The digits of the Jumbotron kept going on an upward trajectory for the Divers. The red numbers stood frozen at 24-17.

  The Port Osea Divers stood one point away from claiming the second set. The chant of the Queen had died in their throats minutes ago.

  Himeko Nakamura walked to the service line. She stepped onto the painted wood of the baseline, feeling the heat of the spotlights on the back of her neck. She held the ball against her hip.

  She looked through the net. The Salesbia formation looked tense. They were waiting for a mistake of her serve.

  Himeko bounced the ball. She inhaled the cool, conditioned air of the arena.

  She tossed the leather sphere into the air. Her hand struck the center panel.

  The ball floated over the net. It drifted into the center of the court, a simple invitation to play.

  The Salesbia libero stepped forward. She connected her platform with the ball effortlessly. The pass rose high and clean, dropping perfectly into the setter's pocket.

  Kaia Blakitu watched the ball descend. Her mind filtered out the score, the silence, and the pressure. She saw only the geometry of the moment. She pushed her hands outward, feeding the ball high and wide to the left pin.

  Aria Fillar began her approach. She planted her feet. She exploded upward.

  She rose past the net tape. She reached the apex of her jump, poised to hammer the ball.

  The air in front of her was empty.

  Himeko Nakamura stood in the back row, watching from twenty feet away.

  Directly in front of Aria, the blocking line consisted of Jules Moreno and the reserve middle blocker. They reached up, their hands straining for altitude, but their fingertips barely cleared the white tape relative to Aria's waist.

  Aria uncoiled.

  She whipped her arm forward with the full power of a world-class athlete.

  BOOM.

  The sound cracked through the stadium like a sonic boom. The ball erased the space between her hand and the floor.

  It struck the varnish at the three-meter line. The impact carried so much force that the ball deformed against the wood before rocketing upward, smashing into the underside of the Jumbotron high above the court.

  The whistle shrieked.

  "Point, Salesbia United! 24-18."

  Aria landed. She stared at the spot in the floorboards. Her chest heaved. She turned to her teammates, a wild, ferocious light returning to her eyes.

  On the sidelines, the buzzer sounded.

  BZZZZZZT.

  Lisa Denire stood at the substitution zone, holding the numbered paddle high.

  Himeko walked toward the sideline. The rotation demanded it. Her service turn was over, and the libero had to take the defensive row.

  She crossed the line, high-fiving Lisa as they swapped places.

  Himeko grabbed her towel from the bench. She draped it over her shoulders, feeling the sweat cooling on her skin. She turned back to the court.

  Usually, this was the moment of fragility. The captain leaves the floor. The wall comes down. The monster on the other side of the net just woke up and scored a cratering point. Panic should be setting in.

  Himeko looked at her team.

  Sarah Lemear was wiping the soles of her shoes, her face set in a calm grimace. Jules Moreno was clapping her hands, shouting instructions to the reserve blocker. Willow Vance adjusted her glasses, staring at the net with analytically, perhaps way less anxious than she typically would be.

  Himeko sat down. She took a sip of water, closing her eyes.

  They were fine.

  Aria rose above the tape. She punched the ball straight through the hands of the reserve blocker. 24-19.

  The Divers hesitated on a free ball. Aria punished the silence, driving a spike into the deep corner. 24-20.

  Jules swung for the line. Aria sealed the edge, stuffing the attack straight down. 24-21.

  Back row attack. Aria flew in from nowhere, crushing the ball into the three-meter line. 24-22.

  The Salesbia crowd woke up, the roar returned for a moment. The gap had shrunk to two points. The momentum sat firmly on the crimson side of the net.

  Yet the Divers had been holding the service receptions.

  The Salesbia defense worked overtime. The Divers pushed back with their own speed, Willow firing balls to the pins to stop the bleeding. Misty Cole sprawled across the floor, scraping her chin to keep a tip alive. Even Aria abandoned her approach to drop her hips in the back row. She took a heavy cross-court spike from Jules on her forearms, popping the ball up, getting her knees dirty to keep the rally breathing. Every swing from Osea met a crimson jersey. The ball refused to die.

  …

  TWEEEEET-TWEEEEEET!

  The sharp blast of the whistle cut the air. The noise of the stadium fell away.

  Aria Fillar stood near the net. She bent over, resting her hands on her knees for a moment before straightening up slowly. Her chest heaved against the damp fabric of her jersey, lungs demanding oxygen.

  Sweat slicked her skin, making it glow under the arena lights. Strands of wet hair had escaped her ponytail, clinging messily to her flushed cheeks and forehead. She pushed the damp locks back, leaving streaks on her skin. The exhaustion wore well on her; in the disarray of defeat, she looked quite human, a very beautiful one at that.

  She stared across the net.

  The blue jerseys converged in the center of the court. There were high fives and cheering smiles - the distinct lightness of a team that had weathered the storm.

