บท 34: Victory
The match resumed with a tension that buzzed through the air, amplified by the crowd's growing energy. I could still feel the faint sting on my forehead where Mama's spike had landed, but I wasn't about to let that or her towering presence intimidate me.
Rowena clapped her hands, her grin more determined than ever. "Alright, Rhi," she said, glancing at me. "Let's show them what we've got."
I nodded, trying to muster the same confidence, even though the odds seemed stacked against us. Mama's dominance on the court was undeniable, and Mom's agility only made things worse.
But as I glanced at Mama her crimson eyes flickering with focus, yet tinged with that familiar softness she always had around us I had an idea.
A devious, ridiculous, absolutely chaotic idea.
The ball was in play again. Mama served, her movements fluid as fire, and the ball rocketed over the net like a meteor.
Rowena and I scrambled, but Rowena managed to intercept with a powerful bump, sending the ball high into the air.
"Rhi!" she shouted, setting me up for a spike.
I leapt, arms extended, but instead of slamming the ball as hard as I could, I tipped it lightly over the net, aiming directly at Mama.
"Oops!" I called out mid-air, feigning alarm. "Careful, Mama!"
The words barely left my mouth before Mama's overprotective instincts kicked in. She lunged forward, her arms outstretched, and caught the ball mid-bounce before it hit the sand.
"Are you okay, Rhiannon?!" she exclaimed, holding the ball like it was a fragile glass ornament.
The crowd erupted in laughter, and I couldn't suppress my smirk. "I'm fine, Mama. But you know, that's not how volleyball works."
Her expression shifted from concern to realization, and her cheeks flushed a faint crimson. "Oh. Right." She tossed the ball back to the referee, her movements a little less composed.
Rowena, standing beside me, was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Did you just weaponize her mom instincts?"
I grinned. "You bet I did."
From that moment, the chaos truly began.
Every time the ball came our way, Rowena and I played on Mama's soft spot like virtuoso musicians. If the ball came too close to my head, I'd yelp dramatically. "Watch out, Mama! I'm fragile!"
If it looked like Rowena might take a hard dive, she'd call out, "Don't worry, Mama! I'll be okay, really!"
Mama's reactions were instantaneous and hilariously counterproductive. She hesitated on spikes, flinched when we made overly dramatic motions, and even tripped over herself trying to keep the ball from hitting us too hard.
At one point, Mom crossed her arms and glared at her. "Seraphine, for the love of all that's holy, they're fine! Focus on the game!"
Mama huffed, brushing sand off her legs. "I can't help it! They're my babies!"
"We're adults, Mama," I called out, barely dodging another dive from Rowena. "And we're trying to win!"
The crowd roared with laughter as the match devolved into a comedic spectacle. Even Mom, usually composed and strategic, started cracking a smile despite her best efforts to stay focused.
But beneath the humor, Rowena and I were playing seriously. We used every ounce of our teamwork and skill to keep the ball in play, capitalizing on every moment Mama hesitated or second-guessed herself.
Rowena was a powerhouse, her spikes slicing through the air like firebolts, forcing Mom to scramble across the sand to save them. I played the role of the strategic trickster, using soft taps and unexpected angles to keep them guessing.
The match reached a crescendo when the score hit a tie: 19–19. The next point would bring us to game point, and the tension was palpable.
The referee blew the whistle, signaling the serve.
This time, Rowena took the ball. She held it in her hands, her grin wild and confident. "Ready, Rhi?"
"Let's end this," I said, crouching low and ready.
Rowena's serve was a missile, the ball rocketing over the net with blistering speed. Mom dove for it, her arms outstretched, and managed to bump it high into the air.
Mama moved to intercept, her form perfect as she prepared to spike. But just as she leapt, Rowena shouted, "Careful, Mama! Don't hurt yourself!"
The briefest flicker of hesitation crossed her face, and in that split second, she miscalculated her swing. The ball clipped the top of the net and fell back onto their side.
Point to us.
The crowd erupted, and Rowena and I exchanged a triumphant high-five.
Game point.
The final rally was a blur of intensity. Mom and Mama fought like cornered tigers, their movements sharp and desperate. The ball soared back and forth across the net, each hit more powerful than the last.
Rowena and I pushed ourselves to the limit, diving, leaping, and sweating buckets as we fought to hold our ground. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating.
And then, the opening came.
Mom misjudged a return, sending the ball just a fraction too high. Rowena seized the opportunity, setting it up perfectly for me.
"Go, Rhi!" she shouted.
I didn't think. I just moved.
My legs propelled me upward, my arm swinging with every ounce of strength I had left. The ball connected with a satisfying thwack, flying past Mama's outstretched hands and slamming into the sand just inside the back line.
Point.
Game.
Victory.
The whistle blew, and for a moment, everything was still. Then the crowd erupted in cheers, their applause ringing out like a thunderstorm.
Rowena tackled me in a hug, her laughter ringing in my ears. "We did it! We actually beat them!"
I could barely breathe, my chest heaving as I grinned like a lunatic. "Yeah, we did."
Mama and Mom crossed the court, both of them smiling despite their loss.
Mama ruffled my hair, her eyes sparkling with pride. "That was well played, my little tricksters."
Mom chuckled, shaking her head. "You two are dangerous. I'm almost scared to see what you'll pull next."
Rowena puffed out her chest, clearly basking in the praise. "What can we say? We learned from the best."
As the crowd began to disperse, I couldn't help but glance at the scoreboard. We were officially in the finals. But for now, all I felt was the exhilaration of victory—and the relief that I'd survived a match against the Demon Queen herself.
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