Bounce. Bounce.
She spun the ball in her hands, then tossed it high.
Jules launched herself forward. Her hand struck the ball in a snapping motion, imparting a wicked topspin. The ball hissed over the net, diving aggressively toward the deep end line, hunting the last inch of the court.
But the Wolves' libero had read the rotation. She flung herself backward, heels skidding across the hardwood, and got her platform beneath the ball with barely an inch to spare.
Pop.
A clean dig. The ball rose high, floating perfectly into the setter's pocket.
Ava Sterling stepped under the pass. In a splinter of a second, her gaze swept the Divers' formation.
The blue jerseys had collapsed. Every blue jersey except for Himeko had abandoned the perimeter, condensing entirely backward for an immediate counter attack. The entire right side of the court lay naked. Scout Cinster was waving her hand, wide open, begging for the set. A pass to the right meant a guaranteed kill.
Ava's fingertips kissed the leather. She loaded her hands to deliver right.
A chill lanced down her spine.
Jennifer Annista was charging forward. Each footfall hammered the court like a war drum, the Ace radiated pressure so heavy it pulled everything toward her position. Her pupils had swallowed her irises whole like two blackholes, fixated on the ball in Ava's hands with an all-consuming hunger, devouring the possibility of it going anywhere else.
Ava swallowed, mesmerized by the potential of total destruction over obvious logical decisions.
She pushed the ball high to the left.
Jennifer Annista detonated off the floorboards.
Himeko Nakamura matched her step for step. She rose from the court, a dark shadow clinging to the Ace.
They hung in the air together.
Jennifer looked through the net. A savage grin carved across her face, baring those razor-edged fangs.
She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the thin air of the apex.
And swung.
Every muscle fiber discharged simultaneously. A full-body detonation, nerve and sinew firing in one direction.
BAM.
The ball collided with Himeko's arms. The force blew through the block, shattering the defensive seal and rocketing downward.
BOOM.
The ball cratered into the floorboards.
"Point, Nordvic Wolves. 15-13."
Himeko landed hard.
A sharp hiss escaped her teeth. She grabbed her right wrist, wincing as a pulse of agony shot up her forearm, the skin of her palms turned a bright red. She waved her hands frantically, trying to shake off the stinging burn. Sweat beaded off the tip of her nose, spattering against the varnish below. Each breath sawed in and out, feeding a furnace that was consuming her from the inside.
Jules Moreno stood with her hands on her hips, eyes fixed on her captain's back. The whole bench saw it, every Diver on that court saw it, their captain incinerating herself point by point, and not a single one of them could do a damn thing to stop it.
Ava Sterling stood at the service line. The Nordvic setter spun the ball between her palms, once, twice.
She tossed.
Ava struck a driving float serve that flew straight at Willow Vance.
Willow reacted late. The ball dipped viciously in front of her; she lunged forward, abandoning her setter's posture to become a defender.
Thwump.
The ball collided with her wrists. Willow saved it, but the dig was wild. The ball shot sideways, careening toward the left sideline.
"B-Ball!" Willow screamed from the floor.
Jules Moreno scrambled after it. She chased the errant pass, skidding to a halt beneath the ball. She was the outside hitter, not the playmaker, the court looked all wrong from this angle.
She looked for options.
There was only one true outlet. On the right, Sarah Lemear was waving her hand.
Jules set her feet awkwardly. She bump-set the ball, pushing a high, slow loop across the entire width of the court.
The ball hung in the air for an eternity, screaming 'ATTACK HERE.'
Naomi Banks saw it coming. The seven-foot giant drifted to the right pin. She arrived early. She planted her feet. Raised her massive hands into a soft, absorptive wall.
Sarah Lemear launched herself at the dying set. She had no angle. The giant blocked out the sun. Sarah swung hard, hoping to force a tool.
Phhhhhhmp.
