NOVPUBIt was over…
[Japan 25 – 23 USA]
[Japan 25 – 27 USA]
[Japan 25 – 23 USA]
In the end, the Japan national team defeated the United States two sets to one. The audience was thoroughly satisfied—though a faint sense of wistful longing lingered in the air.
"What's with you? You don't look all that happy," Miya Atsumu said wearily, his face drawn with exhaustion.
Kaedehara Taichi furrowed his brows, falling into thought. "Atsumu-senpai, don't you think it might be possible to switch this into a best-of-five format now?"
"Hah? What kinda dumb crap are you spouting now?!"
"It's just...I finally feel like I'm fired up." Taichi said this with complete seriousness. "Besides, look at them. They clearly aren't taking this loss lying down."
You've been fired up the whole damn match…Miya Atsumu rolled his eyes and began walking off the court.
Taichi tilted his head slightly and looked toward Komori Motoya.
"Spare me, man. Just hearing you say that makes me mentally and physically exhausted." Motoya immediately turned his back to him. In that last set, the Americans had only ramped up the power of their spikes. Motoya's arms were screaming in pain—he wanted nothing more than to get off the court and slap on some ice packs.
"Then—"
"Hmph." Before Taichi could finish, Sakusa Kiyoomi cut him off with a cold snort and followed Motoya away.
"…"
Taichi watched him go, puzzled. At some point, it felt like Sakusa had developed quite a grudge against him. But hadn't they gotten along just fine before? Their relationship was decent…right?
Wait, no, uhh…was it ever that good?
Forget it. Doesn't matter. It's probably just because Sakusa's lost to him too many times. So petty, honestly.
"Hello, Taichi."
Micah Christenson walked straight up to the Japanese team's bench. "Congrats on your win."
Taichi looked a bit surprised. He had expected Christenson to be more upset after the loss—maybe furious even. But then again, it was just a meaningless exhibition match.
Apparently sensing his thoughts, Christenson gave a quiet chuckle. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not in the habit of losing—no matter what kind of match it is."
"Sure, losing never feels good. But I'd rather not waste even a second of my time sulking over it."
"In this match, where both sides gave it everything, you, you," Christenson pointed one by one at Taichi, then Hoshiumi Kōrai, and then, after a slight pause, at Miya Atsumu, "you all showed me what Japanese volleyball really is. I enjoyed it."
"I look forward to the next time we meet—on a more official stage."
"Of course, I don't plan on letting you see such a boring version of the U.S. team next time. I'll try to crush you from the very start."
Taichi offered no reaction to the trash talk. This was just the standard post-match routine. What he did find unfortunate, though, was the lack of frustration on Christenson's face—the kind that came from truly hating to lose.
Thankfully, a few of Christenson's teammates helped fill that gap.
Several of the American players wore unmistakably frustrated expressions. Some looked shocked, as if they couldn't believe they'd lost. And to Taichi's particular delight, a few even had that wonderfully indignant, refusing-to-accept-defeat look in their eyes.
"How about we schedule another match sometime?" Taichi smiled. "I'm not quite satisfied either."
Christenson blinked, then shook his head. "No rush. I'd prefer if both sides were fully prepared next time."
"Is that so…" Taichi said, a little disappointed. He'd honestly hoped they could arrange another scrimmage match in private. He hadn't been lying—he really wasn't satisfied yet.
-----
After the match, the long-restrained reporters finally surged forward, surrounding players from both teams. In an instant, the sidelines lit up with camera flashes as a barrage of questions filled the air.
Keiko Machino, a well-known reporter from Tokyo Sports Channel, raised her microphone high and squeezed her way to the front of Micah Christenson.
"Hello, Mr. Christenson! What did you think of your performance in today's match? Did it meet your expectations?" Machino asked loudly. A cameraman beside her kept the lens tightly focused on Micah's face, capturing every subtle change in his expression.
"As a setter, I'd say today I performed...just below passing." Micah Christenson responded coolly, polite but distant. "After all, we lost the match, and I failed to fully bring out the potential of our attackers. That falls on the setter."
"Ahaha, to hear such a strong performance be called 'failing'—Mr. Christenson, it seems you hold yourself to very high standards!"
"You think I was joking?" Micah's expression instantly turned cold.
"Eh?" Machino blinked, momentarily stunned.
"Now that was a joke. Apologies if I startled you, Miss Reporter." Micah softened with a gentle smile. "Next question, please."
"Ahem—right." Machino glanced down at her notes, took a deep breath, and tried to steady herself.
"Was there a moment in the match that felt particularly challenging for you? Or maybe a specific play you felt was critical?"
"Every play on the court is critical," Micah replied, his edge retracted. "And I believe all the players treated each moment as equally important."
"I see..."
Machino asked two more routine questions before pushing forward again with something bolder.
"Mr. Christenson, as one of the most outstanding young setters in the U.S., after today's match, do you have a new perspective on Japan's offensive players? Were there any that left a strong impression?"
This time, it was Micah Christenson who was caught off guard. He hadn't expected that even after giving the reporter a scare, she would throw him a curveball like this.
"There was definitely someone who left a deep impression," Micah said with a chuckle. "You all probably noticed—I went to speak with Taichi Kaedehara just now."
"Yes, we saw. Can you share what you talked about?" Machino's eyes gleamed with anticipation.
"Of course. I invited Taichi to join the American professional volleyball league. His abilities speak for themselves. In the U.S., players his age are already competing at the pro level..."
Micah's words dropped like a stone into a still lake, instantly causing a stir among the surrounding media. Yet he seemed oblivious to the buzz, continuing calmly.
"The U.S. professional volleyball league boasts a world-class level of competition and a professional training infrastructure. There, he could go up against top athletes from around the world, further refining his skills and potential..."
"D-Did Taichi say yes?!" Machino asked nervously.
Micah flashed a sly smile. "I think our interview time is just about up. You'll have to ask Taichi himself about the details—I'm not in a position to disclose that."
"Ah—wait—"
Before she could stop him, Micah parted the crowd and returned to the U.S. team, leaving a group of stunned reporters behind.
What was originally just a routine friendly match after the IH Nationals had suddenly taken an unexpected turn...
"Taichi's interview isn't over yet, right? Go ask him directly what he thinks!"
And so, under Kaedehara Taichi's bewildered gaze, a horde of media personnel, armed with cameras and mics, surged toward him with overwhelming momentum...
_________
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