"Service."

  Lompo stepped back to the baseline, moving with a heavy, lumbering momentum of a siege engine.

  He tossed the ball. It wasn't a perfect toss, perhaps spinning a bit too much, it wobbled slightly in the air.

  Lompo thundered forward and swung.

  BOOM.

  The ball hit her forearms like a falling safe, the heavy impact nearly collapsing her platform. Sarah grunted, stumbling back a step as the shockwave rattled her teeth. Her posture was clumsy, ugly, and painful, but her experience held the line. She managed to absorb just enough of the energy to shank the ball upward, sending it looping high toward the setter's position.

  "Cover!" Sarah gasped, shaking out her stinging arms.

  The ball dropped toward Willow Vance.

  In that split second, the world slowed down for the anxious setter. Willow's crosshair eyes scanned the entire court instantaneously, weighing every moving variable, her mind racing through the tactical encyclopedias she had devoured over the last two months.

  She saw Jules was already beginning her approach for a cross-court kill, but two crimson jerseys were already drifting into her lane, walling off the angle. The reserve hitter on the right was shadowed by Caeser, who crouched like a panther waiting to pounce. The back row had shifted, plugging every seam and gap.

  The court felt small. If she set the ball to anyone, she would be feeding to the wolves.

  I can't set, Willow realized.

  She had to break the script.

  Willow raised her hands, shaping her body perfectly for a back set to Jules. She arched her back, selling the lie with every slight movement she got.

  At the very last microsecond, as the ball touched her fingertips, she flicked her left wrist.

  It was a Setter Dump. A desperate gambit to catch the defense leaning the wrong way, tipping the ball over the net into the dead zone near the center.

  The Dragons' libero, a man who had barely spoken a word since stepping onto the court, didn't buy the fake for a second. He had read the tension in Willow's shoulders, the slight hesitation in her jump.

  Before the ball even crossed the plane of the net, he was already moving.

  He lunged forward, throwing his body into a full-extension dive. An awkward, difficult angle, forcing him to scrape his chest against the floorboards to get under the dying ball.

  POP.

  With the back of his hand flat against the wood - a perfect pancake dig, he popped the ball up inches before it could touch the ground. The save was ugly, yet absolutely brilliant.

  The ball floated high and clean, drifting perfectly toward Damian, the counter-attack already brewing before the Divers could even process that their trick play had failed.

  Damian's hands were high, waiting. His face looked indifferent, ever bored.

  Himeko's eyes narrowed, dissecting the chaos unfolding before her. The transition was flawless. Four crimson jerseys surged forward in a synchronized wave. Lompo rumbled down the middle like a battle ram. Caeser and Kevin crisscrossed on the right, creating a visual knot. And on the far left, Davio sprinted into the gap.

  Himeko was caught in indecisiveness as she watched Damian's wrists, and for a split second, she saw even the setter hesitate. Even he didn't know where the ball was going yet. Every single attacker was in a perfect, lethal position.

  Then, everything clicked into place for both simultaneously.

  In pure dumb geometry, Davio had drifted slightly wider during the transition, placing him in a patch of empty floor that the Divers' block hadn't fully shifted to cover. It was a lucky accident, but at this speed, luck was as good as a plan.

  Right.

  Himeko moved before the ball even left Damian's fingertips.

  She sprinted, abandoning her current position completely to reach Davio's spot. As Damian flicked the set, the ball seemed to chase Himeko across the net, trailing in her wake as she arrived at the pin.

  Davio saw the ball arching toward him, a perfect set. His eyes lit up, but the light dimmed instantly as a dark shadow slid into his peripheral vision.

  Again? Davio gritted his teeth, annoyed. She was fast. Too fast.

  With a sharp exhale, Davio planted his feet and exploded upward, his flea-like vertical launching him high above the net tape.

  Himeko rose to meet him. Her form was textbook: shoulders squared, core tight, arms extended to completely wall off the straight-line power shot. She was hoping to kill the attack dead.

  But as they hung in the air, the equation changed.