The ball met Naomi's hands. The impact made almost no sound. She absorbed the violence into her palms, suffocating spin and speed alike. The ball dropped straight down on the Wolves' side, slow and harmless.
Scout Cinster stepped in. She let the ball bounce off her forearms, popping it cleanly into the center of the court.
Transition.
The moment the ball left Scout's arms, the floorboards trembled.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Jennifer Annista began her approach.
...
Himeko saw the charge.
Her legs felt like dead weight. Her lungs filled with rocks.
Move.
She commanded her body forward.
Be fast.
She pushed off her left foot. The muscle fibers tore and rebuilt themselves in the span of a microsecond.
Don't stop breathing.
She sprinted, dragging her exhausted frame across the varnished floor, chasing the storm.
Ava Sterling set the ball.
Jennifer exploded. She launched herself into the rafters.
Himeko arrived. Planted. Jumped.
They rose together.
…
Jennifer Annista hung at the apex. She looked through the white mesh.
Himeko was there. Sealing the line. Chest heaving, eyes burning.
Jennifer's lips peeled back. She loved this - wall that refused to crumble.
She cocked her arm. Her body coiled like a drawn bowstring. She prepared to unleash a vicious, near-vertical cut aimed to slice between the block and the net tape.
Himeko watched the shoulder turn, Jennifer's elbow dropping in slow motion.
Time slowed to stillness.
In the marrow of the agony, in the thick of the exhaustion, something strange bloomed in Himeko's chest.
Joy.
A smile cracked across Himeko's face - genuine, radiant, laced with a mischieveous bit of stardom arrogance.
She snapped her hands downward and inward, invading Jennifer's swing path before the Ace could release.
Jennifer swung.
BOOM.
Her hand drove the ball flush into Himeko's palms.
The ball rocketed straight down. It traveled vertically, blurring into a yellow streak that slammed into the floorboards between Jennifer's feet.
Stolen story; please report.
THWACK.
Gravity reclaimed them.
Himeko landed. Stumbled. Collapsed onto her back, grin still plastered across her face - wild, breathless, brilliant.
Jennifer Annista landed. She stared at the ball bouncing on the floor.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
A surge of electric adrenaline flooded her veins.
She looked up at Himeko.
Jennifer's eyes were wide, glittering with profound delight and contentment. She felt alive. Truly, dangerously alive.
"Yes…" Jennifer whispered. "More."
[MONTAGE START]
Ava Sterling pushed the ball to the pin. Jennifer Annista swung.
BAM.
The ball sheared past Himeko' outside shoulder, burying itself into the back corner. Point Wolves.
Next rally.
Jennifer attacked again. Himeko guessed correctly. She pressed her hands forward, invading the swing path.
BOOM.
A roof block. The ball ricocheted straight down. Point Divers.
Next rally.
Jennifer adjusted. She drove the ball straight into Himeko's chest. Himeko collapsed her torso, letting the ball die against her forearms. Soft block. The Divers swarmed. Willow set. Sarah wiped the ball off Naomi's hand. Point Divers.
[MONTAGE END]
The Nordvic Arena exploded into a constant roar of awe. Fans leaped from their seats, screaming until their throats were raw. They were witnessing a heavyweight title fight condensed into a volleyball match, the absolute romantic ideal of dueling volleyball. Glory. Honor. Fearlessness.
Yet, The Divers on the court saw a massacre.
The exchange rate was lethal. For every jump Jennifer made, fueled by the boundless stamina of a generational athlete, Himeko paid double. She had to read, react, sprint laterally, jump, and then absorb the relentless firepower.
Jennifer landed from a spike, grinning, looking like she could play five more sets.
Himeko landed and stumbled.
Her vision swam. The white lights of the stadium elongated into blurry streaks. The floorboards seemed to tilt beneath her feet like the deck of a ship in a storm. Her legs were heavy, numb pillars of concrete that she had to mentally scream at to move.
…
A successful soft-block popped into the air. Jules Moreno crushed the transition kill.
"Point Divers!"
