Host: Akashi Asuto
Strength: 82.7 [Core Strength: 82.7; Arm Strength: 82.8]
Speed: 79.2 [Explosive Speed: 78.9; Reaction Speed: 79.5]
Stamina: 80.9 [Endurance: 81.0; Cardiopulmonary Fitness: 80.9]
Jump: 81.9 [Vertical Jump: 82.8; Hang Time: 81.0]
Basic Techniques: 76.4
Serve: 80.1
Receive: 74.4
Pass: 67.9
Spike: 82.0
Block: 80.6
Defense: 74.6
Advanced Skills:
Cross-Court Spike: 81.2
Straight Spike: 81.3
Power Jump Serve: 82.1
As soon as the weekend practice wrapped up, Asuto invested his newly minted point of [Involution Grind Value] straight into his Vertical Jump attribute.
Between that subtle stat boost and the natural perks of his recent growth spurt, his maximum spike reach climbed from 340 cm to a staggering 343 cm.
It didn’t look like a massive leap on paper, but for a high school athlete, that rate of development was nothing short of miraculous.
Through a grueling cycle of relentless training and high-stakes matches, every single one of Asuto’s attributes had ticked upward.
That recent feature in Volleyball Monthly praising him as Miyagi Prefecture’s new “National-Level Ace” admittedly relied on the kind of sensationalized flair typical of Japanese sports media.
Sensational headlines had blared:
“The Imperial Fierce Tiger!”
“The Mightiest Man Alive!”
And plenty of other over-the-top titles.
Stripping away the media hype, however, calling Asuto a national-level ace wasn’t an exaggeration anymore. He might not claim a spot among the country’s top three powerhouse hitters just yet.
But a definitive rank within the top ten was comfortably his.
Yet, while that prestigious title turned heads everywhere else, it meant absolutely nothing to Asuto himself.
Ever since their grueling showdown against Shiratorizawa, he had realized his volleyball development had hit a remarkably awkward plateau.
Back in junior high, when Asuto first transmigrated into this body, his physical foundation had been fundamentally flawed.
To survive on the court, he had poured an immense amount of time into shoring up his worst deficiencies.
That relentless damage control carried over right into high school.
Finally, just before the whistle blew for the prefectural qualifiers, he had successfully ironed out every glaring weakness in his game.
Now, excluding passing, a specialized skill an ace spiker rarely needed to execute anyway, every facet of his playstyle was solid, if not exceptional.
And that was precisely where the problem lay.
Initially, Asuto believed this meticulous approach would mold him into the ultimate all-rounder. But after clashing head-on with Ushijima Wakatoshi, a harsh reality check had set in.
He hadn’t become an unstoppable all-around powerhouse at all.
Instead, he had become a player whose skills were merely average across the board.
He had sacrificed his defining edge.
In the early rounds of the tournament, this flaw had remained hidden.
Whether facing Karasuno or the other seeded powerhouses, Aoba Johsai had steamrolled through their bracket in overwhelming fashion.
Asuto hadn’t even needed to shift into top gear.
Then came Ushijima Wakatoshi.
On paper, Aoba Johsai had walked away from Shiratorizawa with the victory.
At the absolute climax of the fifth set, Asuto had even traded blows with Ushijima for six consecutive, brutal rallies without giving an inch.
But Asuto knew the bitter truth: he wasn’t the architect of that victory.
It was Oikawa.
From the opening serve, Oikawa had methodically dissected Shiratorizawa, weaponizing the pace of the game to bleed Ushijima’s stamina dry.
It was only by riding the coattails of Oikawa’s elite, god-tier setting that Asuto had managed to stand toe-to-toe with the monster.
If it had been a true, unfiltered one-on-one confrontation… Asuto would have lost, hands down.
He wouldn’t have possessed a single card to turn the tide of the match.
He simply lacked a truly dominant, game-breaking weapon.
“I got complacent…” Asuto stared blankly at the translucent status panel, letting out a heavy sigh.
“I was so obsessed with covering the flaws that I forgot to sharpen my spear. My fundamentals are rock-solid, but my offensive arsenal is too linear. There’s just not enough variation in my attack patterns…”
To be fair, he was being exceptionally hard on himself.
The fundamental issue wasn’t a lack of effort, but the rigid time constraints placed on any high school athlete.
He wasn’t a pro playing full-time.
Even with his system cheat working in the background, once he carved out time for school hours and mandatory rest, he could only squeeze out three to four hours of training a day at most.
Under those conditions, carrying a few rough edges was completely normal.
