Chapter 12: Returning to the Beginning as a Substitute

The team under Assistant Coach Ning managed to weather Yu Bai's powerful serving rotation by relying on Ning Zhou's impeccable serve reception. Soon after, the libero Ning Yang, who had been feeling unwell, returned to the court…

“What an eye-opener, a setter who can receive those jump serves. No wonder—Ning Assistant Coach has trained him since childhood. His fundamentals are just superb.”

“That libero who just subbed in must be Ning Yang, right? I remember he was named Best Libero in the domestic league this year.”

“Yes, that's him. The main libero from the previous first team just retired, so Ning Yang winning Best Libero had an element of luck.”

“My team hasn't played against Ning Yang's. Is he really that good?”

“Eh, he... always gave me the impression of being a bit one-sided in his skills…”

“One-sided?”

The referee’s whistle cut through their conversation.

Next, it was Assistant Coach Ning’s team’s turn to serve. The serve wasn’t particularly aggressive; the opposition’s reception was flawless, quickly organizing a fast attack.

The blockers were a step behind, and the opposing middle blocker spiked downward, targeting Xu Zichang, who had rushed to block but hadn’t gotten into proper position…

Xu Zichang cried out in pain as the ball ricocheted off him into the air, yet he gritted through it and boasted, “Valid touch! My blocking skills are incredible, even this worked!”

A “valid touch” in volleyball means the blocker's hands softened the attack, so it doesn’t count against the team’s three touches, allowing the team to play the ball again and set up a proper attack.

But this time, the ball hadn’t even hit Xu Zichang’s hands—it had bounced off his body. A lucky fluke at best. Only two touches remained…

The crowd gasped.

“It hit his shoulder? That sounded painful…”

“Why is his first reaction after taking a ball with his body to brag?”

“He even twists a blind-luck save into a ‘valid touch.’ What a talker!”

“The ball’s way off. Even if they recover it, there’s no way to set up an attack… Wait, that libero!?”

Ning Yang dashed across the court, his prominent ears almost flapping in the wind. He chased the ball instantly, shouting as he ran:

“Xu Zichang, get ready to attack!”

Xu Zichang ignored his aching shoulder, hurried back to his attacking position, and anxiously waited for Ning Yang’s set.

The spectators measured the distance between ball and attacker with their eyes, incredulous.

“The libero’s going for a direct bump set?”

“That’s a tough adjustment! He must have real confidence in his spatial awareness!”

“No wonder he made Best Libero!”

Ning Yang crouched low, positioned himself under the descending ball, and, using a back bump, sent it toward Xu Zichang. He turned confidently to look back—

The ball sailed clear over Xu Zichang’s head, rocketing straight for the coaching staff.

Assistant Coach Ning Xu’s face changed as he raised both arms, catching the ball just before it hit Coach Luo in the head.

“Coach Luo, are you alright?”

“…Not exactly.”

Coach Luo, his hair mussed by Ning Xu’s arm, immediately pulled out a small comb to tidy himself.

The referee, arm raised toward Assistant Coach Garry’s team, awarded them the point.

Silence swept across the gym.

Xu Zichang was the first to recover.

He’d just pushed himself to the limit, leaping as high as he could, and still hadn’t even touched the ball. His eyes blazed.

“Ning Yang! I risked my life to save that ball, and you just wasted it!”

Ning Yang had no time to argue, sneaking glances at the coaching staff—

Coach Luo focused solely on combing his bangs, while Ning Xu stood frozen, clutching the ball as if afraid to move.

“Pfft!”

Ning Zhou tried to stifle his laughter, gave Ning Yang a thumbs-up.

“Nice bump, perfect setup for Assistant Coach Ning to spike right there!”

The previously composed audience couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Haha, the libero jinxed himself after our praise, but at least he looked cool doing it…”

“He dared to threaten Coach Kong’s precious bangs with that bump. He’s doomed—he’ll be ‘taken care of’ for sure!”

“Someone ask Assistant Coach Ning if he regrets raising Ning Yang—now he has to cover for his mistakes, haha!”

…

Ning Yang apologized to the coaching staff, then shuffled back to his teammates.

“Um… just got back on, my hands aren’t warmed up—sorry, that was off…”

“A bit off?!” Xu Zichang clutched his shoulder in regret. “You wasted my spectacular defense!”

