The Strategy Group's Victory, the Bug Who Couldn't Keep His Eyes Open, and the Only Way to Solve It

After that, the match took a sudden turn.

It didn't turn into the satisfying rout Lu Ren had imagined. They were temporarily ahead, but the other side's "hotheaded setter" and "orange-haired decoy" seemed to have suddenly installed some kind of Patch Pack. Their coordination was improving at a bizarre, exponential rate.

Kageyama Tobio stopped fixating on making his sets fast just for the sake of speed. He started forcing himself to adapt to Hinata's haphazard running around. And Hinata was practically a monster with an infinite stamina bar. No matter whether his previous run had been pointless, he still charged at full speed toward the net for the next ball.

"Thump!"

Another Monster Quick Attack.

The ball slammed down beside Lu Ren's feet and bounced toward the ceiling.

Lu Ren looked down at the mark on the floor, the corner of his mouth twitching. He'd clearly seen the ball's trajectory. His brain had even issued the command, "Step back with your left foot and crouch." But his body was like a cheap controller he'd just bought, with a latency of three hundred milliseconds.

"You can see the ball, but you can't receive it. Are you the commentator on the sidelines?" Tsukishima Kei said coldly as he passed Lu Ren, twisting the knife.

"Shut up. I'm adjusting my latency." Lu Ren rubbed his tingling forearm, silently wailing inside.

Sawamura Daichi's rock-solid defense clearly wasn't something you could learn from reading a couple of strategy guides. It came from thousands upon thousands of receives, built into muscle memory. That was a genuine "high-defense stat." As for Lu Ren, he was like a level-one alt with a full-map hack. He knew exactly what skill the boss was going to use and had even stood in the safe zone ahead of time, but his gear was so bad that the skill's aftershock still knocked half his health bar away.

The score stayed close.

18–16.

20–19.

Every time they managed to pull ahead, Kageyama and Hinata would claw their way back with that unreasonable quick attack. Their failure rate was still high—sometimes Kageyama set the ball too high, sometimes Hinata swung at empty air—but even one successful hit was enough. A spike with practically no time to react could deal a massive blow to their morale.

Worse still, Tanaka Ryūnosuke was getting fired up, too. Once this guy got in the zone, he'd blast the ball over even against a triple block. Lu Ren's pitiful receiving skills were a complete disaster against spikes like that, hit with such force and vicious spin.

"Nice shot—!!"

Hinata scored again. He landed and shouted, pumping his fist excitedly, but I noticed a hint of frustration mixed into his expression.

Several times, when the Monster Quick Attack ended and he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw wasn't an empty patch of floor. It was Lu Ren, already standing there like a ghost.

Lu Ren often received the ball badly, or sent it popping straight up where the other team could attack it, but he was still "there."

For a Wing Spiker who wanted to score with a spike, nothing was more infuriating than thinking your killer shot had landed, only to open your eyes and find your opponent crouching at the landing spot with a constipated look on his face.

"Let me open my eyes, Kageyama!" Hinata shouted at the net. "If I can see, I can dodge that guy!"

"Shut up, idiot!" Kageyama yelled back while wiping away sweat. "Opening your eyes will only distract you right now! As long as the ball hasn't hit the floor, you jump with everything you've got!"

Watching them, I silently thought: The hot-blooded shonen protagonist really is something else. This is a game that requires precise control, and he's insisting on blind play. Still, thanks to that setup, I've managed to hold out this long.

"Match Point." Tsukishima Kei's voice brought me back to reality.

The score was 24–23.

They were ahead by one point, but the other side had serve.

Kageyama served.

He was radiating menace now. Just standing behind the baseline, he exuded the kind of pressure you'd expect from a "genius."

"We're absolutely taking this one."

Kageyama ran up, jumped, and hit the ball.

It flew at tremendous speed, heading straight for the back corner.

"Out!" Lu Ren shouted, judging by the arc of the toss.

Yamaguchi Tadashi had been about to dodge, but at Lu Ren's shout, he instinctively hunched one shoulder. The volleyball skimmed past his sleeve and slammed hard out of bounds.

"Peeep—!"

The whistle blew.

25–23.

The match was over.

The entire gym fell silent at once. All that remained was the sound of heavy breathing.

"W-We won?" Yamaguchi Tadashi asked, still seeming unable to process it as he stared blankly at the referee.

Lu Ren let out a long breath. His knees gave way, and he slid down the wall. This wasn't a volleyball match—it was a half-hour-long QTE reaction test. His CPU was about to burn out, and his thigh muscles were already flirting dangerously with a full-on mutiny.

"This game... is way too hardcore..." Lu Ren said, staring up at the ceiling as stars swam before his eyes.

Across the net, Hinata and Kageyama remained frozen in their final poses for a long time. They'd lost. For two guys with such absurdly strong competitive streaks, losing to a team thrown together at the last minute had to feel worse than getting killed.

Sawamura Daichi stepped onto the court.

According to their earlier bet, if they lost, they couldn't join the Volleyball Club.

The atmosphere was heavy. Tanaka Ryūnosuke didn't dare speak loudly either, and looked at the two first-years with concern.