The double doors of facility B opened; she had returned here, much opposite to the natural expectation. Kevin and Damian had likely bet dinner on her not showing up. Any rational person would have taken the humiliation of the previous day as a sign to stick to their own lane. Himeko had spent the night staring at the ceiling of her hotel room, replaying the fraction of a second where Kevin Marvant defied physics.

  As she walked toward the locker area, she spotted a familiar figure sitting on the wooden bench, hunched over with the laces of her shoes in hand. The lock of silvery-white hair was unmistakable; there were as many as five people with white hair in this league.

  "Zoe?"

  The girl jumped slightly, looking up with wide, crystal-colored eyes before realizing Himeko was no stranger as she wore a soft smile. "Oh, Himeko. Good morning."

  Himeko approached, dropping her bag onto the bench next to the hitter. "I didn't see you yesterday."

  "Oh, I'm in," Zoe tugged the laces tight. "I had to take a day. My aunt lives in the city, and she insisted on a family dinner. It went... late."

  In a world of giants and egos, Zoe Weaver was a breath of fresh air. She was anti-Kevin, quiet, diligent, and didn't suck the oxygen out of the room with her presence.

  "Rest is part of the work," Himeko said softly. "But since you're here, and I'm here. Would you care to warm up together?"

  Zoe's face lit up. "I- I'd love to."

  They took a court far away from the entrance, doing simple work, pepper drills. Forearm pass, set, controlled swing, dig.

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Zoe's ball control was exquisite - she absorbed the ball, killing the spin and floating it perfectly to Himeko's target zone every single time. There was no need for Himeko to run or adjust.

  "Nice touch."

  "Thanks."

  Himeko felt herself falling into rhythm. This was volleyball as she understood it: structured, disciplined, cooperative. A perfect way to start the day.

  It lasted exactly fifteen minutes.

  The gym doors swung open again, this time with a little more force than necessary. Himeko and Zoe's drill faltered as Himeko caught the movement in her peripheral vision.

  Kevin Marvant walked in, looking fresh in a crimson Victoria Dragons training tank. He took two steps inside, looked through the room, as his eyes locked onto the tall figure near the back court. He stopped.

  Kevin raised his right fist into the air in a triumphant pose of victory.

  Behind him, Damian shuffled in, looking even more sleep-deprived than the day before. He followed Kevin's gaze, saw Himeko standing there, and let his head drop until his chin hit his chest.

  "Fuck!" Damian muttered, the single syllable told the story of a lost wager and, presumably, an ultra luxurious incoming dinner bill.

  Kevin jogged over to where the women were standing. Himeko caught the ball Zoe had just dug, then held it against her hip, didn't look quite happy as her brow was furrowed. She stood her ground, watching him approach.

  "Morning, ladies," Kevin chirped. He glanced past Himeko to the smaller girl. "And Weaver. Good to see you again."

  "Good morning, Kevin," Zoe squeaked, looking a little starstruck again.

  Kevin turned his attention back to Himeko. "So. You came back. I guess that means you accept defeat?"

  Her expression remained flat. She tossed the ball gently to Zoe, signaling the end of their warm-up.

  "I'm here to honor our agreement," Himeko said coldly. "One block. Then you leave me alone. Forever."

  "That was the deal. We can go on for as long as you'd like."

  "Let's just get this over with," Himeko snapped. "So I don't have to deal with your noise anymore."

  Kevin's grin widened. He liked the fire. It was infinitely better than the ice.

  He shouted over his shoulder at the slouching figure near the door.

  "Yo, Dam! Nap time's over."

  The three of them moved to the center court. Zoe sat on the bench with her knees to her chest, watching attentively.

  Standing at the service line, he bounced the ball once, twice. He inhaled deeply the scent of competition - his favourite part of any game - the calm before the storm. He tossed the ball to Damian and signaled the start.

  Himeko dropped into her loaded stance at the net, her posture lower than the day before.

  Beginning his approach, Kevin's instincts flared a warning. Something was different about Himeko's movement. She had felt very rigid the day before, yet today, as he accelerated, she felt... quite sharpened. Her lateral movement was flying and sticky, tracking him with a ravenous intensity, matching his approach step for step.

  Is it just a good night's sleep? Kevin wondered as he planted his feet for takeoff.

  Damian's fingers contacted the ball.

  Kevin exploded upward, propelling himself into his trademark early jump, expecting to look down and see Himeko still glued to the floor, caught in the timing trap.

  A dark shadow rose with him.

  Himeko seized the exact moment when Kevin hopped as she launched, arising in perfect unison, meeting chest-to-chest at the fine line of the net. Suspended in the air, Kevin looked through the mesh and saw Himeko's eyes level with his own.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  She was there...

