The morning light stabbed through the gaps in the blinds. A bright line sliced directly across Himeko Nakamura's eyelids, forcing her awake.

  She groaned, rolling over to escape the glare. The simple movement awakened aches through her entire skeleton; joints felt filled with cement. A bass drum pounded inside her skull, thumping against her temples. She swallowed, wincing at the scratch ripping down her dry throat.

  She lay there in the quiet bedroom, staring at the dust dancing in the sunbeam. The Nordvic match had extracted a heavy toll. Her body felt like a truck had backed over her in the middle of the night.

  She pushed the duvet aside. She threw her legs over the edge of the mattress, planting her bare feet on the cool laminate floor. She stood up. The room tilted slightly to the left, a dizzying sway she stubbornly forced down.

  Himeko walked into the bathroom. Two minutes of precise brushing. A splash of freezing water to shock her nervous system awake. Her reflection looked pale, dark circles hanging heavy under her eyes, a thin layer of unnatural sweat clinging to her forehead. She wiped it away with a towel, pulled her hair into a tight ponytail, and grabbed her training gear.

  Whistles trilled. Rubber soles screeched against the varnish. Volleyballs hammered the floor in the Port Osea Divers gym.

  Himeko joined the blocking rotation line. Early on, residual adrenaline masked the damage. She moved through the initial footwork drills, keeping her face locked in her standard rythm. She mirrored the movements of the opposing hitters, throwing her hands up, falling back into line, keeping the pace.

  As her heart rate climbed, the hidden fever seized total control. The heat inside her body spread like a wildfire. Suddenly it felt hard to breathe as the air seemed tighter. Her blood felt like boiling, pumping through her veins.

  "Next!" Coach Elena shouted, slapping a ball to the setter.

  Willow Vance pushed a quick set to the pin. Himeko commanded her legs to fire.

  The message got lost on the way down. Her sneakers dragged against the floorboards. She arrived at the antenna a full second behind the tempo. She threw herself upward, but the jump wasn't strong enough. Gravity dragged her down before her fingers even reached the white tape.

  The ball slammed past her descending hands, burying itself into the court.

  Himeko landed clumsily, stumbling a half-step to catch her balance. She wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist, her chest heaving in shallow gasps.

  Another drill sequence started. A simple free-ball transition.

  The ball floated over the net, dropping on a gentle arc directly into Himeko's zone.

  Himeko stood there. Her arms hung limp at her sides. She tracked the yellow and blue leather. The ball hit the floor a mere twelve inches from her right shoe, bouncing away harmlessly.

  She watched it roll.

  Jules Moreno caught the lapse instantly from the backcourt. Jules jogged over with a teasing grin spreading on her face.

  "Hey Cap," Jules chirped. "I thought you slept through the entirety of last night? Still sleepy?"

  Jules reached out, grabbing Himeko's shoulder for a playful shake.

  Jules's hand lingered. The grin vanished from her face.

  Through the fabric of Himeko's practice shirt, surprisingly strong heat radiated against Jules's palm.

  "Whoa," Jules breathed, taking her hand back before putting it back again, confirming.

  Jules lifted a hand, pressing the back of her fingers against the captain's forehead.

  Himeko blinked, swaying slightly, staring blankly ahead.

  Jules gasped, her eyes going wide. She whipped her head around toward the sideline.

  "Cap has a fever!" Jules roared, waving her free arm at Coach Elena. "She is literally a furnace right now!"

  Coach Elena heard the call and closed the distance. Maternal instinct surfaced on her face the moment she got a clear look at her star player. Himeko's eyes were webbed with bloodshot vessels. A sickly, pale sheen coated her skin, holding a layer of cold sweat.

  Elena stepped right into Himeko's personal space.

  "Two weeks," Elena declared, her tone leaving absolutely zero room for debate. "Mandatory medical leave. Starting this exact second."

  Himeko's eyes shot wide open. Genuine panic spiked through the heavy fog in her brain. She pushed herself upright.

  "Coach, wait," Himeko croaked. "The schedule... We have the Marchia Knights on Thursday. After that, the Dusom Guards... Mikaela Stone is playing. I have to be there. I need to stop them. I can't leave the team alone."

  Elena held her ground, her gaze was entirely sympathetic, but her posture remained strict.

  "No. A broken shield protects no one, Himeko."

  Himeko drew a shaky breath, desperately trying to formulate another counter-argument.

  The entire gymnasium suddenly tilted on its axis. A violent wave of vertigo crashed into her skull, spinning the floorboards completely out of alignment. Her knees buckled under the sudden weight of her own body.

  Jules caught her arm instantly.

  Completely drained of energy, Himeko squeezed her eyes shut. A defeated sigh escaped as she finally conceded to the illness.

  Elena turned her head, scanning the anxious circle of teammates gathered around. Her gaze locked onto the setter. Willow was known as the most cautious, rigidly rule-abiding driver on the entire roster.

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  "Willow," Elena pointed a commanding finger. "Get her car keys."

