Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's January.

The sharp whistling of the aircraft cuts through his ears despite his earplugs as the plane lands smoothly on the runway. Outside, the sun has completely set in the distance, the skies remaining dreary as a thick veil of clouds heavy with snow and rain hung above the metropolis. The asphalt of the runway glistens in the dim light, and the roof of main building of the airport was covered in white as snow continued to pile up.

Shouyou’s hand tightens around the armrest, a familiar sensation stirring in his chest.

Back again.

After everything, he’s finally back in Japan. He turns his head toward the attendant at the front of the cabin, slipping the earplugs out.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Tokyo International Airport. The local time is 6:32 PM, and the temperature is currently 5°C...”

The purser’s voice crackles over the speaker, and Shouyou watches through the small window as more flakes of snow flutter down the ramp.

“On behalf of Japan Airlines and the entire crew, we'd like to thank you for flying with us today. We hope to welcome you aboard again in the near future. Have a pleasant stay.”

The hum of plane slowly stills as passengers start to stir. The seatbelt sign illuminates as more and more overhead compartments click open. The shoes pattering across the carpeted floor soon filled the plane along with the low murmurs of the passengers all equally as exhausted as Shouyou. The redhead groans as he works his stiff limbs, freeing himself from the confines of the seatbelt. The long hours of travel have left him restless. Long flights like this aren't his thing—not when he’s always moving and burning energy. His only saving grace being the layover in between flights and his embarrassingly frequent trips to the lavatory.

He slips on his coat and with his weekender bag in tow, he shuffles toward the exit.

Hinata Shouyou has just touched down in Japan. After years of basking under the Brazilian sun, he’s back home. His heart races, not from the cold, but from the excitement bubbling up inside him.

He’s been here before. Coming back feels like stepping into an old memory. The future is both familiar yet distant. The life waiting for him might not be exactly as he remembers; nothing ever stays the same—his childhood is a proof of that. Still, he was given a chance to reshape his future now.

After clearing customs and going through the usual checks, he pulls his heavy suitcase off the carousel, already feeling the weight of it in his arms. He heads out through the glass doors and finds himself directly under the dark skies of Tokyo, greeted by the bitter January wind.

This is it. He’s home.

The air was crisp and cold, feeling like tiny needles prickling at the exposed skin of his face, urging him to remember what it’s like to live in this place. But it doesn’t stop the giddiness building within him. His fingers ache numbingly as they clutch the handle of his suitcase, and he hurries to the taxi stand, the bustle of the airport fading behind him.

Once inside the taxi, the warmth from the heater blooms against his chilled skin. He exchanges a few pleasantries with the driver as the door shuts behind him, muffling the chatter of the people nearby, before he confirms his destination. They pull away from the terminal, and Shouyou watches the world blur past. Snow begins to fall again gently as they make their way into the heart of the city.

The soft hum of jazz drifts from the radio, and the driver taps his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, humming along to the melody. Shouyou leans back in his seat, getting comfortable, eyes half-closed, as he loses himself in the memories of Miyagi. The rolling hills, the shrill cries of cicadas during the summer when he's out to play, the koinobori flags his mother sets up as it flutters in the breeze, the excitement of the festival in town, and the way the neighborhood always felt quiet—like the soft breathing of the mountains that surround it.

He misses it. The peace, the familiarity, the simple days before life started to twist in ways that didn’t make sense.

He’d been here, he reminisces as he looked out of the window—sitting in the backseat of another taxi alone, a younger version of himself heading to the airport to fly to Brazil. And yet here he is—back in Japan, back to the place where it all started.

The lights flickered passed them as they drift along the tunnel, a soft yellow glow bathing the exterior of the vehicle. When they emerge, the view of the highway gradually changes with the rows of tall buildings as they creep closer to the heart of the city. It doesn’t take long before the taxi stops in front of a modest two-story house. The quiet neighborhood where it stands on is tucked on the outskirts of the city and far from the hustle and bustle of downtown Tokyo.

Shouyou thanks the driver and pays his fare, pulling his suitcase up the driveway with a grunt. He unlocks the front gate with some difficulty, his thick gloves being a bit of a hindrance to his grip and the keyhole being jammed with ice but after some struggling, he finally manages to get it open, muttering complaints under his breath as he wrestles with the lock.

“Finally,” he mumbles, dragging his suitcase inside, closing the gate behind him.

The house is dark, clearly untouched for some time, if the slightly overgrown grass growing between the concrete of the walkway was any indication, but there were signs that someone has been there recently. The floors have been mopped cleaned, the corners of the genkan dusted, and a pair of slippers are neatly set out by the door. Shouyou only thanks his mother’s insight to get the place cleaned before he arrived.

He navigates his way through the house after leaving his bags at the genkan in favor of looking for the light switches. It doesn’t take him long to find them nestled on a wall in the hallway leading to the stairs. The heater kicks on, and the warmth begins to spread, a relief against the chill that still linger.

Shouyou sighs, finally getting to shed his coat and gloves, tossing them onto the coffee table before he plops himself boneless on the couch. His bags are abandoned on the floor next to him as he stares up at the ceiling. His mind races, still running through the events of the day, trying to process everything.

Now that he’s back, what’s next?

Rejoining the team at Karasuno is a given. That part’s easy. But what about everything else? He was excited at the prospect of this new life; meeting his teammates, playing with them again, but at the same time, he was scared. There’s so much ahead of him—so many unknown possibilities looming over him, his future, and the life that he knew of.

He knew that his life wasn’t going to be the same as the one he had before. No matter how much he may wish it, he can’t go back to it. And the life he’s stepping back into—who knows what happened in the years he wasn't in Japan?

He has absolutely no control over things despite knowing what the future holds. (Or does he really?)

A heavy weight presses on his chest with the uncertainty of it all.

He sighs again, louder this time, rubbing his face in frustration.

“Well, no use thinking about it now. I’ll figure it out when I get to Miyagi.” Shouyou mumbles to himself, pushing off the couch and heading to the kitchen in search of something to eat. He finally acknowledged the hole in his stomach, the last meal he had were a few sad in-flight snacks.

He opens the fridge. Empty. Why was he even surprised.

I guess I’m eating out tonight.

He slips into the room adjacent to the living room after seeing it was a bedroom. For ease of access he says (or he’s just too tired to haul his bags up the stairs). He makes himself comfortable on the floor with his bags now opened in front of him and pulls out his phone which had been turned off for most of his journey. A barrage of notifications floods his screen so he dials his mother and after a few rings, his call was picked up.

He hears the sounds of clattering kitchenware and the TV on in the background. Glancing at the time, it’s almost 8 AM in Brazil.

“Mom?”

“Shouyou! I've been waiting for your call. Are you finally in the house?” Her voice is warm.

“Yeah, just got dropped off. There’s nothing in here, so I might just go out to eat.” He sneezes, and his mother’s voice immediately turns sharp with worry.

"Are you okay? Did you catch a cold? I packed meds in your luggage-"

“I’m fine, mom. You know I don’t get sick that much. Just need to adjust to the climate here.” He holds the phone out on speaker, laying it on the floor near him while he starts unpacking the contents of his bags.

His mother sighs in exasperation but he can hear the softness underneath it. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. You’re far away from us so always remember what I keep telling you okay? Call us if anything—I mean anything—happens.”

“I will, mom. I’ll be fine! I’ll call if I need to. I'll be staying in our old house in Miyagi so our old neighbors might still be there to help me if anything happens, please don’t worry so much.”

“Tell him not to forget bringing gifts for the neighbors.” His dad’s voice rings out from somewhere on the other side of the phone.

"You heard him," Akari says.

Shouyou chuckles, “Okay, I got it.”

“Be safe. Call us later, okay? And eat something, you had a long flight.”

“I will. Bye, mom.”

Hinata Akari considers herself a good mother. After all, she had granted her 14-year-old son’s wish to return to their home country, 10,000 miles away—halfway across the world from where they had settled. It was a place where they had lived, a place she hadn’t called home in years. And he's all alone. All of this, just to help her son find himself? To help him find—she not sure—himself?

Even Akari wasn’t entirely sure what it was that Shouyou was looking for.

But as a mother, she knew there was something going on with her son. Especially when she caught him staring longingly out at the ocean from their window, or when he looked at them with such distant eyes—eyes that seemed to see right through them, as if he was looking beyond them.

It all started when Shouyou drowned.

Kenji, her husband, came home one day with surprising news: they were moving out of the country. He had been offered a chance to lead a start-up abroad. It had taken them a long time to come to a decision, but in the end, the couple had accepted the offer. And so, they found themselves in Brazil, a long way from home.

They had just finished unpacking their belongings—what felt like their entire net worth—when they finally had time to relax.

The day was perfect. The sun shone brightly, the sky was a flawless blue, and the ocean waves lapped calmly against the shore of the beach. After the exhaustion of travel, Kenji was excited to take the children out and enjoy the day.

So, imagine her surprise when she finds her son missing from her side.

There were frantic mutters and chatters from the other adults around them. Akari's eyes follows the where the rest of the people on the beach had been pointing and looking, and her eyes fall upon Kenji as he swam frantically toward a flash of orange in the water. For a moment, she thought it was a person in a life vest, or someone wearing orange swimwear—someone in trouble. However, with a missing son from her side, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of trepidation creep up her.

Kenji was quick, hauling the limp figure onto his back and swimming back toward the shore. Akari’s heart started to race as she watched, fear filling her body. When Kenji reached the beach and gently laid their son on the sand, Akari’s breath caught in her throat.

It really was Shouyou. Her son.

Somewhere around her, someone was calling the emergency hotline. Akari clutched Natsu tightly against herself as she approached her husband. She felt herself drop on the sand next to her unconscious son, the lifeguard—who was a little too late in arriving—starting on whatever emergency procedure needed to be done. She prayed silently, her mind reeling.

Please.

Please.

Please.

After what felt like minutes of the man doing compressions, she nearly collapsed with relief when Shouyou finally coughed up water. Though still disoriented, he seemed to be okay—or so she thought.

In the weeks that followed, Akari noticed some… changes in her son’s behavior.

Shouyou spent long moments staring at his reflection in the mirror, as if unsure of the face he saw. Sometimes he looked like he wanted to say something but would stop himself at the last moment. He moved awkwardly, as though he wasn’t entirely familiar with his own body—tripping over things, bumping into corners. Day by day, the changes became more noticeable.

