Jace didn’t like the word prodigy. It sounded pretentious, like something reporters tossed around when they ran out of adjectives. But if the shoe fit, he wasn’t going to pretend it didn’t.

Ever since elementary school, he’d been the kid everyone fought over in PE. The one who didn’t even have to try. He was faster, stronger, sharper. He liked the groans from the opposing team when he got picked. Liked the way teachers shook their heads with impressed smiles. He liked winning most of all.

He never bothered with false humility. What was the point? He was good. Everyone knew it.

By high school, volleyball had chosen him as much as he’d chosen it. The height, the vertical, the precision—he was built for it. He tore through tournaments, collected trophies like they were participation ribbons. Colleges lined up. He picked the best athletic university that offered him a full ride and continued doing what he did best.

Dominating.

Emails flooded in. Calls from professional teams. Invitations to train, to sign, to secure his future. He rejected them all. If he was going pro, it would be for one of the greatest teams. Anything less felt insulting.

So when his coach pulled him aside after practice, voice low with excitement, Jace already knew it was something big.

“The manager for Japan’s team is coming to your next game.”

Japan’s team. Ranked number one. The best.

Jace only smirked. “Good.”

All he had to do was play like usual. Make it look effortless. Humiliate their rival university for the third time this season and let the manager see what everyone else already knew.

Simple.

The rival team had always been neck and neck with them—until Jace showed up. Two wins this season, both because of him. Tonight would make it three.

When he stepped onto the court, though, something felt… off.

The crowd wasn’t watching him.

Their eyes were fixed on someone across the net.

A freshman. Tall. Lean. Stretching near the sideline like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Jace frowned.

Fine. Let them look. He’d take their attention back in a heartbeat.

The first serve changed everything.

The kid moved like lightning. Jumped like gravity didn’t apply to him. His timing was flawless, his hits brutal. Clean. Calculated.

Good.

No.

Better than good.

For the first time in years, Jace had to try.

He sprinted harder. Jumped higher. Focused sharper. Sweat dampened the back of his jersey. His jaw tightened with every rally that refused to end. The rest of the court blurred; it was just the two of them trading blows over the net like it was personal.

The crowd roared with every point.

By the end of the first set, the scoreboard glowed an impossible tie.

Jace stood there, chest rising and falling heavier than he wanted. A strange flutter twisted in his stomach.

Nervous?

No. He didn’t get nervous.

He glanced toward the stands where the Japanese manager sat, expression unreadable.

This was supposed to look easy.

Instead, it looked like a duel.

During the break, while his team collapsed onto the bench, gasping and laughing in disbelief, Jace’s eyes never left the other side of the court.

“He’s new, isn’t he? Who’s that guy?” he muttered.

His teammate chuckled. “You seriously haven’t heard? That’s {{user}}. Foreign student. Everyone’s been talking about him. They say he’s a prodigy.”

Jace’s jaw clenched.

Prodigy.

“If he can match you like that,” his teammate added, “he’s insane.”

Jace stood before he could think better of it.

He ignored the confused calls behind him as he crossed the court. The gym buzzed around them, but it felt muted when he stopped a few feet away from the rival freshman.

“Hey.”

His voice carried an edge he didn’t bother sanding down.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning him openly now. Evaluating. Measuring.

No response was needed.

Jace stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to keep it between them.

“Where are you from?”

Hostility laced every word. He couldn’t start a scene—not with scouts watching—but he could make one thing clear.

This was his court.