  Himeko's eyes darted past Davio's shoulder. She realized with a sinking feeling that the Divers' back-row defender had bitten on the middle decoy and was out of position. The deep cross-court angle was wide open.

  Davio saw it too.

  He's cutting, Himeko realized.

  Davio contorted his torso mid-flight, abandoning the power swing to whip his arm across his body, aiming for the sharp cross-court cut.

  Himeko reacted instantly. She threw her hands to the left, breaking her perfect form to chase his arm swing. She shoved her palms into the new trajectory.

  THWACK.

  She couldn't kill the ball. Davio had generated too much torque, and the angle was too sharp. The ball slammed into Himeko's reaching hands, but instead of bouncing back, it powered through her resistance.

  However, the touch had done its job. The violent velocity was siphoned off. The ball deflected off her palms, looping upward in a high, spinning arc.

  It floated toward the back line, descending at a gentle angle right toward the trembling reserve libero.

  The reserve libero didn't hesitate. She stepped into the path of the falling ball, her trembling replaced by trained muscle memory. She dropped her hips, creating a stable platform, and absorbed the gentle, spinning deflection with a soft touch.

  POP.

  A textbook dig, popping the ball up high and precise, right into the sweet spot for the setter.

  Willow Vance watched the ball arc toward her. Her peripheral vision caught the Dragons shuffling. Even as they just landed, the men were resetting their defensive line with terrifying speed, plugging gaps almost as fast as they appeared. But Willow spotted the one variable that hadn't reset yet.

  Davio was still regaining his balance on the left wing.

  Across the net, Jules was already poised like a coiled spring, occupying the space Davio had left vulnerable.

  ?

  Willow's internal crosshairs locked onto the empty air above the right pin. With a flick of her wrists, she fired the set - a low, fast shoot to the outside.

  Jules saw the set and exploded. Her approach was aggressive, sensing the kill. She launched herself into the air, expecting a clear lane against a scrambling defense.

  But as she reached her apex, the light was blotted out.

  Lompo was there.

  The giant middle blocker moved with speed. Unlike the chaotic, lumbering power of his serve, his blocking mechanics were frighteningly disciplined. His massive arms reached over the net, casting a shadow that swallowed the entire court.

  Jules's heart skipped a beat. The cross-court angle was gone. The line was closed.

  Yet luck was on the her side.

  Because Lompo had to cover so much ground to help Davio, a tiny, fractured seam had opened up between his left elbow and the antenna. And behind that seam, the Dragons' back-row defender hadn't fully rotated into position to cover the sharp angle.

  It was the only path.

  Jules whipped her arm through the swing, threading the ball through that microscopic gap with a precision of a viper.

  The ball hissed past Lompo's arm and dove sharply toward the floor.

  "MINE!"

  Spiky, the defender in the back right, threw himself into a desperate sprawl, his hand extending along the floorboards to pancake the ball.

  He was a fraction of a second too late.

  Thud.

  The ball struck the floor inches from his fingertips, bouncing away before he could slide under it.

  TWEEEEEET!

  "Point Divers!" Elena called out. "Score's 4-6!"

  [FAST READING]

  The match fast-forwarded, the initial burst of the Divers' momentum slowly coming into a halt against the reality of the champions.

  Caeser attacked from the right, his arm snapping forward with vigorous speed. Himeko matched him, but instead of trying to stuff the ball, she softened her wrists, absorbing the top-spin. The ball lost its lethal velocity, popping off her hands in a high, manageable loop that drifted toward the back line.

  The reserve libero was waiting. She shuffled her feet, settled under the ball, and delivered a clean, high pass to the setter.

  "Run Blue! Blue!" Coach Elena screamed from the sidelines, clapping her hands.

  The Divers shifted gears instantly. Two players crossed in the middle, creating a screen of visual noise, while Sarah Lemear flared out to the left wing. She accelerated, timing her approach for a fast tempo attack designed to beat the block with pure speed. Willow read the play and fired a flat, laser-like set to the pin.