Gone was the Shouyou who picked at his vegetables, who whined at bedtime, who ran away from any type of homework given to him. Instead, this Shouyou ate everything on his plate—often asking for seconds. He slept early and woke up early, surprising Akari when she found him doing stretches on the floor beside his bed before the crack of dawn. He finished his homework without protest before playing with his little sister in one corner of the house. It was as if her son had been replaced.

At one point, she considered taking him to see a specialist, but when she watched him with the rest of the family, he still seemed like the same Shouyou. Just… a little more mature, a little more distant than before. So, she brushed her worries aside and decided to embrace the changes, supportive of him as she noticed his interests starting to revolve around the beach as their weeks in the new country become years soon enough.

That's why, when Shouyou came to her one day and asked if he could return to Japan to study high school in Miyagi of all places—where there are more mountains than the malls, no beaches in sight—Akari was taken aback. At first, she wanted to say no. But then she saw the light in his eyes when he talked about it, the way the idea seemed to excite him. And so, she had to concede and give her permission.

Which leads us to the present.

Akari had just put her phone down. The smell of breakfast permeating in the kitchen as the fish sizzles quietly on the grill. Her mind still kept drifting to the phone call she just had.

Kenji, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, noticed her expression. “What’s got you distracted?” he asked, taking a slow sip.

Akari glances at her husband before redirecting her attention on the fish, flipping it, “Well…”

“Well?” Kenji raised an eyebrow. “Are you really that worried about Shouyou? You know he’s going to be fine. He’s Shouyou. He’ll figure things out, somehow.”

Akari sighed, her concern creeping back. “I know. But you know how absentminded he is sometimes—he probably didn’t even check the weather before he left. He was already sneezing and sniffling during the call but he says he just needs to get used to the weather there.”

Kenji chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, yes, the famous ‘I’m fine, don’t worry about me’. Classic. Are we sure our son hasn’t experienced this whole ‘being an independent teenager in a new country’ thing before? Cause he sure do act like it’s not his first rodeo.”

Akari shot him a look. “It's barely been a few days since he left home, don’t make fun of him. He’s alone in a new place, and you know how he is—always a little... off, ever since everything happened.”

Kenji’s expression softened as he sets his coffee down. “Yeah, I get it. He’s changed. I don’t think he even realizes how much he’s changed. It’s like he’s trying to put the puzzle pieces together but even he doesn’t know what picture he’s trying to form. But on the bright side, he was easier to wrangle compared to other kids his age. You didn't have to pop a vein when it came to chores around the house,”

“I know,” She picked up the plate of grilled fish, taking it over to the table where Natsu had just joined them. “I know but it feels so strange, doesn’t it? Having him all the way over there, with no one to keep an eye on him.”

“Is Shouyou okay?” Natsu murmured, catching a bit of the conversation.

Akari smiled softly at her. “He’s fine, sweetheart. He's just adjusting to the new place, that's all.”

Kenji smiles at Natsu, “I mean, it’s Shouyou we’re talking about. He used to disappear for hours on end, playing in the beach and coming home covered in sand. He’s always been an independent little guy. I’m sure he’s figuring things out in his own way.”

“I hope so,” Akari said, sounding a bit more relaxed. “At least he promised to call if he needed anything.”

Kenji gently squeezes his wife's hand before clapping his hands once.

"Well now let's eat! The food is getting cold."

Shouyou had just finished his meal, though he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. It probably wasn’t the best idea to indulge in a bowl of ramen when he was supposed to be watching his diet, but it was his first authentic Japanese meal in a long time. The rich, salty broth and the tender noodles tasted like a welcome piece of home. It was too tempting to resist even with the discipline and the restraint of an adult.

Now, with his stomach comfortably full, he wandered through the bustling streets of Shibuya, following the crowd. The weather was bitterly cold, and the sidewalk was slick with snow and ice, but the energy of the city's populace was undeniable. Despite the chill, the metropolis pulsed with life, the neon lights glowing even brighter against the darkness of the night sky.

Shouyou shuffles along, following the direction of the crowd. The distant hum of voices, the blur of faces around him, and the rush of hurried footsteps that filled the air was a welcome distraction for his wandering mind. His footsteps started to slow as he caught sight of something that froze him in place—a flat-screen TV mounted in a shop window.

The moment his eyes landed on the screen, everything else around him faded away. It was a replay of the televised Spring Tournament. The way the arena burst into cheers erupted in the sound of the TV speakers, the tension high with excitement and adrenaline. The unmistakable slam of the volleyball hitting the floor echoed through the hollows of his chest. The energy in the stadium seemed to leap through the screen, the intensity palpable with each point. The camera zoomed in on the players on the court, their faces flushed with exhaustion, their jerseys clinging to their backs as they hunched over with their hands on their knees, trying to catch their breath. The scoreboard glows red above them, a silent reminder of the outcome—victory for some, defeat for others.

It only took a split-second for one side of the court to raise their fists in celebration, huddling with their teammates, the joy written all over their faces; the other side slumped with disappointment, their shoulders heavy with the weight of the loss. The commentators, voices crackling with excitement, spoke over the images of the players shaking hands, congratulating the victors who advanced to the next round. Shouyou could almost feel the heat of the court, the tension, the passion of everyone who poured their heart into the game.

His hands tightened into fists in his coat pockets as the image washed over him. The feeling of the court beneath his feet, the rush of adrenaline in his veins, the roar of the crowd—it all came back in a flood as a rush of nostalgia hitting him like a wave. This was what he had once longed for—this was the dream he had chased. He wanted a place on that court, with another set for him to spike, with the crowd cheering his name.

Shouyou’s breath fogged in front of him as he remained in place, staring at the screen. A pang of longing gripped his chest.

Soon, he thought to himself, his gaze unwavering.

He turned away from the screen with a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The noise of the city seemed to return to him in an instant, but there was something lighter about it now, something full of possibility. With his hands tucked into his coat pockets, he started walking again, weaving his way through the crowded streets. Shouyou wasn’t sure where he was headed, but for the first time in a long time, he felt that the path ahead was clear. The pieces were all in place, and it was time to move forward.

Soon.

Chapter Text

The sun was high up in the sky as the salty tang of the ocean fills the air and the squawk of the seagulls are in harmony with the sound of waves lapping up the shoreline.

Shouyou sat on a cliff, overlooking the endless blue stretch of ocean. The wind tousled his hair, whipped at his clothes, and he closed his eyes, trying to commit the scenery in his memory.

He was going to miss this—the scorching sun, the rough sand beneath his feet. It was funny, he thought; it was an injury that had first brought him here, and now, ironically, an injury was taking him away.

Playing professionally for the past few years had been beyond anything he could have imagined. He’d gone from being a "flightless crow" to a player soaring high, a force to be reckoned with on the court—reaching a peak he’d once only dreamed of. But as the saying goes, “What goes up must come down.”

Now, after all those years of relentless dedication, he’d found himself at the end of the road, his career stolen by an injury. He felt like the years dedicated for self-improvement went to waste as no amount of preparation prevented it.

A grade 3 tear on his knee ligament.

The very knee that powered every jump, every dig, every move on the court had finally given out. The doctor had told him this was inevitable, just a matter of time. He’d pushed his body hard, and now, it was pushing back. Basically, he’s had it coming.

Just like that, Olympic athlete “Ninja Shouyou” was no more.

The news had been a shock to everyone. Headlines, interviews, fan analyses—everyone had an opinion, and they all seemed to say the same thing: What a shame.

And honestly, Shouyou couldn’t agree more.

With an exhale, he slowly reopens his eyes, squinting as the glare from the ocean assaults his vision. He moves to stand, leaving to catch his flight when something comes barreling at him, toppling him among the rocky bed of the cliff. His knee complained under the strain of the sudden, unexpected movement, his face twisted in pain.

It was merely a few seconds later that he feels himself airborne and falling.

Fast.

Ah. His knee gave out on him.

Then, there was a splash, the unmistakable sound of a body slamming on the water before breaking through the surface. Numbness radiated throughout his body as the he felt the cold water enveloping him whole.

The shock of it stole his breath, and the world went quiet. He couldn’t move a muscle as he feels himself sink, his eyes trained upwards. The sun was shining brightly from above, the light filtering through the water as a passing bird flew by.

Shouyou had only one thought.

‘How beautiful.’

If only, he thought. If only he could fly once more.

Then his lids fluttered shut.

There was the invasive feeling of water in his airway, forcing its way up and out, a sensation far worse than vomiting. Through the ringing in his ears, he barely registered someone speaking rapid-fire Portuguese into a phone, calling for help. Tears sprung in his eyes as the bitter and searing sensation of the seawater burned his throat and nose as he coughed, sitting up weakly.

A gentle hand was patting his back softly as he kept on coughing, trying to fill his lungs with the humid beach air. His vision was hazy and unfocused, his ears water-logged and muffling the whispering of the blurry figures around them. Something soft and dry is wrapped around him as he dragged in deep breaths and blinked his eyes rapidly to refocus his eyesight and make sense of the figures swimming before him.

"Shouyou! Shouyou! Are you alright? Do you feel pain anywhere?!" Firm hands clasp itself on his shoulders and a worried voice of a man registers in his brain. He looks up to answer only to be left stupefied when he finally saw the people in front of him clearly.

The man was sopping wet like him. His hair a bright shade of orange, sticking to his face and neck. The woman beside him had the same expression of fear and worry with eyes the same warm brown as his. His lips parted in shock, and a small, childish voice escaped him.

"Mom? Dad?" he croaked, then froze, his eyes widening as his hands reach up to his throat in surprise. His mother’s face softened with relief, and she pulled him into a tight hug, her arms trembling as they wrapped around him and his sister who had remained asleep throughout the ordeal.

She kept talking to him, her voice filled with concern however he could not offer a response. His mind was still preoccupied and honestly not in the right headspace to answer anything—caught somewhere between disbelief and confusion.

Is this a dream? he wondered, his thoughts foggy. They say your life flashes before your eyes in moments before death but he couldn’t remember ever being at a beach with his parents like this. And the language—the voice, the small, uncalloused hands in his lap, the drowning—none of it matched his memories.

The feeling of his parents’ touch felt real, solid. The burn of the saltwater in his throat and nose lingered. To confirm the reality of things one more time, he pinches the exposed skin of his thigh—hard.

Pain soon erupted on the skin under his fingernails, sharp and immediate.

So it’s not a dream.

What is it then?

He wonders, feeling a little lightheaded. He may not be the brightest crayon in the box but this was simply suggesting something impossible. He felt himself slipping, his mother’s soothing voice becoming a buzz in his head as his vision is dotted with spots once again before he slumps unconscious in her arms.

