And this time, Inarizaki's cheerleaders tried to interfere with their signature drumbeat from outside the court—but it had become much weaker.
It wasn't that they didn't want to continue, but rather that they were overwhelmed by a deep sense of powerlessness.
Throughout the past three rallies, they had been desperately trying.
They beat their drums with all their might, throwing in every ounce of energy they had, trying to put on a show that would shake the court.
But no one even looked their way.
Their behavior felt like that of a small puppy endlessly yapping at a Lion.
They thought they had a chance just because the Lion didn't respond.
But in the end, they never realized—the Lion never even considered them enemies.
At this point, the morale of Inarizaki's cheerleaders was starting to collapse.
On the opposite side of the court, the referee's whistle blew, signaling Akira's next serve.
No surprises.
Even though Inarizaki had adjusted their formation, they still couldn't receive it.
Because it was simply too fast. Like a phantom streaking across the court.
There was no time to react.
Karasuno scored again!
That made four consecutive points from Akira's serve.
And he was still going.
Just thinking about that sent a chill down the spines of every player on Inarizaki.
Now, Karasuno was up 12–5.
And Inarizaki still only had five points!
Even if they managed to catch one of his serves, could they really close a seven-point gap in the back half of the set?
Don't forget—Karasuno's other players weren't pushovers either.
Even with Akira rotating to the back row soon, making up that deficit out of nowhere seemed almost impossible.
As they were thinking this, Akira on the other side of the net launched his next serve.
Boom!!
Another thunderous strike shook the entire arena.
Another ace.
Back on Inarizaki's bench, Shinsuke Kita couldn't help but shift in his seat. He turned toward head coach Norimune Kurosu.
"Not yet."
"Once we receive a serve—or in the second set—it's your turn."
Taro Omi, one of Inarizaki's coaches, spoke urgently. His tone was heavy, but he still clung to a shred of rationality.
Now wasn't the time to send Shinsuke Kita in.
"Yes."
Hearing this, Kita, who had risen halfway from his seat, slowly sat back down.
But his eyes remained locked on the court.
As if he could find some flaw in Akira's serve just by watching closely enough.
...
Boom!
On Karasuno's side, Akira's serves continued.
Point after point. They just kept coming.
From the fourth serve onward, Inarizaki's cheerleader interference began to falter.
By now, their drumming had become sparse and disjointed, nothing like the powerful rhythm they had started with.
They sounded like a defeated army, wailing in despair.
Boom!!
Another powerful jump serve smashed straight into the center of Inarizaki's formation!
"Damn it!"
"Just barely missed!"
Michinari Akagi muttered helplessly.
It had happened again and again—just when it looked like they might receive his serve, the ball slipped just beyond their reach.
Creak.
The referee's whistle sounded. Karasuno scored again. Akira was still up to serve.
"Whoa!"
"Is he really going to serve through the entire set?"
Kōtarō Bokuto watched from the stands, his expression lighting up with interest.
"This is wild. Inarizaki might become the first team in nationals history to lose a semifinal set off a single serving run."
His words left the others around him speechless. Bokuto's priorities were as strange as ever.
"That might actually happen,"
Kenma Kozume added thoughtfully.
"Inarizaki still only has five points."
"If Akira keeps scoring off his serves…"
Lev Haiba hesitated.
"…they might really lose the set just like this."
"And honestly, I don't think anyone predicted that before the match started."
...
No matter what the others said, Akira's serving streak continued.
His explosive serves landed like lightning, and the sound of the referee's whistle blended with the roar of the crowd, creating a surreal rhythm that entranced the audience.
How many years had it been since something like this happened at Nationals?
Whether they had known Akira before or not, everyone in the stadium now had his name seared into memory.
They wouldn't forget that powerful presence on the court.
And at some point, the area around Inarizaki's cheer squad had gone completely silent.
Or rather, it had become deathly quiet.
Most of the cheerleaders' faces were pale and stricken, like they had just lived through a brutal war.
But in reality, all they had done was beat their drums and try to disrupt Akira's serve.
Yet now, while Akira remained on court—still serving, still scoring—they sat slumped in their seats as though all strength had drained from their bodies.
This wasn't physical exhaustion.
It was a psychological blow that left them crushed, silent, and defeated.