The gymnasium was abuzz with a nervous energy that morning. Not the old, musty gym where Kazuki had forged his secret strength, but the main gym of Ikaruga Daini High – a modern, brightly lit arena, far too grand for the team's consistent failures. Today was the internal scrimmage, a routine practice match meant to assess player performance and solidify the starting line-up. For most players, it was a chance to shine. For Kazuki, it was usually another painful reminder of his position as "Number 0," an ever-present fixture on the bench. Yet, today felt different. A quiet, almost arrogant confidence hummed beneath his skin, a direct result of the VolleyGod System's brutal but effective conditioning.
He arrived early, as always, meticulously preparing his equipment. He could feel the eyes on him, mostly dismissive glances from his teammates, a few surprised looks from the younger first-years who perhaps hadn't fully grasped his permanent 'benchwarmer' status. He ignored them all, his focus sharp, a residual effect of the 'Hawk's Eye Precision' challenge. He could pick up every subtle shift in the gym's atmosphere: the nervous chatter of the reserves, the casual banter of the regulars, the focused intensity of Coach Tanaka as he laid out cones and reviewed strategy with his assistant.
Coach Tanaka, a man whose expression perpetually hovered between exasperation and mild annoyance, strode onto the court. He was known for his rigid adherence to tradition and his unwavering belief in "aura" – a nebulous quality he saw in certain players, usually those with a family legacy in volleyball or a pre-established reputation from junior high. Kazuki, diligent as he was, had always fallen short in the coach's eyes in that regard.
"Alright, everyone! Listen up!" Coach Tanaka's voice, a gravelly rumble, cut through the din. "Today, we have a scrimmage against Nishikawa High. It's an informal sparring match, but I want you to treat it like a real tournament. This is your chance to show me what you've got."
A murmur went through the team. Nishikawa High. They were a decent, though not exceptional, team from a neighboring town, known for their solid defense and consistent receives. An unexpected sparring match. This was unusual, but not entirely unwelcome. It was a chance to practice against external competition before the next regional tournament.
Kazuki felt a jolt of excitement. Real opponents. Real pressure. This was better than serving against a wall. He would be an equipment manager and statistic recorder, as usual, but he would be close to the action. His mind immediately went into analysis mode, processing the information. Nishikawa's defensive patterns, their usual setter rotations, their key spikers. He felt the system subtly working in the background, sifting through external data, almost preparing him for a direct encounter.
He watched as Coach Tanaka assigned positions. Hikaru and Kaito were, of course, in the starting line-up. As were the two other main players, Shinya, their powerful outside hitter, and Ren, a reliable libero. Kazuki silently took his place on the sideline, clipboard in hand, ready to record points, errors, and substitutions. His role was defined, unchanging.
The warm-up began, a symphony of squeaking sneakers, sharp whistles, and the rhythmic thwack of balls being spiked. Kazuki observed everything, his heightened perception picking up details others might miss. Shinya's left knee seemed to buckle slightly after a powerful jump. Ren's receives, usually flawless, had an almost imperceptible wobble today. Was it nerves? Or something else? He felt the VolleyGod System subtly highlight these observations, almost tagging them as relevant data points.
The scrimmage started. The first set was a choppy affair. Ikaruga played well in bursts, but their communication often broke down, leading to errors. Nishikawa, consistent and disciplined, slowly built a lead. Coach Tanaka paced the sideline, his face growing redder with each missed receive or errant spike.
"Shinya! Watch your approach! Your timing is off!" Coach Tanaka barked, his voice echoing across the court.
Shinya, typically hot-headed, bristled. He was known for his explosive spikes, but also his tendency to get frustrated. Nishikawa served again, a powerful jump serve aimed at the back corner. Shinya lunged for it, misjudging the trajectory slightly. He connected, but the ball flew wildly out of bounds. As he landed, his left knee buckled again, this time more severely. He cried out, a sharp, pained gasp, and immediately collapsed onto the court, clutching his knee.
The entire gym went silent. Coach Tanaka rushed onto the court, his face suddenly pale with concern. Hikaru and Kaito were immediately by Shinya's side. Shinya writhed on the floor, his face contorted in agony.
