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Lev’s arms were like a lion’s tail, Fukunaga thought, in that they lashed at random and Lev never looked where he waved them.
To his credit, he kept his arms mostly together this time. Yamamoto’s spike hit the side of his elbow and deflected into the antenna.
Yamamoto punched the air. “HRAAA! Take that!”
“Another!” Lev said. He turned around to where Fukunaga stood with a cart of balls. “Please?”
Fukunaga pulled the next green-and-red ball out and gave it a spin. He was a Molten sort of guy—soft on the inside.
The ball left his hands with less force than he’d intended and barely crossed the net. Yamamoto made an awkward adjustment to his swing, but angled his line shot too far.
“Out.” Fukunaga stretched his arms in a “T.”
Lev drew himself to his full height. “Feel the presence of Nekoma’s ace!”
“Whadidja say?” Yamamoto made an anglerfish face. “No one in their right mind would call a balloon animal like you the ace.”
“Fukunaga-san, what do you think?”
It took Fukunaga a second to figure out what he’d been asked. He held up a finger. “Who’s the ace? Is it even a race?”
“See?” Yamamoto bellowed. “You’re years behind me, scrub!”
That wasn’t what Fukunaga had said, though it was true. Lev’s receiving practice was taking an awfully long time to pay off.
Lev refused to be deterred. “Let’s settle this with a volleyball match, senpai.”
“How many times have I told you, that’s not how this sport works!”
Fukunaga put the ball in his hands back into the cart just as Yaku pulled one out. “Let me guess,” Yaku said, “Lev called himself the ace again?”
“Neither can obtain what they seek.”
Yaku blinked at him for a moment, then laughed and clapped him on the back. “You’re real wise sometimes, Fukunaga-kun. That’s right—no title could ever satisfy those egos.” He walked off to pepper with Kai, still chuckling.
Fukunaga’s statement had been literal, but oh well. It didn’t matter.
+
In their next practice game with Shinzen, the third time Lev whiffed his swing, the ball rolled off his fingertips, onto the tape, and over the net. The blocker opposite him tried to get a foot on it, but the ball missed his shoe and hit the ground.
Yaku kicked Lev in the back of the knees. “C’mon, future ace, get your two brain cells in order! We’ve only got a month until Nationals!”
“We got the point, didn’t we?” Lev countered. “Being the ace is all about scoring points with every tool you have!”
“Tool,” Fukunaga agreed.
Yamamoto roared with laughter and pointed at Lev. “Yeah, you tool! A real ace takes points through power, not whiffs!”
“Oi,” Kuroo said, “shut up and rotate.”
The next point, when Inuoka bumped him an emergency set in front of a waiting triple block, Fukunaga tooled his hit off the leftmost blocker for a block out.
+
Over the next week, the bickering only intensified.
“You’re kidding,” Yaku said, when Lev skipped into practice in a “The Way of the Ace” shirt.
Even Kenma was perturbed enough to mutter at his phone, “I bet this is Bokuto-san’s fault.”
Yamamoto said, “Kuroo-san, this is impertinence! Please crown me the official ace, or Nekoma will never know peace again!”
Next to Kenma on the bench, Fukunaga carried on tracing the treads of his shoes with a Q-tip. Why all the fuss? It was obvious who the title belonged to.
“My dear underlings, aren’t we forgetting something?” Kuroo held his arms out. “We are all connected. If the title of ‘ace’ is about scoring points, shouldn’t we look to the heart of our team?”
A storm cloud began to swirl above Kenma’s head. Fukunaga blew at it, but it regrouped with a vengeance.
“The foundational member who nourishes the team’s brain, who drives us forward to greatness”—Kuroo lifted his arms to the sky—“Teshiro!”
All heads whipped to stare at him, Kenma the fastest of all. Except for Teshiro, who continued setting the ball against the far wall at the same even pace.
“Why so surprised, Kenma?” Kuroo’s mouth slanted into a grin. “He’s the only reason we get any effort out of you.”
The storm cloud crackled with lightning. Kenma hunched back over his phone. “Not true. If he replaces me as a starter, then all the better.”
“Oya? Then why is it that you’re miraculously cured of bump setting every time Coach calls him to the bench?”
Kai coughed politely into his fist. Fukunaga nodded, impressed with this analysis. “Aced it.”
Kenma shot him a glare. “Don’t you start, too.” He dealt his phone a vicious jab. “If we’re counting indirect points, Nekoma’s core philosophy centers around our defense. No matter how clever the attack, we bounce it back at them like an impermeable wall.”
At the mention of “wall,” Kuroo’s lazy expression brightened.
Kenma continued, “In which case, the title of ‘ace’ should go to the pillar of our defensive strategy—”
Kuroo put a hand over his heart.
“—Yaku-san.”
“Aw, thanks,” Yaku said, at the same time that Kuroo sputtered, “Hah?!”
