The match against Youkou High, with a spot in the finals on the line, had already passed the midpoint of the first set. The score currently stood at 17–13, and for now, we were in the lead. We were winning, but… it didn’t feel like we were winning.
“It just doesn’t feel satisfying…”
We took a quick break on the bench during Youkou’s timeout.
“Ah, I get it. It’s like… we haven’t taken control of the game or something.”
“I think so too.”
“Asuka. I thought Youkou played solid, textbook volleyball? But they’ve been going all out and attacking aggressively, even taking some risky shots.”
“E-Even if you say that to me, I don’t know what to tell you…”
Just as we started to lose our footing, Coach Saeki stepped in to regroup us.
“Alright, calm down, everyone. The reason it feels like we haven’t taken control might be because of their cheering squad.”
Ah, that made sense. That cheering squad really was a handful. I’d seen them during the first match against Tamaki Commercial, but actually standing on the court with that massive cheering section against you makes it more difficult than expected. Even just jumping draws shrieks from the crowd. Like, hey—volleyball starts with jumping, you know?
…That said, it’s still easier for us since we’ve got some general supporters cheering us on after seeing us on TV last week. Going back to that jumping thing—when I jump, there’s cheering too. Without that, it must’ve been way tougher for Sayaka and the others back then.
“But even so, we’re ahead on the scoreboard. Don’t forget that. Also, there may be another reason it feels like we’re not in control.”
“What would that be?”
“In this match, we’ve actually scored seven of our points off their mistakes. If you subtract those, the score would be 10–13, and we’d be behind. Normally, we’re the ones who both score and give up points, for better or worse, so maybe it’s throwing you off that it’s the other way around.”
…For a second, that explanation made sense. But scoring off opponent mistakes isn’t all that rare. Honestly, in our practice match against Tamaki Commercial, both sides scored about half their points off each other’s blunders—it turned into a real mess.
Still, back then we didn’t feel like we were losing control or anything. Why’s that? At least based on the video from last week’s match, this team wasn’t the type to just give away points like that.
“Or maybe it’s because their ace is doing whatever she wants out there? That No. 10 has already scored six points with spikes alone.”
That comment came from Coach Uesugi, who was squinting at the scorebook. Hm. So about half our points lost came from spikes by their ace.
“If that’s the case, we’ve got to find a way to stop losing points while Yuuri-chan’s in the front row…”
“Right. Yuuri. When both you and their No. 10 are in the front row, I want you to mark her specifically.”
===
Perspective shift
Youkou High School side
===
“They’re holding up well. Very well done.”
Coach Minagawa offered praise to her student.
The only solid data they had on Matsubara Girls’ High School came from their two matches last week. As a reference, they’d also obtained footage of the team’s match against Himesaki from the Inter-High prelims, but one-third of the players were different, and above all, No. 3 Murai had practically turned into a completely different person.
With such unreliable data, Youkou was forced to take the approach of gathering intel mid-match while playing. Normally, they wouldn’t take such risks, but this time they were intentionally going for strong, aggressive attacks. This meant they were giving up a lot of points, but if they returned soft, floating balls, it would just get spiked back by Tachibana’s younger sister, No. 6. If they were going to lose the point anyway, better not to hand over the momentum too.
Youkou High’s girls’ volleyball team was known for their playstyle of exploiting the opponent’s weaknesses, but that also meant that, in terms of raw ability, they often couldn’t overpower top-tier schools. They didn’t possess the kind of "weapon" that could let them dominate any opponent.
Most of the players who joined Youkou’s girls’ volleyball team didn’t have any standout "weapons" either. The ones who did—those with special talents—typically chose to attend schools like Himesaki within the prefecture, or national powerhouse schools like Kinhouzan, Ryuusenzan, Tokuchi, or Genshuin if they went out of prefecture.
Attending one of those schools meant a better shot at reaching the national tournament, and greater visibility for scouts—opening doors to playing at the college or even professional level.
So why did these girls choose Youkou High?
Because they didn’t have the kind of talent that earned scouting offers from powerhouse schools. Many of the players in this team fell into that category.