A week in bed had been enough time for Shouyou to think over his circumstances, though he was far from coming to terms with his situation. The doctor had told his parents to be cautious, heavily suggesting he rest in case any trauma lingered from the near-drowning. Trauma, as they called it–but what Shouyou struggled with wasn't just the fear of almost dying; it was the impossibility of everything that had happened. So how was he going to explain how, without even knowing how it happened himself, he had somehow traveled through time? And of all people, why him? Why had he been chosen for this second chance?

He remembered his delirious thoughts from the cliff, the wish to play again. But he had never expected anyone—or anything, actually—to answer that wish, much less send him back to an unfamiliar childhood in a new place. He vaguely recalled his parents’ move abroad, his father’s excitement over the opportunity to lead a startup in Brazil, but it felt like a distant, faded memory—one he’d seen in passing and not something he had lived himself.

After some time, he had return to the usual routine with some semblance of normalcy—if anything about his life could be considered normal now. He travelled back in time, he knew that much. But the more he tried to make sense of it all, the more jumbled his mind become.

He sat alone on the balcony of their new home, staring at the beaches of Rio at the distance. The sun was still low on the sky, the early morning wind breezing past him. His small fingers traced the edge of his knee, the same knee that had ended his career in his original timeline.

Should he call it that now? He doesn’t know.

The phantom ache of his knee felt like a cruel reminder of the life he had lost.

He had tried day after day to accept his new reality however, every time he woke up in this strange new world, he remembered. His whole identity, his passion, his dream, his life—was gone. And there was no way back. It didn’t feel like just a setback. It felt like the decisive of loss everything he’d worked for, everything that made him... him despite his difficulties.

His mind kept circling back to the same question: Why? Why had this happened to him?

But as much as he tried to deny it, to question it, the longing for volleyball remained in his chest. The desire to play—to compete, to feel the rush of a perfect serve, to hear the crowd cheer for a spike, to feel the satisfaction of a good block—was still there. It was the one thing that hadn’t changed. And even though he was stuck in this strange, alternate life, he couldn’t stop wanting it.

He couldn’t stop imagining himself back on the court. He hadn’t given up on that part of him. However the novelty of everything that had happened to him is holding him back.

His thoughts were interrupted by his mother calling him from inside. She was heading out to the market and insisted he join her. Shouyou hesitated, still not entirely used to being in his younger body again. But he didn’t argue. Maybe it would help him believe that everything is real. Maybe it would remind him of what life was supposed to be before everything got so confusing.

The market was as bustling and chaotic as he expected. Vendors shouted from every corner, selling everything from fresh fruit to handmade goods. The air was thick with the smell of grilled meat, sweet pastries, and spices. As he walked beside his mom, he felt strangely out of place. This wasn’t his life—not really. Nothing about this world felt familiar, even though it looked similar to the sights he acquainted himself in his time in Brazil—back in his old life at least.

He felt eyes on him, and he makes eye contact with a woman. She stood at a nearby stand, holding an apple in her hand as she was watching them intently—watching him, specifically. Meanwhile his mother tries her best to buy some fruit, practicing her conversational Portuguese.

“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise of the market like it was meant just for him. It was spoken in a language very much familiar to him. It was in Japanese.

Shouyou blinked, caught off guard. He glanced at his mother, still deep in conversation with the vendor. He felt this weird pull, something about the woman making him want to talk to her, even though it didn’t make sense. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the language, he wasn’t so sure.

“I… uh. I guess I do?” Shouyou replied, his words a little hesitant.

The woman tilted her head slightly, as though she could sense his confusion. “It’s easy to get lost, especially when things feel out of place,” she said, eyes squinting just a bit as she raises her head to look up the sky.

Shouyou was quiet for a moment, his mind swirling with confusion at her cryptic words. The way her words affected him was weird, but he couldn’t quite grasp why. “I’m not sure I follow,” he said, frowning. “Do you… know me?”

She looked back down at him and gave him a small, knowing smile. “Perhaps. I do know a thing or two about what it feels like to be misplaced in time. A road can twist and fork in ways you won’t expect, and suddenly, you’re somewhere you never thought you’d find yourself to be.”

He opens his mouth to respond when he felt a tug on his pants, and before he could react, a small figure darted through the crowd—it was a child, no older than five or six—clutching his money pouch in their tiny hands.

His heart leapt to his throat. He started to follow after the pickpocket, but suddenly, a hand gripped his arm.

It was the strange woman.

Up close, she looked a lot younger than he thought she would be, her eyes sharp and knowing in a way that unsettled him. It glowed with wisdom not matching her appearance. He felt like she could see right through him.

“Let it go,” she said, her voice calm and firm. “You won’t catch them, and the pouch doesn’t matter.”

The pouch doesn’t matter? It was his money.

“But it’s mine!” he said, his voice tight. “It’s not just about money, it’s—”

The woman held up her hand, silencing him. “Sometimes, what slips away is meant to stay gone. You’re still figuring things out. Learn to let things go,” His chest tightened. Somehow, her words seemed like they're not just talking about the pouch.

“Why should I let it go?” he demanded, his brows furrowed as he glares up at the woman. He spoke harshly, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. He felt a little childish but everything was just so confusing as of late that he couldn’t help but let his emotions take over him.

“I can’t give you an answer for that.” She only gave him a weak smile. She handed the apple in her hands to him without explanation. “It all depends on you—on what you think you should do, Shouyou.”

Shouyou wordlessly looked at her, not registering her saying his name.

“You can have this,” she said, her voice softer now. “With time, things will eventually make sense.”

Shouyou stared at the unblemished apple, now even more confused. He looked up to ask her more, but she vanished, gone with the crowd.

Someone somewhere around him whispers, “Enjoy your new life,” as the surroundings became loud once again as if the bubble that had been around him and the woman had burst.

He stood frozen, still holding the apple, his heart pounding in his chest. He had lost so much—his career, his identity, the future he had worked toward all because of some cosmic intervention, and now he was told that the choice lies with him. He was rightfully upset. He felt like throwing away the apple in his hands when he sees a folded note stuck on it.

He unraveled it carefully and sees the splotchy words blurring together on the paper: To find your path, remember the choices you left behind.

Now, he felt something entirely different stir inside him as he read the words. He didn’t want to give up on volleyball. No matter how impossible it seemed, he wasn’t ready to let that dream slip away. Maybe there was a reason he was here. Maybe the universe—or whatever force had sent him back—had a plan for him. Maybe the choices he had made in his original life were still there, waiting for him to discover them again.

The woman’s words echoed in his mind as he looked at the now wrinkled paper: Remember the choices you left behind.

He still had a choice.

And maybe—just maybe—things weren’t over for him yet.

The years after Shouyou’s near-drowning felt like a second chance, a do-over of some sort. He had lived them with intention, carefully navigating each day with the knowledge that life—or something—had given him another shot to do things the way he thinks is for the best.

He started playing beach volleyball again, rediscovering his love for the sport and diving back into it with an intensity that surprised even himself. The sand under his feet, the sun on his back—it felt like home, like a place where he could just be himself. He competed in the local junior circuits, his skills steadily improving, and every win reminded him of what he had almost lost. He even practiced indoors with a junior league, though he never joined a formal team. Something about the freedom of playing on his own terms, without the pressure, felt more like the life he wanted to live.

For now that is.

(There’s also a small part of him that wanted to receive his first jersey from Karasuno.)

Time, however, had a funny way of making him think. There were moments when he would catch himself staring at the horizon or watching the ocean, and it would hit him—the memories, the fleeting glimpses of his previous life. The idea of time travel wasn’t something he had ever truly wrapped his head around. There were still moments when the burden of living with all this knowledge in his head felt like it could crush him. He had accepted it, for the most part. He had learned to live with the fact that his life was far from normal and that no one else would ever understand.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want normalcy and familiarity. He longed for it, craved it. That was why, as his final year of intermediate school came to a close, the thought of returning to Japan felt like an inevitable next step.

One evening, after dinner, he found himself sitting across from his parents at the table, the sound of their casual conversation serving as background noise as he pokes at the leftovers on his bowl. His mind was elsewhere, but he knew it was time to speak up.

“Mom, dad,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something else, something heavier. “I think I want to go back to Japan.”

His words hung in the air for a moment. Akari set down her chopsticks, her gaze softening as she studied him. Kenji looked at him with an unreadable expression, before folding his hands together.

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” Akari asked, her tone gentle. She could see it in his eyes. This wasn’t a decision he’d made on a whim.

Shouyou nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been… For quite a while now, actually.” He paused, trying to find the right words. "It feels like the right choice."

Natsu leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "You’re going to leave us, nii-chan?"

Shouyou gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Not leaving forever. Just... for school, Natsu. If mom and dad would let me," He turned to his mom. "It’s just… I’ve been thinking a lot about Miyagi. It feels like a good place for me to grow.”

"Miyagi, huh?" she said, keeping her voice neutral. "Are you sure you wanna go back there? There’s nothing but mountains for miles. You won’t get to play beach volleyball there." She says lightly.

"Yeah... I think I can live without beach volleyball for a while. And what do you know, I think biking over the mountains might grow on me," Shouyou replied with a smile.

Akari’s brow furrowed slightly but she didn’t push. He had been more focused lately, more determined—like he was working toward something. Maybe it was this conversation he was preparing himself for.

"I just want you to be sure, Shouyou," Akari said gently. "Japan is a long way away. You won’t be able to come back all the time. We won't be there when you need us."

Shouyou nodded, his expression serious now. "I know. But I think I can manage.”

Kenji, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up from across the table. "Well, I’m sure you’ll make it work," he said, his voice carrying a smidge of pride. "But you have to make sure you’re ready, Shouyou. Moving back isn’t just about leaving us—it’s a big change."

Shouyou gave a small, reassuring smile. "I know, dad. I won't be able to do it if I just keep on waiting for myself to be ready."

Natsu, who had been quietly observing the conversation, suddenly piped up, "You’ll miss me, though, right?"

"Of course I’ll miss you and we’ll still talk, I promise," Shouyou said, ruffling her hair with a grin. "But! You'll have to take care of my share of chores now."

"Then you can't go! Don’t leave me with all the chores."

"Well," Akari said, breaking the moment, "I think it’s clear you’ve made up your mind. But remember, we’re still here for you, no matter what. Whether you’re here or there, we’ll support you."

Shouyou smiled warmly, his shoulders relaxing. "Thanks, mom. Thanks, dad."

