“Pfft…Hahahaha!!”
“What kind of set was ‘that’? What’s wrong with Mujinazaka’s Setter?!”
“Hahaha… I’m dying!”
…
After three seconds of stunned silence, the entire arena burst into laughter.
Volleyball players mistiming a set wasn’t unusual. Many people in the crowd were longtime players themselves and had seen just about everything over the years. But even they had to admit… this was a first.
A bad set wasn’t a big deal.
A bad set that flew straight into your own ace’s forehead?
That was something they’d never witnessed before.
‘Tweet!’
Mujinazaka High immediately called a timeout. Losing a single point wasn’t the real problem; the real concern was if that mistake affected the players’ mentality.
Back in the timeout huddle, Mujinazaka’s Setter repeatedly apologized.
Kiryū Wakatsu, the one who had taken the volleyball to the forehead, wasn’t angry at all. Despite his intimidating shaved head and fierce appearance, he was actually quite similar to Ushijima Wakatoshi on the inside, a straightforward, rather simple-minded guy.
Even so, Mujinazaka’s coach decided to substitute Michiru Usuri out for the time being and let him cool off on the bench.
So when both teams returned to the court, the players of Aoba Johsai were dumbfounded to see that Mujinazaka had actually replaced their Setter.
“Seriously? That fast?”
Of course, what they meant by “fast” wasn’t the substitution itself. They meant Oikawa’s efficiency at causing trouble.
Before the second set had started, Oikawa had already told everyone that their main target would be Mujinazaka’s Setter.
But they’d all assumed it would take at least half the set before the pressure started affecting him. Instead, not even a third of the set had passed before the opposing setter had been forced off the court.
“…Maybe being just a Setter is wasting Oikawa’s talents.”
The score was now ‘9–6’.
Thanks to Usuri’s mistake on the previous rally, Aoba Johsai had stretched the lead to three points. A two-point gap wasn’t something Mujinazaka would worry about, but three points were different.
Volleyball matches rarely saw huge score differences unless there was a massive gap in skill between the teams. Even in the first set, Mujinazaka had only won ’25–20’…
…a margin of five points. Now, a three-point deficit could easily become the deciding factor if they weren’t careful.
As soon as the substitute Setter entered the match, Mujinazaka launched an aggressive offensive, determined to erase the gap as quickly as possible. But a lead like that wasn’t so easy to overcome. Mujinazaka still held the overall advantage, but Aoba Johsai was far from powerless.
After all, no matter how brilliant a strategy was, it still had to be backed up by ability.
Take the start of this set, for example.
To fool Michiru Usuri, Oikawa had deliberately set Asuto up for a forceful attack from the left. If Asuto hadn’t had the skill to score through it, then even if Oikawa’s plan had worked afterward, Aoba Johsai never would have been able to widen the gap.
In the blink of an eye, the second set reached its 13th minute.
The score was ’14–12′, with Aoba Johsai on the attack.
Mujinazaka’s relentless comeback had pushed Aoba Johsai to the limit. Only a few rallies had passed, yet everyone felt more exhausted than they normally would after an entire set.
Oikawa’s eyes seemed to glow faintly, a sign that his brain was running at full speed, his concentration pushed to its absolute limit.
Aoba Johsai’s attackers simply didn’t have the same offensive firepower as Mujinazaka’s. To bridge that gap and create an offense capable of matching them, Oikawa had to make up the difference through his own playmaking.
Mujinazaka’s substitute Setter wasn’t as clever as Usuri, but he was a third-year. His technique wasn’t exceptional, nor was he a tactical genius, but what he did have was composure. That meant the tricks Oikawa had used against Usuri wouldn’t work on him.
So Oikawa changed his approach. When he noticed the opposing Setter watching him the entire time, he immediately guessed that Mujinazaka’s coach had given specific instructions.
Quietly, he drifted toward the left side of the court, pulling the Setter with him. Then, with a no-look back set, he sent the ball soaring to the right side for Asuto.
Asuto exploded into the air. But just as he was about to swing, two towering figures appeared in front of him at the net. It was Mujinazaka’s ace, Kiryū Wakatsu, together with one of the Twin Towers, Keisuke Unnan, forming a double block.
There was no questioning either player’s ability. The moment everyone saw those two standing in front of Asuto, not only did the spectators tense up, but even Aoba Johsai’s own teammates, who had absolute faith in their ace, couldn’t help but change expressions.
“This is bad!” Oikawa immediately realized the problem. They were completely focused on shutting Asuto down.
While still in the air, Asuto quickly scanned the court and came to the same conclusion: there wasn’t a single opening.
It wasn’t just the double block in front of him; Mujinazaka’s backcourt defense had also been perfectly positioned. Against a defense like this, his chances of forcing the spike through were less than five percent.
After a split second of thought, Asuto swung.
Instead of crushing the ball with full power, he hit a controlled spike. Just as expected, the ball struck the arms of Keisuke Unnan and Kiryū Wakatsu. This time, however, it didn’t bounce back onto Mujinazaka’s side. Instead, it ricocheted high into the air above Aoba Johsai’s court.
[Beautiful play!]
[Aoba Johsai’s ace, Akashi Asuto, has cleverly used the block! Facing Mujinazaka High’s airtight defense, he intentionally played the ball off the blockers, sending it back to his own side and giving Aoba Johsai another chance to build their attack!]
To the audience, it was simply a smart tactical play. While impressive, using the block like that wasn’t uncommon at the Nationals.
But to Aoba Johsai’s players, it meant something entirely different.
In one sentence: ‘Since when did ‘our’ Ace have to resort to a tactical rebound?’
This was humiliating! He couldn’t even score outright! When had Aoba Johsai’s Ace ever been pushed this far?
Using the block was a standard tactical attack in volleyball. For most teams, it was a perfectly good offensive option. Back when Iwaizumi Hajime had been Aoba Johsai’s Ace, he’d used plays like that plenty of times.
But ever since Asuto had taken over as Ace, no one on the team had ever seen him do it. And now, even he had been forced to rely on a tactical rebound.
It was obvious: Mujinazaka High had finally pushed Asuto into a corner.
(End of Chapter)