“There are less than seven days left until Nationals.”
“Historically, Shiratorizawa’s absolute peak at Nationals was a quarterfinal finish.”
“Which means, on the national stage, there are at least seven teams out there stronger than, or equal to, Shiratorizawa.”
“That’s a terrifying thought, honestly.”
“Looks like I need to find a breakthrough, fast.”
…
The moment the morning training session drew to a close…
Asuto headed out that afternoon to meet his editor, Wakayama Kishia, to turn in his latest manuscript.
Since he would be heading to Tokyo mid-month for the National Tournament, Asuto had pulled several consecutive all-nighters to finish the next volume ahead of schedule, ensuring his publisher wouldn’t be left hanging if the tournament ran long.
Lately, a wave of intense anxiety had been rippling through the publishing house’s roster of contracted authors.
And the sole source of that crushing pressure was Asuto.
Under normal industry standards, the turnaround time between light novel volumes was roughly a month.
Any author capable of hitting a monthly deadline consistently was hailed as an absolute workhorse.
But Asuto had single-handedly shattered that benchmark.
Including the fourth volume he was currently sliding across the table to Wakayama Kishia, his average production rate sat at a blistering pace of one volume every two weeks.
Because of this relentless release schedule, reader engagement remained white-hot, driving the sales of Cautious Hero to unprecedented heights over the past few months.
Just yesterday, the publishing house had wired Asuto’s royalties for the previous month.
After taxes, his take-home pay was a staggering 4.36 million yen.
That single monthly paycheck eclipsed what the average Japanese salaryman earned in an entire year.
Consequently, Asuto had become the ultimate “golden child” within the company’s offices, he was now the standard everyone else was judged against.
For weeks, the veteran authors had been subjected to a relentless barrage of guilt trips from their respective editors:
“Teacher, please take a look at Asuto-sensei’s update speed, and then look at your own draft. You’re an adult, I shouldn’t have to spell this out for you.”
Or:
“Teacher, Asuto-sensei just submitted another complete volume. Where is your outline?”
Or worse yet:
“Teacher, I am begging you! Even if you don’t care about your own royalties, have some mercy on your poor editor! The rookie handling Asuto-sensei bought a house with her bonus this month because of those updates!”
Those veteran writers in their thirties, forties, and even fifties had likely never imagined that long after their own kids had grown up, or after becoming grandparents themselves, they would be thrust right back into the childhood nightmare of being compared to the prodigy next door.
Driven to a corner by their frantic editors, many of these authors reluctantly put on metaphorical masks of suffering and began desperately competing with one another.
Meanwhile, the mastermind behind this entire publishing upheaval…
Asuto…
Remained blissfully oblivious.
“Asuto-sensei, it’s great to see you!”
“Good to see you too, Editor Wakayama. You seem to be in exceptionally high spirits today.”
Seated inside a quiet café, Asuto offered a polite smile to Wakayama Kishia, whose face practically radiated joy.
“Haha, it’s all thanks to your incredible support, Asuto-sensei.” Wakayama had just pocketed a massive performance bonus, so her mood was naturally through the roof.
Asuto skipped the small talk, sliding the thick stack of the manuscript across the table.
Wakayama received it with both hands, reverently flipping through the first few pages.
The grin on her face stretched even wider.
“Brilliant! Asuto-sensei, your work is as flawless as ever, not only is your speed legendary, but the narrative rhythm is consistently gripping.”
Her eyes shone with genuine reverence.
Wakayama had recently taken on a few rookie authors.
And that experience had only served to highlight just how terrifyingly brilliant Asuto’s talent truly was.
At the same time, she felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude for the stroke of absolute luck that had landed Asuto on her desk in the first place.
Those new authors barely moved copies.
Worse, their writing speeds made molasses look fast.
Every month, simply tracking down their manuscripts forced Wakayama to practically run a marathon across the prefecture.
Only now did she fully comprehend why the senior editors had looked so utterly flabbergasted when they first heard Asuto-sensei submitted his work ahead of schedule.
It truly defied all industry logic.
“Since the manuscript looks good to go, I’ll take my leave,” Asuto said, pushing back his chair and standing up.
“Thank you for making the trip out here, Editor Wakayama. Do you have other meetings scheduled today?”
“Not at all. Thank you for your hard work, Asuto-sensei.”
Wakayama scrambled to her feet.
“Actually, I was planning to check out the area anyway. The lease on my current apartment is up, so I’ve been scouting for a new place closer to the corporate office.”
“I see. In that case, I hope you find a place that suits you.”