The rest of the evening passed with the usual family warmth, the air filled with comfort and familiarity. Yet, as Akari glanced at Shouyou from time to time, several questions lingered deep in her heart. But for now, she kept it to herself, trusting that whatever path Shouyou was on, it was his to walk and that he'd find his way.

Chapter Text

It was already the evening when he found himself in front of their old home. It looked the same as he last remembered it, maybe a little less old in his eyes; the paint hasn't started peeling just yet, the roof tiles less cracked and still pristine, the wood of the floors a little less worn out. The yard was overgrown but the patches of grass from the gate to the front door remained flat and close to the ground, the earth remembering the path they took every day.

After setting down his things and removing the cover on all the furniture in the living room, Shouyou stops in front of his old room. He was a bit hesitant but eventually, he slides the door open.

He was actually nervous on his way to Miyagi earlier that day. He couldn't stop fidgeting in the bullet train now that it's finally hitting him. He's been trying to dance around the thought of finally seeing his old teammates, thinking it's not a big deal.

It actually is.

He's seeing them again, younger, smaller, probably more capable of stupid, less thought out decisions than the friends he left behind in the past-future(?). He now worries over how to talk to them, interact with them. He should still call them his senpai, right? Although technically, he's a lot older.

It felt weird. He just prays that he doesn't slip up at some point.

He steels himself silently, finally coming to the conclusion that overthinking things won't help. He exhales and the metaphorical burden in his heart is tossed out of the window for now. He squares his shoulders and clears his mind of useless thoughts.

For now, what he needs to think about is a clean place to sleep in.

The next morning, he was up early despite spending the entire night cleaning the house. As an obedient son, Shouyou, had gone shopping before he left Tokyo to get boxes of sweets and a variety of tea snacks to give away to old friends and neighbors as a gift since he's moved back in their house. It had been a while since he’d seen the place but the familiar sights and smells of Miyagi evoked another wave of nostalgia in him as he pedaled through the streets.

He was surprised to see his father’s old bike still in the shed. It was a little rusty and dusty but still functional. He had taken some time in the morning to clean it and plans to head to town to have it checked properly.

Shouyou stopped in front of the first among the rows of houses near their home. Watanabe-san, the kind woman who always had a garden full of flowers in the spring, was standing on her porch. He gives an enthusiastic wave, announcing his presence and her face lit up the moment she saw him.

“Shouyou-kun!” she exclaimed, walking down the stone steps of her garden. “Look at you! You’ve grown even taller, haven’t you? I thought I heard a car and some noises near your family’s house the night before but I didn’t know it was you!”

“Good morning, Watanabe-san,” Shouyou said with a bright grin, holding out a box for her to take, “I’m back here for high school so thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

Before he could say more, the old lady stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. It was warm and familiar like the morning sun on his back. He hesitated for a brief moment, but then wrapped his arms around her to return the hug.

"You're home now, and that’s what matters," Watanabe said, pulling back from the hug. "Don’t be a stranger. Come on in and have some tea with these snacks. My goodness, look at you—such a fine young man now."

“Thank you, Watanabe-san,” Shouyou said with a shy smile, scratching his cheek. "I'm sorry but I can't stay long today, but I promise I'll stop by soon."

"Oh you! Why are you apologizing. This old lady won't be going anywhere soon so just stop by if you want to, okay?” Shouyou nods in response.

He waves at the woman for the second time before he’s off once again. As he continued down the street, more familiar faces greeted him—neighbors who had watched him when he was a child, old friends his age from when he was just a kid. Each of them had a warm smile, a hug, a question about how he and his family were doing, and soon his basket was nearly empty.

Old man Hayashi, the baker, waved from his window, and Shouyou couldn’t help but grin when he saw the man’s usual welcoming expression.

“Shouyou! You’re back!” Hayashi said as he hurried outside still in his apron, giving him a hearty clap on the back. “We’ve missed you and your family around here. Where are the rest of them?”

"Oh no, it's just me here, Hayashi-san. They're staying in Brazil.”

The old man's eyes round in surprise. “It's just you? Trying to be independent, huh?”

Shouyou lets out a sheepish laugh as a response.

“I just pulled out a fresh batch of melonpan, come on in!”

“I’ll be by later, Hayashi-san,” Shouyou said, handing over a box. “Just have to make sure to visit everyone first.”

“Of course, of course,” Hayashi said, laughing. “But don’t forget about your old baker!”

“Of course not, sir! I’ll be here for a few years for high school. You’ll be sick of my face soon enough when I come here every morning!” Shouyou gave him a cheeky grin and quick wave before continuing on his way. A small smile played at the corners of his lips as he pedaled further down the streets.

Miyagi felt right. He wasn’t sure what it was—whether it was the familiarity or the people who welcomed him back so easily—but he knew he had made the right decision in returning. He still has some unresolved competitions with an old friend after all.

Now that he thought about it, they should be in their final term now. He briefly tries to recall what the younger version of his best friend looked like as he was biking. His mind was also occupied with his other teammates and friends. He was a little apprehensive since his return but the reception he’s been getting from the neighbors and family friends were… good. Now he has a bit more optimism on how he would cope after seeing them again after so long.

When he arrived at the last house on his list, Sato, the older woman who had always doted on him as a child, was sitting outside with a cup of tea. He beams at her as the woman hurries over to let him in.

“Shouyou-kun!” she exclaimed with a smile, giving him a half hug. “Look at you, all grown up. You’ve been staying abroad for a while, haven’t you? How was it?”

“It was... good,” Shouyou said, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over him. “Different, but good. I just wanted to drop by and say hello, Sato-san.”

“Why are you talking like you're a stranger, huh!" She lightly smacks his arm. “Loosen up, Shouyou-kun."

"All right, I’m sorry, Sato-neesan.” He laughs.

As he handed her the last box, she pulled him into a tight hug. He's been getting a lot of hugs recently he noticed.

“I’m glad you’re back home,” she said, her voice carrying a kind of warmth that soothed the small ache in his chest. Now, his doubts on his decision of returning are completely gone. Instead, he's full of contentment and excitement.

“Me too,” Shouyou muttered quietly, unable to suppress the smile that formed on his lips.

The grocery store was bustling with its usual hum of chatter, the air heavy with the scent of fresh produce and packaged snacks. Shouyou pushed his cart down the aisles, taking his time to pick out the things he needed—milk, eggs, rice, and a few items that reminded him of childhood. It was a peaceful, routine moment, something he’d gotten used to in the two weeks since his return to Miyagi.

He’d spent a week in Tokyo before coming back. The winter in Brazil is a far cry from the chill in Japan, his winter wardrobe was severely lacking and so a shopping spree was in order. Buying school supplies, winter clothes, and of course, sports gear, occupied his days in the capital city. He decidedly avoided looking at the remaining amount of his allowance for the time being.

As he finished loading his groceries into his large grocery bag, he made his way outside, the cold air brushing against his face as he walked to his bike. He was in the middle of removing his bike lock when a familiar voice called out to him.

“Yo, Shou-chan!”

Shouyou turned and spotted two familiar figures coming toward him—Izumi and Koji, his childhood friends from his younger days in Miyagi. The two were as lively as ever, and their surprised and happy expressions made him light up as well. He hadn’t expected to run into them today, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“Hey, you’re back!” Izumi said, his eyes wide with surprise. “We thought you and your family were staying in Brazil for good.”

“Yeah it's been two weeks," Shouyou chuckled. “And nope, I’m the only one back for now. The rest of my family’s still in Brazil.”

“Two weeks? And you didn't think of calling us," Izumi rolls his eyes in faux disappointment.

“Sorry, sorry." He laughs. “I was sorting out the house and submitting my applications in for high school.”

“So, you're planning on attending school here?" Koji’s brows raised in surprise “That means you’re staying? I thought you guys were living there for good.”

“Yeah, that was the plan,” Shouyou replied, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. “But I figured it was time to come back for a while.”

Izumi’s face softened with understanding. “Gotcha. It’s good to see you. It’s been forever.”

“Yeah, it has,” Shouyou said with a smile. "Feels kind of weird being back. But I’m getting used to it."

The two nodded before Koji leaned in a little, as if remembering something. “By the way, are you still into sports?”

Shouyou scratched the back of his head, a bit sheepish. “Actually, yeah. I play volleyball now.”

Izumi’s eyes widened in surprise. “Volleyball? That’s new! I thought you’d be sticking with soccer or basketball.”

Shouyou laughed lightly. “I thought so too. But it’s the one sport that stuck with me.”

Koji thought for a moment, tapping his chin. “I think I remember there being a volleyball group around here. It might be something you’re interested in.” He pointed toward a nearby shop window where a brightly colored poster hung, announcing tryouts for a local junior volleyball clinic.

It was a good idea. Shouyou thought. He can relearn the basics and practice while waiting for school to start. Shouyou glanced at the poster, then back at his friends. "Maybe I’ll check it out.”

Izumi smiled, nudging Koji. “You should. It’s a good way to stay active. Don’t let your bones freeze.”

Shouyou grinned. “I’ll think about it. And hold on, let me get your contacts,” Shouyou says before the two typed their information in. “Thanks! For this and for the heads up on the volleyball thing.”

Koji waved him off. “No problem. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

Shouyou nodded and mounted his bike, balancing the bag of groceries carefully. “I’ll see you both around.” The two waved at him as he cycled away.

With his eyes now on the road before him, the cool mountain air stung his face, and his mind wandered. A volleyball clinic, huh? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to take a look.

The next day, he found himself riding toward the local gym, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. The route was familiar, the same mountain path he’d ridden as a kid so he didn’t get lost.

The gym was old, with worn floors and the familiar scent of sweat and Salonpas in the air. When Shouyou stepped inside, a voice called out to him from behind the counter.

“Can I help you?”

Shouyou turned, surprised to see an aged man with a scruffy beard and a warm smile. He was wearing a track jacket with the gym’s logo on it. The man studied Shouyou for a moment, his expression slowly changing as recognition dawned on him.

“Wait a minute… You’re Hinata Shouyou, right? Ninja Shouyou?” the coach said, his eyes lighting up. “You live in the area?”

Shouyou blinked, taken aback. “Uh… yes, sir? How do you know me?”

The coach grinned, his excitement palpable. “I used to live in Okinawa. Growing up, I was a huge fan of beach volleyball. You know, Okinawa’s got that great weather for it, so it’s a sport that I played a lot growing up. But back then, there weren’t many opportunities to pursue it here in Japan—not like in other countries, at least.”
Shouyou had his brows raised, now intrigued as his posture relaxed. “So you were a fan of the sport, sir?”

