Winning back-to-back matches didn't seem to change much for the members of the volleyball team.
Club activities carried on as usual.
But beneath the calm surface, it felt as if everything had stayed the same, and yet something had undeniably shifted.
A week passed in the blink of an eye.
And just like that, it was Saturday, and the volleyball tournament resumed.
In the third round, Sengoku faced off against Johwa Junior High.
With two rounds completed, most of the filler teams had already been weeded out. What remained were schools with at least some real skill.
Johwa was about equal in strength to Aoba, only, where Aoba excelled at defense, Johwa was known more for its offense.
This matchup turned into an all-out slugfest, both sides trading powerful attacks. It was the first time Sengoku had to play all three sets in a match.
In the end, thanks to Akashi Asuka's superior firepower, Sengoku edged out a 2-1 victory and advanced to the next round.
After the game, Coach Shimokawa and the rest of the team were riding high.
And for good reason: by reaching the fourth round, Sengoku had officially made it into the top 16 of the prefectural tournament, a historic first since the volleyball club's founding thirteen years ago.
In a way, this group of players had already tied the school's best-ever record.
But that excitement didn't last long.
The very next morning, the fourth-round matchups were posted, and just like that, a bucket of ice water was dumped over everyone's heads.
"Sorry, everyone. Looks like my luck's been pretty lousy lately."
Maybe sensing the heavy silence in the locker room, Coach Shimokawa gave a couple of awkward coughs and tried to laugh it off.
To be fair, it really was just bad luck.
Before the top 16, matchups were arranged by the tournament committee. But once the top 16 was set, the teams had to draw lots for their next opponents.
Technically, only twelve teams had earned their way through, four had been seeded based on last year's top-four finish and skipped the earlier rounds.
Any other team but Kitagawa, and Sengoku would have at least stood a fighting chance.
But out of 15 possible opponents, Shimokawa had to draw the one name everyone was hoping to avoid.
"Alright, what's done is done. There's no point brooding over it now." Akashi Asuka finally said, rescuing the coach from the increasingly sour mood. "What we need to focus on is the match in front of us."
The others nodded reluctantly, gathering themselves.
"But once we're done with this game." Akashi added with a grin, "you owe us a good meal, Coach. Gotta make it up to us somehow."
A gleam lit up in everyone's eyes.
"Uh… well… alright then."
Facing the hopeful stares of a dozen teenagers, Shimokawa gave a resigned nod.
Deep down, though, the coach was kicking himself.
Making it to the top 16 was a milestone. But breaking into the top 8? That would be history.
Right now, they were merely tying the club's best-ever performance. But if they made it one step further, they'd set a new record. One that would go into the books.
And Shimokawa's résumé.
"Led Sengoku Junior High to best-ever finish during tenure as volleyball coach."
A line like that might actually carry more weight than winning a prefectural title at a more established school.
Not long after, a staff member came to notify the team: the previous match had concluded, and they could begin warming up on the court.
Sengoku took the court to begin their pre-match routine.
Soon, from the far tunnel, the players of Kitagawa emerged, dressed in their sharp team uniforms.
As soon as they entered, Akashi could hear the surrounding chatter rise noticeably.
There were many strong volleyball teams in Miyagi Prefecture, but Kitagawa operated on an entirely different level.
And the reason came down to one thing, or rather, one person.
"Whoa… the pressure coming off them is insane."
"They're so tall. Are they even Junior Highers?! What the heck do they eat?"
"Are we really playing them?"
Kitagawa's average height was over 180 cm.
At the junior high level, that kind of height alone was intimidating. Combine that with their infamous reputation, and you had a team that radiated dominance.
Before the match had even begun, Sengoku, an underdog team not known for going far, was already mentally on the back foot.
Akashi noticed it right away.
But even though he could see it, he couldn't fix it.
He didn't have the charisma or presence to lift the whole team by himself.
Some people were born to be the "sun." capable of lighting up an entire squad and pulling them together.
He wasn't one of them.
If a match were a battlefield, Akashi might be the lone warrior capable of slicing through enemy ranks and taking down their general. But he was no commander, he couldn't lead armies or hold the line when morale broke.
The referee blew the whistle.
In junior high, few teams focused heavily on serving, partly due to the technical difficulty, and partly because most kids were still growing.
A fairly standard overhand serve dropped into Sengoku's side. Normally, it would've been an easy reception.
But today, Neko Kurata's pass was stiff and off-target, sailing far from the setter's position.
Setter Ryuhei Sanashita had to sprint and adjust just to get under the ball and make a playable set.
The ball rose toward Akashi. He tracked it, eyes narrowing as he read the arc, imperfect, but workable.
He leapt, rising to meet the twin blockers waiting on the other side, and swung.
Two crisp sounds, one off the blockers, one off the court.
Oomae Masato only saw a blur before the ball landed hard on their side.
And just like that, silence fell over the court.