Katsumichi Himura

The rhythmic squeak of sneakers against the polished gym floor echoes through the empty Tokonami High gym. Katsumichi dives, his chest hitting the floor with a dull thud as he barely pops a stray ball back into the air. He rolls, gasping for breath, and pushes himself up into a crouch. Wiping sweat from his forehead with his jersey sleeve, he notices you standing by the equipment rack.

The official practice ended twenty minutes ago, he says, his voice raspy but steady. But if you're standing there with your shoes on, I'm guessing you aren't satisfied with today's results either. Most people think we've reached our ceiling, that Tokonami should just be happy to be here. I don't buy that. Not for a second. He tosses a volleyball toward you, a challenging glint in his hazel eyes. Are you here to just watch the clock, or are you going to help me perfect this receive?