“Oh, more than that,” the coach said, leaning forward, his eyes reflecting a glint of passion. “I played whenever I could. But once I moved to Miyagi a few years ago to be closer to my daughter, I found myself stuck. The exposure to beach volleyball here wasn’t the same. It was always a dream of mine to really pursue it, but there just weren’t enough options.”

Shouyou nodded, feeling a kinship with the coach’s yearning. He knew that feeling all too well.

The coach chuckled, a little sheepishly. “And then one day, I saw you pop up when I was watching videos of beach volleyball tournaments on the computer, and man, I couldn’t believe it. I thought, ‘There’s a guy who’s out there doing it, living my dream!’ You were out there, playing abroad. A fellow countryman making waves in the sport I always loved. I became a fan of yours right then and there.”

Shouyou felt a warmth spread through him at the coach’s words. He’d never realized how far his influence had reached, especially in a sport that had meant so much to the coach.

“I don’t know if I was that big of a deal,” Shouyou muttered, a slight flush to his cheeks as he scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed by the attention.

“Nonsense,” the coach replied, waving his hand. “You were doing things no one had ever seen before. You were out there, defying the odds, and showing everyone that someone from Japan can do beach volleyball. For people like me, it was a real inspiration.”

Shouyou smiled, feeling a little proud. It was rare for him to hear such genuine admiration, especially from someone who had followed the sport as closely as this coach had. The recognition made him feel like he had made the right choice in pursuing it despite his past hesitations.

The coach’s smile softened as he gestured toward the gym floor. “Well, are you here for volleyball? We don’t have beach though but if it’s indoor volleyball you’re here for, we’ve got a spot open. We’ve got some great young athletes your age, too. You’d be a perfect fit.”

Shouyou stood up straighter for a moment before answering.

“Yeah,” Shouyou said, his voice steady but his eyes are clearly sparkling in anticipation. “I’m interested but I don’t think I caught your name, sir.”

“Oh silly me. My apologies I was a bit too excited to see you I forgot to introduce myself.” The old man sticks out his hand for Shouyou to shake, “Yamato Furukawa. I’ve been running this gym for a while now.”

Shouyou brightens up even more, shaking the old coach’s hand.

“C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

Chapter Text

The feeling of living alone in the house his family had left behind felt like nothing he expected. It wasn’t the first time he’d been living alone on his own. He had already been an adult after all. He once even played for a team miles away from his family. However, there’s still something so isolating about it now despite the degree of freedom he has over his life now.

It was now late February.

The video calls between Japan and Brazil were constant, with his family checking in on him frequently, especially Natsu. She may act unruffled about his move but it was obvious that she misses her big brother. His mother and father were consistent on checking up on his well-being, and he was consistent in making sure he doesn’t make them worry.

“Hey! You’re early today!” Furukawa greeted Shouyou with a bright smile when he arrived at the local gym, the usual bounce back in his step.

Shouyou grinned, glad to be back in the gym again despite being there for most of the week. He had been joining in the junior volleyball clinic for a couple of weeks now.

“I guess I’m getting the hang of things,” Shouyou said, stretching his arms above his head. He was still adjusting to the rhythm of the urban life, but the thought of returning to something he loved gave him a sense of purpose. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“Well, today we’re working on conditioning. You’ve been doing great transitioning to indoors, but we need to fine-tune that endurance, especially if you’re thinking of getting back into competitive volleyball,” Furukawa replied, his face thoughtful.

Shouyou nodded, eager to get started. He was more than ready to dive into his training, having come to terms with being back now. His mind was clearer than ever since his return or regression, whatever you may call it.

With his language certification nearly processed, he would soon be starting high school, starting his education anew. The thought of attending school again at his (mental) age, now that he had experienced so much more in life, felt strange. But volleyball was a constant. And he’s happy about that fact at least.

“You’ve been putting in a lot of time practicing indoor volleyball even in Brazil, haven’t you? But not as much as beach I suppose,” Furukawa says, tossing a ball toward Shouyou. He caught it with ease, his reflexes sharp as always.

Shouyou threw the ball into the cart after giving it a quick wipe and gave a brief nod. “Yeah, a lot of beach volleyball. It has a lot of similarities with indoor volleyball, and a lot of differences as well but I don’t think these differences are bad.”

Furukawa nods in understanding. “I see. But we’ll see if we can bring some of that into your training here. The core work, balance, speed—they’re all critical, no matter where you’re playing. And as for the mental side of it… well, we’ll talk more about that later. Playing with only two players did give you more court awareness but that may hinder you when playing with more on the court.”

They spent the next few hours going through drills, focusing on strengthening everyone’s core, agility, and speed. Furukawa’s approach to conditioning was thorough—he wasn’t just about running drills to, quote unquote some of the kids from the team, "make them suffer"; he was about making sure the body moved with intention and precision. Shouyou felt the burn in his muscles, the strain of pushing his limits, but that only fueled his drive to get his skill set back to how it was—maybe even better.

Eventually, their activities shifted toward more dynamic movements, things that required quicker reflexes, like jumping to block or leaping into a spike, all the while coordinating with the rest of the team. And so, the group was divided for a match.

The gym was filled with noises of spikers calling for a toss, encouragements from the people in the same team, and the rhythmic squeaking of shoes against the floor, the faint echo of their movement reverberating in the space.

“Good spike!" Furukawa called out. "Libero! Watch out and move out of the way after you make a dig.”

Shouyou sprinted across the gym floor, positioning himself for a jump to intercept the incoming ball. He could feel the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he planted his feet and leapt into the air. He spikes the ball down the other side of the court, the ball snug perfectly on the lines and curves of his palms as he comes in contact with it. The receive was impeccable. The toss was basic but it was practically perfect. The spike was strong enough to penetrate through the block.
But something went wrong during his landing.

In his haste to avoid a collision with the libero—who had suddenly cramped up in the middle of a dive and was unable to move out of the way— Shouyou tried to shift his weight midair, too abruptly perhaps. He ended up rolling an ankle as he landed awkwardly. There was a sharp, sudden pain and his body jerked with the force of it. He stumbled slightly before catching himself, the net he crashed into holding him up.

“Shouyou! Are you alright?” Furukawa rushed to his side, concern lacing his voice.

Shouyou gritted his teeth, trying not to make a big deal of it. He wasn’t a fan of showing weakness, especially not in front of someone like Furukawa, who had become an unexpected source of guidance. His stubbornness was showing itself. He straighten up and put weight on his injured foot gingerly, wincing at the dull throb in his ankle.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” Shouyou muttered, waving him off. “I’ll be fine, I can play.”

But Furukawa wasn’t buying it.

“You’re not fooling anyone. Let’s take a break, okay? No point in pushing through an injury right now. You can’t risk it especially since you’re planning on playing competitively.”

“Hinata-san, I’m sorry.” The libero whose face crumpled in pain and lying on the floor apologized to him and the redhead replies with a soft, “It’s okay, I’ll be fine. Take care of your cramp first.”

“Alright, everyone,” Furukawa called out, raising his voice to get their attention. “Take fifteen. Shouyou’s got a minor injury, and we need to let him rest for a bit.” His tone was calm, but firm as he addresses the kids rest of the group. “Takizawa, bring the other kid to the infirmary!” the old coach says to his assistant who was helping the libero with his cramp get up.

“Understood!” the rest of the group chorused, some giving Shouyou a quick glance of concern before they all scattered, heading to the water station and the corner of the gym to stretch out. Furukawa lingered for a moment longer, watching his players, before turning his attention back to Shouyou.

Reluctantly, Shouyou allowed Furukawa to help him sit on the sidelines. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but it was enough to make him pause and reassess. How had he managed to injure himself so easily? Maybe he had pushed too hard. Maybe his body wasn’t as resilient as it had been before. He couldn’t help but feel frustrated. How long would it take to get back to where he was? How long would it take to feel like he was truly back in control of his own body?

Furukawa sat beside him, his gaze softening as he watched Shouyou’s frustration. “It’s normal to feel this way after an injury,” he said, breaking the silence. “Your body is still growing, son. And you’re still adjusting to this shift. Let’s be patient and take it slow.”

Shouyou nodded, the words sinking in. Patience. That was something he had never been particularly good at. But perhaps it was what he needed now. He knew exactly what broke him in his previous life but it seems like in his haste to start over, he had forgotten about it.

Furukawa patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll take you to the infirmary. Let’s get that ankle wrapped. It’s probably nothing serious, but it’s better to be safe. We’ve got time, and it’s more important to make sure you heal properly than to rush back into it."

With a resigned sigh, Shouyou nodded and allowed Furukawa to guide him out of the gym and toward the small infirmary room at the back of the building. The hallway was silent except for the low humming of one of the old lightbulbs and the distant sound of the team’s chatter. The infirmary was a small room at the end of the hall. The familiar clean scent of antiseptic and the stark white wall of the infirmary made him feel like a teenager again—back when he had to be pulled out from the game, benched at nationals after getting a fever. He had spent a fair amount of time in this same kind of environment as an adult too, surrounded by the soft murmur of his physical therapist as his bad knee was getting treatment.

The other kid was also in the room, still getting help for his cramp. Furukawa closes the curtain around a vacant bed and helped Shouyou settle in. The older man sat on the stool next to the bed. “Okay, let’s see how bad this is.”

Furukawa removes Shouyou’s left shoe and sock with as much gentleness the old man could muster, the joint was already starting to swell, and the pain had a dull, gnawing quality to it that he couldn't ignore any longer.

“You’re lucky—it doesn’t seem to be anything too serious. It’s likely a mild sprain, but we’ll need to wrap it and keep an eye on it.”

Shouyou winced as Furukawa gently poked and prodded his on his ankle to check. The discomfort made him grit his teeth, but he tried to keep his focus on breathing slowly.

"Try to stay still," Furukawa murmured as he started pulling out the necessary supplies from the cabinet: an elastic bandage, ice packs, and some antiseptic to clean the area. "We don’t want this turning into anything worse. You don’t want to deal with a more severe injury, not when you’re just getting started again."

Shouyou nodded in agreement, his mind still lingering on the moments before his ankle gave out.

The way his body had twisted just a bit too far. The faint feeling of helplessness that had struck him in the split second before the pain hit. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of that event in his life.

“I really don’t want to be a drag,” Shouyou said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Furukawa paused for a moment, the ice pack in his hand as he looked up at Shouyou, who was staring down at his ankle with furrowed brows.

