Chapter 13: Fake Jumper

He could feel the lose intense burning stares. He could see the raging fire within Kitagawa Daiichi's eyes. Despite his team's incredible momentum, every opposing player was voraciously alight with a competitive spirit on the other side.

Hayato tapped his foot, hearing the roar as parents and students cheered and clapped in excitement. No matter where one was, to the unbiased spectators, an underdog story was always something everyone liked to see.

To the side, a tall volunteer rolled the ball over to Yukigaoka's side. As the blue-yellow ball stopped at his feet, Hayato clenched his fists.

He was not going to lose his first ever official school match. It didn't matter how much stamina and effort he had to put in, the game would be 2-0. Hopefully.

Hayato had to get more creative, more flexible with his sets and such now. He had to up the amp or they might acclimate. But he'd have to keep it easy enough for his teammates to keep up.

Still, for now, he was the one serving. In the end, he'd decided to start off the serving game. It was almost guaranteed that this set would be a close one unless the rest of Kitagawa Daiichi began following after their King.

Hayato looked up towards the net, ball swirling in his hands expertly. The referee nodded, and the game began.

As he always did, the temp-setter swung up in a sharp curving toss, his quadriceps flexing as he boomed through the air.

His left hand flicked out and down, as he absolutely terminated the ball. The crowd roared and gasped as it unfurled, devouring its way down the sideline.

*WAKTOOM!!!"*

At the corner, the flag-man raised his hand up, snapping the red flag down in an elegant swoop.

In.

As expected by some members of the audience, it was a no-touch service ace. With both precision and power, nothing stood in his way.

That mastery over the ball was something that could even usurp the skills of some of the nation's best high schoolers. Though, it was to note that at the moment, he couldn't really beat college and pro teams.

It was obvious. While he had temperance and physique that was beyond his years, Fujin Hayato was still held back by age. His body was not completely developed and he couldn't exactly break through the limits and achieve something inhuman.

This wasn't… that type of manga after all.

With a quick celebration, he was back up to bat. Kitagawa Daiichi was eerily quiet as they burnt in an inferno of adrenaline and anticipation.

They wanted to be the one to dig the next ball, they wanted to be the one to land the ball on the other side.

Hayato was also somewhat caught up in the fevor. As much as he loved winning and crushing the opposition, seeing stellar plays on either side of the net was always fun to see. They especially came up in times of desperation.

Especially the ones that made people look stupid, like free ball kills and campfires. Of course, he hoped it wasn't his side that was doing it, but still, sometimes you just had to laugh at the misfortunes of both your friends and enemies.

Hayato's right sneakers screeched as he dragged it back slowly, arm straightening out as his eyes flicked about. On the other side, they narrowed their eyes, expecting another ripper to slam down upon them.

The reincarnation tossed the ball up in a high arc. But ever so subtle was the change. None of the players noticed. This ball lacked much of the rampaging spin that the others had when he'd tossed.

Hayato's approach was as aggressive as ever clamping down on the floor, before launching upwards, like a squid propelling itself from the ocean floor.

His veins bulged and his hand whistled as he blasted away…. Those fingers clenched and shoulder whirled as he was about to send a killer serve down the line, before…..

Suddenly, it straightened out wide. Connecting perfectly to his palm, the ball zipped through the air, almost floating in the air as it arrived narrowly across the net. Kitagawa Daiichi's eyes widened as they scrambled to reposition.

It was already too late. Hands outstretched below them, all they could think was to get their hands up to set the incoming jump floater. But they didn't.

It was as if their hands were in vats of viscous honey, slow and sluggish as they tried to break free. Then, one of the many bad volleyball habits that a coach would chew a player out for made itself known on this battlefield.

I'm all of his reactive glory, the player stiffened up as he bent back, trying to get the ball back in their control.

A fatal mistake.

Three light taps up the side from chest to head as it flew out away. Time seemed to slow as the players began to run towards the wayward ball.

From the blue, the Libero sprang like a leopard, sliding across the smooth floor as he slapped his left forehand under the ball.

This was a volleyball defensive technique known as the "pancake". It was when a player slapped their hand under a sharp dropping ball with little possibility of digging it. The volleyball would then bounce up the hand, and back into action.

There was probably a more professional term for "pancake", but whatever it was, Hayato's had no idea.

The low soaring ball nicked off the libero's fingers, gaining a little upward hop, only to fall to the floor, players sprawling out like penguins around to no avail. It was a good try.

Hayato watched them scramble back up, faces groaning in disappointment. If they had been a bit bigger and older, perhaps one of them could have hooked it over. Still, very unlikely.

Their dives were pretty solid.

Most likely the result of many hours of practice and repetition.

(A/N: I promise this game is almost over. I myself am getting bored of the repetitive nature of my writing at the moment.)