After school Connor stepped into the gym, the familiar scent of polished floors and bouncing balls hitting him immediately. He tightened his shoes, new but already broken in from the first day, and took a deep breath. Today felt heavier more deliberate.
Dylan and Noah jogged up beside him, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Ready for round two?" he asked, though his grin betrayed the same nervous excitement Connor felt.
Harper lingered near the bleachers, tablet in hand, jotting notes and occasionally glancing at the drills. Connor noticed her watching keenly, the wheels clearly turning. Maybe she's thinking about helping with the team, he thought, though she didn't say anything.
Coach Reynolds blew his whistle sharply. "Alright, everyone, listen up. Yesterday was about introductions and fundamentals. Today, we're going to focus on drills, receiving, setting, serving, and attack. I want precision, communication, and focus. Returning players, guide without taking over. Let's start."
Elias Monroe, the captain and setter, moved to the center and nodded at Connor. "Keep your head in the game. Focus on your rhythm, and don't overthink it."
Connor swallowed and nodded, adjusting his stance, letting his mind sync with his body.
The first drill was passing and reception. Balls flew rapidly, and Connor had to adjust constantly. His hands formed the perfect triangle instinctively, legs moving just fast enough to respond.
"Angle your arms slightly more," Elias said, stepping beside him. "Watch the ball's spin, anticipate it, don't just react."
Connor felt the subtle pulse of SetterOS in his peripheral vision:
[Real-Time Feedback: Active]
[Balance: 89%]
He made the adjustment, and the next pass landed cleanly. Satisfaction and tension mingled in his chest.
Nearby, Dylan struggled, missing a pass. "Got it!" he shouted after fumbling. Noah yelled from across the court "Focus, Dylan. Watch the ball!"
Connor smirked faintly. Some things never change. He already knew how the dinamic between those two worked.
Next came serving drills. Connor stepped to the line, focusing on timing and follow-through. His first few serves were solid but conservative. By the third, he added a little more power, landing the ball just inside the back line.
"Good control," Elias commented. "Don't rush your motion, but don't hold back either."
He glanced around the gym. Some of the veterans were demonstrating attack drills, while a few other first-year tryouts fumbled with timing. Connor felt the rhythm returning, each movement familiar yet refined, the pulse of anticipation driving him forward.
The afternoon shifted to scrimmage rotations. Coach Reynolds paired newcomers with veterans. Connor found himself next to Elias again for a short rotation. "Call everything," Elias whispered, "even if it seems obvious. Setters control the court."
The rally started fast. Balls flew unpredictably, shouts bouncing off the walls. Connor set and passed carefully, landing lightly, trusting his instincts and the subtle guidance from SetterOS. Each adjustment felt like a small victory: better timing, smoother movements, fewer stumbles.
Mason Lee, middle blocker, blocked one of Connor's sets with ease, then nodded approvingly. "Good awareness. You're seeing it before it happens."
Connor's chest tightened with a mixture of pride and nerves. The SetterOS displayed a small confirmation:
[Execution: 91%]
[Recommendation: Slight increase in arm extension for faster release]
He ignored the screen, letting his body absorb the feedback naturally.
Short water break. Dylan and Noah leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "Man, this is intense."
Connor nodded. "Focus on your next drill. Don't overthink the last one."
Harper approached, scribbling a note. "I think I'm going to ask to cover the team this season—keep track of everything for the jornal. I want to be involved."
Connor glanced at her. "You'd be great at that."
She smiled, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Thanks. I think it would be nice to do that."
The session ended with attack drills and more scrimmages. Connor moved through each, hands steady, eyes scanning the court. He felt the subtle difference between veterans and newcomers—not skill alone, but anticipation, communication, and composure under pressure.
Coach Reynolds blew the whistle finally. "Good work, everyone. Remember, Saturday will be our first full evaluation, your performance over the next few days determines team placement. Time A, Time B, and reserves will be chosen based on what we see in these drills. Keep focused, communicate, and trust your instincts."
Connor packed his bag slowly, glancing at Elias and Mason. Their presence was not intimidating anymore; it was a challenge he was learning to accept. He felt the rhythm of the court returning, subtle yet persistent.
Outside, the sun was lower, slanting across the gym's parking lot. Dylan clapped him on the shoulder. "Tomorrow, same time?"
Connor nodded. "Definitely."
The rhythm is back, he thought, feeling the familiar pulse of excitement. And now it's time to push forward.