The second match felt different before the whistle even blew, not louder and not heavier just sharper.
Kazuki stood at the service line, eyes fixed forward as the opposing team finished their rotation check. Their jerseys were dark, cleanly pressed. Movements were efficient, almost rehearsed.
Kirishima Technical High.
A school known for fundamentals and discipline. It was not flashy, not reckless except dangerous.
Ren glanced over briefly.
"…Their setter is calm"
Kazuki nodded.
"I see it"
The whistle cut cleanly through the gym.
The match began with a jump serve that clipped the tape and dropped short.
Point for Kirishima.
No reaction from Kazuki.
Rotation.
The first rally stretched longer than anything from the first round. Digs piled up. Blocks closed fast. Attacks were recycled instead of forced.
Kazuki felt it immediately.
'They're compressing space'
Ren set high to the right. Ryuusei attacked, brushing hands but sending the ball out.
Point lost.
Kirishima's libero nodded once, already repositioning. This wasn't a coincidence.
Coach Aoyama's voice came calm from the sideline.
"Settle"
Kazuki raised his hand.
"Let's start over guys, shake it off!"
Minamiyama proceeded to adjust.
The next serve came deep. Kazuki passed cleanly. Ren shifted the tempo slightly, widening the middle's approach.
Kazuki approached on the next ball. The block didn't chase,they waited. He changed his swing mid-air, rolling the ball off the fingertips and into the corner.
Point.
A faint murmur rippled from the stands.People were excited, they were suddenly interested.
Basic Insight hovered quietly.
__________________________________
Reaction Time: Stable
Prediction Window: Compressed
Pattern Depth: Strained
__________________________________
'Too many correct answers'
Kirishima adapted immediately.Their middle blocker delayed his jump, tracking Kazuki's approach instead of the set. The wing closed late, sealing the line.
Kazuki swung and ended up being blocked clean.
The ball dropped straight down, no groan followed.
Kazuki turned, clapped once.
"Next"
The score climbed evenly.
8–8
12–12
17–17
The gym grew still in a way Kazuki recognized.
This wasn't noise waiting to erupt, this was attention narrowing.
He felt eyes on him that weren't just from the court.
Near the scorer's table, two unfamiliar figures watched without speaking. Clipboards rested loosely at their sides. Pens moved only after rallies ended.
Kazuki didn't look again.
'Focus stays here'
Ren adjusted his setting rhythm, adding just enough variation to disrupt Kirishima's reading. The middle found space once. The wing twice.
Still, Kirishima held on.
The set pushed late.
23–23.
Serve came to Kazuki. He stepped forward, sending a controlled pass slightly off-center.
Ren compensated instantly.
The set rose, Kazuki approached.
Three blockers jumped.
'Too early'
He tipped.
Soft and precise.
The ball landed just beyond the block.
Set point.
The next rally ended on a Kirishima service error.
25–23.
Minamiyama took the first set.
There was no cheers, no celebration, only measured breaths.
Between sets, Kirishima's coach spoke sharply. Adjustments were immediate.
The second set opened aggressively.
Targeted serves. Faster tempo. Their setter began using back-row attacks to pull Minamiyama's block wider.
Kazuki felt the load increase.
Basic Insight flickered again.
__________________________________
Prediction Window: Fluctuating
Processing Load: High
___________________________________
'I can see all of it'
A rally extended beyond thirty seconds.
Kazuki absorbed two hits, immediately lashed back, and shook off the damage to brace for more.
The ball came back high.
Ren set.
For the first time, Kazuki faltered. It wasn't that he lacked a way forward; it was that he saw too many. Every path laid bare before him, a suffocating sea of possibilities that left him paralyzed.
Another point.
The next rally, Kazuki aimed for the fingertips. He drove the ball high into the hands, forcing a messy deflection that spiraled out of bounds.
Point.
22–21.
Kirishima didn't blink. They answered instantly.
22–22.
The clock stopped making sense. The final stretch didn't feel like time anymore, just a blur of snapshots compressed into seconds.
Kazuki's legs were on fire, a dull, throbbing heat that screamed with every jump.
Yet, his lungs remained calm. His breathing stayed unnervingly even.
The interface flickered in his peripheral vision, straining under the load.
__________________________________
[Basic Insight: Straining]
[Prediction Window: Unstable]
[Pattern Depth: Near Threshold]
________________________________
I can't hold this much longer.
24–24.
The deciding rally.
The serve hammered into the libero. The pass was ugly it drifted, forced away from the net. Ren chased it down, lungs burning, and sent a high, off-tempo set toward the pins.
Kazuki adjusted. It wasn't a conscious thought; his body just moved. The block was there, but they were late, their fingers still rising as he reached the apex.
He didn't swing for the kill. He didn't need the thunder of a spike.
He swung for the line.
The ball kissed the floor just inside the tape.
In.
Match point.
The end came quietly. A mistimed quick from Kirishima's setter caused a momentary lapse in communication and the ball dropped untouched.
The whistle cut through the air.
Minamiyama: Two sets. Victory.
A half-second of silence gripped the gym. Then came the applause. It wasn't a roar; it was measured. Respectful.
Kazuki doubled over, hands on his knees. It wasn't the exhaustion that hit him first. It was the release. The sudden, agonizing drop in pressure.
He tuned out the whispers as they walked off.
"...Look at the Captain."
"...He's a second-year huh?"
"...He sees everything."
At the scorer's table, the scouts were writing. Their pens moved longer this time, scribbling notes that Kazuki didn't want to read.
Ren fell into step beside him.
"You're carrying a lot," he muttered.
"Yes," Kazuki replied.
That was it. No pep talk. No "good job."
Between them, words were just noise.
In the hallway, Coach Aoyama stood waiting. His feedback was surgical.
"This is the level that filters teams out," he said, his eyes locking onto Kazuki's. "You didn't force that win. You allowed it to happen."
Kazuki bowed.
The system didn't congratulate him. It didn't expand. It just sat there heavy, cold, and evaluative.
Later, sitting alone with a towel draped over his head, the interface surfaced.
___________________________________
[Basic Insight: ACTIVE]
[Status: Saturated]
[Expansion Conditions: Unmet]
___________________________________
He didn't feel disappointed. He felt clear.
So this is the threshold.
The Qualifying Tournament wasn't a test of his vision. It was a test of his capacity. It wasn't asking if he could see the game it was asking if he could shoulder the weight of it.
Kazuki closed his eyes, he took in everything.