"It's my knee, Coach! I think… I think I twisted it!" Shinya gasped, his voice raw.
A wave of panic rippled through the Ikaruga team. Shinya was their main outside hitter, their primary scoring threat. Without him, their offense would be crippled. The assistant coach quickly ran over, his medical kit clutched in his hand. After a quick examination, his face grimaced.
"It looks like a serious sprain, Coach. He's out for the rest of the scrimmage. Possibly longer."
Coach Tanaka slammed his clipboard against his thigh, his jaw tight. He looked at his remaining players, counting them. Five. They were down one player. He couldn't play a full match with only five. They needed six for a proper formation, for proper rotations. He scanned his bench, his eyes darting from one player to another. The reserves were mostly first-years, still raw and inexperienced. None of them could fill Shinya's shoes.
"Damn it!" Coach Tanaka muttered, rubbing his temples. He was clearly in a dilemma. Forfeit the scrimmage? That would be an embarrassing blow to team morale. Play with five? That was unthinkable against Nishikawa's solid defense. He needed a body. Any body.
Kazuki stood on the sideline, his clipboard still in hand, observing the unfolding crisis. He could feel the frantic energy emanating from the coach, the despair from his teammates. This was it. This was the moment. His chance.
His mind was surprisingly clear, almost serene. He felt the VolleyGod System hum gently within him, like a quiet engine, waiting for instructions. His body felt primed, ready. He had trained for this, in secret, for nights on end. He had pushed past exhaustion, overcome seemingly impossible challenges. This was what it was all for.
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, then another, moving away from his usual spot on the sideline. His teammates, engrossed in Shinya's injury, didn't notice him. Coach Tanaka, however, caught his movement. His eyes, already clouded with frustration, narrowed.
"What do you want, Kazuki?" the coach asked, his voice sharp with irritation. "Go get some ice for Shinya."
"Coach," Kazuki began, his voice calm, steady, surprising even himself. He took another step onto the court, a silent defiance of his usual role. "I can play."
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. For a moment, there was silence. Then, a snicker from Kaito, who had just helped Shinya hobble off the court.
"You, Kazuki? Don't make me laugh," Kaito scoffed, wiping sweat from his brow. "You haven't played a single point in a real match in two years. You're our mascot benchwarmer."
"He's right, Kazuki," Hikaru added, his voice less mocking, more weary. "This isn't just practice. Nishikawa is tough. We can't afford to experiment right now."
Some of the other reserves, who were closer, exchanged bewildered glances. Kazuki? The perpetual Number 0? It was a ludicrous suggestion. He was the invisible player, the one whose presence on the roster was merely a formality.
Coach Tanaka stared at Kazuki, his eyes scrutinizing, skeptical. He saw the same quiet, unassuming figure he always saw. No 'aura,' no fiery passion. Just… Kazuki. Yet, the coach was desperate. He needed a player. And Kazuki was standing there, offering.
"You think you can just step in for Shinya?" Coach Tanaka challenged, his voice laced with disbelief. "Shinya is our primary hitter, our ace. You're… you're a utility player at best, Kazuki. And even then, you're rusty."
"I'm not rusty, Coach," Kazuki replied, his voice still calm, unwavering. He met the coach's gaze directly, a silent strength radiating from him. "I've been training. Every day. Every night."
Coach Tanaka hesitated. He saw something in Kazuki's eyes he hadn't seen before. A quiet resolve. A different kind of confidence, not brash or arrogant, but deep-seated. He was desperate, and Kazuki was offering a solution, however improbable it seemed.
"Alright, Kazuki," Coach Tanaka finally conceded, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "I'm in a bind here. But I'm not putting you in blindly. Show me. Right now. If you can serve three balls, perfectly, into the back corner of the court, without hitting the net or going out, you're in. Three consecutive perfect serves. Fail once, and you go back to the bench."
It was an impossible task for most. Even for a seasoned player, hitting three perfect serves consecutively was a challenge. But for Kazuki, who had spent countless hours practicing serve accuracy against the old gym wall, driven by the elusive promise of the 'Serve' skill tree branch, this was his moment. He had envisioned this scenario, dreamed of this challenge.