  Aria's eyes drifted upward to the massive Jumbotron.

  The red numbers burned static in the air.

  25-22.

  Salesbia had lost the set.

  Aria let out a long breath. She turned her back on the net and began the long walk toward the sideline.

  Coach Miller stood on the sideline, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He stared at the the Jumbotron overhead which displayed the set count: 1-1.

  Miller tapped his foot against the floorboards. The adjustment to have Aria hit flat and fast worked, yes. But it came too late. And more concerningly, the Divers had adapted to that too in the final moments. Himeko Nakamura stopped jumping entirely on some plays, just standing there to clog the vision while the back row adjusted for the deflections.

  If Salesbia came out in the third set doing the exact same thing, Osea would bury them.

  He walked over to the bench. Aria Fillar sat there, legs sprawled out, chugging water like she had just crossed a desert.

  "Aria," Miller said.

  She lowered the bottle, wiping her mouth. "Yeah?"

  "The flat swing is working. But if you only do that, that captain will start soft-blocking you again. She'll absorb everything."

  Miller gestured with his hands, moving one up and one down.

  “Mix it up. One possession, you go to the ceiling. Next possession, you punch them in the mouth. Don't let her get comfortable with your rhythm."

  Aria blinked. She visualized the court. High. Low. Up. Down.

  "Okay," she nodded. "Be unpredictable.”

  She turned to Kaia Blakitu. The setter was re-taping her fingers, her face ever concentrated.

  "Kaia," Aria chirped, leaning in close. "I got it. I'll yell at you."

  Kaia paused. She looked up. "Excuse me?"

  "Before I run," Aria explained, gesturing excitedly. "I'll shout 'HIGH' or 'LOW'. That way you know where to put the ball."

  Kaia stared at her ace. She imagined the chaos. The ball snaps into her hands in less than a second. The crowd screams. And Aria, who sometimes forgot what day of the week it was, trying to make a split-second tactical decision while running at full speed. Not to mentioned, they were literally telling their enemy what they would do.

  "No," Kaia stated flatly. "That won't work."

  Aria pouted. "Why? Communication is key!"

  "Because by the time you decide, the ball is already gone. And the Divers will hear you."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Kaia stood up. She turned her back to Aria. She placed her right hand flat against the small of her back, hidden from the net by her own body.

  "Watch my hand before the serve," Kaia instructed. "One finger means ceiling. Go catch a cloud. A closed fist means floor. Drive it through their chests."

  Aria stared at the hand. Secret signals.

  Her eyes lit up. A wide, sussy grin spread across her face.

  "Oh," she whispered. "Spy games. I like it."

  "Just watch the hand, Aria."

  The buzzer sounded.

  BZZZZZZZZT.

  Set three.

  Aria jogged to the net. She took her position opposite the Port Osea captain.

  Himeko Nakamura stood there at the tape, adjusting her knee pads. Her face held zero emotion. She hadn't been this calm the last time they matched.

  Himeko lifted her head. She locked eyes with Aria.

  Aria shivered. She turned away, focusing on Kaia's back, waiting for the finger.

  The whistle blew.

  Sarah Lemear tossed the ball. Her palm struck leather. A flat, workingman's serve that drifted over the net.

  The Salesbia libero stepped in. She took the ball on her forearms, a clean, quiet reception that floated perfectly to the setter's pocket.

  Kaia Blakitu watched the pass descend. She scanned the blue court.

  The Divers had retreated. The back row was deep, clustering near the baseline. They waited for the high ball. They prepared the funnel again.

  Kaia's right hand drifted behind her back. She made a fist.

  Floor.

  Aria saw the signal. Her eyes lit up. The spy game was on.

  She began her approach. Her strides were aggressive, eating up the floorboards with a hungry rhythm. She dropped her shoulder, loading her hips for a violent, forward explosion.

  Himeko watched her.

  She saw Aria's eyes. They were wide, fixated on a point directly above the net tape. They lacked the upward drift of her usual high jump.

  Kaia flicked her wrists. The ball shot out flat. A bullet set.

  Aria launched.

  Himeko launched with her.

  They met in the air.

  Aria snapped her arm forward. She drove her fist through the ball, seeking to shatter the blocker's wrists.

  Himeko exhaled. She killed the tension in her arms. She turned her palms into sponges.

  Fwump.

  The ball slammed into Himeko's hands. The violence drained away instantly. The leather died against her skin, rolling softly over her fingertips.

  It dropped toward the Divers' floor, slow and easy.

  Lisa Denire stepped forward. She extended her platform and bumped the ball high.

  "B3!" Willow Vance called out.

  She set the ball to the pin. Extremely fast.

  Jules Moreno flew in. With the Salesbia defense scrambling to cover the soft block, the lane was wide open.

  Jules swung.

  SMACK.

  The ball buried itself in the Salesbia court.

