Days before the city volleyball finals, Hiyori Mio pulls her long black hair into a ponytail, glancing around the Kisarazu High gym. Her heart’s racing. “Let’s not mess this up,” she says, twisting her old white wristband.
Beside her, Sora grins, spinning a neon ball. “You’re staring again, Hiyori. Thinking about Kaede?” She flushes but doesn’t look away. Hard not to notice Kaede Koizumi. He’s calm, always jokes under stress— and he’s Kisarazu’s ace spiker.
Coach Mizuta yells, “No time for doubts!” Within earshot, even the gym wall rattles. Girls’ and boys’ squads work together for the next match: St. Lawrence. Hiyori’s motivation is clear. She wants her brother, lost to an injury last spring, to feel proud. She promised one win for him.
Kisarazu has won nothing big since the disaster at Saitama two years back. Bad memories still haunt a few teammates, but now they trust Hiyori to keep mold on the shelves, not on their moods. She leads drills where nobody slacks. Did you ever feel that need to redeem the past, all while fighting for today?
Training turns wild as short manager cats prowl for stray balls. Hiro throws a hissy-fit about sneakers, then tosses his headband onto the court. Kaede grins, tossing it back. “Chill out. These guys need cheer, not foot powder.” Even the main rival, tall Ren, watches drills through cracked glasses.
Game day comes. The gym echoes—shoes squeak, crowds murmur. Hiyori scans the lines. Sakura, tall and cheeky, says, “You okay?” Sweat trails down arms. Hiyori shrugs. “Good as I get.” Just before the teams line up, Sora cries out: “Let’s show them what real air feels like!” 
The match ramps up. St. Lawrence starts strong, stacking six tall girls at the net, blocking shots. There’s no room at all. The ball slams into Ren, who can’t hide his pain. Kaede hands Hiyori a towel. “Still want a fairytale win?” She glares back; the tension churns inside her.
The rallies last ages. Every dig’s got sweat on it. Did volleyball ever seem this brutal to you? When Hiyori fumbles a soft set, Sora whips a quick pass and shouts, “Don’t think. Trust me!” It works: Kaede slams down a straight shot, the place explodes.
But St. Lawrence won’t ease up. Their captain, Reika, fires soft floats to Kisarazu’s weakest side. Hiro stumbles twice—whole crowd sighs. Coach’s whistle pierces the air. “Timeout! Huddle here!” He draws X’s like a wild child, but it’s Hiyori’s grip on her brother’s band that brings calm. Sora whispers, “Think you can block Reika?” Hiyori meets her eyes. “We try or we fold— I’m choosing.”
Back on court, the world shrinks in a rush of sand, light, and squeaks. Hiyori wins two saves flat-out, diving past scared feet and tossing quick sets toward Kaede. Sakura slaps in a back-row serve that passes close. The team’s pace climbs. Now the crowd’s really stomp-stomp-cheering. Can you hear them?
Late-stage. It’s 23–24. Kisarazu might lose with one more miss. Kaede asks, quiet but not sad: “Gonna try that move again?” Hiyori stares into the lights. “My wrist might snap— but I have to.”
Then it’s just her, the soft click of shoes, Reika glaring with purpose at the net. Sora flashes a peace sign. It’s coming— Reika smacks a cut shot, faster than light. Hiyori stabs a hand into space. There’s pause, air, then the ball’s sailing sky-high— it’s still in! The gym erupts, but there’s no end here: as Kaede leaps for the final point, the camera cuts to slow motion. Did you guess what she’ll risk in that last play?
We’ll see if hopes and honor can carry Kisarazu past history, into finals—or if it’s heartbreak all over again. 