“How is that swamp goblin the pillar of our defense, huh? Good defense starts with a good block!” Kuroo raised his arms and pushed his palms forward. “A towering specter that looms within the opponent’s very soul!”
“You sound like a secondary antagonist,” Kenma said.
Aunt Agonist—now there was an idea for a shonen villain.
Yaku grabbed one of Kuroo’s arms and brought it down. “Shake it off; we can’t all be winners.”
“Hey, I’m the one who looks down on you.” Kuroo jabbed Yaku in the chest. “Wanna take this to the volleyball court, you somatotropin-deficient pea crab?”
“Oh no,” Kai said, “it’s catching.”
A crab playing volleyball. Beach volleyball. Why hadn’t anyone made an anime out of that?
+
Later during practice, Kuroo got the opportunity to reclaim his pride via scrimmage. He wasn’t making very good use of it. His and Fukunaga’s side was down 19-23, and struggling through the current rally.
Kuroo got to the right a second too late, leaving a seam for Yamamoto to spike through.
“Cover!”
Fukunaga bumped it, leaning back to cushion the momentum. The ball arced meekly to Teshiro. Nice play, Shouhei.
Since he was still on his feet, Fukunaga easily recovered and approached for an attack. The ball sailed over Inuoka’s decoy swing and into Fukunaga’s field of view. One block, front covered; strong knock, back corner. Point over.
Lev landed and twisted his head to watch the ball roll away. “Shake it off,” he said, seemingly to himself.
Yaku cupped a hand to his mouth and jeered, “Hey, Captain! What was that about a looming specter again?”
“Don’t get cocky yet,” Kuroo snapped. He stomped back to serve.
Whether by accident or by provocation, the serve whizzed to the left back, a ball’s width closer to Yaku than Kai. Both made a move, then drew away.
Fukunaga offered Kuroo a thumbs up. “Nice. Ace.”
“Hear that? Fukunaga says I’m the ace.”
In the squabble that erupted, Fukunaga couldn’t get a word in to explain that actually, he’d been referring to the serve. No harm in giving Kuroo his one and only vote of confidence, though. Fukunaga faced the net and placed his hands behind his head. Kuroo’s jump serves were still inconsistent, and it was only a matter of time before he nailed someone.
+
To everyone’s relief, as Nationals drew nearer, the would-be aces reached an uneasy truce. The whole team wordlessly agreed to avoid the word “ace” for the sanity of their teammates, their coaches, and their loved ones. Unfortunately, Yamamoto Akane had not received that memo.
She burst into practice one afternoon, waving two pencil-sketched posters. “I brought some drafts!”
“Drafts?” Inuoka asked Shibayama.
Shibayama started towards the crowd forming around Akane. “Akane-chan is making promotional posters.”
“Really? That’s wicked cool!”
Akane secured the posters to the wall with masking tape. “The concept is playing cards. Each member of the starting lineup will be framed by a card. Kuroo-kun will be One, and Kai-kun will be Two. You guys should decide who will be King, Queen, Jack, and Joker.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess my brother will be the Ace—”
The gym groaned as one.
“What about me?” Lev piped up.
“Shut up,” Yamamoto said, and Kenma mumbled, “I still think Yaku should be ace.”
Yaku shook his head. “If anything, Kai is the one holding this team together.”
“But he’s already the Two card—”
“—ugh, must we do this again—”
“—would it be too on the nose if we made Fukunaga the Joker?”
Akane climbed onto a bench and shouted, “Everyone!”
The gym fell silent.
Akane squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s not a big deal, so please just pick someone!”
Well, now it mattered.
Fukunaga raised his hand. “I’m the ace.”
A few scattered giggles broke out, but quickly died as everyone else turned to gape at him. When no one said anything, Fukunaga walked to the bench where Coach Naoi’s belongings sat. He picked up the activity log and glanced at Naoi for permission.
Naoi shrugged. “Go ahead.”
The team crowded around as Fukunaga flipped to the stats sheet for their last practice game. Kuroo’s hand trailed down to the row marked with Fukunaga’s name. “Oh, wow. 22 kills, 0.434 hitting. 17 assists… When did you get these service aces? 36 digs?”
“So he had one good game,” Yamamoto said. “Check the one before.”
Kenma flipped the pages. “16 kills. Yamamoto, you had 11. Oh, and Lev’s hitting percentage was double yours.”
“That’s only ‘cause he’s a middle!”
Lev perked up. “But senpai, isn’t the ace whoever can—”
“Okay!” Akane cut in. “I’ll put down Fukunaga-kun as the ace, then?”
A murmur traveled through the assembled players. One by one, each pair of eyes fixed upon the man, the myth, the most valuable hitter.
Fukunaga stepped onto the bench beside Akane. After all, to provide inspiration to one’s teammates was the way of the ace.
“Poster-wise, I’ll play the part”—he reached his hands out—“but you’re all aces in my heart.”
Group hugs weren’t Fukunaga’s forte, but he let his friends mob him anyway. At least they didn’t have crab pincers.