  Sarah launched herself into the air, the ball meeting her hand perfectly.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The Dragons moved as a single organism. Lompo slid effortlessly to the pin, his massive frame joining Spiky to seal off the line completely. Behind the block, the floor defense rotated in clockwork. Caeser dropped deep into the back corner. The libero planted his feet in the cross-court lane. Davio hovered near the attack line, ready to snatch up any deflection.

  Sarah looked down from her apex. The court had vanished. Every square inch of hardwood was either covered by a red jersey or shadowed by four massive hands pressing over the net.

  She had nowhere to go. Desperate, she swung hard, trying to blast through the seam.

  Spiky pressed his hands forward, invading her airspace.

  Thud.

  The ball slammed into Spiky's palms and rebounded instantly. It crashed straight down, striking the floor on the Divers' side before Sarah had even begun her descent.

  TWEEEEEET!

  "Point Dragons," Elena called out, rubbing her temple. "15-10."

  The scoreboard ticked upward relentlessly, measuring the widening gap between effort and reality.

  Sarah Lemear threw herself across the varnish, her hip scraping against the floorboards to dig a ball that had deflected wildly off the block. The reserve libero was right beside her, diving chest-first to keep a tip alive, sacrificing her body to buy the offense one more second.

  Jules was fighting a war of attrition on the wing. She swung at a high set, only to see it dug easily by the Dragons' back row. She retreated, reset her feet, and approached again for the transition. Blocked back. She scrambled, called for the ball a third time, and finally managed to wipe it off Lompo's outside hand, sending it spinning into the bleachers.

  One point for the Divers. It took three swings, two dives, and lungs burning for air to earn it.

  The Dragons responded with easy brutality.

  When the ball cycled to Davio, he didn't need multiple attempts like Jules did. He approached, rose high, and buried the ball into the three-meter line with a thunderous hit. The ball bounced high, untouched. A clean, effortless kill that erased all of the Divers' scrappy hard work in a single second.

  Himeko refused to fade.

  Caeser rotated to the front row, eyes locked on the line, looking to overpower the block. Himeko read the intent in his shoulders. She slid laterally, pressing her hands over the net with aggressive timing.

  BAM.

  The ball slammed into her palms and fell straight down, dying on the Dragons' side of the court.

  "Let's go, Himeko!" The Divers' bench erupted, players jumping to their feet and waving towels. For a moment, the momentum seemed to shift.

  But the feeling didn't last.

  On the very next rally, Himeko channeled everything she had learned. She read the setter, anticipated the set to Spiky, and arrived at the pin perfectly. She sealed the line and the cross. She had him trapped. He couldn't swing.

  Spiky, realizing his power lane was gone, simply rolled his wrist.

  He floated a soft, high-arcing shot over Himeko's hands. The ball drifted deep, dropping into the absolute corner of the court - the "campfire" (the middle area between two defenders, usually scored by tips) zone between the libero and the wing defender.

  Jules and the reserve libero collided trying to reach it, and the ball dropped softly to the floor.

  Point Dragons.

  [FAST READING ENDED]

  Spiky stood at the service line, his usual goofy silhouette replaced by sharp focus. He tossed the ball high and cracked a jump serve loaded with vicious sidespin. The ball curved through the air like a scythe, hunting the reserve libero.

  She braced herself, adjusting her feet at the last second. The ball hit her platform heavy, the spin threatening to spray it sideways. Gritting her teeth, she held her form, muscling the ball into a high, playable arc toward the center of the court.

  Willow Vance stepped under the pass. Her eyes darted across the net, processing the crimson wall forming on the other side. Every lane looked like a trap. The Dragons were clearing every gap the court. With options dwindling, she reverted to her most reliable weapon, pushing a slightly accelerated set out to the left pin for Jules, adding just enough tempo to try and beat the block.

  Jules launched herself into the air.

  Lompo was already there, sealing the middle-cross. Davio closed the seam next to him. Jules realized instantly that challenging Lompo was suicide. She contorted her body in mid-air, cocking her arm back further than usual, straining her shoulder to generate maximum torque from an awkward angle. She unleashed a desperate, overpowered swing aimed directly at Davio's hands, hoping to blow through his block.

