REACHING BEYOND THE NET

The Game of a Lifetime

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Thousands of fans filled the arena, their cheers a tidal wave of sound that crashed against the walls and reverberated through my chest. The intensity was electrifying, the kind of energy that set your nerves on fire and made every moment on the court feel like a battle.

This was it. The Olympic qualifiers. Everything we'd trained for, everything we'd sacrificed, had led up to this game. I stood in the center of the court, the ball in my hands, my heart pounding in sync with the chants of the crowd. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, but I thrived on it. Pressure was something I'd learned to embrace, to channel into focus and precision.

I glanced around at my teammates, each one of them a pillar of strength in their own right. Ushijima stood ready at the left, his face a mask of unshakable determination. Bokuto was beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his usual infectious energy barely contained. Hoshiumi, smaller but no less fierce, was positioned with sharp eyes scanning the opposing team. Yaku, our libero, was crouched low, ready to spring into action.

And then there was Atsumu.

He stood opposite me, his gaze steady, unflinching. Our awkward relationship hung in the air between us, but we both knew that on the court, none of that mattered. We were both here to win, and that was all that counted.

The whistle blew, snapping me into the present. I tossed the ball into the air, my body moving on autopilot as I jumped to serve. The ball sailed over the net, a perfect serve that dipped at the last moment, forcing the opposing libero to dive for it. They managed to receive it, but the play was already in motion.

The ball was set back to their spiker, a tall, lanky player with a fierce swing. But I'd seen his type before, and I knew exactly how to counter. As he jumped, so did Ushijima and Bokuto, a double block that cut off his angle and sent the ball rebounding back onto their side of the court.

Point for us.

The crowd erupted, the noise swelling to a fever pitch as we regrouped. My heart was pounding, but my mind was clear, every instinct honed on the next point. This was where I belonged, where everything made sense. On the court, there was no room for doubt, no room for hesitation. Every decision had to be precise, every move executed with purpose.

The game continued, each rally more intense than the last. We were evenly matched with the other team, both sides pushing each other to the limit. Every spike, every block, every dig was a battle, a test of skill and endurance. The sweat dripped down my face, my muscles burning with the effort, but I didn't let up. None of us did.

As the game wore on, I could feel the fatigue setting in, but I refused to let it slow me down. I had a job to do, and I would see it through. Atsumu and I worked in tandem, our sets weaving together in a seamless rhythm that kept the other team on their toes. Despite our differences, we were both driven by the same goal—to win.

But even in the midst of the game, my mind couldn't help but drift to him. The boy with the orange hair. I didn't know why, but his image kept flashing in my mind, distracting me at the worst possible moments. I tried to push it aside, to focus solely on the game, but it was like trying to hold back the tide.

What would he think if he were here, watching this game? Would he be impressed? Or would he see right through me, see the cracks in the facade I worked so hard to maintain?

The opposing team was setting up for another attack, their spiker winding up for a powerful swing. I snapped back to the present, my body reacting instinctively as I moved into position. The ball was set, and I jumped, my arms extending above the net as I blocked the spike. The ball ricocheted off my hands, falling back onto their side of the court.

Another point for us.

I landed hard, my breath coming in sharp gasps, but there was no time to rest. The game was still on, and every second counted. I glanced over at Atsumu, who gave me a quick nod of acknowledgment. There was no smirk this time, no hint of arrogance—just a mutual understanding that we were in this together.

The final rally was a blur of motion. The ball was in play, moving back and forth across the net in a rapid exchange that left no room for error. My entire body was focused on the ball, on the movement of the other players, on predicting their next move before they even made it.

And then, in a split second, I saw my opening.

The opposing setter made a mistake—a slight miscalculation that sent the ball too close to the net. I didn't hesitate. I lunged forward, my hand snapping up to meet the ball in a perfect dump that caught their entire team off guard.

The ball hit the floor with a resounding thud.

Point. Match.

The crowd exploded, the noise crashing over me like a wave as my teammates swarmed around me. We had done it. We had won. But even as I celebrated with the others, high-fiving and clapping backs, my mind kept drifting back to that boy.

Would he have been proud of me?

The thought lingered as we left the court, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away. We had won the game, secured our spot in the Olympics, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was still unfinished, something beyond the game, beyond the court.

I needed to find him. To see him again. To understand why he had such an effect on me.

But for now, I let the victory wash over me, basking in the glory of the moment. There would be time to figure everything else out later.

              ..............................................................................................................

Atsumu and Kageyama are both playing, but Kageyama is the official setter, while Atsumu is a spiker. I was too lazy to find the name of another player.