Chapter 7 [Ace]

The scoreboard flashed: 1-1. One set to go.

I stood there on the court, drenched in sweat, my right hand throbbing with pain. My wrist was stiff, and my fingers felt like they were made of lead. The crowd cheered, the atmosphere electric, but all I could focus on was the ache in my body. I was tired, but I wasn’t about to back down. Not now.

The coach hadn’t switched the setter. I was still on for the third set. Even with the pain, even with the exhaustion, I knew I had to finish this. I wasn’t about to let the team down.

The whistle blew for the third set.

The ball flew over to the opposing team. They set it perfectly to their middle blocker, and with a powerful smash, the ball came flying at our defenders. A quick touch and a call from the backcourt:

“One-touch!”

It was passed to me.

I positioned myself, ready to set the ball. I aimed for the right-wing spiker, but as my hand met the ball, I felt it—everything just felt off. The ball sailed wide, missing the spiker entirely, and fell to the opponent’s side.

A stunned silence swept over the court. My teammates were shocked. I had never missed a set like that before.

“Don’t mind it,” one of them said. “Get the next one.”

I nodded, but deep down, I felt the weight of it. My right hand was killing me, but I couldn’t let it show. I couldn’t let my team down.

The serve came again from the opposite side, and I focused all my energy on the ball. It sailed toward me after the first pass, and this time, I set it with precision, despite the pain still radiating through my hand.

I continued, setting the ball and trying to push through, but something wasn’t right. The game was slipping away.

18-22. The opposing team had the lead.

I felt the fatigue creeping in, and that familiar sting of self-doubt. I didn’t miss sets. I didn’t make mistakes like that. But here I was, struggling.

A timeout was called by our coach.

I took the opportunity to tape my finger, my movements mechanical, but my mind racing. I was pushing myself to the limit, but how much longer could I go? I glanced at the team. They were looking at me with expectation, waiting for me to turn this around.

“Keep going, Ace. You’re the one who can pull us through,” the coach said.

I took a deep breath and nodded, though the worry on my face didn’t escape me. My hand felt like it was on fire, but I had to finish this.

Annie.

I caught sight of her in the stands. She was talking to someone, but her eyes briefly met mine. There was something different in the way she looked at me—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Did he blow himself out?” I overheard someone chuckle from the stands.

“Maybe...”

It was a small comment, but it stung. Could they see it? Could they see that I wasn’t the same player I had been at the start?

The score was now tied—27-27.

I set the ball with everything I had left in me, using the second tempo. The ball sailed smoothly into the air, and our spiker took the hit, earning us the point. The crowd roared.

28-27. We were in the lead.

The tension in the air was thick, like a storm about to break. It was Little Flower’s serve now. I watched the ball as it sailed over, a perfect jump float. The opposing team handled it, the rally continuing, both sides desperate to score.

But in the back of my mind, a panic started to rise. What could I do now? What more could I give? My body was drained. My hand ached. I could feel myself losing my composure, the doubt creeping in.

Then, as the ball came toward me, I heard a shout from the audience.

“Use your left hand!”

I turned, a smile tugging at my lips despite the situation. There she was. Annie. She was the one who shouted, and in that moment, something clicked.

With no more time to think, I jumped. My body reacted before my mind could process it. My left hand swung forward, and I smashed the ball with everything I had. The power behind the spike sent the ball hurtling over the net, and within seconds, it slammed into the opponent’s side.

The game was over.

2-1. Little Flower won.

I stood there, breathing heavily, my heart racing, the pain in my hand almost unbearable now. But the game was over. We had won.

The roar of the crowd filled my ears, but all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat. I had pushed through. I had kept going, even when it seemed impossible. And somehow, we had come out on top.