I Really Am Just a Substitute – CH37

Chapter 37

Starting from the middle of the second set, T team’s “blocking core”—Abu—completely collapsed mentally.

His blocks lost the sharp edge they had in the first set, always a step too slow, even his effective touches dwindling.

With their core player falling apart, T team, which relies heavily on blocking, quickly fell into chaos.

The T team coach was stunned. Weren’t they supposed to give up this second set?

He flipped through his notes, searching for ways to salvage the situation—only to find scant data on Ning Zhou…

Where was the scouting report!?

Closing his eyes, the coach felt the urge to slap his pre-game self. They had focused all their analysis on Yu Bai, but it turned out Yu Bai had fewer sets in this rotation with the substitute setter running the offense.

The coach frowned and sighed. “My underestimation has completely screwed over our blockers…”

Beep—

While he was wallowing in regret, another ball hit the floor.

23:18

China was now just two points away from tying the match.

“Victory is in sight!” Tong Rong’s commentary grew increasingly passionate. “The energy from the substitutes has electrified the entire stadium. You can hear it—many in the crowd are now cheering for China!”

“Being up by five points isn’t entirely secure,” Zhang Kang said flatly.

Tong Rong sobered up. “True. The team is in a two-point attack rotation. Hopefully, they don’t get stuck here. If we take this set, both sides will be back on even footing…”

Zhang Kang glanced at the rotation. “Best to close it out during this rotation—get those last two points—”

On the court, Yu Bai stepped up to the service line.

A strong server’s rotation always carries its own pressure.

The audience held their breath. T team’s receivers crouched lower than usual, and even China’s front-row players looked slightly tense…

Chat:
Q: Why do front-row players cover their heads when their teammate is serving?
A: It makes their silhouette larger and blocks the opponent’s view of the server’s angle.
Q: Really?
A: Yes! Those tall guys with their arms out are basically human shields.
A: Also, fun fact: It protects your head from being accidentally hit by the serve… don’t ask how I know. /doge/
Q: No way—how hard are your serves that you hit your own teammates?!

“Zhou Zhou, aren’t you covering your head?”

Nie Feiang had his hands locked over his head like armor, nervously saying, “If I take one of Yu Bai’s serves to the head, my IQ will drop below 180!”

“…” Ning Zhou’s eye twitched. “Relax. No such luck for you.”

Nie Feiang thought for a moment. “You’re complimenting my iron head, right? Back when I slept on the top bunk, I hit it so many times it’s basically bulletproof now.”

“What are you even proud of?” Ning Zhou stared at him. “You think that’s something worth putting on a résumé?”

Nie Feiang beamed. “Iron skull equals ‘strong under pressure.’ Of course it goes on my résumé!”

Ning Zhou’s expression turned complicated. “…Then why are you still covering your head? Doesn’t your ‘iron skull’ protect you?”

“No way!” Nie Feiang said righteously. “I refuse to trade IQ for head toughness!”

Behind them, Yu Bai jumped, channeling power through his core, his arm swinging through in a perfect motion.

The ball rocketed forward like a cannonball…

“!”

But his contact point was slightly off. The ball spun violently and veered midair—

Across the net, T team’s players widened their eyes in alarm. Ning Zhou’s heart sank: Not good—

It’s over—he’s aiming at me…

Yu Bai’s serve was so fast that Ning Zhou had no time to react.

As the air whooshed past, his hair whipped violently, and the volleyball grazed the top of his head—

With a deafening force, the ball slammed into the net, bending it into an exaggerated arc before bouncing back down, its speed mostly killed. In a daze, Ning Zhou caught it in his arms.

At that moment, his delayed thoughts spun like a flickering film reel.

And the only line that surfaced was—

“Zhou Zhou, aren’t you going to cover your head?”

“Zhou Zhou, a-are you okay?”

Nie Feiang, frozen in panic, forgot to lower his arms, holding them above his head as if surrendering.

“Do we need to call 120? No, wait—what’s the emergency number in this country again?!”

Ning Zhou’s soul felt like it was floating above his head as he stood there, hugging the volleyball absentmindedly.

Suddenly, a strong hand spun him around, though the grip was careful not to hurt him.

