The gym was quieter than usual the morning after the tournament. Not empty, but subdued, like the court itself was still recovering from the weight of too many rallies and too much expectation. Kazuki Hayama arrived early, as he had been doing more often lately, and stood for a moment just inside the doorway before stepping onto the floor.
His body ached.
Not the sharp pain of injury, but the dull, persistent soreness that came from being pushed slightly beyond his limits and surviving anyway. His shoulders felt heavy. His thighs resisted movement. Even breathing deeply reminded him that he had asked more of himself than he ever had before.
So this is the cost, he thought quietly. And this is what it feels like to pay it.
He stretched slowly, methodically, careful not to rush. During the tournament, he had learned something important not about volleyball, but about himself. Panic didn't help. Forcing things didn't help. What helped was staying present, one play at a time, one decision at a time.
That awareness lingered now, steady and grounded.
The Complete Volleyball System surfaced gently, as if acknowledging the end of a cycle rather than the beginning of something new.
_______________________________
[PLAYER STATUS – KAZUKI HAYAMA]
Year: 1st Year
Overall Player Level: Lv.3 (Stabilized)
Stamina: 55
Jump Height: 51
Power (Spiking): 50
Technique: 44
Speed: 45
Setting: 28
Receive: 36
Serve: 32
Mental Fortitude: 57
Game Sense: 52
Condition: Post-Competition Fatigue
Recommendation: Active Recovery + Fundamental Reinforcement
____________________________________
Kazuki exhaled softly when the panel faded. The numbers no longer excited him the way they had before. They were useful, yes but what mattered more was how they felt on the court. And lately, things felt… aligned.
Practice began without ceremony. The coach didn't single him out. The drills were the same as always and yet, something had changed.
The ball came to him more often.
Not because someone ordered it but because his teammates trusted him.
During one drill, the setter hesitated, then instinctively tossed Kazuki a difficult ball near the antenna. Kazuki adjusted, shortened his swing, and sent the ball cleanly off the block. No cheers followed. No praise. Just a quiet nod from across the net.
That nod meant more than applause.
Later, during a break, Kazuki overheard the coach speaking in low tones with another teacher.
"…first-year," the coach said. "But his decision-making isn't."
Kazuki didn't slow down. He pretended not to hear. Still, the words settled heavily in his chest.
So they're talking about me now.
That realization wasn't comforting, it was frightening because attention came with expectations and expectations crushed players who weren't ready.
The next few days passed in steady rhythm. Recovery runs. Light drills. Film review sessions where Kazuki sat quietly, watching his own mistakes frame by frame. He noticed how often he arrived a half-second late. How his wrist angle betrayed hesitation. How his body still tensed unnecessarily under pressure.
I'm not complete, he admitted to himself. Not even close but he was no longer invisible.
That became clear the afternoon the unfamiliar man returned.
Kazuki noticed him near the edge of the gym during an open practice. Same neutral clothes. Same notebook. Same quiet presence. He didn't interrupt. He didn't introduce himself. He simply watched longer this time.
Kazuki felt it like a weight on his back.
Not fear.
Evaluation.
The man stayed for nearly an hour, observing drills, scrimmages, transitions. When Kazuki rotated to setter for a few points, the man's pen moved faster. When Kazuki struggled on a serve receive and recovered immediately in the next rally, the man paused, then underlined something.
When practice ended, the man left without a word.
The system responded moments later.
__________________________________
[EXTERNAL ASSESSMENT UPDATED]
Status: Prospect Logged
Category: High-Growth (First-Year)
Selection: None
Notes: Development Recommended
____________________________________
Kazuki stared at the notification longer than he expected to.
'Prospect'
Not player.
Not candidate.
Not selected.
Just… noted.
That night, he lay awake in bed, hands resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly return to normal. His memories of the original story surfaced unbidden the Youth Training Camp, the prodigies, the way certain players were already monsters before the spotlight ever found them.
They didn't become strong at the camp, Kazuki realized. The camp just confirmed what was already there.
He turned onto his side, eyes open in the darkness.
Then my job this year is simple.
Become undeniable.
The system did not respond.
It didn't need to because Kazuki had already understood the truth of this world:
Being noticed wasn't enough.
Being watched wasn't enough.
To step into canon as a monster, he would need to arrive already sharpened.