“Sorry, next ball’s mine!”

With Ning Yang’s earnest attitude, Xu Zichang let it go, deciding to trust him again.

But over the next few rallies, Garry’s team’s offense surged…

One reason was the short setter Ning Zhou was now in the front row, where his height was a disadvantage at the net.

Another reason—

“No worries, let me handle the defense!”

Every time, Ning Yang would shout this and dive or roll for the ball, drawing gasps from the crowd—

Not once did he save it.

Ning Zhou stared at the floor, deep in thought.

“Just as I thought—after every one of your defenses, the floor’s spotless…”

The teammates looked around the court. Within Ning Yang’s defensive range, the floor gleamed—it would make any custodian proud.

Du Jun clapped Ning Yang on the back, trying to comfort him: “You worked hard, at least.”

“Du-ge, even your insults are elegant!” Xu Zichang clutched his belly, laughing. “Ning Yang, why do you do all those difficult moves for ineffective saves? Good thing Assistant Coach Ning picked you first, or a circus would have snatched you up!”

On the sidelines, Assistant Coach Hou’s brow furrowed deeper, glasses reflecting a sharp gleam.

“Assistant Coach Ning, at this point, I can’t even see Ning Zhou’s talent, and now Ning Yang’s is a total mystery to me…”

Coach Luo tucked away his comb, jesting, “So far, Ning Yang’s best ability is brightening the mood.”

“He…” Ning Xu rubbed his forehead, struggling to explain, “His defense definitely needs more work.”

…

On Garry’s bench, the “Trash Talker” middle blocker bounced his leg, gnawing his nails anxiously.

“This is nerve-wracking—why isn’t that weird setter stirring things up? Was it just against me?”

“Because their reception’s been shaky, Ning Zhou can’t run the offense,” replied middle blocker Chen Wenyao, whose 210 cm frame made his chair look tiny.

“That young outside hitter, Xu Zichang, has unreliable passing. We’ve targeted him with all our serves. If their team can stabilize reception, things might turn around…”

“Trash Talker” nodded. “Exactly—if they get it together now, we won’t be the only blockers getting played by that setter!”

Just as they braced for more heartbreak, Garry subbed in a new serving substitute—not Yu Bai, but a burly veteran from the old first team.

“Trash Talker” turned to see Chen Wenyao’s face suddenly tense up.

“What, is his serve that good? I barely saw him play in the national tournaments.”

“He’s a serving specialist—dropped out of international play with an ankle injury, only recently started training again.” Chen Wenyao wiped his sweaty palms. “This could spell trouble for Assistant Coach Ning’s team’s reception!”

The sub bounced the ball forcefully on the floor, each thump heavy—a clear power player.

His serve didn’t have Yu Bai’s speed, but it spun like a catapulted boulder, crashing toward the other court.

The audience winced at the dull thud.

“You can tell that’s hard to receive—too much spin, one wrong angle and it’ll shoot off your arms!”

“I’ve tried taking his serve before—it’s like an elephant stomping your arm. You’re lucky just to get it up, let alone make a good pass.”

“Pure brute force—suits Garry’s style to a tee…”

The ball screamed just over the net, straight for Ning Yang’s reception zone.

Spectators silently lit a candle for Ning Yang…

But on court, one player was completely unfazed.

Ning Zhou tracked the trajectory, relaxed, even had the leisure to mutter to himself, “If it comes your way, I’ll just wait right here!”

Ning Yang crouched extremely low, eyes unblinking on the ball.

Spin, angle, speed—

In his pupils, the swirling seams of the ball reflected like slow-motion.

At the moment of contact, he bent his knees further, absorbing the frontal force and the savage spin in a single move.

In an instant, the ball went from fierce and wild to gentle, calm, and lively.

“One pass!?”

Chen Wenyao felt goosebumps rise along his arm, not even realizing his voice cracked.

“He handled that serve perfectly on the first try!”

Even though middle blockers don’t usually receive, Chen Wenyao could tell just how stunning Ning Yang’s pass was.

“Trash Talker” smacked his fist into his palm, realization dawning.

“That’s right! In the domestic league, Ning Yang’s defense stats weren’t as good as other liberos, but he was called the ‘King of Serve Reception!’”