Yu Bai, both anxious and silent, brushed back Ning Zhou’s hair, seemingly checking for any hidden injuries from the ball’s impact.

Ning Zhou shoved his hand away. “I’m fine!”

Yu Bai muttered softly, “Sorry…”

Ning Zhou tossed the volleyball toward the sideline staff, patting his chest with lingering fear. “I know I teased you earlier, but that doesn’t mean you can target me like that!”

Panic flashed in Yu Bai’s eyes. He grabbed Ning Zhou’s wrist. “It was an accident—I wasn’t aiming at you on purpose…”

“I know.” Ning Zhou arched a brow with a grin. “Next time, I’ll huddle with Nie Feiang and cover the back of my head. You don’t need to hold back—just blast that serve across the court!”

Relief washed over Yu Bai’s face. “Okay.”

[Oof, who jinxed it earlier? Our Zhou looked so pale from that scare.]
[Does the national team even have insurance for players? That was way too dangerous…]
[Buzz-cut bro, take it easy. Zhou Zhou’s expression is so forgiving—he clearly couldn’t bear to blame him. /holding face/]
[Between those cannonball serves and nearly injuring a teammate, Yu Bai’s serve accuracy is seriously dropping.]

“He actually used his full strength.”

On the coaching bench of the China team, Shao Qiu sat beside Assistant Coach Hou, clutching a sweat towel tightly, his eyes filled with frustration.

“After playing the entire Asian Championship with Yu Bai, this is the first time I’ve seen him serve with full power on the international stage.”

Assistant Coach Hou barely looked up from recording data. “His full-power serves have low success rates. After this set, I’ll remind him to ease up—”

“It’s not about the serve!” Shao Qiu snapped, his tone sharp. “It’s about his attitude!”

Hou’s pen froze mid-note. “What?”

Realizing his outburst, Shao Qiu lowered his voice.

“When I was the setter, Yu Bai’s serves and spikes were… fine, but now that Ning Zhou is on court, it’s like he’s injected with adrenaline!”

“So what?” Assistant Coach Hou asked calmly.

“So Ning Zhou can use him as a decoy—I can’t!”

Shao Qiu’s frustration boiled over. “The T-country team has definitely studied Yu Bai. They can read his movement—whether he’s serious or not—from just one look. They’ve been able to guess every signal when I set up for him!”

Hou let out a sharp snort. “And your point is?”

Breathing hard, Shao Qiu covered his face with the towel.

“You think all of this is Yu Bai’s fault?”

Assistant Coach Hou’s tone turned stern. “You’re the setter. You should know better than anyone that when people hear about this, they’ll only praise Ning Zhou’s ability to command the court—they won’t pity you.”

“Ning Zhou is only twenty. How much command ability can he really have?” Shao Qiu muttered bitterly into the towel. “Yu Bai just cooperates with him more because they’re from the same batch of players…”

Assistant Coach Hou grabbed Shao Qiu’s hair with one hand and yanked his head up.

“Eyes on the game.”

On the court, the score had reached 24:19.

Nie Feiang rotated to the back row for the serve, while Chen Wenyao moved up to the front row for blocking.

Chen Wenyao adopted the standard middle blocker’s pose—both arms up, hands protecting the back of his head.

This time, Ning Zhou mimicked him, looking like a smaller copy.

“Thanks, Brother Chen.”

Chen Wenyao blinked in surprise. “Why the sudden thanks?”

“Everyone else on court is from the new batch of players. Having a veteran like you here makes us feel a lot more secure.”

The overhead lights reflected in Ning Zhou’s long lashes, and paired with his smile, it was like a halo on the edge of a feather.

Chen Wenyao couldn’t help but chuckle, glancing at the bruise mark on his shoulder.

“Honestly, I asked to be put in because I wanted to support you guys—didn’t want us to lose too badly… But you’re all way stronger than I expected.”

Ning Zhou shook his head. “Brother Chen, you’re our anchor. Just like that white-toothed middle blocker on the other side—you’re the core.”

Chen Wenyao shrugged. “That guy’s ranked third in the blocking stats. How could I compare?”

Ning Zhou paused for a second. “I believe in you…”

His gaze was steady, his voice carrying a subtle hook that seemed to tug at Chen Wenyao’s will.

Chen Wenyao’s heart skipped a beat.