  "Point, Port Osea Divers! 1-0."

  The scoreboard continued to tick upward.

  2-0.

  Aria watched Kaia's hand behind her back. The fist. Low.

  Aria approached. She cut the jump. She swung flat and hard, aiming for Himek'’s chest.

  Himeko collapsed her elbows inward, creating a soft pocket with her forearms. The ball struck her, lost its fire, and popped gently into the air. Lisa took the free ball. Willow set Sarah

  Point Osea. 3-0.

  4-0.

  5-0.

  Kaia Blakitu wiped her forehead. She looked across the net. Himeko Nakamura stood at the left pin, glued to the floorboards, staring only at Aria. The Osea was hunting for only one person.

  The pass came to Kaia.

  Aria saw the signal. High.

  The Queen's eyes lit up. She planted her feet, ready to ascend. She wanted to crush the ball from the ceiling and felt the impact.

  Kaia's hands touched the leather. She saw Himeko coil, preparing to spring.

  Kaia pushed back.

  She fired a back-set, desperate, toward the right antenna.

  Misty Cole was running. The speedster drifted behind the play, unnoticed by the tunnel-visioned defense.

  Aria launched herself into the air. She reached the apex. She swung her arm.

  She hit nothing.

  Empty air greeted her fist. Her momentum spun her around in the air. She looked back, wide-eyed, betrayal painted clearly across her face.

  Opposite side to her, Misty connected. The ball slammed into the undefended line.

  “Point Salesbia! 5-1.”

  Aria landed. She stared at Kaia. Her mouth opened slightly. I was ready…

  Kaia turned away, focusing on her shoes. She did what she had to do.

  The set fast-forwarded with only Misty to save the game.

  Misty Cole dragged Salesbia forward. She ran slides. She hit off-tempo shots. She scrambled on defense. The energy of the opposite hitter kept the score respectable.

  Himeko rotated out at 13-4.

  The Divers lost their anchor. The block softened. Aria found room to breathe. She hammered a line shot. She tipped over the smaller reserve blocker.

  14-7.

  16-9.

  Lisa Denire stood at the sideline. She held the paddle.

  Himeko Nakamura stepped back onto the court.

  Immediately the trajectory went up to Divers' favour again.

  17-9.

  Kaia passed to Aria. Aria swung cross. Himeko was there. Soft hands. The ball trickled over.

  Dig. Set. Kill. 18-9.

  Kaia passed to Aria. Aria swung line. Himeko was there. One touch. The ball trickled over.

  Dig. Set. Kill. 19-9.

  Aria stood at the net. Her chest heaved. Her hands trembled at her sides. She looked at Kaia. Give it to me, her eyes screamed. Let me fight.

  Kaia hesitated. She looked at Misty. She looked at the middle. Then she looked at the scoreboard.

  She set Aria.

  Aria swung. Himeko softened.

  Pffft.

  The sound was insulting. It was the sound of a pillow catching a punch. The ball floated to Lisa. Willow set Jules. Jules buried it.

  20-10.

  The Salesbia Superdome fell silent. Twenty thousand people sat on their hands. The chant of "A-RI-A" had vanished, heard in the stadium only by the squeak of sneakers and the thud of the ball hitting the Salesbia floor.

  They watched a superior machine dismantle their idol.

  The Port Osea Divers moved in a grid. They communicated with short, sharp words. They flowed like water.

  Salesbia United looked like five people watching one person try to jump every play.

  23-14.

  24-17.

  Set point.

  The Salesbia libero bumped the hit. It was a shaky pass, drifting tight to the net.

  Kaia Blakitu stepped under it. She saved it from crossing over.

  She had a choice.

  To her right, Misty Cole was calling for the ball. The Osea block had drifted left, respecting the Queen. Misty had a lane. A smart setter, a logical setter like Kaia herself should the ball to the open hitter to keep the game alive.

  Kaia looked left.

  Aria Fillar was already approaching. She was looking at Kaia. Her face was no longer the usual bubbly joy. It was stripped of the arrogance. It held a desperate, naked plea.

  Trust me.

  Kaia gritted her teeth. Logic died.

  She pushed the ball high to the left pin.

  Aria exploded.

  She poured every ounce of frustration, every drop of sweat, every shadow of doubt into her legs. She rose. She climbed higher than she had all night. She wanted to tear the roof off the building.

  Across the net, Himeko Nakamura rose.

  She pressed her arms forward. She locked her elbows. She turned her hands into iron plates. She invaded Aria’s soul.

  Aria swung. She put her entire life into the motion.

  BAM.

  The ball collided with the wall, this time no longer a soft-block.

  It was rejected. Instantaneously.

  The ball shot straight down, crashing into the floorboards between Aria's feet before she even landed.

  Aria landed. She stared at the ball sitting still on the varnish.

  The whistle shrieked.

  "Point, Set, Port Osea Divers! 25-17."