Not only the players but the coaches were shocked. Assistant Coach Hou gripped his pen tighter, blurting out,

“Impossible! Even a world-class libero couldn’t guarantee a perfect pass on his first try against that serve!”

Ning Xu’s brows finally relaxed.

“In pure serve reception, Ning Yang is already top ten internationally!”

Coach Luo nodded, his smile deepening. “Indeed, if he can develop his defense, his future is limitless…”

“He’s been a libero since childhood, yet his defense is still average—many say he’s ‘one-sided,’” Assistant Coach Hou muttered, tapping his pen on the paper. “Why’s there such a gap between his skills? Is it all about ‘talent’?”

Ning Xu grew solemn again, explaining,

“Yes. Ning Yang’s serve reception relies heavily on talent—his eyesight is sharper than normal, and he claims he can see the spin of the serve with absolute clarity. But because he relies so much on his vision, he tends to pause and read the ball on defense, often missing the best moment to dive…”

Assistant Coach Hou fell silent, eyes fixed on the ball Ning Yang had just passed.

“Isn’t his pass too high?”

Ning Xu looked up, watching as the ball arced much higher than a typical pass.

“When he and Ning Zhou are on court together, he always raises the pass…”

A rare smile crept onto Ning Xu’s lips, his voice dropping,

“It’s their secret code—”

My task is done. The rest is up to you.

It was as if Ning Zhou had been handed a baton. He moved just enough to get to the ball’s landing spot.

The high pass gave the ball more hang time, buying Ning Zhou precious tenths of a second to survey the court.

He settled, raised his arm, eyes sweeping “downward.”

Across the net, he saw all six opponents’ positions, their toes, their shifting stances—nothing escaped him.

On the other side, the middle blocker now in the front row was his roommate, Nie Feiang.

Nie Feiang was explosive off the ground; if he set a quick, even if Nie Feiang was a hair slow to react, he’d still catch up to block. If he set to the back row, Nie Feiang’s bounce might allow him to double-jump and recover for a block.

So—don’t set to the middle.

Ning Zhou tightened his core, snapped his fingers, and sent the ball flying in a flat arc, right to position four—the outside hitter’s sweet spot.

Nie Feiang, anxious, lumbered after the ball, but his footwork was heavy, and the blockers weren’t in position.

The opposing middle’s block was useless…

“Nice, gotta feed the number one fan club member more balls!”

Xu Zichang found the gap between the middle and outside blockers and slammed the ball through.

Point won.

Ning Zhou raised an eyebrow at Nie Feiang, grinning.

As expected—against slow-recovering “big oafs,” just make them chase the ball the length of the net…

Nie Feiang, furious, grabbed the net.

“Ning Zhou, next ball, I’m blocking whatever you set. Don’t think I’ll go easy on you because we’re roommates!”

Ning Zhou reached under the net and shook Nie Feiang’s hand up and down.

“Sure, right back at you!”

“Who wants to shake your hand!” Nie Feiang yanked it back, huffed, and turned away.

Ning Zhou: …

So much fun. I’ll run him ragged again soon.

On Garry’s bench, “Trash Talker” and Chen Wenyao watched with glee, waiting for another middle blocker to join their “Heartbroken Blockers’ Alliance.”

“Quick, what’s that middle’s name? He’s about to need our comfort!”

“Right, Chen-ge. Our brotherhood grows by the minute!”

…

With Ning Yang and Ning Zhou, the “golden duo,” holding down the fort, Du Jun and Xu Zichang’s attacking confidence soared.

Their team slowly pulled ahead.

Ning Zhou’s touch improved with every rally.

His body warmed, his fingers nimble—he felt as if he’d never been reborn, as if all the nightmares before were just a bad dream…

“Ning Zhou, save it!”

A desperate shout snapped him back. He sprinted after the ball, estimating the distance.

A dive would save it!

He pushed off, body stretched for the dive—when suddenly, a stabbing pain shot through his head.

It felt as if he were being sucked into a whirlpool, his consciousness slipping from his grasp.

By the time he came to, his body was curled on the floor, having tumbled forward.

The ball bounced in front of him, and he heard anxious voices around him asking if he was alright.

Ning Zhou’s heart skipped a beat, his fingers trembling uncontrollably—

Why… why couldn’t he dive?