They weren’t lacking in volleyball potential—but they were just a step below the truly elite. Even if they became specialists in some technical skill, they’d still fall short of the specialists from top-tier schools.
That’s why they aimed to become generalists in volleyball technique—adapting their strategies flexibly depending on the opponent, and winning through clever play.
That was the real essence of Youkou’s “exploit the opponent’s weaknesses” volleyball.
“Especially you, Koyanagawa. You’re doing great. Keep it up. Right about now, the other side is probably wondering how to stop our No. 10.”
“That’d be nice…”
She was Youkou High’s captain and ace on the court.
But for this match, they had decided to use her as a decoy.
The short ace on the opposing side was a troublesome blocker too.
Due to her height, she couldn’t participate in well-structured, team-coordinated blocks, but her reaction speed and block height were unquestionably top-class. What made her truly difficult, though, was how unpredictable she was.
In last week’s match, she moved left and right as if to say she’d block every spike that came her way—and actually did block a bunch.
…When the opposing team executed a broad attack—where the middle player runs right to spike from the right side—she somehow managed to leap diagonally from near center court and block the spike coming from the right. It was so unbelievable that for a second, they thought the video had been edited.
The only saving grace, perhaps, was that for some reason—be it team strategy or personal preference—Tachibana’s younger sister, No. 6, tended to pick one player and mark them closely when blocking.
So here was the plan: make sure that uncanny, untouchable blocker doesn’t join the blocking action.
First, they’d focus the ball on Koyanagawa early in the match, making her seem like the clear ace.
Then, with any luck, No. 6 Tachibana would stick to her and mark her the whole time.
If that worked out, then the others could score. As harsh as it sounded, Koyanagawa was an ace, but not an absolute ace.
Even without No. 6 in the block, their opponents still had a strong wall—but that was a hundred times better than having unpredictable blocks flying in from all directions.
We’ll give them our ace. In exchange, we’ll take the win.
They were on the back foot—but the match was still far from over.
====
Perspective Change
POV: Tachibana Yuuri
====
Ugh...
Another toss went to someone besides number 10...
And it landed, making that the third consecutive point for the other side...
The score is now 20–20.
They’ve finally caught up...
…Could it be that I’m only focused on number 10—?
“Tch!!”
The opposing number 10 clicked her tongue in frustration.
I mean, I heard that, you know! I’ll let it slide because it’s me, but no one’s going to be happy getting a tongue click from a high school girl!
“Koyanagawa! Your opponent is 150 cm! You’re taller, even if it’s a fast toss! Jump! Don’t lose the fight before it starts! Blow her away!”
That yelling came from their coach, directed at number 10 standing in front of me.
Hey, who are you calling 150 cm?! I’m 156 cm, thank you very much! Round that up and I’m basically 160 cm! So I am 160 cm!!
“Yuu-chan. I have a feeling you’re starting to think the wrong things, so I’ll say this—stay glued to number 10.”
“Yuu-chan, you’re the ace killer. Don’t forget that.”
“Yuuri. The reason their number 10 hasn’t scored recently is because you’re marking her—don’t forget that.”
“Yuuri, just keep it up.”
“Ninja. Don’t let your mind wander.”
In that brief moment before the opposing serve, all of my teammates said that to me.
N-no way...
As if I would forget the strategy...
====
Perspective Change
Youkou High Girls’ Volleyball Team Captain
POV: Koyanagawa Nozomi
====
This isn’t good...
There’s nothing I can do about that...
Whenever Tachibana’s little sister—number 6—pulls off a quick attack, it’s practically a guaranteed point.
If it were an open attack, we might still have a chance, but with quick attacks, we don’t have time to get into a defensive formation.
Unlike during the Inter-High preliminaries, now she can place her spikes wherever she wants. To even begin countering them, we’d need to set up a full six-receiver formation and cover the entire court.
When they tied the score, I had to act like I was unfazed, but the truth is I was this close to clicking my tongue in frustration.
We’re not out of the game yet. We still have the will to fight.
We have to make them think that.
Unless we find a way to deal with that quick attack, we won’t win. But I can’t think of any way at all.
Youkou High vs. Matsubara Girls’ High
First Set
22–25Set Count
0–1
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