The first time Kazuki truly felt the gap, it wasn't during a loss.
It was during a rally he won.
The ball arced high above the net, a messy free ball sent over in desperation by the opposing team. Kazuki tracked it instinctively, already calculating angles, already adjusting his footwork. The setter saw him, trusted him, and sent a clean, high toss to the left pin.
Kazuki jumped.
His approach was smooth. His timing was perfect. His arm swung fast and controlled, wrist snapping sharply as he drove the ball cross-court.
It was a textbook spike.
The block touched it and still, the ball hit the floor.
Point.
The gym reacted with the usual sounds: sneakers squeaking, a few claps, someone calling out the score. Kazuki landed lightly, heart racing, breath steady and yet from the corner of his eye, he saw the opposing team's ace watching him not frustrated, not angry.
Curious.
That look unsettled him far more than any block because monsters didn't react with emotion, they reacted with analysis.
The match continued, and slowly, subtly, Kazuki felt the court changing around him. The opposing blockers began cheating his direction earlier. The libero positioned himself deeper, reading his swing rather than the toss. Serves came sharper, targeting his seams, forcing him to receive before he could even think about attacking.
Kazuki adjusted, but the cost mounted, his jumps lost a fraction of height, his approaches shortened, his breathing deepened.
They're forcing me to do everything, he realized and I'm letting them.
Late in the second set, it happened.
The setter hesitated under pressure and sent Kazuki a ball that was just slightly too low. Kazuki tried to force it anyway tried to muscle through timing instead of respecting it.
The block sealed him completely.
The ball slammed straight down.
Silence.
Kazuki stood frozen for half a second longer than he should have that was greed, he admitted sharply. Not confidence.
The coach called a timeout soon after.
Kazuki sat on the bench, towel draped over his shoulders, eyes fixed on the floor. He wasn't scolded. He wasn't benched, which somehow made it worse.
"You're playing like someone who knows he's being watched," the coach said calmly.
Kazuki looked up.
"That's not the same thing as playing like someone who belongs there."
The words dug deep.
They won the match eventually but narrowly so. Kazuki contributed, he adapted, he stabilized the late rallies.
Still, as the teams lined up to bow, Kazuki felt it clearly.
He had survived.
He hadn't dominated.
That night, the system appeared unprompted.
____________________________________
[MATCH ANALYSIS – COMPLETE VOLLEYBALL SYSTEM]
Performance Evaluation: Above Average
Pressure Handling: Inconsistent
Adaptability: Improving
Key Limitation Identified: Ceiling Awareness
Summary:
Player demonstrates high growth rate but lacks exposure to superior competition.
Current confidence risks stagnation if unchallenged.
__________________________________
Kazuki lay back on his futon, arms spread, staring at the ceiling.
'Ceiling awareness… huh'
He understood what it meant immediately.
He had grown rapidly faster than expected, faster than most, but growth without comparison was dangerous. Without seeing what truly elite play looked like up close, he risked mistaking competence for greatness.
'I am strong here' he thought. However "here" isn't enough.
The next opportunity came sooner than expected.
It was during a regional practice match a joint training session organized between several schools. Nothing prestigious. No banners. No scouts in plain sight, just gyms full of players who believed they deserved more.
Kazuki noticed him during warm-ups.
A setter.
First-year, like Kazuki but built differently. Calm, almost lazy in his movements. His tosses were deceptively simple, but the ball seemed to wait for his hitters in the air, inviting them to swing.
Kazuki felt his focus sharpen instinctively.
'That guy…'
During scrimmage, the difference became undeniable.
The setter dismantled formations without raising his voice. He shifted tempo mid-rally. He forced blockers to commit early, then punished them with delayed tosses. His hitters looked better simply by standing near him.
Kazuki rotated to face him directly.
On the first rally, Kazuki read the play perfectly and lined up for a kill block.
The setter smiled faintly.
The ball went somewhere else.
Kazuki landed late, chest tightening.
On the second rally, Kazuki waited, adjusted, tried to anticipate again.
The setter delayed just long enough to break his rhythm.
Point.
On the third rally, Kazuki jumped early on purpose, trying to disrupt timing.
The setter used the gap Kazuki left behind.
Point.
Kazuki felt sweat trickle down his spine.
'He's not faster than me' Kazuki thought. 'He's calmer'
That realization hit harder than any spike.
After the session ended, Kazuki found himself sitting alone near the vending machines, replaying every lost exchange. His hands trembled slightly not from exhaustion, but from something sharper.
Frustration.
'So this is the gap' he realized. Not strength. Not talent.
Experience under pressure.
The system surfaced again, its tone neutral as ever.
___________________________________
[PLAYER STATUS – KAZUKI HAYAMA]
Overall Player Level: Lv.4 (Stable)
Game Sense: 52 → 55
Mental Fortitude: 60 → 62
Notice:
Growth slowed due to insufficient challenge level.
Recommendation: Exposure to Elite Peers
____________________________________
Kazuki clenched his fists.
'So I need them' he thought. The monsters.
That night, a rumor became something more.
A coach from another school spoke quietly to Kazuki's own.
"He's still rough," the man said. "But if he survives another year like this…"
Kazuki didn't hear the rest, he didn't need to because somewhere beyond this gym, beyond these matches, beyond this year.
There was a place where monsters gathered and Kazuki was finally beginning to understand just how far away it was.
He lay awake long after midnight, mind racing not with doubt, but with hunger.
'Next year' he thought.
'That's when it starts'