Ti passed quickly—perhaps because the new season had yet to begin, professional life turned out to be far more monotonous than Kaedehara Taichi had imagined.
From high-intensity physical training to countless repetitions of serving, receiving, and spiking, Taichi polished his weapons with relentless precision. Every movent had to be repeated until his muscles could perform it from mory. The dull thud of volleyballs echoed through the empty gym again and again, while sweat soaked his clothes without ever signalling a pause.
Compared to high school, the daily rhythm of professional volleyball lacked the colour and balance of campus life. Even Taichi, who had always been obsessed with improvent, occasionally found it tedious and stifling. For the first ti, he understood Tom Wilde's so-called 'quirk' of picking up a paintbrush after every match. Perhaps for him, it was a sanctuary for the soul, carved out in the narrow cracks between intense matches and training—a unique way of balancing work and rest.
But in truth, most players went through this phase. It was a rite of passage—an evolution from raw to refined.
The veterans who had already carved out a place for themselves on the pro stage had long been tempered by ti. They learned to savour this phase where their schedules were self-directed, striking a careful balance between training, matches, and family life.
But it wasn't the sa for rookies. The first two to three years after entering the pros were a critical window of growth. Ti flew by like a galloping horse, showing no rcy. Every second lost was a missed opportunity to improve.
They knew all too well—if their bodies reached peak physical condition while their skills remained underdeveloped, it would be nothing short of a waste of talent. Success was never simple—especially not in competitive sports. Talent and hard work carried equal weight.
In mid-July, due to the Japanese n's National Team failing to qualify at the 18th Asian Qualification Tournant for the 2012 n's World Championship, they had no spot at this year's World Championship.
For the Volleyball Association, missing out on the tournant was a regrettable outco—leaving a lingering sense of emptiness. But for the clubs, it ca as a relief: they didn't need to worry about players being called away, lineups being disrupted, or training plans going off schedule. Players entered their sumr breaks as usual and enjoyed the rare downti.
By mid-August, the league schedule was officially announced. Players of the DH Club returned from vacation and gradually resud training, shifting gears toward competition mode.
By mid-September, after rounds of deliberation and back-and-forth discussions, club coaching staffs finalised their player rosters.
At the sa ti, the league's official website concluded its fan vote regarding the preseason matchups. Before the regular season began, the league would host two preseason matches—both broadcast live across the internet—featuring the most popular teams as determined by online voting.
These two matches were ant to ignite public enthusiasm and build hype for the coming regular season. To maximise their impact, the league put great care into every detail, from choosing the venues to scheduling the gas.
"Huh? Taichi has that much influence?"
No one at the DH Club had expected that just having Kaedehara Taichi on the roster would be enough to vault them into the ranks of the so-called "popular teams."
"What, none of you old n browsed the internet during break?" Taichi tilted his chin up smugly. "You guys don't know the value of being Japan's No.1 high school player?"
"This brat is begging to be punched." Kitajima Kippei ground his teeth. So what if you've got talent?
To maximise exposure, the league scheduled the two preseason matches for the last weekend of September.
The first match was a rematch of last season's final: reigning champions EJP Raijin versus the runners-up, Schweiden Adlers. The two powerhouses would face off once again, rekindling mories of past grudges and brilliant plays that still lingered in the minds of fans.
The second match was set to be a high-profile clash between the championship favourite MSBY Black Jackals and the rising underdog DESEO Hornets. It was the perfect setup—audiences could witness the seasoned dominance of an elite team and the explosive potential of a fresh challenger in a single day.
"The venue's the Tokyo tropolitan Gymnasium? There's bound to be a huge crowd!" Tom Wilde remarked.
Yoshii Hiyu nodded.
"It's only natural. This isn't a regular-season ga, so of course it wouldn't be held at a team's ho court. Plus, both matches are happening on the sa day—Tokyo Gymnasium is the perfect choice."
"Tokyo Gym, huh? I've never played a match there before…" Kubo Wataru murmured.
"Don't worry, old man," Taichi said casually. "That place is basically my ho court."
"...Huh?"
"I go there to win trophies every year," Taichi replied with a beaming smile.
"You little—" Sowhere inside Kubo Wataru, the sound of a 32-year-old heart cracking could be heard.
Though the team had a month-long break, the DH players had already spent nearly half a year together. Veterans like Kubo Wataru, Nitta Asahiro, and Yoshii Hiromu had played in the league for many years. With their easygoing personalities and lack of seniority airs, the younger players felt no pressure around them. The result was a relaxed and upbeat atmosphere throughout the club.
And it was exactly because of that dynamic that everyone quickly ca to recognise Kaedehara Taichi's awful habit of casually roasting teammates and opponents alike with zero hesitation.
-----
On the day of the match, outside the Black Jackals' locker room.
"You're here?"
"I'm here."
"You shouldn't be here."
"But I'm already here."
What kind of bizarre exchange was this? Taichi suspected that Sakusa Kiyoomi might be reading too many sappy romance novels.
Sakusa stood squarely in front of Taichi, eyes wary as he blocked his way.
"Our match isn't until the afternoon. What are you doing here?"
"I didn't co of my own volition," Taichi replied indifferently.
"Taichi-chan! You're finally here!" Bokuto Kōtarō, spotting the two standing by the door, launched himself toward them at full sprint.
"???" Taichi frowned. "What kind of weird nickna is that?"
"Omi-chan, why are you blocking Taichi like that?"
"Bokuto, how many tis do I have to tell you—stop calling disgusting nas like that." Sakusa's face twisted in revulsion.
"You're awfully rude to your senpai," Taichi said with a mischievous grin.
Sakusa shot him a murderous glare. "You're in no position to say that."
"Taichi, let's arm wrestle!" Bokuto suddenly declared with a serious look.
"???" Well, at least he'd stopped using that bizarre nickna—but—
"What the hell is with the arm wrestling thing now?!" Taichi inhaled sharply. "Bokuto-senpai, you told this was important and secret. And it's for...?"
"A duel to the death!" Bokuto proclaid with conviction. "I'm now the undisputed Arm Wrestling Champion of the Black Jackals!"
Taichi blinked, then turned to Sakusa.
"To think it was about sothing this stupid. Boring," Sakusa muttered as he turned and walked off.
Taichi had no intention of staying here either. But just as he turned to leave, an unexplainable instinct made him pause.
He turned his head—and t a sharp, piercing gaze.
Even though he didn't know most of the players in the league personally, he imdiately recognised that face.
The ace of EJP Raijin.
[Akutsu Ao—Outside Hitter:Height: 196 cm
Serve: 95 | Receive: 90 | Dig: 92 | Set: 90 | Spike: 99| Block: 96
Spike Reach: 360 cm /Block Reach: 340 cm.]
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