The locker room buzzed with post-game energy. Laughter echoed off the tiles, Mason was cracking up with Caleb over a missed dig that, by some miracle, had turned into a perfect assist.
Elias dropped onto the bench beside Connor and held up a hand."Good tempo out there," the captain said, slapping him a high-five. "You read their defense clean."
"Thanks," Connor replied, still catching his breath, the adrenaline not quite gone.
From the corner, Coach Reynolds glanced up from his clipboard. "That's what I like to see, execution and awareness. We'll rotate more in the next one, see how everyone handles different roles." He flipped a page, then added, "Lakeshore's next. They're defense-heavy, so expect longer rallies. Be patient."
The room began to thin out, towels slung over shoulders, laughter fading toward the showers. Then Noah bounded over, still in warm-ups, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Dude! You were everywhere out there!"
Connor grinned, shaking his head. "I just tried not to mess anything up."
Noah laughed. "Man, that dual-setter setup? That was sick. Elias never shares the court with anyone."
"Guess he was feeling generous," Connor said, smirking.
Noah raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe he's starting to trust you. That's new."
Connor didn't answer right away, just smiled to himself, the noise of the locker room fading into a quiet, satisfied hum.
⸻
Between matches, Harper caught up with them near the snack area, still holding her camera. "You guys were awesome out there," she said. "It's way faster than I thought it'd be."
"Yeah, well, we try," Dylan said with mock modesty.
She rolled her eyes and turned to Sam. "You were really solid in the middle, by the way. You make it look easy."
Sam shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting. "It's all timing. And luck."
"Pretty sure skill had something to do with it," she teased.
Connor watched from a step away, smiling faintly. It was subtle, but the spark between them was obvious even to him.
⸻
Their second match of the day, against Clearwater High, hit different from the first whistle. The pace was heavier, sharper. Clearwater's libero was everywhere at once, reading spikes before they left the hitter's hand, sliding across the backcourt like he was tracing invisible lines no one else could see. Every rally dragged on longer than it should have, volleys bouncing from floor to fingertips and back again.
Coach Reynolds had warned them: Clearwater thrived on chaos.He kept the lineup fluid—Elias started the first set to steady the rhythm, but halfway through, Connor rotated in to shift the tempo.
The SetterOS flared to life the second he stepped onto the court.
[Opponent Strategy Detected: Cross Defense Rotation.]
[Countermeasure: Redirect attack pattern—focus Position 2.]
[Estimated Gain: +6.3% offensive efficiency.]
Connor caught the hint instantly. Clearwater's backline was sliding too far left on every serve.He raised a signal to Jordan: tempo right, early set.
The next play unfolded in a blur: the serve clipped the tape, floated just over. Clearwater managed the pass, but Ridgefield's defense snapped it back fast. Connor was there, hands up, flicking a quick, flat set to the right pin. Jordan hit before the block could form, clean, hard, down.
Point, Ridgefield. 19–17.
Jordan jogged back, grinning, breathless. "Keep feeding me, Connor."
[Play Efficiency Spike: +11%.]
[Block Timing Drift: Opponent –0.21s.]
Connor didn't need more convincing. Next rally, same read, but faster. The pass came from Liam, low and quick; Connor jumped, disguised a middle set, and sent it again to Jordan on two. Another clean kill.
20–17. Timeout, Clearwater.
The Wolves huddled. Reynolds's voice cut through the noise."Good read. Keep pressure on their right. Don't let the libero reset he's getting tired."
Back on court, Clearwater pushed harder. Their outside hitter started finding seams, threading shots just past Mason's hands. The lead slipped to 22–22 after a service ace kissed the line. The crowd tensed; even Elias clenched his jaw from the bench.
Connor's pulse thudded in his ears.
[Set Status: Critical.]
[Recommendation: Delay tempo, increase coverage Zone 6.]
The serve came again, low, fast. Liam dig popped high, perfect height. Connor backpedaled, lifted the ball just enough for Sam to swing crosscourt. The spike grazed the block, deflected wide.
23–22.
Sam stepped up to serve. The gym went silent.He tossed, drove the ball deep, an ace that skimmed the baseline.
Set point, Ridgefield. 24–22.
Clearwater fought off one, then another, forcing a long rally that had everyone shouting, dives, scrambles, fingertips, chaos. Finally, Jordan went for a back-row hit that caught the edge of the block and dropped clean.
26–24, Ridgefield.
No one celebrated long. The second set started even tighter. Clearwater opened 7–4, pushing the tempo with relentless serves that forced shaky passes. Elias barked from the bench, "Hold your shape! Breathe!"
Connor nodded once, calming his hands.
He shifted tactics, mixed quicks with high arcs, forcing Clearwater's blockers to guess. Dylan scored twice off delayed swings, and Mason's, back on court, quick middle kill tied it 17–17.
[Sync Update: 89%.]
[Fatigue Detected: Opponent Blockers, Front Row.]
The system's tone was cool, but Connor could feel the edge tipping back. Ridgefield surged, closing the gap one serve at a time until 24–22. Jordan took the final point, another blistering swing through the right seam, untouched.
Set two: 25–22. Match: 2–0.
When the whistle blew, the Wolves didn't erupt, they just stood there for a moment, breathing hard, absorbing it. Sweat dripped, lungs burned, but the scoreboard didn't lie: undefeated on Day One.
By the time the gym lights dimmed that evening, everyone was hoarse from cheering, their uniforms damp and heavy.
Connor sat on the bench, towel over his head, the faint hum of the SetterOS fading in his vision.
[Day Summary: 2–0 record | Team Efficiency +9.2% over baseline.]
[Next Opponent: Lakeshore — Defensive Specialist.]
He closed his eyes and smiled. Tomorrow would be harder. And he couldn't wait.
⸻
Later, outside the locker room, Connor saw Lucas talking quietly with Reynolds. The older boy's shoulder brace gleamed faintly under the lights. When their eyes met, Lucas gave him a short nod.
"Good work today," he said. "I watched your tempo. You've got good instincts."
"Thanks," Connor said. "Noah told me you used to be the one carrying the team."
Lucas laughed softly. "Carrying's a strong word. Let's just say Liam and I got tired of losing."
"You'd still be playing if it weren't for your shoulder," Connor said before thinking.
Lucas's expression tightened slightly, but he nodded. "Maybe. Or maybe I'd just be standing in someone else's way by now."
Connor hesitated—then the system flickered alive.
[Scan: Lucas Ramirez]
Position: Outside Hitter
Current Rating: 42 (Recovery Phase)
Potential: 99
Notes: Technical mastery. Leadership. Physical limitation—right shoulder mobility 49%.
Connor blinked. Ninety-nine. The system had never shown a number that high before.
He watched Lucas laugh at something Mason said down the hall and realized the truth in Noah's words: this guy had been the backbone of the Wolves. Maybe still was, in a different way.
The system pulsed one last time that night:
[Team Sync: 74% → 76%]
[Mission Progress Updated.]
[Observation: Leadership influence increases team cohesion.]
Connor smiled faintly, tucking his water bottle under his arm as he joined the others.
The Wolves had ended the first day undefeated. The gym lights flickered off behind them, the banner of the silver wolf glinting above the exit.
Tomorrow, the real battles would begin.