Such a seasoned setter.

On the surface, it sounded like encouragement, but in reality, it was pressure—I trust you. You have the ability. So you’d better live up to it.

As the second set neared its end, with their team holding set point and a 5-point lead, anyone would naturally relax.

But Chen Wenyao suddenly felt a jolt, as if a needle had pricked him.

It wasn’t so much that Ning Zhou lit a fire in him—it was that he’d lowered the ignition point, forcing his competitive edge to flare.

By the time Chen Wenyao realized it, he was already up at the net, matching steps with Ning Zhou to form a double block, sealing off the cross-court angle.

Beeeeep—

Block point!

“Nice block, Brother Chen!” Ning Zhou high-fived him. “That was the 25th point of the set—and you scored the key one!”

Chen Wenyao raised an eyebrow. “Guess the guy ranked 19th in blocking isn’t completely useless, huh?”

“Hahahaha!”

Chen Wenyao originally thought Ning Zhou was a mild, harmless herbivore, but I didn’t expect there were sharp fangs hidden in his mouth—he only starts hunting once he’s on the court.

Chen Wenyao didn’t dislike this kind of setter.

*

“Got a good look now?”

Assistant Coach Hou kept his grip on Shao Qiu’s hair, shaking him a few times. “According to you, Chen Wenyao’s in the same batch as you, so what—he’s not cooperating with Ning Zhou anymore?”

Bloodshot eyes, Shao Qiu gave a small shake of his head…

“Finally clear-headed, huh.” The assistant coach let go, voice sharp. “Being chased down by a setter ten centimeters shorter than you—shouldn’t you be running forward instead of dragging behind?”

“…It’s my fault,” Shao Qiu forced out word by word. “I’ll reflect on myself.”

“Fine. Reflect after the match.” The assistant coach stood up. “Get ready. We’re going into the third set.”

“!” Shao Qiu’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Assistant Coach Hou gave a cold laugh. “What? Thought Coach Luo was going to keep Ning Zhou on the court forever?”

Shao Qiu’s jaw tensed, cheekbones standing out.

“Show some backbone as a starting player, will you?” The assistant coach smiled faintly and lowered his voice. “Right now, he’s just your substitute…”

[Yes, yes, yes! Who said our men’s team is doomed to lose? The tide’s turning!]
[After getting blocked to death in the first set, we blocked them right back on match point in the second—so satisfying!]
[Chen Wenyao is a solid wall at the net. Way better than those tall guys who only know how to run quicks.]
[Keep playing like this! Let’s go for a 1-3 comeback! /blows trumpet/]
[What the—why are they subbing out players again?!]
[Nooo! Zhou Zhou— /reaches out dramatically/]

In the third set, the China team returned to its starting lineup.

Having tied the score, everyone’s mentality steadied. The panic from the first set was gone.

Especially Shao Qiu. His expression was even calmer than usual, turning into a precise, mechanical setter. No longer obsessed with speed, he was delivering steady, accurate balls, perfectly setting up his hitters.

The China team finally showed their true level, while Team T fell into disarray…

Abu started overthinking every block, and with his naturally slow footwork, his blocks began leaking open lanes everywhere.

“This is more like it!” Ning Zhou stood at the front of the bench, eyes bright. “With Shao Qiu running his usual rhythm, the hitters can play naturally.”

“Ning Zhou… aren’t you frustrated?”

The bench was quiet, so Song Hanrun’s low voice carried clearly.

Ning Zhou blinked, pulling his focus away from the game. Turning around, he saw the other benched players looking just as unsatisfied…

“What?”

“Why’d they switch us out?” Nie Feiang half-whispered, half-yelled, not daring to let the coaches hear, his tone oddly twisted. “We were finally in a groove, and they just—no explanation, nothing—why take us off?”

Ning Zhou stepped back, patting his arm. “Don’t. Coaches don’t owe players explanations for substitutions.”

“Forget us, but Zhou Zhou, how are you so calm about this?”

Xu Zichang frowned. “You turned the match around, completely crushed their blocking game with your sets. And they just benched you like that? How is that fair?”

“Team sports are about collective glory…”

Ning Zhou said it in a mock-announcer tone, then broke into a smirk. “You thought I’d actually say that, huh?”