  Davio's eyes widened at the unexpected velocity coming from such a broken form. He stiffened his wrists just in time.

  THWACK.

  The ball hammered into Davio's palms. It didn't punch through, but the sheer force knocked his hands back enough to deaden the impact. The ball popped up high and soft, drifting easily into the back row.

  "Free ball!"

  The Dragons' libero stepped in, handling the deflection with casual grace. With a quick, precise platform pass, he fed the ball low and fast to Damian.

  Damian read the transition instantly, seeing Caeser accelerating on the right wing. With a flick of his wrists, he fired a lightning-fast shoot set to the pin.

  Himeko was already moving. She had anticipated the speed. As Caeser exploded off the floor, Himeko rose with him, her timing impeccable, her arms extending to roof the attack.

  Caeser saw the block. He didn't care.

  Grinning with the reckless confidence of a man who knew his own horsepower, Caeser swung with everything he had.

  BAM.

  The ball smashed into Himeko's hands. The impact was violent, bending her fingers backward. She fought to keep her wrists rigid, to stuff the attack, but Caeser's power was overwhelming. The ball punched through her resistance, deflected downward toward Divers' court but still carrying lethal velocity.

  The ball screamed toward the reserve libero. She dropped to her knees by the sheer downward force of the deflection crumpled her stance. The ball slammed into her platform, grinding her forearms into her chest. With a strangled gasp of effort, she managed to shovel it upward, but the contact was messy. The ball wobbled into the air, drifting erratically away from the net and toward the sideline.

  Willow Vance sprinted. The ball was dying fast, well out of position. She threw herself into a slide, her sneakers screeching. There was no time to set her feet, no time to square her shoulders. Contorting her torso in mid-air like a gymnast, she thrust her hands out, flicking the ball back toward the left pin in a desperate, off-balance set.

  Low, tight, and ugly.

  Jules, already exhausted, had to adjust her approach mid-stride. She stutter-stepped, losing all her vertical momentum, and forced herself into a weak, flat-footed jump. The ball arrived at her chest level, impossible to swing at.

  The Dragons' block loomed over her like a thunderhead.

  With no other option, Jules softened her hand and pushed the ball in a gentle tip, praying it would find a hole.

  It didn't.

  Caeser was waiting. He stepped forward casually, scooping the tip with a simple underhand dig as if catching a floating balloon.

  The dig floated perfectly to Damian.

  Damian set his feet. He saw Davio calling for the ball on the left, hungry to destroy the blocker from the other side. Damian pushed the set high and wide.

  Himeko's legs burned with lactic acid, her lungs screamed for oxygen, but she forced herself to move. She chased the set, planting her feet to jump.

  As she rose, Davio saw it. A tiny shudder in her frame. Himeko was cracking under the load she had endured the entire set. Her left hand drifted slightly lower than her right, leaving a sliver of space above her pinky.

  Davio tapped the ball lightly, guiding it with finesse right through the gap Himeko's fatigue had created.

  The ball slipped past her block, dropping toward the floor.

  "Gruh!"

  Sarah Lemear threw herself forward in a headlong dive. She extended her arm fully, sliding across the varnish. Her fist connected with the ball millimeters before it hit the wood.

  Pop.

  The ball popped up, kept alive by desperate instinct.

  The miracle save popped the ball high, yet the offense was shattered. Willow scrambled to get under it, but could only bump-set a high, desperate ball to the pin. Jules, legs heavy as lead, jumped again. The Dragons' wall was already there, towering and impassive. She tipped it, the Dragons' libero collected it with insulting ease.

  The pass arced beautifully to Damian. He looked straight down the throat of the defense.

  Lompo was already thundering down the center lane. The giant middle blocker accelerated with earth-shaking momentum, a monster truck with no brakes.

  Damian set it quick.

  Lompo launched. He rose above the net, unchallenged. Himeko tried to close, but she was a step too slow, her energy completely spent.

  Lompo swung.

  BOOOOOOOM.

  The ball detonated on the Divers' floor, a the brutal, final sound of absolute power burying the rally.

  TWEEEEEEEEET!

  "Set Dragons! 25-16!"