Coach Elena tapped her marker against her clipboard, click click click. She twirled the pen between her fingers once, twice, three times.

  Tactics were puzzles she could solve. Rotations could be adjusted, matchups could be exploited. But the gap in raw individual skill was a chasm that couldn't be bridged within a timeout. It required years of conditioning, or the reality of the trade market.

  Yes, the man serving was Kevin Marvant, but that didn't excuse the collapse. Without a solid defense, they couldn't launch a credible offense.

  That thought seemed to be shared by everyone on the team. The truth was that the Divers had always prided themselves on their defense, a point of pride that earned them a "pretty good" ranking in the League. But "pretty good" wasn't going to cut it against walking calamities that awaited them.

  Himeko closed her eyes, steadying her breath. In this moment, all she could do was trust her teammates.

  Over on the Dragons' bench, the usual masculine banter continued to circulate, though it lacked its typical, rowdy edge. The atmosphere was weighed down by the uncomfortable reality of what they had just witnessed: their captain unleashing a nuclear-level assault on opponents who, frankly, hadn't done anything to deserve such a brutal dismantling.

  Kevin read the room instantly, it was a rare anomaly. Perhaps the first time in history that his own team actually didn't want him to unleash his full arsenal on the enemy.

  With a resigned sigh, acknowledging the silent consensus from the bench, Kevin raised a hand.

  "Spiky," he said, looking at the spiky-haired wing spiker. "You take my spot for the second set."

  The request threw them off. It was a strange corner to be backed into: keep Kevin on the floor, and he annihilates everything in sight; take him out, and the game just wasn't as fun.

  "Uh... sure..." the spiky-haired spiker stammered in reply.

  The Port Osea Divers were surprised to see Kevin Marvant remain on the sidelines as the teams switched sides. Up on the referee's stand, Coach Elena let out a conflicted sigh of relief. While a part of her desperately wanted her squad to harden themselves against the kind of pressure Kevin projected, she knew they needed a moment to breathe before they broke completely.

  Himeko shot a quick glance toward the bench. Kevin sat there, neither smiling nor relaxing. His expression was uncharacteristically serious, his gaze locked onto her with a silent intensity that communicated a clear directive: Show me.

  Himeko turned away, stepping into her position at the net, centering herself for the second set.

  Jules took the service line to start the rally, unleashing her signature "Snake Bite." A deceptive, venomous jump serve that hunted for the seams in the defense, traveling with an unpredictable trajectory and a heavy, erratic spin designed to make receivers miserable.

  But the Dragons were champions for a reason. Their libero didn't panic. With fluid footwork, he slid into the gap, absorbing the violent spin with a soft touch of his platform, lofting a perfect pass right into Damian's waiting hands.

  Instantly, four bodies surged toward the net in a synchronized flood: Caeser and Spiky overloading the right, Davio sprinting left, and the massive hull of Lompo thundering down the center.

  Damian held his posture. He knew Himeko was dissecting his every twitch, analyzing his intent. So, he chose not to have one. He decided to gamble on pure improvisation, delaying his decision until the final millisecond to keep the data hidden.

  Himeko saw through the hesitation. She recognized the lack of a script; this was going to be a duel of raw instinct. Then, a subtle spark lit up Damian's eyes, a microscopic shift in his mechanics. In that split second, the reality crystallized for both of them: Caeser had the best line.

  The ball snapped out of Damian's hands. Himeko moved in perfect tandem with it, sliding laterally to meet Caeser at the pin before the set even arrived.

  Caeser exploded upward to meet the ball, but the view was already obstructed. Himeko rose with him. Her arms spread wide, her fingers splayed in a textbook display of aerial denial. Caeser felt a jolt of shock wash over him. Her presence was all-consuming, her form was mechanically perfect. Is this really the standard of the Women's League?

  For a heartbeat, Caeser debated violence. He considered trusting his raw horsepower to blast through her technique, just to prove he could. But the memory of Davio's ball crashing back to earth flashed in his mind like a warning sign.

  He blinked. He couldn't risk it.

  Aborting the spike, Caeser softened his wrist at the last possible moment. He tipped the ball gently, feathering it over Himeko's outstretched fingertips to fall into the dead space behind her back.

  The tip was easily scooped up by the Divers' reserve libero, channeling the ball perfectly into Willow's hands. Without a moment's hesitation, the setter fired a lightning-fast pass out to Jules.

  Jules took her approach, one-two, and exploded upward. This was the Divers' signature rhythm: a successful defense transitioning instantly into a blistering counter-attack.

  Suspended in the air while the Dragons were caught flat-footed, Jules identified the dead zone instantly. She hammered the ball down. It streaked across the court like a comet, burying itself flawlessly into the open gap to secure the Divers' first point.

  TWEEEEEEET!

  "First point, 1-0 Divers."

  Clearly, these women hadn't come here to serve as mere practice cones; they were here to fight for every inch of the court, regardless of the champions standing across the net.

  Caeser flashed a bright, admiring smile through the net as he watched the women celebrating together. Without reality-warping anomalies like Kevin on the court, the match was genuinely compelling. The Port Osea Divers were far from a mediocre team; they were top-ranked contenders in the Women's VNL, and their hunger for the championship was palpable.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  Perhaps the Dragons couldn't afford to hold back after all.

