now.
But Mao wasn't trying to calculate everything anymore.
She watched.
She chose.
She committed.
Choose.
Decide.
Commit.
The first spike came.
Reika was already there.
Dig.
Perfect.
The ball rose.
Karasuno recovered.
Mao approached again.
She changed her angle at the last moment.
The ball curved toward the edge of Reika's coverage.
Reika reached.
Her fingertips brushed the ball.
It stayed alive.
Tokonami recovered.
Mao landed.
Her breathing remained steady.
Again.
The rally continued.
Neither player was simply using her Extreme anymore.
They were beginning to understand the philosophy behind it.
Reika's defense wasn't just about receiving.
Mao's Ultimate Guess wasn't just about prediction.
Both had become expressions of something deeper.
The question was what.
The Priestess's Obsession
Reika remembered an empty gym.
She was younger.
Smaller.
Less experienced.
A ball flew toward her.
She dove.
Missed.
The ball hit the floor.
She immediately stood.
Another ball.
Miss.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Her arms were covered in small bruises.
Her knees hurt.
Her breathing was ragged.
But she kept going.
"If my team loses..."
She looked at the ball.
"...I want to know I did everything I could."
She threw it again.
Receive.
The ball went too far.
She chased it.
Receive.
The ball went too low.
She dove.
Receive.
The ball flew behind her.
She turned.
Ran.
Reached.
Her body was exhausted.
But the lesson remained.
She wasn't trying to become someone who never failed.
She was trying to become someone who could still be trusted after failing.
That distinction changed everything.
Responsibility became her weapon.
If the ball went somewhere unexpected, she would chase it.
If her first contact was bad, she would recover.
If she couldn't reach it...
She would trust someone else to cover the space.
Eventually, those individual efforts became something greater.
Her teammates learned her movement.
She learned theirs.
One player moved.
Another filled the space.
A third covered the second.
The defense became connected.
Then Sacred Ground was born.
And later...
It expanded.
Back to the Court
Mao received.
The ball rose.
Karasuno attacked.
Reika moved.
Dig.
Another attack.
Reika shifted.
Dig.
Mao changed direction.
The ball went around her.
Another Tokonami player covered.
Mao's eyes widened.
They're completely connected now.
Kuroba spoke.
That's the difference.
Between what?
A strong defender and a Superstar defender.
Mao watched Reika.
Reika isn't trying to save every ball herself anymore.
Mao understood.
She had spent the entire match thinking of Reika as the center of Sacred Ground.
But that wasn't quite right.
Reika had become something else.
She was the anchor.
Her teammates weren't protecting her.
They were extending her.
And she was extending them.
Mao smiled faintly.
"So that's your Extreme."
Reika heard her.
"What?"
Mao shook her head.
"Nothing."
The rally continued.
The Notebook
Another memory.
Pages.
Hundreds of them.
Spike angles.
Probability trees.
Setter tendencies.
Block positioning.
Defensive formations.
Everything organized.
Everything categorized.
Everything measured.
Her mentor's voice echoed through the memory.
"You don't guess randomly."
Mao flipped another page.
"You guess correctly."
Another.
"Every time."
She had believed that.
For years.
If she knew enough...
If she observed enough...
If she calculated enough...
Then there would always be a correct answer.
The notebook had taught her how to reduce uncertainty.
But Reika had shown her something different.
Some situations couldn't be reduced.
Sometimes several answers were equally possible.
Sometimes there was no perfect choice.
Sometimes you simply had to choose.
And accept what happened afterward.
Mao slowly closed the notebook.
This time...
She didn't reopen it.
The First Realization
The ball came toward her.
Mao moved.
Reika adjusted.
Mao jumped.
Three possible attacks.
Line.
Cross.
Tip.
Reika's defense covered all three.
Mao smiled.
Fine.
She chose a fourth.
A shot nobody expected.
The ball dropped.
Point.
13-11.
Mao landed.
Her teammates cheered.
She looked at them.
Their faces.
Their effort.
Their trust.
Something felt different.
She had been thinking about winning.
About being the ace.
About proving herself.
About becoming stronger.
But what did being an ace actually mean?
Was it simply scoring the most?
Was it having the strongest attack?
Was it having the best Extreme?
Mao looked toward Reika.
The answer wasn't there.
Not yet.
The Crack in Sacred Ground
The next rally began.
Mao attacked.
Reika received.
Another attack.
Covered.
Mao changed tempo.
Reika adjusted.
Mao guessed.
Reika moved.
The ball came back.
Mao attacked again.
This time...
Reika's receive faltered.
Just slightly.
The ball bounced away from her platform.
Mao saw it.
She reacted instantly.
Point.
14-11.
A small crack.
Reika stood.
She looked at the spot where the ball had landed.
Then she smiled.
Not because she was happy to lose the point.
Because she understood what had happened.
Mao had stopped trying to destroy her defense.
She was testing it.