“Hey,” Furukawa said, his voice firm but gentle. “Injuries are part of it. It’s not about being a drag; it’s about knowing how to recover properly so you can come back stronger. If you push yourself too hard, that’s when things get worse. You can’t rush this.”

“I guess,” Shouyou muttered, looking up at Furukawa with a sheepish smile. “I just hate sitting out while everyone else is practicing. It’s frustrating.”

Furukawa chuckled softly, securing the bandage around Shouyou’s ankle with practiced hands. “I understand. But if you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself sitting out for a lot longer than you want. Besides, you can take this time to rest, school’s starting in a week.”

“Yeah,” Shouyou agreed, though it didn’t make him feel any better. “Still… I’m here to get better, not just sit on the sidelines.”

“I know you’re eager to get back out there,” Furukawa said with a reassuring smile, finishing up the wrap and helping him settle into a more comfortable position. “But this isn’t a sprint. We’re building you for a marathon. Sometimes that means taking a step back when you need to, so you can come back stronger. Don’t forget that.”

Shouyou leaned back against the pillow, feeling the coolness of the ice pack against his swollen ankle. Furukawa’s words sunk in slowly, but it didn’t make him feel any less upset. It wasn’t just the injury itself that bothered him—it was the frustration of being helpless that came with it. He had always been the one to push through, never showing weakness, never backing down. To be told to rest, to pause, felt like he was somehow betraying the instincts that had gotten him this far.

(Perhaps this was also the reason on how his past life had ended that way.)

Still, he needed to take care of his body, not just for himself, but for his future. Furukawa’s words had snapped him out of the depressive hole he dug himself into and reminded him of restraint. He knew exactly how this would end if he still insisted on his desires.

Furukawa gave him a pat on the shoulder, standing up and gathering the supplies. “I’ll leave you to rest. Remember what I said.”

Shouyou sighed, his body sinking further into the cot. “Thanks, Furukawa-san,” he muttered. “I’ll try not to let this mess with my head too much.”

“You’ll be fine,” Furukawa reassured him. “Take it easy for a few weeks. I’ll get you an ankle brace to bring home later.”

As Furukawa stepped out of the infirmary, leaving Shouyou alone with his thoughts, the redhead closed his eyes and focused on the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

The gym was still alive with the sound of practice.. He knew he would return to court, sooner or later. For now, he had to be patient, not just with his ankle, but with himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. It was a message from his mother, as usual, reminding him to eat well and take care of himself. Natsu had sent a voice message this time, full of her usual energy.

“Nii-chan! Don’t forget, Mom says you have to take care of yourself! And tell me about the volleyball stuff when you get a chance, okay? Then bye!"

Shouyou chuckled, shaking his head as he listened to his sister’s voice. No matter how far away they were, she always found a way to bring him back to reality. “I’ll call her later,” he murmured, sending a quick reply before putting his phone away.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since his sprain. Shouyou had been getting around the house with a crutch and an ankle brace, careful not to jostle the injury. The neighbors, worried after seeing him hobbling in their yard, had started stopping by with food and check-ins, their concern both heartwarming and mildly overwhelming. Running out of groceries while he was incapacitated to some degree was now the least of his worries —it was whether or not he could finish everything they’d brought before it went bad.

On the other hand, Furukawa took him to the hospital to get his foot checked as a precaution right after practice that day. The doctor had heavily advised against any type of activity that would aggravate the injury, especially after learning that Shouyou was an athlete. The good news was that it was only a mild sprain—nothing broken, no cast needed—and if he behaved himself, the brace could come off in two weeks. That, he can manage.

His family had been informed not long after. His mother, predictably, gave him an earful over the phone. His father was more reasonable, just telling him to rest and heed the doctor’s orders. Natsu, though, had been the most upset—furious, even. Her string of voicemails alternated between calling him an idiot and demanding he come home immediately if he couldn’t take care of himself. He teased her in return, and she hung up on him several times before calling back again with the same fiery intensity as her hair.

Stuck indoors, Shouyou was feeling restless. With his ankle stuck in a brace, he couldn’t get around town, much less pedal himself on his bike. The house felt smaller with each passing day.

The snow had fully melted by now, and spring was beginning to push its way through the cold. Shouyou spies a couple of Mrs. Watanabe’s flowers forming small buds of different colors from the low fence of the house. The grass was also starting to grow taller, the ground soft enough for them to spread their roots further. It felt symbolic somehow.

He’d taken to meditating again in the quiet moments, realizing that his head was far messier than he’d thought. At first, he chalked it up to the usual nerves of starting again at a new school—but upon more reflection, he had to admit it: he’d been impatient. Being back here, reliving all of this, made him want to move faster, fix things sooner. But even with the years behind him, he still had to play the long game. He sighed to himself. Maybe he was still a little childish after all in his big age of 26 (not counting the years he spent as a kid in Rio).

The downtime had at least given him space to plan. He’d decided—firmly—that he wanted to rejoin the volleyball club. Not just to play again, but to help it grow into what he always knew it could be. They had so much potential, and it still stung that they hadn’t made it further the first time around. He wouldn’t let that regret follow him again.

His binder was already filled with notes, training ideas, strategies—pages and pages of scribbles that only he could decipher right now. And though he wasn’t quite walking normally yet, the brace was helping, and all the rest he’s been doing had done its job.

Come Monday morning, while putting away his washed dishes after a massive breakfast, he found himself wondering how he’d get to school. Before he could spiral into another round of self-pity, a honk echoed from outside, followed by the doorbell.

Outside, the old coach Furukawa was standing on his doorstep, his old car behind him and his grandson already strapped in the back seat.

“Furukawa-san? You’re here…?” Shouyou tilts his head quizzically as he holds the gate open with one hand, leaning on his crutch for support.

“I’m giving you a ride,” the old man said, voice slightly muffled by the scarf around his neck but the crinkling of his eye was enough indication that he was in a good mood. “You think I’d let you limp all the way to school on that foot?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother…”

“It’s no problem at all. I bring my grandson to his school every morning so think of it as me just dropping you off on the way.”

Shouyou breathes in relief, one of his problems now solved. He smiles at the old coach brightly before bowing, “Thank you so much! I promise I won’t cause trouble.”

“Don’t you worry about troubling me. Just take care of your ankle. We can’t have you going on another trip to the hospital.”

“Really, thank you Furukawa-san!”

“Alright, that’s enough. Finish packing up and get your bag. We’ll be waiting in the car.”

With a grateful nod, Shouyou ducked back inside to finish getting ready. The uniform felt strangely nostalgic, even though technically, he was putting it on for the first time again. In the mirror, he still looked like himself—just a little taller, a little more tanned, a little less of the twig that he was, and with sharper eyes than the last time.

He gave himself a quiet pep talk, grabbed his bag and crutch, and locked the door behind him.

The drive to the old school was quiet but not tense. Furukawa had kept the windows slightly rolled down, letting the early spring air drift through the car. His grandson, barely ten, was humming something from a TV commercial and was swinging his feet off the seat. Shouyou just sat back and stared out the window, one hand on the strap of his bag, the other lightly gripping his crutch.

As the car turned down the street near the school, the building came into view—a little worn-down but familiar. Something settled in his chest. Not exactly comfort, but something similar. Like an echo.

It all felt the same and yet, it wasn’t.

Furukawa pulled up just by the school’s gate, his hand resting casually on the steering wheel.

“We're here. You good to walk the rest of the way?” the old coach asked, glancing over.

Shouyou nodded. “Yes, thank you. Really.”

Furukawa just waved him off, muttering something about not making a big deal of it and expect more chauffeuring until he could bike himself over the mountain, then leaned over to reach across and unlock the door. His grandson offered a cheerful, “Bye!” and Shouyou returned it with a small smile.

The redhead stepped out gingerly, adjusting his grip on the crutch and pulling his bag over one shoulder; then he stepped forward, one careful step after the another. The morning air was crisp, not biting, and he could see some other students trickling in—most of them still groggy.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he drew nearer to the building and swept a glance at the students in front of the class lists before quickly looking away. He might've spotted a familiar figure, maybe two. Against his better judgement, he decides to forgo checking his name and went straight to the offices.

The walk to the office was quiet, only the sound of his crutch tapping rhythmically on the cement walkway accompanying him. Some students gave him a few passing looks—his bright hair and visible brace made him hard to miss.

The front office was warm and smelled faintly of ink and the lemon-scented air freshener. The woman behind the desk looked up with a polite smile as the door slides shut behind him.

“Hinata Shouyou-kun?” she asked, adjusting her glasses.

He gave a short bow. “Yes. I was told to come here before homeroom?”

“Ah, right. You’re the student with the foreign records. From Brazil, wasn’t it?”

He nodded again, keeping his voice bright but even. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Take a seat. I’ll get your folder ready.”

The middle-aged receptionist/secretary went back behind her desk as he settles into one of the stiff waiting chairs they had along the wall. The clock on the wall continued to tick noisily as he messed with the contents of his bag, the quiet shuffling of paper behind the desk calming his nerves somewhat. Shouyou busied himself by checking his notebook—mostly blank so far, save for the loose schedule he’d written out.

The secretary handed him his class schedule and class assignment shortly after.

“Class 1-5,” she said with a small smile. “You’re quite early. Make sure to have this signed by your homeroom teacher later.”

He bowed politely and thanked her before making his way out. The halls still had that same polished wooden scent, clean and faintly nostalgic. His steps slow as he moved, leaning on his crutch. The early morning sun filtered through the windows, casting dappled light on the floor. His chest felt tight with a strange mixture of anticipation and familiarity.

The door to his new classroom was already open. He peered in—almost empty. Rows of clean desks, a blackboard that hadn’t been written on yet, the slight hum of lights buzzing above. He stepped in and made his way to a desk on the second row, a seat by the window.

He let out a deep, audible breath, trying to steady the rapid thumping of his heart. "Guess this is really happening," he muttered to himself as he settles in his desk. Before long, the classroom slowly began to fill. A couple of curious glances were thrown his way—mostly due to the crutch, maybe the tan, maybe the hair too, which still retained its striking brightness, even after the sun bleached it. He offered small smiles, polite nods.

After the round of obligatory self-introductions, the teacher walked them through the school calendar, outlining upcoming events and expectations. Before long, the bell for break rang, and a low hum of conversation filled the room. Students shifted in their seats, gathering into small groups. Some clearly knew each other from middle school, already chatting comfortably. Others were quick to strike up conversation with their seatmates, forming the beginnings of new friendships.

Shouyou, still fumbling with his crutch as he tried to get up, winced slightly when it bumped awkwardly against the side of his desk.

