The free ball floated over the net.
It was a high, lazy arc that felt agonizingly slow against the frantic beating of ten thousand hearts.
Kai Nobuyuki stepped under it. His movements were serene, almost prayer-like.
"Mine," he said softly.
He passed it high. Perfect. It hung in the air at the setter's sweet spot.
"Kenma!"
Everyone in the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium knew where the ball was going.
The crowd knew. The commentators knew. The Itachiyama blockers knew.
Even the ghosts of the teams they had defeated knew.
Kenma Kozume looked at the ball. He didn't use deception this time. He didn't use a decoy.
He looked at Ryuu Gojou.
'Fly.'
Ryuu was already in his approach.
Step. Step.
He planted his feet on the 3-meter line. The friction of his shoes against the floor screamed—a sharp SCREECH that cut through the silence.
He exploded upward.
His body uncoiled like a steel spring, back arching, arm drawing back like a loaded catapult. He rose higher than he had all tournament. He was looking down at the lights.
"TRIPLE BLOCK!" Iizuna screamed, his voice cracking with fear.
Itachiyama's defense snapped into place like a steel trap.
In the front row, a massive yellow wall rose up to meet him—Iizuna, the Middle, and the Opposite jumping in perfect synchronization.
They clamped down on the Line Shot, sealing the edge of the court completely.
From the back row, Sakusa was shouting, his voice cutting through the chaos.
"KOMORI! DEEP CROSS!"
Komori Motoya was already there. The Number 1 Libero shifted deep into the back corner, planting his feet in the only open patch of floor.
He knew Ryuu loved the power cross. He was the safety net, waiting to catch the bomb.
The trap was set. The line was closed. The cross was guarded.
Ryuu hung in the air, a split second from impact, looking down at a defense that was technically perfect.
'There is no path,' Ryuu's brain processed in a millisecond.
'Power will be dug. The line is shut.'
He hung at the apex of his jump.
Time stretched. The world turned gray.
In that frozen moment, Ryuu looked at Sakusa in the back row.
He remembered the spin. He remembered the flexible wrist. He remembered the "nasty" shots that had annoyed him for five sets.
Ryuu didn't swing his arm forward.
He dropped his right shoulder slightly.
He wrapped his hand around the outside of the ball.
'I'll take that weapon, thanks.'
Ryuu snapped his wrist inward with violent, unnatural force.
SNAP.
He didn't hit the ball forward. He hit it sideways.
The ball left his hand with a wicked, sickening side-spin.
It didn't fly deep toward Komori.
It didn't fly straight.
It dove.
It cleared the net and cut horizontally across the court, almost parallel to the center line.
The Extreme Cut Shot.
Komori's eyes widened. He froze. 'Inside?!'
He couldn't move. He was too deep. The geometry was wrong.
The ball screamed toward the floor inside the 3-meter line.
It landed with a terrifyingly clean sound.
BAM.
It hit the floor at such a sharp angle that it didn't bounce up—it spun away aggressively toward the referee stand, crashing harmlessly into the padding.
Sakusa turned his head. He watched the ball roll away.
His eyes were wide with horror.
It was his shot. But harder. Faster. Better.
For one second, there was no sound.
Just Ryuu landing on the court. Thump.
Then, the whistle blew.
TWEET—TWEEEEEEEEET!
Game Set Match.
Nekoma Wins Set 5: 15 - 11.
Set Count: 3 - 2.
Winner: Nekoma High School.
The gymnasium detonated.
"YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The sound was physical. It shook the floorboards.
Yamamoto tackled Ryuu from behind. Kuroo jumped on top of them. Kai, Yaku, Fukunaga—they all collapsed into a pile of red jerseys in the center of the court.
Lev was screaming, bouncing around the pile like a giraffe on a trampoline. "WE WON! WE WON! RYUU-SAN KILLED IT!"
Kenma stood outside the pile. He looked at the chaos, exhaled a breath he felt like he'd been holding for three years, and let a tiny, genuine smile touch his lips.
Ryuu lay at the bottom of the pile, the weight of his team crushing the air out of his lungs. He stared up at the blinding stadium lights.
His body was screaming in pain, every muscle fiber torn and exhausted, but he felt lighter than air.
He pushed Yamamoto's sweaty face off him and sat up, gasping.
He looked across the net.
Itachiyama was frozen.
Iizuna was on his knees, hands covering his face. Komori was staring at the floor, hands on his hips.
And Sakusa...
Sakusa was standing there, staring at the spot where the ball had landed. He wasn't crying. He wasn't angry.
He looked stunned. As if the laws of physics had just been rewritten in front of him.
Ryuu stood up from his landing, his legs shaking violently now that the adrenaline was fading. He walked slowly to the net, gripping the mesh to hold himself up.
He caught Sakusa's eye.
Sakusa looked at him, his dark eyes wide, searching for an explanation.
Ryuu raised his right wrist. He rotated it slowly—a fluid, flexible motion. He winced slightly from the strain.
He didn't smirk. He didn't gloat.
He offered a tired, genuine smile—the kind shared between two warriors who had just survived the apocalypse.
"That wrist snap..." Ryuu panted, his voice rough and quiet amidst the roaring crowd. "It's a terrifying weapon, Sakusa."
Sakusa blinked, finally snapping out of his trance. He looked at Ryuu's wrist, then at his own.
Ryuu let his hand drop, looking Sakusa dead in the eye with absolute respect.
"I couldn't have pulled that off yesterday," Ryuu admitted softly. "I learned from the best."
Sakusa stared at him for a long beat. The tension in his shoulders finally broke. He let out a long, shaky exhale and looked away, pulling his jersey up over his nose to hide his expression.
"You're a monster," Sakusa muttered, though the venom was gone.
"Coming from you," Ryuu laughed breathlessly, leaning his forehead against the net tape, "I'll take that as a compliment."
Sakusa's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. He just stared at the monster he had accidentally created.
On the sideline, Coach Nekomata stood alone.
Tears were streaming down his wrinkled cheeks, catching the light. He didn't wipe them away. He didn't try to hide them.
He watched his boys—his cats—standing at the summit.
"They connected," Nekomata whispered, his voice trembling with a lifetime of pride. "They finally connected all the way to the top."
The scoreboard flashed the final result, burning the numbers into history:
NEKOMA HIGH - NATIONAL CHAMPIONS.
Ryuu Gojou raised his fist to the sky. The Cannon had fired the final shot.
Chapter 56: The Impossible Angle