Connor woke to the soft scrape of a spatula and the warm smell of toast drifting from the kitchen.For a moment, he lay there staring at the faint morning light that pushed through the blinds, wondering why he felt so awake before his alarm. Then it hit him—midterms week had begun, and apparently his nerves were more punctual than any clock.
He dragged himself out of bed, shoving on a hoodie as he made his way down the hall.
His mom stood by the stove, hair in a loose bun, eyes half-focused in that mom-way that meant she was running through three to-do lists at once. When she heard his footsteps, she turned, and her expression softened instantly.
"Morning, sweetheart. Big week," she said, sliding a plate onto the counter. "You feeling ready?"
Connor dropped into his seat, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Ready-ish," he muttered. "Like… 40% ready."
She let out a gentle laugh and nudged the plate toward him—eggs, toast, apple slices arranged neatly like she was trying to keep his world stable with produce.
"You've worked hard," she said. "Trust that a little."
He nodded, though the knot in his stomach didn't quite loosen. But he ate, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and headed out the door with the faint reassurance of her smile following him.
⸻
The hallways felt different during midterms, quieter in some stretches, buzzing in others, filled with the brisk rustle of pages and stressed-out breathing. Posters wishing GOOD LUCK WOLVES! hung with forced cheerfulness, as if the faculty hoped bright colors would compensate for looming exams.
Connor was heading toward his locker when a frantic voice called, "Connor... CONNOr...help."
Noah skidded to a stop beside him, hair sticking up worse than Connor's had been minutes earlier.
"I'm gonna fail," he announced dramatically. "Like actually, academically, life-endingly fail."
"You are not going to fail," Connor said, half amused.
"You don't know that," Noah insisted. "Last night I reread the same paragraph seven times and retained nothing except the existential dread."
"You got a B+ in algebra last test."
"That was a cosmic anomaly," Noah protested. "A fluke. I think the universe made a clerical error."
Connor opened his locker. "Pretty sure the universe has better things to do."
Before Noah could argue, Sam walked up with earbuds dangling around his neck and the easy confidence of someone who slept eight hours and studied efficiently.
"Morning," Sam said, twirling a pencil in his fingers like the laws of gravity didn't apply to him.
"You look suspiciously calm," Connor said.
Sam shrugged. "If I studied, I don't panic. If I didn't study, I accept my fate."
"Why is that worse?" Noah groaned.
⸻
The next few days slipped by in a haze of test papers and fluorescent lighting.
Connor stared at the final page, heart thumping, trying to remember whether that chemical structure meant "share electrons politely" or "explode violently."
[Cognitive Load: Moderate]
[Recall Accuracy Estimate: 82%]
He scribbled down his best guess just as the teacher called time.
Noah's head hit his desk with a soft thunk. "I survived," he whispered. "But at what cost."
The essay asked for symbolism analysis, which Connor managed fine.Sam finished early, naturally. Noah snapped a pencil in half, then had to borrow one.
Connor felt confident for once.Noah insisted the diagrams were "aggressively judging him."Sam corrected someone's pronunciation of endoplasmic reticulum without even looking up.
By noon, the three of them were mentally fried.
⸻
That afternoon, with an unspoken understanding, they wandered to the gym.The doors creaked faintly as they pushed inside, the scent of old varnish and rubber flooring settling around them like a familiar blanket.
Half the lights were off, leaving the space spacious and echoing. No volleyballs bouncing, no sneakers squeaking, no Mason yelling "BLOCK LEFT, PLEASE!"
It felt eerie and comforting at the same time.
Connor set his backpack down and slid onto the bottom bleacher.Noah dropped dramatically onto his back on the court, arms sprawled like he was awaiting divine rescue.
"This place is therapy," Noah sighed. "Actual therapy. The kind my parents won't pay for."
Sam chuckled as he stretched, fingers grazing the polished floor. "Lucas warned me about the winter training program," Noah Continued "Said it's where boys become athletes."
"That sounds horrifying," Dylan mumbled into the floor.
"It's not," Sam said. "Just intense. Lots of reps. Lots of systems. And apparently the coaches don't accept 'my legs are broken' as an excuse."
Connor leaned back, looking up at the dim rafters.Even empty, the gym carried a heartbeat.He wished he could bottle the feeling and take it with him into every exam.
⸻
Thusday Evenning Connor was reviewing history notes when his phone buzzed with a notification.
Team email — Coach Reynolds
He expected something about grade eligibility or practice schedules.
Instead, the subject line made his breath catch.
"Invitation: Oregon State Winter Volleyball Intensive."
His pulse jumped.
He opened the message slowly, reading every line twice.
"Congratulations, Wolves.
Due to your performance as runner-ups at the Bay County Invitational, you have been selected to participate in the Oregon State Winter Volleyball Intensive—one of the state's premier development programs.
Only a few teams are invited each year.All varsity players are included, freshmen through seniors.
Details to follow.— Coach Reynolds"
Connor stared at it, unable to move for a full five seconds.
His phone buzzed again.
NOAH:WHAT IS HAPPENINGWHAT DO WE DOARE WE QUALIFIED FOR THIS
Then another message.
Mason:This program is legit.We've never been invited.This is big.
Connor's chest tightened in the best way, like pride and disbelief were fighting to occupy the same space.
He wasn't the starter.He wasn't the best.But he was chosen.They were chosen.
Even after losing the final… someone believed in them.
He whispered into the quiet room, "Next time, we'll be ready."
Then he hit reply.
Coach, I'm all in.
Connor hit Send on the email, watching the tiny paper-plane icon glide off his screen before disappearing entirely.
But then, A soft, crystalline chime echoed in his ears. Not his phone. Not his laptop.
A blueysh panel blossomed into view just above his visual field, glowing faintly like moonlight reflected in water. Connor's breath caught.
[SetterOS — New Notification]Program Registered: Oregon State Winter Volleyball Intensive
Status: Enrollment Confirmed by Coaching StaffParticipant Group: Ridgefield Wolves — Selected Athletes
Connor blinked as a second, slower-spreading notification eased into place, the edges shimmering like warm static.
[Mission Update — Winter Program Initiation]Primary Objective:Strengthen baseline setter fundamentals to ensure consistent performance in multi-team scrimmages.
Focus Areas:— Improve serve consistency (target zones 1, 5)— Enhance defensive positioning and reaction timing
Connor exhaled, tension unraveling in a slow wave.This mission, felt achievable, grounded, like something built not to crush him under expectation but to guide him, step by step, toward the player he wanted to become.
Then the interface faded, leaving the room dim and quiet once more.
Connor stayed completely still in his chair, staring at the empty air where the holographic text had been moments before, feeling a slow, rising warmth in his chest. Not adrenaline. Not fear. Something steadier resolve, settling deep.
The system wasn't demanding greatness.Not yet.It was asking him to improve, to learn, to enter winter training with open eyes and a clear path.For the first time since the tournament, he felt the ground beneath him stop shifting.
He closed his eyes and let out one long, controlled breath.
He could do this. He would do this.Winter is Coming.