  But she wasn't quite there.

  Desperate to match his timing, Himeko had drifted slightly to the right, leaving a gap between her left hand and the antenna.

  He rotated his wrist mid-swing.

  Thwack.

  He punched the ball right through, which sailed cleanly past Himeko's outstretched fingers, untouched, and slammed into the sideline.

  Both players landed.

  There was silence as Kevin didn't turn to Damian to celebrate. He stood for a moment, staring at the woman across the net. The timing gap Himeko had closed that should have taken weeks to fix, had been closed in less than twenty-four hours.

  She looked up, eyes locked with Kevin. No fear in her gaze, only a hunger for success.

  "Again," she commanded.

  Initial success of matching his timing soon learnt to be a hollow victory. Himeko could now occupy the same airspace as Kevin, but stopping the ball remained a distant, elusive goal. Kevin's toolkit was so unbelievably deep it seemed unfair.

  Himeko sealed the cross-court angle. Kevin waited a fraction of a second longer and wiped the ball off her outside hand, sending it spinning into the bleachers.

  "Again," Himeko stated, wiping sweat from her eyes.

  When she adjusted her hand and tucked her pinkies in to prevent the tool from hitting her, Kevin saw the change almost instantly. He snapped his wrist, cutting the shot illogically, which landed well out of her reach.

  "Again."

  Himeko tried to cheat inside to stop the cut. He tipped the ball gently over her fingertips.

  "Again."

  And they kept on going for hours.

  Himeko never stopped to complain when Kevin fooled her. She landed, broke down, and reset her feet.

  Damian's sets began to lose their crispness as fatigue set in, causing them to drift off the net or falling short. Himeko adjusted to those things too; her focus narrowed until nothing existed but the man across the net and the ball in the air.

  Kevin, initially toying with her, found himself forced into a higher gear. Directly bypassing her blocks wasn't really an option anymore. Every time he jumped, the window of scoring got smaller and smaller. Himeko's hands were somehow always there, invading his vision, pressing closer.

  He landed after a particularly grueling rally, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin onto the floor. He looked through the net.

  Himeko stood there, drenched. Her jersey was dark with sweat, hair clinging to her neck in damp strands, legs trembling slightly from the volume of jumps, but her eyes' fire remained unextinguished.

  She took a deep breath, steadying her shaking legs. She looked Kevin dead in the eye.

  "Again."

  The sun outside had long since begun its descent, casting long shadows across the gym floor; the intensity inside had only deepened. Zoe Weaver had packed her bag an hour ago, lingering by the door for a few minutes just to watch. Had prided herself on her work ethic, Zoe was almost always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Watching Himeko made Zoe questioned her own work ethnic into the game. Himeko was different from the word "discipline," watching her was like witnessing a kind of self-destructive perfectionism that was both inspiring and intimidating. Zoe quietly slipped out the exit, her mind puzzling with a new definition of "effort."

  Finally, the rhythm broke.

  Kevin caught the ball Damian had tossed instead of hitting. He held it against his hip, he gasped like a wind canon, sweat dripping like river. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees, staring at the floor.

  "Time." Kevin held a hand up. "That's... that's it. We're done."

  He shouldn't have been this exhausted. A cardio machine, he was, built for five-set thrillers. The Osea woman had dragged him into deep waters, forcing him to think, adjust, and use maximum effort on every single swing for hours. The mental toll of keeping up with her was just as heavy as the physical one.

  Damian was half-laughing, half-sobbing. "Oh, thank God," the setter collapsed backward onto the floor, spreading his arms and legs out like a starfish. "Can't feel my fingers. Or my toes. Or my soul."

  Himeko's head snapped up, wanting to protest, to demand one more rep, one more chance to touch the ball.

  In actuality, she was panting harder than both of them combined. Her jersey was completely saturated, as it felt heavy against her skin. Her legs, usually steady as iron, were vibrating uncontrollably, the lactic acid burning through her muscles like fire.

  She closed her eyes, tilting her head back. She took a shuddering breath, and forced her shoulders to drop. Himeko stood there for a moment in a relaxed pose, finally giving in to the limits of her body.

  "Understood," she said

  Himeko turned. She walked to the bench, sat down to unlace her shoes, but her fingers were clumsy and trembling. She had to pause, to rest her hands on her knees, just waiting for her heart rate to drop.

  She gathered her things. She stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and began the long walk towards the exit.

  "Good work, Captain."

  The voice called from behind.

  Himeko stopped. Her hand hovered over the push-bar.

  She stood motionless for a second, her back to him. She took the acknowledgment, let out a short exhale, and pushed the door open, disappearing into the cool evening air.