The corrugated metal roof of the Port Osea home stadium vibrated. The air was filled with the sound of thousands of footsteps shuffling against the cheap plastic bleachers, a restless rustle mixed with raucous laughter, the loud thumping of drums, and the rising swell of chants.

  The people of Port Osea were busy, hardworking folk. On a Tuesday morning, they wouldn't look twice at a celebrity walking down the street; they had shifts to work and quotas to meet.

  But tonight, they balled. When they watched their home team play, they poured their souls into the noise. They were loud, heroic, and they mirrored the city itself: gritty, indomitable, and refusing to give up until the final whistle.

  Himeko Nakamura stood at the center line during warmups, inhaling the atmosphere. It smelled of stale popcorn, the brine of the nearby ocean, and a hint of spicy takeout wafting from the front row.

  She liked it.

  This was her house. The lights were a little too yellow, and the roof rattled violently during rainstorms, but the energy was honest. The crowd here cheered for an exciting fight.

  And lately, the Divers were giving them fights worth watching.

  A 3-0 start.

  For the first time in six years, the Port Osea Divers had opened a season undefeated. The tactical overhaul from the preseason, combined with the momentum from the Salesbia upset, had turned them into a buzzsaw. They had chewed through their last two opponents with back-to-back blowouts, and the confidence was off the roof.

  The atmosphere on the Divers' side of the net was loose. Maybe a little too loose.

  "So, I heard Jennifer Anista is averaging thirty-two points per game," Jules Moreno said, tossing a ball casually to Sarah Lemear. Jules wasn't even looking at the opponent warming up across the net; her eyes were fixed on the season schedule taped to the scorer's table. "Ahhhh, are we really gonna play her next match?"

  "Nordvig is going to be a problem," Sarah agreed, catching the ball and spinning it on her finger. "I really thought we could have gone for a five-game streak... but hey, stay positive!"

  Himeko tightened her ponytail, her brow furrowing slightly.

  They were talking about Jennifer Anista and the Nordvig Wolves. That match was next week. Today, they were playing the Tarin Herons.

  "Focus on today," Himeko said, her voice cutting through their chatter. "We have a game in twenty minutes."

  "Oh, come on, Cap," Jules grinned, waving a hand dismissively. "It's the Herons. They're rebuilding. We just beat Salesbia. We'll be fine."

  Himeko didn't respond. She just turned back to the net, a prickly feeling of unease settling at her neck. Success was a dangerous drug; it made you stare at the horizon while ignoring the stone right in front of your foot.

  She needed to clear her head.

  She closed her eyes for a second, trying to find her center. Instead, a horrific image flashed behind her eyelids.

  It had arrived on her phone at 6:00 AM that morning. Himeko rarely checked her phone on game days, preserving her mental state, but the notification light had blinked so consecutively she thought it was a family emergency.

  It was not.

  Kewkvin145: [Image Attachment]

  The image was a high-resolution close-up of a volleyball. But the texture of the yellow-blue leather panel had been replaced. Painstakingly, horrifyingly replaced by Kevin Marvant's face. His grin was warped and stretched over the spherical surface, his eyes bulging at the seams, the geometry of his teeth defying physics as they wrapped around the curvature of the ball.

  Kewkvin145: Look! I might have found the most handsome volleyball ever. You should try blocking this one someday. ???

  Himeko opened her eyes, shaking her head violently to dislodge the visual parasite.

  The unbelievable effort he put into creating that abomination was ghastly. He was a Men's World Champion. He had multimillion-dollar sponsors. He had a reputation to uphold. And yet, he seemingly spent his morning photoshopping his face onto sports equipment just to annoy her.

  "Idiot," she muttered, the corner of her lip twitching upward against her will.

  She pushed the thought away and forced her focus across the net.

  The Tarin Herons were finishing their hitting lines. They were a team in flux, stuck in the mid-bottom of the standings for years, desperate for an identity.

  But they had the First Pick.

  Himeko's gaze landed on the player standing near the antenna. Jersey number 11. Jiayi Rui.

  The buzz surrounding her draft selection last year had been deafening. Scouts whispered her name in the same breath as the league's deities - Jennifer Anista, Ivanka Symphony, Mikaela Stone. They called her a generational talent, the kind of player who alters the gravity of the court just by stepping onto it.

  Himeko watched her.

  Jiayi didn't feel like one of them. She stood at 6'3", tall but lanky, with a posture that looked too casual for a league of this level.

  She was currently laughing at something a teammate said, covering her mouth with her hand. She had a soft face, kind eyes, and the vibe of a university student who just showed up to a recreational league game because her friends asked her to fill a spot. She looked entirely... normal.

  Her rookie season stats backed up the "normal" assessment. She averaged 15 points a game - solid numbers, respectable for a rookie, but hardly the world-shattering dominance the critics had promised. The Tarin Herons were still losing games. The consensus was that Jiayi was good, but perhaps trapped on a roster that couldn't support her, or maybe the "Next Big Thing" label was too heavy for her shoulders.

  Even now, during warmups, she didn't look like she was preparing for war. She stepped up for a spike, approached with a lazy stride, and slapped the ball over the net with zero ferocity.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  It landed in the court. It was technically perfect, yet it lacked fire.

  Jules and Sarah were right to be confident. On paper, the Divers outmatched the Herons in almost every metric.