  The ball was cycled back to Jules, who stood waiting behind the service line. She brought the leather close to her face, inhaling a deep, steadying breath.

  The whistle signaled the serve. Jules bounced the ball three times in a steady rhythm, tossed it high into the air, and began her approach. Although she wasn't a global superstar, Jules's technique was the textbook standard that inspired countless young players. She moved with the lightness of a swan, her steps barely disturbing the surface of the court, creating only the faintest of ripples.

  As she accelerated, every footfall left a rhythmic ripple of sound, composing a gentle prelude before she ascended gracefully into the air.

  However, the moment Jules swung her arm, the graceful swan vanished, replaced by something dangerous. It transformed into a viper.

  As Jules sent the ball hurtling toward the Dragons, the serpent struck. It lashed out, hungry to devour the gap between the libero and the back-row defenders.

  HISSSSSSSSSSS

  The sound of the serpent slicing through the air left a venomous trail in its wake.

  Yet the Dragons' libero wasn't afraid of the approaching viper. With a sharp, curt gesture of his hand, he claimed the territory.

  Mine.

  The adjacent defender peeled away instantly, understanding the command. The libero shifted his weight, sliding effortlessly into the viper's path. His arm stretched out. His platform cushioned the violent, erratic spin, neutralizing the deadly toxin in a split second and popping the ball up into a high, gentle arc toward center court.

  The pass dropped perfectly into Damian's range. Himeko's eyes narrowed, locking onto the setter's hands. She recognized the posture: he was waiting again, letting his instincts drive the play at the final frame.

  From the right wing, Caeser was moving differently. Gone was the casual trot of the first set. He was sprinting, his strides eating up the court with a tangible enthusiasm. He was hunting the ball with a hunger that screamed for the set.

  A decision made without thought. Damian flicked his wrists, feeding the ball toward the hungriest mouth.

  Himeko didn't hesitate. She pushed off her left foot, racing the ball to the pin, her movements fluid and urgent. As Caeser launched himself into the air, Himeko was right there with him, her timing flawless, her arms rising to seal the net.

  Caeser's eyes locked with hers through the mesh. Zero hesitation this time, only a grin fueled by competitive fire.

  Let's see if you can handle this.

  He uncoiled his shoulder and whipped his arm forward, unleashing his signature attack - a spike loaded with such vicious, heavy top-spin that it warped the air around it.

  VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRM.

  The ball collided with Himeko's palms. The rotational force chewed at her skin, threatening to tear through her guard. Himeko gritted her teeth, squeezing one eye shut against the strain as her wrists buckled backwad. With a grunt of effort, she stiffened her fingers, absorbing the brunt of the violence and deflecting the ball upward in a high, controlled loop toward the back row.

  "Chance ball!" A Divers player shouted, settling under the deflection.

  Caeser landed, his momentum carrying him forward slightly. He looked at the ball floating safely on the Divers' side, then back at Himeko's reddened hands. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a wide, impressed smile spreading across his face.

  The reserve libero, trembling but focused, stepped under the high-arcing deflection. With Himeko having absorbed the destructive force of Caeser's spike, the ball fell gently, a gift wrapped in leather. She cushioned it with her forearms, popping a high, clean pass toward the attack line. The ball floated toward the setter's position.

  Willow Vance stepped into the spotlight.

  The moment the ball entered her orbit, the trembling girl vanished. In her place stood the architect of the Divers' offense. Her eyes, hidden behind the imaginary lens of a sniper scope, dissected the court in a millisecond.

  Sarah Lemear was cutting a sharp diagonal, a decoy designed to drag the middle blocker. But Willow's crosshairs locked onto the right wing.

  Jules was already in motion.

  Willow identified the exact coordinate instantly: the precise point in the air where Jules's apex would meet the ball. With a fluid hop, Willow launched herself into a jump set, her fingers contacting the leather with a soft touch to redirect it instantly to the target.

  Jules accelerated. Her approach was a thing of beauty, a rhythmic thump-thump-plant that had been drilled into her muscle memory for a decade. She ascended with the grace of a dancer, her back arching, her arm drawing back to hammer the final nail into the rally

  The set arrived perfectly. A loaded gun, hanging in the air, begging to shoot.

  Jules's eyes lit up. She began her swing, ready to bury the ball cross-court.

  Then, the sun went out.

  Jules's eyes widened in disbelief.

  Three crimson jerseys had materialized out of the chaos, rising in perfect unison. Lompo controlled the center, a towering totem of muscle. Flanking him were Spiky and Davio, sealing the edges with disciplined precision. All three read the play before Willow had even released the ball.

  Jules frantically scanned the court beyond the wall, hoping for a tool, a tip, anything.

  All she found was despair.

  The Dragons' back row had shifted like water. The libero covered the deep cross. Caeser had dropped to cover the line. The setter monitored the short tip. All six men were involved in the court-wide systematic defense.

  With her swing already committed and nowhere to go, Jules panicked. She arrested her power, trying to punch the ball, a desperate attempt to push it against the block and hope for a reset.

  The ball left Jules's knuckles and immediately collided with the wall of Lompo's palms. The ball was smothered, engulfed, and shoved straight back down with humiliating ease.

  THUD.

  The ball struck the floor at Jules's feet before she had even landed.

  TWEEEEEET!

  "Point, Dragons! 1-1."