The Final Whistle

Seiryuu's serve. Their pinch setter from the last set stepped onto the court again. He hadn't played at all this set, yet he looked calm—focused, like nothing about the situation rattled him. The gym was dead silent, the tension so thick it felt suffocating. Every breath, every shift of movement, seemed amplified.

Then, the whistle.

He tossed the ball up and struck it hard, the spike serve cutting through the air like a bullet, rocketing straight at me.

I braced myself. That wasn't intentional. The way his fingers twitched, the slight wince—he hadn't meant to send it my way. But it didn't matter. Even a mistake could be lethal at this stage of the match.

Feet planted, stance firm, I absorbed the impact. A sharp sting shot through my arms, but the ball popped up cleanly toward Shigeo. The moment I straightened, my body screamed in protest. My legs felt like dead weight, my breath came sharp and ragged, and my mind, running on fumes, waded through fog. But none of it mattered. This is it. No second chances.

I willed my body to move. My exhaustion, my shaking limbs—I could break down later. Right now, I had a job to do.

Hinata and Daiki were already in motion, ready for their approach. I forced my legs to follow. But Shigeo? He wasn't looking at any of us.

He already knew where we'd be.

So did the blockers.

I leaped, and the moment my feet left the floor, Shigeo made his choice. The smartest play was to set to Daiki—he was wide open. Even Hinata only had a single blocker shadowing him.

But Shigeo didn't choose logic.

He chose me.

I knew he would. Because in this moment—match point—I was the ace of this team. When our backs were against the wall, it was my job to forge a path forward. This was mine to take.

Two blockers jumped with me, their arms sealing off my angles, hands reaching to smother the attack.

Not many options. My body wasn't responding like before. My timing was off, my movements sluggish. The vision of the perfect play flashed in my head, but I didn't have the precision left to execute it.

So, I let go. Let go of the calculations, the what-ifs, the weight of the match pressing down on me.

I swung.

The impact sent a shock up my arm, the sound of contact exploding through the gym.

The ball slammed into the blockers' hands—

—and ripped through them like they weren't even there.

It shot past their outstretched fingers, a streak of speed heading straight for the court. The floor was wide open.

But Seiryuu's libero moved. His body launched forward in a desperate dive, arms stretched to their limit. Just before the ball could hit the floor, his forearms caught it, the impact making him skid backward across the polished surface. The ball popped up—barely. Just enough to keep them alive.

I clicked my tongue. Tsk.

As I landed, my legs buckled slightly before I forced them steady. No time to think.

The attack came. I read it like it was nothing. Even through the haze in my mind, the exhaustion gnawing at every muscle, the patterns on the court were still clear to me.

Shigeo, still very much exhausted, barely moved out of the way. Hinata and Riku reacted without waiting for my command, their instincts finally catching up to the pace of the game. Shigeo positioned himself behind them, ready to cover a feint if necessary.

That's right, I thought. Their left-wing spiker—it had to be him.

Hinata and Riku jumped, angling their hands to block the straight shot, but I could already see through it. This guy had been landing solid crosses before; he wasn't about to change that now. I pushed my body, moving to cover the open space.

The spiker swung. Just as predicted, he went for the cross. I braced myself—

—but then, something unexpected happened.

Hinata shifted mid-air, his arms swinging to the right, following the ball's path. It wasn't in my calculations.

The ball slammed into his outstretched hands, redirected at an awkward angle. It clipped the net—

—and then, silence.

The sound of the referee's whistle pierced the heavy air.

I didn't process it at first. My entire body locked up, the weight of every moment crashing down at once. Then, realization sank in.

The ball had hit the court on our side.

The match was over.

Tension drained from my body so fast it nearly sent me staggering. My chest heaved, my breath ragged. And then, as if the moment had finally caught up to me, I plopped down onto the floor, letting out the breath I hadn't even realized I was holding.

On the other side of the net, Seiryuu erupted into cheers.

Groans of frustration echoed from my side. The first years looked devastated, their hands on their heads, shoulders slumped. I tilted my head up, my vision still slightly blurry, searching the court.

Shigeo had dropped to the floor as well, arms sprawled at his sides, staring at the ceiling, completely spent.

Then, my eyes found Hinata.

He stood still, staring at the ground, his chest rising and falling quickly, his hands slightly curled. His eyes—empty.

That fire that burned so brightly throughout the match—it was gone.