  But Himeko couldn't let herself be loose.

  She watched Jiayi jog back to the line, high-fiving a libero with a bright, easy smile.

  TWEEEEEEEEEEEET!

  The whistle blew, signaling the end of warmups. The stadium lights dimmed for the introductions, the roar of the crowd swelling up to greet their undefeated home team.

  Himeko walked to the bench, grabbing her water. She looked at the Herons one last time.

  The monsters you can see are scary. But what about the ones hiding in plain sight?

  Rows 45 and 46 of Section C were packed tight.

  A man shuffled down the narrow aisle. He wore an 'old man' beige cardigan that looked ready to burst, the fabric straining desperately against biceps the size of cured hams. A tweed flat cap sat low on his head, shadowing a pair of thick-rimmed reading glasses that magnified his eyes to comical proportions. His beard and hair are white as snow, artificial snow used as props for movie rolled in the heat of mid summer. He walked with a dramatic hunch, using a cane that barely touched the ground.

  People stared.

  A teenager dropped his ice cream. He looked at the gray hair peeking out from the cap, then down at the tree-trunk calves bulging against the fabric of the man's slacks.

  The 'old man' stopped at seat 14. He squeezed his massive frame into the molded plastic chair. The plastic groaned in protest, a sharp creaAaaaaaahk.

  Kevin Marvant adjusted his glasses. He offered a shaky, elderly wave to the staring teenager.

  "Lovely evening for... the sports," Kevin rasped, sounding like Bat 'Brune Wayve' Dude.

  The kid blinked, looked left and right, and turned away slowly.

  Kevin sighed, dropping the act. He checked his wrist, only to realize his watch was hidden under three layers of wool. He dug it out. 6:55 PM.

  The original plan was perfect. Watch the Divers crush a bottom-tier team. Wait by the bus. Maybe convince Himeko that Huzebip was a viable post-game recovery meal again.

  Then the phone call came.

  Management. The word tasted like professional oatmeal. A mandatory dinner with the regional sponsors at 9:30 PM. No excuses. No "my stomach hurts." Wear a tie. Smile. Shake hands.

  He had a four-hour window. Watch the game. Sprint to the tunnel for a five-minute hello. Drive like a maniac back to the capital.

  Kevin leaned forward, resting his chin on the handle of his cane. The court below was bathed in yellow light.

  He found her instantly.

  Himeko Nakamura stood at the net. She was facing away from him, but the posture was recognizable. Shoulders squared. Head high. Stillness in the middle of chaos. She looked ready, always.

  Kevin smiled. That's how he had always known her.

  His gaze drifted. He scanned the other side of the net.

  The Tarin Herons were finishing their drills. They looked loose, uncoordinated. Balls flew stray. Players laughed too much. They carried the energy of a team happy to collect a paycheck.

  Kevin's eyes swept past the libero, past the setter, and landed on the tall girl standing at the antenna.

  Number 11.

  Kevin froze.

  He pushed the thick glasses up his nose, squinting.

  The girl was high-fiving her teammate. She had a soft, kind face. She looked like she should be baking cookies or studying for an exam. She moved with a lazy, almost clumsy grace.

  Unmistakable, Jiayi Rui.

  He remembered the gym at Victoria Academy. Three years ago. He was there for rehab, icing his knee. He watched a scrim. The boys' varsity team against the girls. The boys were bigger, faster, stronger, and they had been winning too.

  But they lost.

  They lost because of a lanky girl with a sleepy smile who dismantled them piece by piece without ever looking like she was trying.

  He had wondered where she went, he didn't check the drafting of Women's volleyball as his recent focus was solely for the Divers. The stat sheets on his phone said she was averaging 15 points. Middle of the pack. Nothing special.

  Kevin looked at Himeko again. Himeko, who built her entire game on logic. Himeko, who studied VODs and predicted angles based on biomechanics. Himeko, who trusted that A plus B equaled C.

  He looked back at Jiayi.

  Jiayi Rui had no logic in her volleyball that people could understand. She played it like she was the only one who knew the punchline to a joke.

  A smile curved up from Kevin's face.

  "Hmmmm. Let's see what you will do, captain."

  The referee waved a hand between the two sides.

  Himeko walked to the center circle. The Tarin captain met her there. She was their libero, short and bouncy, wearing the number 4.

  The coin sat on the referee's thumb.

  "Heads," Himeko said.

  Fling.

  The silver disc spun up into the yellow light. It tumbled down, heavy and fast. The ref snatched it from the air and slapped it onto his wrist. He lifted his hand to reveal the dragon.

  Tails.

  The Tarin captain grinned. She pointed straight at the volleyball held under the referee's arm.

  "Ball," she said.

  The referee turned to the scorer's table. He announced it to the mic.

  "Tails. Tarin Herons take the service."

  Himeko shook the small libero's hand. They walked away to their respective baselines.

  The Divers set their formation. Jules hopped in place, shaking out her arms. Sarah stared forward. They looked ready to hunt.

  Across the white tape, Jiayi Rui walked to her spot. She stood there in the back left corner, picking at a loose thread on her shorts.

  The Tarin server stepped behind the line. She spun the ball.

  TWEEEEEEEET!

  She tossed. Her palm smacked the leather.

  The ball floated over the net.