The Last Day at the Old Gym

The faint blue glow pulsated gently before Kazuki's eyes, a stark contrast to the oppressive darkness of the gym. His body lay sprawled on the dusty floor, every muscle screaming in protest, yet a strange sense of calm settled over him. Was this a hallucination born of exhaustion? A trick of the flickering fluorescent light? He blinked, hard, but the translucent screen remained, shimmering softly, its light reflecting in his wide, bewildered eyes. The characters, which initially seemed like ancient, elegant Japanese calligraphy, began to resolve into modern, legible text.

"VolleyGod System detected."

The words hung in the air, luminous and surreal. Kazuki's mind, though fogged with fatigue, raced. VolleyGod System? It sounded like something out of a science fiction manga, not a real phenomenon. He tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled, refusing to obey. He was utterly spent, pinned to the floor by the sheer physical toll of his self-imposed training. Yet, even in his incapacitation, a thrill, cold and sharp, coursed through him. This wasn't normal. This was… extraordinary.

As he lay there, a new line of text appeared below the first, accompanied by a soft, almost imperceptible hum that seemed to resonate within his very bones.

"Body Status: Potential Benchwarmer."

Kazuki let out a dry, humorless chuckle. Even in a moment of apparent supernatural intervention, his cursed label followed him. "Potential Benchwarmer," he mumbled, the words feeling foreign on his parched tongue. Was this some kind of cruel joke? A digital taunt from the universe? But the screen, impassive and luminous, showed no hint of jest. Instead, it shifted, and a new, more profound question materialized, demanding his full attention.

"Do you wish to become a main player with superhuman abilities?"

The question was a direct hit to the core of his being, striking a nerve he had long tried to numb. It was the very desire that fueled his solitary training, the silent plea he made with every spike against the wall, every grueling jump. Superhuman abilities? The concept was audacious, impossible, yet here it was, presented to him by an inexplicable blue screen in a derelict gym, at the precise moment of his ultimate physical breakdown.

His mind flashed back to Coach Tanaka's dismissive words, "You lack aura." To Hikaru and Kaito's pitying glances, their casual dismissal. To the shouts of "Number 0!" from the stands. All his life, he had been limited, overlooked, defined by what he wasn't. And now, here was an offer to become what he had only ever dared to dream of.

Doubt, a familiar companion, tried to creep in. Was this a hallucination? A dream? He pinched himself, hard, on his arm. A sharp, stinging pain, raw against his sweat-soaked skin. No dream. This was real. This impossible, bewildering screen was real.

A wave of desperation, fierce and unyielding, surged through him. What did he have to lose? His current path led only to continued obscurity, to a lifetime of warming benches. He had pushed himself to the brink tonight, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. He had laid bare his deepest desire, his burning ambition, in this quiet, forgotten space. And now, the universe, or whatever this 'system' was, seemed to be answering.

Without a second's hesitation, without weighing the consequences or questioning the impossible, Kazuki's voice, raspy from exertion, pushed past his lips.

"Yes."

The word was barely audible, a fragile whisper in the vast emptiness of the gym, yet it carried the full weight of his years of yearning, his desperate hope.

As if his spoken affirmation was the trigger, the blue screen shimmered intensely, its light momentarily blinding. The familiar characters warped, then solidified into a new, electrifying message.

"First Challenge: Perform 1,000 jumps within 30 minutes. Failure will result in permanent access termination!"

The message vanished, and a digital countdown timer, stark and red, immediately appeared at the top of the screen: 29:59.

Kazuki stared at the timer, then at his trembling legs. One thousand jumps? In thirty minutes? His body was already screaming, having just collapsed from exhaustion. This was a brutal, impossible demand. But beneath the initial shock, a strange surge of energy, cool and invigorating, began to spread through his limbs. It wasn't a burst of adrenaline, but something far subtler, a tingling sensation deep within his muscles, a quiet hum that seemed to synchronize with his racing heartbeat.

He pushed himself up, slowly, his muscles still protesting, but with a newfound, almost alien resilience. He felt lighter, as if the immense fatigue that had crippled him moments ago was being systematically rewired, bypassed. The familiar ache was still there, but it was distant, muffled, as if his body was now merely an instrument being finely tuned by an unseen hand.

He snatched up the jump rope he had discarded earlier, its plastic handles feeling strangely weightless in his hands. He took a deep breath, centered himself, and began to jump.

One. Two. Three.

