Haikyuu!!: Raising Crows

I stepped back to the service line, the ball cradled in my hand. The gym was tense, the score 13-12, and every move felt like it carried the weight of the world. My fingers curled tightly around the ball, and for a moment, I stared at it. I hadn't used a spike serve this entire match, deliberately holding back to keep it in my arsenal for the right moment.

Now's the time, I thought.

I tossed the ball high, my body moving in perfect synchronization. The force of my jump propelled me forward, my hand connecting with the ball in a sharp, precise strike. It sailed over the net like a bullet, angling sharply toward their backline. Their players reacted too late. The libero dove but missed entirely, the ball slamming into the court with a satisfying thud.

"Point to Yukigaoka! 14-12!" the referee called.

Seiryuu's players stood frozen, their shocked expressions betraying their disbelief. I couldn't help but savor the moment, a flicker of satisfaction lighting up inside me. The precision and power had been just as I'd imagined.

Shigeo smirked from his spot, muttering loud enough for me to hear, "Looks like the conductor is finally taking center stage, huh?"

The sparse crowd cheered, and I let a small smile creep across my face as I walked back to the service line.

For my second serve, I shifted slightly, targeting their right side. I launched another spike serve, the ball cutting through the air with blistering speed. Their libero reacted faster this time, diving toward it, but his own teammate, number 7, blocked his path. The ball ricocheted off the libero's outstretched arms, skidding out of bounds. He's good... I thought.

"Point to Yukigaoka! 15-12!"

I caught the ball as it was tossed back to me, my mind briefly replaying the scene. Their libero was quick, but his teammate's positioning disrupted him. The advantage was still ours, but I knew they'd adapt soon. I glanced at the ball again, the weight of it familiar in my hands.

I feel great today, I thought, staring at my fingers for a moment. I can perform just as I imagined in my mind. My body is executing the plays perfectly.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward for my third serve. This time, I aimed deliberately, my eyes locking on the gap between their libero and number 11. The ball streaked through the air, precise and unyielding. But to my surprise, number 11 didn't even attempt to receive it. Instead, he shifted to the side, clearing the way for their libero.

The libero adjusted, bracing himself as the ball made contact with his forearms. It wasn't perfect, but he managed a decent receive, redirecting the ball toward their setter. As he rose, I noticed him wince slightly, shaking his arms as though to ease the sting. My eyes narrowed. They were on the attack now, and I could feel the shift in momentum as their players moved into position.

I could read it perfectly. From the setter's posture and the shifting formation, it was clear he was going to set to number 9. But something felt off. My eyes caught number 2, their ace, moving a step slower than number 9. It was a subtle delay, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Shigeo saw it too.

Ignoring the obvious bait by number 9, Shigeo shifted to intercept number 2. Hinata, fully trusting Shigeo's instincts, followed suit, leaving number 9 ungarded. Good, I thought.

The set flew to number 2, and Shigeo and Hinata were in position. But as number 2 spiked, the ball ricocheted off Shigeo's fingertips, skimming over the net and landing on our court.

"Point to Seiryuu! 15-13!" the referee called.

I noticed it immediately: Shigeo's jump had been lower than usual. His lack of stamina was catching up, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily. "Sorry," he said between breaths, his frustration evident.

"Don't worry about it," I replied, my tone steady. "We'll get the next one." But the truth was clear: Shigeo had been moving a lot more than usual in this match, and the intensity far outstripped any practice games we'd had with the girls' team.

I could see the frustration in Shigeo's eyes, the self-imposed weight of responsibility. But I grinned, a glint of determination sparking within me.

Seiryuu's server stepped up, tossing the ball high. The game wasn't slowing down.

The serve rocketed toward Minato, who adjusted quickly but fumbled slightly, sending the ball wobbling toward Shigeo. He lunged for it, barely keeping it alive, but his set lacked its usual precision. Hinata, always quick to react, jumped in to salvage the play, sending the ball over the net in a swift, unexpected push. Their libero dove perfectly, keeping it in play.

The rally stretched longer than any before, both teams pushing each other to the limit. A powerful spike from Seiryuu forced Riku into an awkward receive, and though he managed to keep it inbounds, the ball floated dangerously close to the net. Their middle blocker pounced, slamming it down to take the point.

"Point to Seiryuu! 15-14!"

The gym was electric, every cheer echoing louder as Seiryuu clawed their way closer. I glanced at Shigeo, whose breathing was heavier now, his movements losing their usual crispness. Even so, he forced himself to keep going, directing traffic on the court with gritted teeth.

At 16-16, Shigeo misread a feint, diving too early and leaving an open spot on our side. The ball hit the floor, and his fist clenched as he muttered a frustrated apology. "Sorry, my bad."

"We've got this," I said, trying to keep the tension off the court. But I could feel it—his stamina was fading fast, and his frustration was beginning to spill over. Riku and Minato, too, were showing cracks in their composure, each making small errors that added up. Hinata, despite his boundless energy, misjudged a set and sent a spike sailing out of bounds. "Point to Seiryuu! 20-19!"

With each mistake, Seiryuu's confidence grew. Their blocks became sharper, their transitions smoother. But we weren't giving up. At 21-20, Hinata redeemed himself with a blistering spike that blasted through their blockers' hands. The ball hit the floor, and the score evened again.

At 22-21 in Seiryuu's favor, the gym felt suffocating. Every rally was a battle, every point hard-fought. I could feel the weight of the match pressing on us, but I refused to let it crush me. This wasn't over yet.