“Oops—Sorry!” he muttered instinctively, knocking over his pencil case in the process.

The girl beside him—petite, soft-spoken, and looking like she was trying her best not to be noticed—flinched at the sound and looked over, startled.

“Ah, sorry,” she echoed, despite not doing anything wrong. She quickly looked away, shrinking in on herself like she wished she could vanish into her seat.

Shouyou blinked at her reaction, then smiled sheepishly. “No, I should be the one saying sorry. This crutch has a mind of its own.”

Her eyes flicked back to him, hesitant, but she didn’t respond.

“I’m Hinata. Hinata Shouyou,” he said, a bit more softly this time, offering a small, non-threatening grin as he awkwardly sat back down. “I’m kind of new. Well, new here anyway.”

The girl hesitated, her eyes wide, clearly not used to being addressed so directly. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her desk. “…Hitoka. Yachi Hitoka,” she replied after a moment. She looked like she regretted speaking the moment the words left her mouth.

“Yachi-san,” he repeated, testing the name. “Nice to meet you.”

Again.

From the moment the door slid open and a familiar face peeked in, the anticipation in Shouyou’s heart reached its peak, he was close to bursting and hugging his old friend there and then but then he reminded himself, ‘She doesn’t know me yet.’

She’s the same as he remembered from their younger years—frazzled, a little pale, a hand clutching the strap of her bag tightly like it might fly off without her. It was unlike the adult version of her, the more confident one with a little less baby fat and more spring in her step. No one paid much attention to her and she didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe she just didn’t expect them to.

And for a moment, Shouyou thought, ‘She looks really young’.

The same soft, wide eyes. The short hair clipped neatly to the side. The way her shoulders curled inward like she was trying to fold herself out of existence. She used to panic about club paperwork, get flustered at loud cheering of the boys, and yet somehow she endured it—anxiety and all. She’d been his friend.

Now she was just a nervous girl sitting in her desk. And an even more nervous girl when she stood up front to introduce herself earlier.

Shouyou’s attention snaps back to reality again when Yachi hands him his fallen pencil case. Then out of the blue:

“Um… your hair is… really orange.”

Shouyou burst out laughing—not mocking, just genuinely amused. He felt relieved after hearing those words. He was a little worried some things would be different here too but it seems not. “Yeah, I get that a lot. It used to be even brighter when I was younger. Like a traffic cone.”

That actually drew a quiet snort from her, and her hand flew to her mouth, face horrified when she made an undignified sound.

“I knew it!” he said, pointing playfully. “You do laugh.”

“I-I wasn’t laughing!” she said quickly, flustered. “It just caught me off guard!” She waved her hands around trying to explain.

“Sure, sure,” he said with a teasing grin, leaning on back on his seat. “You’re my first seatmate here, so I gotta make a good impression.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Too late. Impression made,” he said brightly.

Some of their classmates had started listening in on their exchange, but it wasn’t in a mean way. They just seemed curious. And Shouyou did have that easy way of talking that lowered people’s guards.

Yachi still looked like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself, but she also wasn’t pulling away. Her shoulders weren’t as tense as before. Maybe just a little less invisible than she was used to feeling.

“So, do you know what’s the best snack from the vending machines here? I need to plan my snack strategy for the week.” he says, tapping his ankle brace with his crutch.

She blinked, surprised again. “Um… I’m not sure… I heard someone say the melon bread sells out fast.”

“Melon bread, huh?” he said, nodding sagely. “Got it. You just saved my lunch breaks,” he added, then gave her a thumbs-up. “Nice, Yachi-san.”

She turned red and looked down at her desk, her face was still pale but there’s a sparkle in her eyes now.

When Yachi walked in, she paused a little just outside the doorway, her eyes sweeping the room slowly. She kept her head low, clutching her bag close to her chest. Her gaze flickered across the seats—and then stopped when she saw the only empty one left, right next to a boy with striking orange hair and a crutch propped against his desk.

Oh no.

He was already looking at her with a friendly, open expression, and she froze. People like him—bright, noticeable, loud-looking—they always intimidated her. Not because they were mean, but because they seemed to belong in the spotlight, and she…

Well, she was ‘Townsperson B.’

Still, there was nowhere else to sit.

Throughout homeroom, Yachi couldn’t help but feel the occasional glance from her orange-haired seatmate. The back of her neck prickled, and she was pretty sure she could feel a bead of sweat trailing down her spine. She doesn’t know if it was the sunlight streaming in from the windows? Or was it the nervousness from suddenly being the focus of someone’s attention?

Then it happened. The thing where she instinctively apologizes for everything and make an embarrassment of herself. Even so, she was glad her seatmate was nice. He’s one of those people who can keep a conversation going even with someone as awkward and dry as her.

This time, lunch time came. Hinata shifted awkwardly in his seat, trying to stand up with the crutch again. He nearly dropped it in the process, and his bag slipped off his chair.

Yachi almost jumped out of her seat, body moving before she could think. “Wait. I’ll get that.” She picked up his bag, hesitating before setting it gently on his desk.

“Oh, thank you!” he said, clearly grateful. “This thing’s kind of a pain,” he groans, a little vexed at his reduced mobility.

Yachi offered a small nod. “Your… ankle?”

“Yeah, sprained it a week ago. Silly, right?” he said, laughing at himself. “I was a little careless. Kinda stuck with this thing for now.”

“…That sounds painful,” she murmured, eyes flicking to the brace he was wearing. “I hope it heals soon.”

“Me too. The doctor said one more week if I behave,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Which is hard, honestly.”

“Oh… One week is short, it’ll be gone soon enough.”

Hinata gave her a little smile, one she almost didn’t catch. When she finally glanced at him, then gave the tiniest nod in return—like a rabbit acknowledging a nearby human.

Around them, class chatter picked up again, and a boy in the row in front of them turned halfway in his chair. “So… you weren’t around last year, right?” he asked, his tone light, curious without being nosy. “Didn’t see you in town.”

Shouyou straightened slightly, adjusting the crutch leaning against his desk. “Ah… yeah, I just moved back. And I live over the mountains so I’m rarely around here.”

“Your accent’s a little different,” a boy two rows behind remarked lightly. “From outside Miyagi?”

Shouyou blinked, then nodded. He was surprised they picked up on it. His Japanese had a bit of an accent now after so many years, but it was mostly intact. “I'm from Brazil.”

That caught a few ears.

“Eh? Overseas?” a girl seated to Yachi’s right leaned over, resting her chin on her hand.

“Oh, that’s pretty far,” someone murmured. “The seasons must be opposite down there, right?”

He nodded again. “Mm. It was... summer? When I left. So it feels strange to be back in spring.”

“That also explains the tan.” someone hummed.

“You look cool,” Yachi’s other seatmate said, her tone sincerely impressed.

More questions came from their classmates and he answered them as normally as possible. They were subtle in their prying, which Shouyou doesn't mind. It felt kind of a sideways 'why?' and he understands their curiosity.

When most of the class started to filter out for lunch, Shouyou dug into his bag for his packed lunch. Yachi also remained in the room, her food now sitting on her desk. She looked like she still had questions, her hands still folded on her lap. Her gaze flicked toward him again. “You don’t think it’s hard moving back?” she asked, a little hesitant now that the room was a bit quieter than earlier.

He blinked at her, then gave a lopsided grin. “I do. It's colder than I remember, but… the people are nice.”

Yachi just nods at his answer and picked up her chopstick. She looked less like she's about to bolt out of the room now. Perhaps that light conversation earlier had helped her relax.

Hinata glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Well, he wasn’t going to rush getting his friends back again. He still had time.

Chapter Text

By Friday, Shouyou had started to settle in.

He still wasn’t used to how quiet the school felt sometimes, but his class had warmed up to him faster than he expected. Well, even more than their initial interaction. Despite being in the college prep track—full of ambitious, intimidating teens—most of them didn’t seem to mind him. A few were reserved and distant, their noses already buried in books despite it being the first week of school. Others were still stiff, aloof, or seemed to have bricks where their personalities should be. But those others had started greeting him back. Sometimes.

This is progress, he told himself.

Being upbeat and annoyingly nice had its perks. And maybe the fact that he didn’t talk too much helped.

In actuality, Shouyou still wasn’t sure how he’d landed in the college prep class. Maybe a mistake on his application? He knew he was good at a lot of things, but he wasn’t exactly a model student. His grades were okay, but nothing exceptional. Half the stuff the teachers said sounded like incantations, so he copied notes like his life depended on it (because it kind of did). Being brought back in time did NOT make him smarter. However, he did have more sensibilities as an adult, so blocking off time for studying became easier.

Still, no one had noticed anything yet. He was in the clear—until exams, that is.

His sprained ankle was still healing, so he hadn’t done much besides hobble around his desk or stay seated unless he needed to leave the room. Still, he was buzzing with excitement all day. Yachi noticed immediately—how could she not, when her seatmate looked like he’d had five espresso shots and chased them with Red Bull? She blinked at him, a little concerned but mostly confused.

"You're, uh... extra energetic today," she said cautiously, peeking over the top of her textbook. "More than usual, I mean."

Shouyou grinned so wide it practically eclipsed the sun. “Today’s my first time meeting the club members! I already signed up on the first day, but this is the official start!”

Yachi blinked. “Oh. Right.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a slightly crumpled club application form—still blank. She stared at it with mild horror. How had she already forgotten about this?

“I... still haven’t filled this out,” she admitted, cheeks going a little pink. “I don’t even know which club I want to join.”

It was a light bulb moment. He’d been racking his brain trying to figure out how to ask Yachi.

Before, Yachi had joined them later. She’d been nervous, overwhelmed, always on the verge of backing out (and passing out). But then she became a part of their support system—not just as a manager, but as someone who always showed up, who kept them grounded, who cheered them on. Even after graduation, she was a good friend to him. To them.

Now that they'd met earlier, he was figuring out ways to bring it up. He was even half-considering begging Shimizu for help convincing the blonde, seeing how quickly she’d agreed last time when the older girl asked. Shouyou grinned at the memory. Now was his chance.

Shouyou leaned closer. “Hey, what if you joined the volleyball club?”

Her eyes widened. “Volleyball? I can’t play volleyball. I don't play volleyball. Pretty sure I’ve been allergic to balls my whole life,” she replied, fumbling over her words.

“You don’t have to play,” he said quickly, waving his hands. “You could be our manager! Every team needs one. Or two. Some have more, actually. You’d be awesome at it!”