His rhythm was a little clumsy at first, but then, almost instantaneously, his body found a fluid, effortless pace. The system wasn't just observing; it was guiding. He felt a subtle, almost imperceptible adjustment in the tension of his calves, the recoil in his ankles. His jumps became higher, more efficient, his landings softer, less jarring. The thump-thump of the rope against the floor became a steady, relentless beat.

The blue screen now displayed real-time data, flashing in the corner of his vision:

Tendon Resilience: Optimizing… Blood Oxygen Level: Stable. Average Heart Rate: 165 bpm (Optimal).

He was no longer just jumping; he was being meticulously monitored, his physiological responses charted with terrifying precision. This wasn't a game; this was a high-tech bio-interface, an athletic enhancement system straight out of a military research lab. A fleeting memory surfaced: hushed rumors from older students about a "failed project" during the "Reiwa Cyber Initiative"—an experimental program designed to boost student performance through bio-enhancements, banned after an "incident of human failure." Could this be related? Was this 'VolleyGod System' a remnant of that forbidden research?

Fear, cold and sharp, pricked at him. Permanent access termination. That sounded absolute. But then, a stronger emotion, a burning desire to transcend his limitations, pushed the fear aside. He had committed. There was no turning back.

He jumped faster, his breathing becoming a steady, controlled rhythm. The timer continued its relentless march. 25:12. He focused on the numbers displayed on the screen: his jump count. 450. 451. 452. The gym, once a place of solitary comfort, now felt like a high-stakes laboratory. Every leap was a measured input, every physiological response a data point.

At 800 jumps, his calves began to burn, a deep, searing ache that threatened to seize up his muscles. The efficiency he had initially felt started to wane. He glanced at the timer. 02:00. Two minutes left. Two hundred more jumps. It felt impossible. His legs were screaming, heavy as lead.

"Leg Cramp Detected. Initiating 'Breath Strike' Technique suggestion."

The system's text flashed, accompanied by a small diagram showing a specific breathing pattern. It was a technique he'd heard of, a kind of controlled hyperventilation used by athletes to rapidly increase oxygen intake and clear lactic acid, but he'd never actually tried it. Desperation overriding skepticism, he followed the diagram, taking sharp, controlled breaths, focusing on pushing air deep into his lungs, then exhaling forcefully.

A strange sensation, like a cool wave, washed over his legs. The burning subsided, replaced by a manageable tremor. Not gone, but manageable. He felt a surge of renewed energy, enough to push through.

998. 999.

His final jump was weak, his body nearly collapsing, but he cleared the rope.

1,000!

The timer flashed 00:00.

A triumphant chime sounded from the system, a bright, clear tone that resonated through the empty gym. The blue screen shifted, displaying a celebratory message.

"Challenge Completed: 1,000 Jumps within 30 minutes. Skill Unlocked: Jump Timing Lv.1."

Below it, a new set of data appeared, quantifying the immediate impact of the challenge:

Vertical Jump increased by 4 cm. Landing Accuracy increased by 11%. Leg Muscle Reflexes increased.

Kazuki stared at the numbers, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He stood there, swaying slightly, the jump rope falling from his numb fingers. He felt utterly exhausted, yet strangely invigorated. His legs, though weak, felt… different. More responsive. He took a tentative step, then another. There was a newfound lightness, a subtle precision in his movements that hadn't been there before. Four centimeters might not sound like much, but for a volleyball player, it could mean the difference between a block and a point, a missed spike and a kill.

He glanced at his phone, the screen showing 9:30 PM. The gym was still dark, still quiet, only the hum of the old fluorescent light breaking the silence. He was still alone. But he wasn't the same. The "VolleyGod System" wasn't a dream. It was real. And it had just begun to change him.

He staggered to the nearest bench, collapsing onto it. The exhaustion finally caught up, pulling him down, but this time, it wasn't a crushing despair. It was the exhaustion of accomplishment, of a barrier broken. He closed his eyes, and as he drifted towards sleep, the blue screen materialized once more, softly glowing against the darkness behind his eyelids.

"Next challenge awaits tomorrow. Failure consequence: permanent system deletion."

The words were a stark reminder that this wasn't a gift without a price. This was a trial, a rigorous, unforgiving path. But as the image of the screen faded into the depths of his consciousness, Kazuki knew one thing for certain. He would not fail. Not now. Not when he was finally, finally, being given a chance to break free from the bench that had held him captive for so long.