The Court-Control Art Only a Support Understands, and the Aesthetic of Violence Known as the "Ace"

The shrill whistle sliced through the air, dividing the gymnasium in two.

Though it was only a hastily assembled practice match, the moment they faced each other across the net, the air crackled with tension. Lu Ren stood in the back row, his gaze sweeping over the opposing lineup: Nishinoya Yū, the "Guardian Deity" with maxed-out defense; Azumane Asahi, the "Ace" whose mental state was still reading the bar but whose stats were off the charts; and Sugawara Kōshi, who always wore a pleasant smile while harboring a head full of tactics.

No matter how he looked at it, that was the standard iron triangle of tank, fighter, and healer. On their side, meanwhile, they were all fragile damage dealers built for single-target bursts.

"If we lose to a bunch of middle-aged men, that'd be seriously embarrassing." Tsukishima Kei pushed up his glasses and coolly tossed out the remark from the front of the net.

"Huh? What kind of depressing crap are you saying?! We just have to crush them!" Tanaka Ryūnosuke slapped his thigh with loud smacks, glaring viciously at the other side.

The match began.

The Neighborhood Association Team served first. The bespectacled, mild-mannered-looking man at the baseline—his name seemed to be Shimada?—tossed the ball and swung his arm. His form was not especially polished, nor did he have the pressure of a jump serve, but the serve itself was incredibly sneaky. It floated softly over the net, heading straight for the seam between the front and back rows.

"I've got it."

Tsukishima stepped forward, bringing his arms together. His tongue might have been sharp, but his fundamentals were solid. He absorbed the force and bumped the ball up in one smooth motion. The volleyball flew high; it was not a perfect pass, but it was enough.

Kageyama