The moment Wakayama mentioned apartment hunting, Sanhe Manor… Asuto’s own residence, flashed briefly through his mind.
However, after a moment’s consideration, he chose to keep his mouth shut.
After all… Sanhe Manor had certain quirks that made it a difficult place to recommend blindly.
Besides, Asuto himself was still navigating the landlord’s strict probationary period, meaning he wasn’t exactly in a position to be playing real estate agent.
Once his publishing duties were settled, Asuto made a quick stop at a local market to pick up some fresh ingredients before making his way back to Sanhe Manor.
…
The Next Day
Aoba Johsai didn’t invite any powerhouse schools for joint practices that day.
Instead, they locked the doors for an intense internal scrimmage.
“Iwaizumi-chan!” Oikawa’s voice echoed across the court.
Reading the cue instantly, Iwaizumi Hajime launched himself into the air.
The duo executed a flawless A-quick, the ball slamming into the hardwood for a decisive point.
“Nice! What a beautiful line, Iwaizumi-chan!”
Oikawa beamed, jogging over with his hand raised high for a celebratory high-five.
Yet, to his utter bewilderment, Iwaizumi didn’t just leave him hanging, he actively took a deliberate step backward the moment Oikawa approached him.
“(д_；)…”
Oikawa’s ecstatic grin instantly petrified.
‘Iwaizumi-chan… did you seriously just recoil away from me?’
Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa, his expression deadpan.
After visibly wrestling with his inner thoughts for a few seconds, he finally snapped.
“Oikawa… could you stop smiling like a total psychopath?”
The rest of the team immediately nodded in collective agreement.
“Yeah, seriously… It’s creeping us out…”
Oikawa blinked, bewildered.
“Huh? What are you guys even talking about?”
Iwaizumi fired back grimly:
“Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’ve been way too hyped up. Seeing a completely genuine smile on your face is honestly terrifying.”
Oikawa looked as though he’d been struck by lightning.
“(Д)ノ!!”
“Iwaizumi-chan, that is incredibly cruel!”
“My smile has always been this pure and angelic! It hasn’t changed at all!”
The rest of the Aoba Johsai roster could only stare at their captain’s profound lack of self-awareness with exhausted expressions on their faces.
Ever since they had dethroned Shiratorizawa… That blinding smile hadn’t left Oikawa’s face for a second.
To be fair, Oikawa was always smiling. But those were usually his carefully calculated, PR-friendly media smiles.
This time, however, the joy bubbling out of him was entirely unscripted.
Ordinarily, a heartfelt smile was supposed to be endearing.
But somehow, Oikawa managed to be the horrifying exception to the rule.
Perhaps his natural personality was just far too scheming.
When Oikawa flashed a genuinely wholesome smile, instead of warming hearts, it sent an involuntary shiver straight down everyone’s spines.
During the first couple of days, it had been manageable. But as the week wore on, the team didn’t get used to it, the uncanny valley effect only intensified.
Today, they had finally hit their absolute limit.
Unfortunately, Oikawa was completely blind to his own aura.
So, receiving that brutal reality check from Iwaizumi dealt a devastating blow to his ego.
A literal dark cloud of despair seemed to materialize right over his head.
“So mean~~”
Sob, sob.
“That is uncalled for!”
Sob, sob.
“Is this how we treat our beloved captain?!”
Sob, sob.
“Uh…”
Watching Oikawa dissolve into a pathetic, sniveling puddle, even Iwaizumi began to feel a twinge of teammate guilt.
Just as he was about to force himself to offer a half-hearted apology…
Asuto spoke up calmly from across the net.
“Oh, right. Oikawa-senpai. Did you hear the news?”
“It looks like Ushijima-senpai was officially selected for the U19 World Youth Championship roster. So, even though we took down Shiratorizawa, if we’re being completely honest with ourselves, we still haven’t actually bested Ushijima-senpai as an individual.”
Oikawa’s theatrical sobbing stopped instantly.
The very next second… He stood up straight.
The goofy, blinding grin vanished into thin air, and his eyes narrowed, turning razor-sharp and intensely focused.
“You’re right. We haven’t truly crushed that annoying Ushiwaka yet. Now is definitely not the time to be slacking off.”
Seeing Oikawa instantly snap back into his hyper-competitive, ruthless self, Iwaizumi and the rest of the team let out a massive, collective sigh of relief.
At the exact same time, they silently gave Asuto a resounding thumbs-up in their minds.
‘Nicely done, Asuto-kun!’
(End of Chapter)