Song Hanrun, Nie Feiang, and Xu Zichang froze, question marks practically floating over their heads.

Ning Zhou gestured vaguely toward the sideline, “Standing here sulking does nothing. The only thing that matters is figuring out—what do I need to train next so that one day I’m someone the team can’t bench.”

Song Hanrun opened his mouth but found no retort…

Nie Feiang and Xu Zichang instantly lit up. “Zhou Zhou, after the match—”

“Nope,” Ning Zhou interrupted, already predicting it. “I’m going to bed early. Post-match fatigue is no joke.”

“You’ve barely played half an hour!” Xu Zichang shook his arm. “Come practice with us!”

“Yeah, Zhou Zhou, just an hour. No—forty minutes!” Nie Feiang pleaded dramatically.

Being begged by two tall guys was more awkward than flattering. Ning Zhou backed into the corner, radiating a clear don’t touch me vibe.

“Not a second. My sleep time is sacred.”

Nie Feiang wiped at imaginary tears, turning to Xu Zichang like a betrayed lover.

“Zhou Zhou’s changed! He used to practice all night without us even asking!”

“Really? Tsk, people change…”

Ning Zhou: These two are so dramatic…

“Beeeep—”

At the end of the fourth set, the referee blew the final whistle.

The China team’s starters had fully recovered their form, securing a 3–1 victory.

With that, all sixteen slots for the VNL men’s tournament were officially locked in…

“Let’s go.”

A blonde beauty tossed her tablet aside and headed straight for the nearest exit, heels clicking fast.

“Hey, Coach!” The assistant coach scrambled to catch the tablet, cradling it carefully before chasing after her. “We’re leaving already?”

“Why stay and watch two old men shake hands and fake smiles?”

She slipped on a pair of sunglasses with a smirk curling on her red lips.

“Our next opponent’s confirmed. Time to plan a new strategy. That quarterfinal spot? Sara’s taking it…”

The match against Team T was Ning Zhou’s first international game as a setter.

He looked calm on the outside, but the physical and mental drain was heavy.

After a session with the team’s medical staff, Ning Zhou returned to his room early, lying in bed and scrolling through his phone.

His Weibo account was being handled by the variety show liaison, who had helped him get the verified badge and post updates about his matches and show appearances.

Ning Zhou typed in his password and logged in. Suddenly, the phone froze for a few seconds…

“?”

He scrolled down. His profile photo had been changed to his first trending selfie, and below his little yellow “V” was the new tag:

Current member of the national men’s volleyball team, and the most frequent absentee guest of Sports Forward!

Ning Zhou: “…”

A brutally accurate jab!

He scrolled down further. Followers: 800,000

“!?”

Ning Zhou shot up from bed, “What the hell!?”

He checked multiple times, still confused—he’d barely logged into that account, so why was it close to a million followers…

“Forget it.” Ning Zhou flopped back down and consoled himself, “Probably the coordinator bought some followers…”

Then, by accident, he tapped into the trending page. Ranked fifth:

#NingZhouOnTheCourt vs. NingZhouOnVarietyShows

Ning Zhou shot up from bed again, staring blankly…

Is trending really this easy to hit?

He clicked the hashtag. It was a series of collage images comparing his professional image with his variety show moments:

The first picture:
Left side, Ning Zhou doing a perfect jump set, eyes sharp, posture fluid and professional;
Right side, Ning Zhou sliding across ice, using his padded jacket as a sled, looking less like a pro and more like an oddly intelligent sled dog.

Second picture:
Left side, Ning Zhou kneeling on one knee, perfectly receiving a ball in defense;
Right side, Ning Zhou using a decorative red ball as a volleyball prop, making a tense scene unintentionally hilarious.

Third picture:
Left side, Ning Zhou gazing intently at his opponent, his sharp side profile practically oozing charisma;
Right side, Ning Zhou slumped in a chair during a variety show shoot, looking completely drained and desperate to clock out…

Ning Zhou frowned: This doesn’t feel like a compliment…

The top comment under the post was from the original poster:

[Congratulations to the China Men’s Volleyball Team for defeating Team T and advancing out of the VNL group stage! This marks a historic achievement for the team — looking forward to more surprises!]