  Willow jumped, startled by the sudden spotlight.

  "You are driving Himeko home," Elena instructed. "Walk her all the way inside the apartment. Ensure she is physically in bed. Once she is secure, you take the city bus back to the stadium to finish your reps."

  Willow's eyes widened behind her glasses. She clutched her hands tight against her chest, overwhelmed by the massive responsibility of helping the captain.

  "Y-yes, Coach!" Willow stuttered out, already scurrying over to grab Himeko's heavy gym bag.

  The speedometer needle hovered nervously a solid three miles below the legal limit. Willow Vance gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, her fingers digging deep into the leather cover. She locked her elbows rigid, fighting desperately to trap the anxious shivering vibrating through her own arms, terrified of making a single jerky movement on the road.

  Quiet filled the interior of the sedan. The only sound mixed with the hum of the engine was the rasp of Himeko's breathing. The captain had slumped sideways in the passenger seat, pressing her fever-burning forehead against the chilled glass of the window. A cloudy circle of fog bloomed and shrunk on the pane with every labored exhale.

  The silence chewed away at Willow's fraying nerves. She darted quick, panicked glances at the road ahead, then at the GPS screen, then at the exhausted figure beside her.

  "I-I just wanted to say," Willow piped up, trying to break the ice. "Y-yesterday," Willow swallowed. "A-Against Nordvic. You were... inspiring, Cap. Watching you go toe-to-toe with Jennifer Annista up there... it was scary. But you got her."

  Willow's nervous grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly. A genuine warmth entered her trembling voice. "Y-You make the court feel weirdly safe... When you're guarding the front, I-I can actually breathe. D-Don't overwork yourself, okay?"

  Realizing she might have been rambling, Willow suddenly clamped her mouth shut. A deep, embarrassed flush crept up her neck. "S-sorry! I'm talking way too much! You need peace and quiet, please just ignore me!"

  Against the chilled glass, Himeko closed her eyes.

  Willow meant to be sweet. The young setter wanted to offer comfort to a sick teammate. Yet every single word cut into Himeko's chest. She had let her own stubbornness wreck her in Nordvic. The pride of a one-on-one duel had blinded her to the bigger picture...

  The sedan eased into a spot outside her building. Willow killed the engine, leaping out to help her captain navigate the pavement.

  Arriving at the apartment threshold, Willow lingered on the welcome mat. She shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot, hands wringing her jersey.

  "Y-you're going straight to bed, right?" Willow stammered, her wide eyes scanning Himeko's face.

  Himeko leaned a heavy shoulder against the doorframe, mustering a sluggish nod. "Yes. Straight to bed. Go finish your reps, Willow."

  A reluctant wave followed, and the young setter finally scurried down the hall. Himeko pushed the door shut, listening to the deadbolt click into place.

  Her sneakers fell away, left abandoned on the entryway rug. The hallway stretched long and distorted, the walls seemingly breathing in and out. She dragged her feet, completely drained of the energy required to even lift her knees. She made it to the edge of the mattress; gravity won immediately. Her body crumpled forward, sinking deep into the sheets. Weak, trembling fingers snagged the edge of the duvet, dragging the thick fabric over her shoulders.

  As she lied, heat blossomed from her core, radiating outward to cook her skin. The edges of the bedroom blurred away. The white ceiling faded into the blinding glare of stadium lights. Her grip on reality loosened, plunging her into a hazy, fever-induced purgatory.

  Chaotic reels of sensory spun to life behind her closed eyelids.

  Squeak-squeak.

  Sound of rubber screeching against polished varnish echoed in her skull.

  Animation of Jennifer Annista hung suspended in the void, her spine twisting into that physics-breaking contortion, unleashing a merciless cross-cut.

  A phantom shockwave rattled Himeko's bones. Her palms burned with the stinging slap of the spikes.

  The violent montage fractured. A new image forced its way through the stressful noise.

  A yellow-and-blue volleyball hurtled toward her, the leather panels stretching and distorting into a comedic yet utterly horrifying image. Kevin Marvant's face plastered across the sphere, eyes bulging, teeth curving unnaturally around the seams.

  Himeko flinched into the pillows, a weak groan escaping her lips.

  Give me a break.

  The cursed ball dissolved into rising steam. The space of her kitchen materialized. Kevin sat across from her, spooning pork broth, then looking up, smiling as he caught her gaze.

  A flash of white light replaced the kitchen. The ceiling lights of Facility B. Across the net, his eyes burned with intense focus, pushing her to jump higher.

  A blink, and the harsh gym melted into a concrete tunnel. The ridiculous beige cardigan. The fake white mustache. A stupidly warm smile meant only for her.

  The overlapping memories collided. The thundering stadium crowds, the heat of the soup, the phantom sting in her hands, that lingering smile. The bedroom wraped itself violently. A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach, making the world spin out of control. Her grip on the duvet slackened. The fever dragged her down, pulling her into a restless half-sleep.

  Kevin...

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