Searching for where the system could bend.
Reika's eyes sharpened.
"Again."
Mao smiled.
"Gladly."
The Priestess's Epiphany
Another memory.
Reika was on the floor.
The ball had landed beside her.
She had been certain she could reach it.
She hadn't.
Her teammate stood nearby.
Reika waited for disappointment.
It never came.
Instead, her teammate extended a hand.
"Get up."
Reika stared.
"You aren't mad?"
"Why would I be?"
"I missed."
"Then we'll get the next one."
Reika took the hand.
She stood.
That moment stayed with her.
Her team hadn't needed perfection.
They needed someone willing to keep standing.
Someone willing to accept responsibility without believing she had to carry everything alone.
That was the real foundation of her defense.
Not:
I must save everything.
But:
I will take responsibility for what I can do, and trust my team with what I cannot.
That was what made Sacred Ground possible.
Back to Mao
The next rally began.
Mao received.
Her eyes moved across the court.
Yui was there.
The setter was ready.
Her teammates were moving.
She suddenly understood something.
She had been thinking about Amaterasu as if it were a power that belonged entirely to her.
A special ability.
A weapon.
A way to become stronger.
But every time she used it...
Someone else was trusting her.
Every attack created an expectation.
Every decision affected her teammates.
Every mistake affected them too.
If she wanted to call herself an ace...
Then she had to accept that responsibility.
Mao's eyes sharpened.
Skill isn't enough.
The ball rose.
Legacy isn't enough.
She approached.
Prediction isn't enough.
She jumped.
Even an Extreme isn't enough.
Her arm pulled back.
Then she chose.
The ball flew.
Reika moved.
Mao had no guarantee.
She didn't need one.
She had chosen.
And she would accept whatever happened next.
The ball struck the floor.
Point.
15-11.
Mao landed.
Her teammates shouted.
This time...
She smiled.
Not because she had guessed correctly.
Because she had trusted her decision.
The Duel Reaches Fever Pitch
The rest of the set became a battle unlike anything before it.
Reika's defense expanded.
Mao's choices became sharper.
Reika covered impossible spaces.
Mao attacked spaces that shouldn't have existed.
Reika trusted her teammates.
Mao trusted hers.
A dig.
A set.
A spike.
A save.
A block.
Another rally.
Another decision.
The scoreboard continued climbing.
16-12.
17-13.
18-14.
Neither side collapsed.
Neither side surrendered.
The crowd had stopped reacting to individual points.
They were watching something larger.
Two players had reached the extremes of their philosophies.
Reika asked:
What if the ball goes somewhere unexpected?
Her answer:
We'll still reach it.
Mao asked:
What if there is no correct answer?
Her answer:
I'll choose one.
What Makes a Superstar?
Mao stood at the service line.
She looked toward Reika.
The question returned.
What makes a Superstar?
She had thought it was skill.
No.
Reika had skill.
But skill alone didn't explain her.
Maybe it was talent.
No.
Talent couldn't explain all those empty-gym hours.
Maybe it was legacy.
No.
A legacy could inspire someone.
It couldn't make them worthy of carrying it.
Maybe it was an Extreme.
No.
An Extreme was only a weapon.
A weapon didn't decide what its owner would do with it.
Mao looked at her teammates.
Then at Reika.
Then back at her own hands.
She finally understood.
A Superstar wasn't simply someone who possessed something extraordinary.
It was someone who could take responsibility for something extraordinary.
Someone who could make a decision when nobody else could.
Someone who could carry pressure without allowing it to destroy the team.
Someone who could trust others while still accepting responsibility for their own choice.
Reika carried responsibility through defense.
Mao would have to carry it through choice.
The two paths were different.
But perhaps that was what made them both Superstars.
The Closing Rally
The ball sailed high.
Mao moved.
Reika moved.
The entire court seemed to slow.
Reika's team spread.
Every space covered.
Every player connected.
Mao looked.
There was no obvious opening.
No safe answer.
No perfect prediction.
She could calculate.
She could hesitate.
She could search.
Instead...
She chose.
Mao jumped.
Reika moved.
The spike and the defense collided.
For one instant, everything disappeared.
No scoreboard.
No crowd.
No reputation.
No title.
Only two players.
One trying to cover everything.
One trying to choose something.
The ball flew.
The outcome remained uncertain.
But Mao finally understood what she had been missing.
Being a Superstar wasn't about never being wrong.
It wasn't about never failing.
It wasn't about possessing the strongest weapon.
It was about having something worth carrying...
And choosing to carry it anyway.
Reika's eyes remained focused.
Mao's eyes remained steady.
The ball continued through the air.
And the question remained.
What makes a Superstar?
Not skill.
Not legacy.
Not perfection.
Not even an Extreme.
Those were only the tools.
A Superstar was someone who could stand in the chaos...
Make the choice...
And bear the weight of what came after.
The rally continued.
And neither player was willing to yield.