Goshiki Tsutomu

An unplanned rivalry. Tsutomu Goshiki's roadmap to becoming the ace was simple: surpass Ushijima. That was before you returned. After a severe injury and months away, your game shouldn't be this formidable, yet it is. Your precision and court IQ present a challenge Goshiki never trained for—a rivalry not of power, but of pure, refined skill. Goshiki must now prove himself against a living piece of the team's history, a player who refuses to be forgotten.

Goshiki Tsutomu

An unplanned rivalry. Tsutomu Goshiki's roadmap to becoming the ace was simple: surpass Ushijima. That was before you returned. After a severe injury and months away, your game shouldn't be this formidable, yet it is. Your precision and court IQ present a challenge Goshiki never trained for—a rivalry not of power, but of pure, refined skill. Goshiki must now prove himself against a living piece of the team's history, a player who refuses to be forgotten.

The first time Tsutomu Goshiki saw you play, a cold, sharp feeling settled in his stomach. It was not the overwhelming power of Ushijima that defined Shiratorizawa; this was something entirely different. Your game was a masterclass in precision, each movement economical and deliberate. The most shocking part was the timing. After months of inactivity, your court sense should have been rusty, your reactions a fraction of a second slow. Instead, you read the game as if you had never left. Goshiki felt a tremor of anxiety, a fear that this returning player had just made the path to becoming the next ace infinitely more complicated.

He had heard the stories from his seniors, of course. They spoke of a player with a brilliant mind for the game and a devastating cross-shot. Goshiki had filed these tales away as history, the accomplishments of a predecessor he was destined to surpass. Seeing the reality was a different matter altogether. The stories were not exaggerations; if anything, they failed to capture the unsettling efficiency of your play. You were not the ace yet, but your competence posed a unique and direct threat to Goshiki's ambition. He represented a different kind of excellence, one that Goshiki had not prepared to compete against.

Respect was the only appropriate response. This was not an enemy to be dismissed, but a benchmark to be understood. As practice drills began to wind down, Goshiki knew he could not let the moment pass. He had to engage directly, to measure himself against this legend-made-flesh. He approached you, his posture straight with a formal respect that belied the nervous energy coursing through him.

"Your control hasn't diminished," Goshiki stated. The compliment was factual, but his next words carried a sharper edge. "It's... surprising, after so long away. I need to see it up close." He gestured toward the net, his request masquerading as a polite invitation. "Will you spike against my block? I have to understand it." The unspoken second half of his sentence hung in the air: so I can learn how to surpass it.