The team celebrated. Himeko stood near the net, her head hanging low. She braced her hands on her knees, gasping for air that felt too thin to sustain her.
Sarah Lemear walked over. The veteran hitter reached out, gripping Himeko's jersey to steady her.
"Himeko," Sarah said, her voice cutting through the noise. "Slow down. Look at me."
Himeko didn't look up; she no longer had the energy, she stared at the floorboard, sweat dripping from her chin in a steady stream.
"Sub out," Sarah whispered urgently. "You've done enough. You're going to collapse."
Himeko shook her head. The motion made the world spin violently. She gritted her teeth, forcing the horizon to stabilize.
"No," Himeko rasped. The word stung like a shard of glass in her throat.
"You're running on empty, Cap."
"If I stop... If I sub out... everything breaks. She wins."
Himeko slowly straightened her spine. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed. She lifted her head, turning bloodshot eyes toward the monster waiting across the net.
"I am tired of breaking down, Sarah," Himeko said. "I won't break one second before she does."
Sarah wanted to say something, she needed to say something. True, they needed a will of iron to go far in the playoffs, yet this self-destruction of Himeko… of her teammate, her friend…
TWEEEEEEEEET!
The whistle blew, cutting through their interactions.
The Wolves received the serve. The pass was perfect, dropping right onto Ava Sterling's head.
Jennifer Annista called for the ball. Her voice boomed, ecstatic and hungry. She wanted another collision.
Ava obliged, setting the high ball.
Jennifer took flight. She soared, arm cocked, face twisted in a rictus of pure competitive joy.
Himeko Nakamura commanded her numb legs to fire. She exploded upward.
They met in the air.
Jennifer swung. She aimed to punch through the palms.
Himeko exhaled. She killed the tension in her upper body.
Pffffft.
The ball slammed into her arms and died, popping gently into the air on the Divers' side.
"Chance!"
Lisa Denire bumped it. Willow Vance set it flat. Jules Moreno hammered it home.
BOOM.
"Point, Port Osea Divers."
The scoreboard flashed.
22-22.
Coach Vargo paced around the sideline. The friction of his dress shoes against the varnish created beats of squeaks that synced with his racing heart.
He tugged at the collar of his shirt. The fabric felt too tight around his thick neck. Beads of sweat collected on his bald scalp, shining under the arena lights despite the arctic chill of the venue.
His gaze locked onto the court. Specifically, onto the number 7 jersey on the far side of the net.
By all metrics and physiological standard held by the league, Himeko Nakamura should not still be standing. She should have folded ten points ago. Her vertical had dropped three inches. Her reaction time had slowed by milliseconds. And yet there she was, planted in the teeth of the strongest hitter on his roster, splitting the efficiency column clean down the middle.
Vargo dragged a handkerchief across his scalp.
22-22.
On weekdays, Vargo was a man of science. But on game day, he surrendered to older authorities: of luck and superstition.
He believed in omens. And right now, he felt the cold draft of a curse settling over his team. If the Wolves dropped this set, if they allowed the underdog to steal the momentum here, the championship window would slam shut.
He slammed his palm onto the buzzer.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZT.
"Timeout, Nordvic Wolves."
The sound sheared through every thread of concentration in the building.
On the court, Jennifer went rigid. Her head snapped toward the bench, dark hair lashing across her face. Her eyes were wide, wild, and utterly confused. She found Vargo as though he'd just issued an order in a language she'd never heard.
Why?
Across the net, the reaction was quieter.
Himeko Nakamura buckled forward, catching her weight against her thighs. Her chin dropped to her chest.
"Hah... Hah... Hah..."
Each breath tore out of her in serrated gulps.
Sci-fi ? Telepathy ? Psychics
The technocracy will fall. And my powers started it all. Oops.
- Straight & queer romances. (No harem.)
- Seven-book interconnected series.
- Comedy Space Operas: .
- WLW Psychological Thrillers: .