The comments below, however, were far less formal:

[See that, sisters? This is the difference between love and indifference!]
[It’s all in the details! Ning Zhou, you heartless man — you love volleyball but not your fans, huh? /doge/]
[Someone drag him into the cold palace! If you won’t spare us attention, what good are you!?]
[I’m dying—this is what happens when the main guy ghosts his fans for ages. We’ve been left to entertain ourselves. /cry-laugh/]
[Who is this guy? That jump-set form is textbook perfect!]
[@NingZhouNotTaken Just proving that playing volleyball isn’t just for looks. Totally worth stanning!]
[Zhou Zhou, how many more episodes are you skipping? I need my virtual snack fix! Come back soon!]
[Fine, but at least play more matches. Why are you subbed out after only one set? /sob/]
[He’s a backup setter. If the coach subbed him out fast, there must be a reason — maybe they didn’t want him to get exposed.]
[@NingZhouNotTaken: You really think I don’t log in? Pictures are fine, but no need for anything else. /tearful/]

Fans immediately flooded in, replying with their treasured Ning Zhou memes — all of them reaction images.

Ning Zhou stared at the screen, realizing his own expressions made great meme material. He let out a helpless laugh, yawning sleepily.

“Bzzz—Bzzz!”

His phone buzzed. A text from Coach Luo, “Come to the office.”

Ning Zhou: “…”

Right when he was finally getting sleepy!

*

Temporary Office.

The Chinese coaching staff had been in meetings all evening, analyzing tomorrow’s opponent.

“Alright, that’s it for today. We have to wake up early tomorrow for the players’ morning training.”

Coach Luo dismissed the meeting. Everyone, bleary-eyed, shuffled out of the room — except one.

“Coach Luo, can I grab a copy of today’s game footage?” Assistant Coach Hou asked casually as he already plugged in his USB drive.

Coach Luo stared at the progress bar. “Important match tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I know.” Assistant Coach Hou pocketed the USB, paused by the door, and noticed Ning Xu leaning there. “Coach Ning, want me to send you a copy?”

Ning Xu, hand on the doorknob, politely dismissed him: “Review it carefully yourself. Don’t stay up too late.”

“…Okay.” Assistant Coach Hou stepped out and closed the door.

Coach Luo, pulling out a small comb to fix his bangs against the now-dark computer screen: “What’s up?”

Ning Xu stayed by the door, his expression shifting subtly. “I noticed you texted Ning Zhou… I can wait outside until you’re done.”

Coach Luo glanced over, hesitated, then said nothing. “You can stay.”

“Knock knock.”

“Come in!”

Ning Zhou quietly opened the office door — only to see Ning Xu’s serious face.

“Coach Ning?”

“Go on in,” Ning Xu said, his expression calm and formal. “Coach Luo is waiting for you.”

Ning Zhou nodded and shifted his gaze to Coach Luo, who had just tucked away his comb and pulled a document from under his laptop.

“We ran internal tests before going abroad. The results just came in — take a look.”

Coach Luo laid the results openly on the desk. No sugarcoating.

Liberos had separate evaluation metrics, but for all other positions, every first-team player’s data was there.

At a glance, only one name was marked in red—Ning Zhou’s vertical jump: Fail.

“!” Ning Zhou suddenly felt a pang of guilt…

His height and explosive power had always been a disadvantage. Under the national team’s strict standards, both his approach jump and block height fell just short of the minimum benchmark.

In his past life, his jump wasn’t stellar either, but Coach Luo had never called him out one-on-one like this…

“Found your score? Hard to miss, huh?” Coach Luo teased.

Ning · The Only Red Mark · Zhou: speechless.jpg

Coach Luo pointed to the numbers again. “Not just your vertical jump. Your endurance test barely passed…”

Ning · Chronic Slacker · Zhou: fully awake.jpg

Ning Zhou held his breath, waiting. Coach Luo calmly tucked the report back under his laptop.

“Relax,” Coach Luo said with his signature squinting smile.

“Ning Zhou, you’ve probably heard that I’m a coach who values balance above all else. Any player with an absolute weakness—I won’t use them.”

Ning Zhou clasped his hands behind his back: How could anyone not be nervous after hearing that…

“But—” Coach Luo dragged out the word, “you’re special. You’ve got something that makes up for your height disadvantage.”