A small smile, subtle and almost imperceptible, touched Kazuki's lips. This wasn't just a challenge from his coach. This was an invitation. An invitation to prove everything.
Just as the thought solidified in his mind, the familiar blue screen flickered into existence before his eyes, visible only to him. It was no longer a general status update. It was a targeted mission.
"Mini Skill Mission: Serve Accuracy Test. Objective: Perform 3 consecutive serves into designated target zone. Success = Unlock 'Zero Spin Serve Lv.1'."
The words resonated deep within him. Zero Spin Serve Lv.1. This was the very skill he had unknowingly been training for. The system was recognizing his hidden efforts, rewarding his dedication with a powerful, specialized ability. This wasn't just about getting on the court; it was about unleashing a new, devastating weapon. The countdown timer for the scrimmage was momentarily forgotten. All that mattered was the shimmering blue screen, the challenge it presented, and the incredible power it promised. This was his true test.
He walked to the serving line, the volleyball feeling perfectly weighted in his hands. The air hummed with a different kind of tension now. His teammates, sensing the shift, watched him with a mixture of skepticism and a flicker of curiosity. Coach Tanaka stood with his arms crossed, his expression still doubtful, but a sliver of desperate hope in his eyes. The Nishikawa players, who had been watching the scene with amusement, now looked on, intrigued.
Kazuki took a deep breath, focusing his mind. He ignored the whispers, the expectations, the years of being overlooked. He felt the system's subtle guidance, a warmth spreading through his serving arm, a heightened awareness of the ball's texture, its weight, the precise point of contact he needed to make. This wasn't just his arm, his body; it was a calibrated instrument, honed by an unseen force. He felt an almost instinctual understanding of trajectory, of wind resistance, of the exact amount of force needed to send the ball flying true.
He tossed the ball up, his movements fluid, controlled. He leaped, extending his arm, his eyes locked on the precise back corner of the court. Thwack! The sound was crisp, powerful. The ball flew, a blur of white, barely clearing the net, then dropping sharply, landing with a soft thud exactly within the designated zone.
Silence. Then, a collective intake of breath from his teammates. Coach Tanaka's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. It wasn't a flashy serve, but it was perfect. And it had almost no spin, making its trajectory deceptively hard to read.
Kazuki retrieved the ball, his heart pounding with exhilaration. One down. Two more to go. He felt a surge of energy, an undeniable flow of power. The system pulsed softly, acknowledging his success. He took his position again, tossing the ball, jumping, striking. Thwack! Another perfect serve, identical to the first, landing in the same precise spot.
This time, the silence was thicker, more stunned. Even Nishikawa's players exchanged surprised glances. Two.
He picked up the ball for the third time. His arm felt alive, tingling with anticipation. He knew he could do it. This wasn't just skill; it was a new form of precision, a synthesis of his natural talent and the system's profound enhancements. He focused, clearing his mind of everything but the ball, the target, and the perfect execution. Toss. Jump. Strike.
THWACK!
The ball rocketed across the net, a white streak, utterly devoid of spin, dropping with devastating accuracy right on the back line, kicking up a tiny puff of dust.
Three perfect serves. Consecutive. Unflinching.
The gym erupted, not with cheers, but with a cacophony of stunned murmurs. His teammates stared, their jaws slightly agape. Coach Tanaka stood frozen, his eyes wide, a mixture of disbelief and dawning realization on his face.
The blue screen flashed, the triumphant chimes echoing in Kazuki's mind.
"Mini Skill Mission: Serve Accuracy Test. Completed! Skill Unlocked: Zero Spin Serve Lv.1!"
Kazuki stood at the serving line, his chest heaving, a triumphant smile finally breaking across his face. He had done it. He had proved them wrong. Not with loud shouts or flamboyant gestures, but with quiet, devastating precision.
He had finally earned his place on the court. And this, he knew, was just the beginning. The "Last Benchwarmer" was about to show them what a true 'aura' looked like.