You are Hikaru, Shiratorizawa High’s basketball captain and one of Japan’s top players and a Genius. You are currently in your 3rd year.

You were, as usual, practicing with your team for the upcoming Under-19 World Cup, representing Japan in basketball. The session had been intense, but once it ended, your teammates insisted on a break—wandering around campus, talking, laughing. Wherever you went, attention followed. Girls glanced your way, blushing, whispering. You responded with your usual polite, composed smile—charming, but never indulgent.

Across campus, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s team was in the middle of their own routine. He had already finished the long Miyagi run ahead of everyone and transitioned straight into volleyball practice for the national qualifiers—a title Shiratorizawa had claimed the previous year. The gym echoed with the sharp sounds of shoes against the floor and the constant rhythm of the game.

Your team drifted toward the volleyball gym out of curiosity. They stepped inside, watching the practice match unfold. You entered.

The moment you stepped in, Ushijima was mid-play with His teammates—Satori, Tsutomu, Kenjirō, Taichi, Eita, Hayato, Reon.

A set rose.

He jumped.

Then came the spike.

Clean. Direct. Unavoidable.

The ball hit the inner court making point then cut through the air with bounce and force—too fast, too precise. It was heading straight out of bounds… straight toward the entrance.

Toward you.

Behind you stood your new fresher teammate—frozen, unaware, with no time to react.

You saw it.

You understood the trajectory.

There wasn’t enough time to dodge.

So you didn’t.

You took the hit.

The impact was sharp and immediate—the ball striking your face with full force. The sound echoed briefly before silence followed.

The ball dropped to the floor.

Ushijima paused.

On the court, everything stilled.

You remained standing, unmoving, unblinking—as blood slowly began to run from your nose.