Yachi fidgeted with the edge of her paper. “I wouldn’t know what to do…”

“You can learn! I think there's a third-year manager already, but having two won’t be a problem, right?” Shouyou assured her. “I can help you figure it out. Don’t worry about it!”

She didn’t need to be perfect, or confident, or even sure of herself yet. She just needed a place to belong and someone to believe she did. And he did. And they all will in the future.

“Just think about it, okay?” he said with a grin, keeping it light and trying to keep his voice casual, even as his heart thumped a little faster. “I think you’d be great.”

Yachi looked down at the form, then back at Shouyou—who was the sun himself and absolutely radiating encouragement.

“…Okay,” she said softly, a tiny smile forming. “I’ll think about it.”

He was hobbling toward the second gym with a slight limp and a swell of anticipation in his chest. Yachi walked beside him, clutching her bag to her chest like it was a comfort object, her slightly crumpled club application form in one hand.

"Are you sure I can just hand this in like this?" she asked, panicked. "It’s all wrinkled, and I didn’t even fill in my contact info yet. I don’t think my penmanship is legible."

Shouyou beamed at her. "It’s fine! Besides, you’re applying as a manager for the volleyball club, not a calligraphy club."

Yachi bit her lip. "Manager. That still sounds... terrifying."

He gave her a sidelong glance. “You’ll be great. I’m really glad you’re doing this with me.”

From the hallways leading to the second gymnasium, they could already hear voices. They crept closer just as those voices were rising—not in the "friendly banter" kind of way.

On the court, Tsukishima and Kageyama were squaring up. Yamaguchi stood off to the side, eyes nervously dancing around but still chiming in to add to Tsukishima's quips.

“Are you trying to start something?” Kageyama’s voice echoed.

Tsukishima’s voice followed, perfectly dry. “You’re the one getting all worked up.”

Ah. Disaster o’clock, Shouyou thought.

Yachi flinched at the tension. "Will it be like this?"

"Pretty much," Shouyou said, a bit too nonchalant for someone looking at a verbal brawl.

Before they could be caught in the blast radius of teen angst and aggression, Sugawara appeared beside them like a friendly ghost. "Hey! You guys made it! I'm assuming you are the new member? And you brought reinforcements, I see."

Yachi flushed. "I—um—I’m Yachi Hitoka and I'm here to apply as manager. If that’s okay?"

"I'm Sugawara Koushi, third year and vice-captain. And of course it’s okay," Suga said with a gentle smile, taking the form from her. "Come here, you two. Sit on the bench. Let’s not get caught in the crossfire."

"Alright, break it up, you two. Want to settle things? Do it with a ball, not your egos." Daichi strode into the gym. The rest of the team trickled in behind him.

Kageyama and Tsukishima turned their glares toward Daichi, then huffed and looked away from each other in sync.

Daichi made his way over to Shouyou and Yachi. Sugawara, ever the gracious presence, handed over Yachi’s crumpled form with a smile.

"I'm Sawamura Daichi, captain of this team," Daichi said, his voice strong but approachable. "You must be Hinata Shouyou?"

Shouyou grinned widely, practically bouncing out of his seat, and gave a deep bow. "Yes, Captain!" he responded with infectious enthusiasm.

Yachi watched the exchange, nerves still simmering under the surface but slowly easing in the warmth of Shouyou's energy.

Daichi’s gaze shifted to Yachi, his expression softening. “And you must be…” He glanced at the form. “Yachi Hitoka? I’m glad you decided to join us. Kiyoko was just about to start looking for another manager. You saved us the trouble.”

Yachi’s face flushed as she nodded. She shifted uncomfortably, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I hope I can handle it," she murmured. "I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m not sure I’m... qualified."

Sugawara gave her a reassuring grin. "Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Managing this bunch is like herding cats, but once you figure it out, it’s easy!”

Yachi blinked at him, overwhelmed by his cheerfulness. "I-I don’t know if I can keep up with all that."

Before Sugawara could say more, Daichi cut in with mock sternness. "Suga, don’t push her too hard. She just signed up. Give her space to breathe."

Sugawara blinked, then grinned sheepishly. "Ah, right, right. Sorry, Yacchan."

Yachi, still nervous, couldn’t help but chuckle at the exchange. The nickname helped, too. She smiled at Daichi, some tension melting from her posture. "Thank you, Captain. I... I’ll do my best."

Daichi nodded warmly. "We’re all here to support you. No pressure. But we’re glad to have you. And ‘Daichi-san’ is fine. Being called 'Captain' makes it sound so formal."

"Got it, Daichi-san!" they both replied—one loud, one soft.

"Uh, excuse me..." someone began. It was Yamaguchi. "Are you really accepting everyone who applied?"

"Everyone who applied gets in.”

"I mean, we don't really get that many applications, so..." Sugawara chuckled.

" Oh..." The freckled boy trailed off, a metaphorical sweatdrop on his expression.

Yamaguchi, having escaped the on-court tension, joined them on the sidelines, watching the two one-up each other.

Kageyama had just spiked his own pass with the force of a meteor. Tsukishima returned it with a lazy block that still somehow landed perfectly, his expression screaming "try harder."

Kageyama kept on giving Tsukishima scowls and the taller blond made sure to sneer at every move the black-haired setter did.

"I see we’ve got our work cut out for us," Daichi sighed.

“They’re going to need help with their teamwork. Lots of it," Sugawara added, nodding.

" Alright, that's enough!" Daichi clapped once, loud and sharp. Both boys paused. "Let’s try a 3-on-3 match. See where everyone’s at.”

"Fine by me," Kageyama muttered.

"I’ll pick teams. But all three of you are playing today." He points at Tsukishima, Kageyama, and Yamaguchi.

"Whatever," Tsukishima echoed.

“Wait,” Kageyama said, pointing directly at Shouyou. “Is he not joining?”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “Maybe because he’s injured, genius. Let's try using our eyes.”

“And your brain,” Yamaguchi added under his breath.

“You can see the brace,” Shouyou said helpfully, lifting his ankle. “And the crutch.”

“And he’s small,” Tsukishima added, finally glancing over. “Probably tripped over his own shoelace.”

“Okay, harsh,” Shouyou muttered, already used to the verbal jabs.

Yachi winced like she'd been called clumsy by association. She's almost the same height as Shouyou.

"We might actually be doomed this year," Narita said under his breath nearby.

Tanaka was laughing his head off, pointing to the chaos.

“One’s a storm in human form,” he said, meaning Kageyama.

“And the tall one needs a snark filter.”

“I heard that,” Tsukishima said without turning.

"Well, at least the rest of them are normal. Hopefully." Ennoshita supplied, looking at the three on the side.

Shouyou smiled, eyes locked on the people around him. This was what he’d been missing. The banter, the chaos, the clear personality clashes. It was going to be fun.

Daichi clapped again. “Do you plan on staying here all day? For those playing, get changed. The others, help get another ball cart. Someone get the pinnies in the storage. Only one match today, then we’re done so get moving, boys."

Everyone chorused a, "Yes, Captain!" Before moving.

They were split into teams: Kageyama, Tsukishima, and Tanaka on one side—an explosive combo if there ever was one. The other side had Daichi, Sugawara, and Yamaguchi—solid and strategic.

The match was chaos.

Tanaka kept trying to fire the team up but was ignored by Tsukishima, who was too busy side-eyeing Kageyama. Kageyama barked orders and huffed every time something didn’t meet his standards.

Meanwhile, from the sidelines, Shouyou leaned back and watched as the scrimmage began. The tension between Kageyama and Tsukishima hadn’t lessened. Every serve, every block, every set—it was laced with quiet fire. Yachi was still visibly anxious, curling in on herself slightly, but Shouyou immediately started prattling on about how excited he was. How he hoped they’d get to do some proper rotations, even if he couldn’t spike yet. How Kageyama and Tsukishima looked like they might be a few words away from swinging fists but that was just how they communicated. Kinda.

And yet, despite the barbs and glares, they were good.

At their level, at least. They didn’t compare to professionals, but they could give high school teams a run for their money. If Kageyama synced up with the team. When Tsukishima found his drive to actually play.

Kageyama glared at Tsukishima. “You’re not getting away with that lazy block. You’re too slow to even make a decent play!”

Tsukishima, slouched in that ever-relaxed way of his, shot back with a casual sneer. “Why don’t you take your 'king' act and shove it? I’ll play how I want.”

Tanaka stood nearby, crossing his arms together, sneering at them and trying to intimidate them, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m just here to spike the ball. No need to overcomplicate this.”

Naturally, they both ignore him.

“I’ll only set to people essential for winning,” Kageyama snapped.

“That’s funny,” Tsukishima drawled. “You say that like you actually give decent sets.”

The first few rallies were rough—miscommunications, balls dropping in between them, missed timing on blocks. But as they kept playing, something... happened. The yelling toned down. The movement became more fluid. Tsukishima read Kageyama’s signals and closed in on blocks faster. Kageyama adjusted his timing. Tanaka found a rhythm between their chaos, slamming down a kill after a fast set.

Daichi’s team retaliated with sharp strategy. Sugawara, ever the composed setter, exploited gaps in the other team’s defenses, and Yamaguchi found his groove with help and some push from Daichi and Sugawara.

Shouyou narrated everything with excitement, leaning forward beside Yachi. “See that? That feint Suga-san just pulled? And Daichi-san faking a spike only to tip it into the corner! Ah, how I missed this. High schoolers can be creative in their plays.

Okay, Daichi favors cross shots when he’s aiming off-balance. Sugawara’s float serves drift to the left. Tsukishima doesn’t jump unless he’s sure. Kageyama's already scanning their positions—probably thinking three plays ahead. If I were setting, I’d bait them into focusing on Daichi and then dump it to Yamaguchi...”

Yachi blinked. All she could see was a volleyball being passed around, “You’re really into this, huh?”

“Volleyball’s like... my life,” he whispered, almost reverent. “Only louder. And painful when you get hit on the face.”

Meanwhile on the court, Kageyama adapted quickly. He started testing his teammates: giving Tsukishima fast sets to challenge his timing, feeding Tanaka high balls under pressure. Despite the constant tension, they were learning.

“They’re kind of terrifying,” Yachi whispered.

“Yeah, but in a good way,” Shouyou grinned.

The final rally lasted longer than any before. A furious exchange of digs, sets, and spikes, each team refusing to let the ball drop. Eventually, Tsukishima and Kageyama pulled off a coordinated block against Daichi’s spike—something that drew surprised looks from everyone else. Only, the two involved in the block just clicked their tongues at each other.

Both were thinking, "That was totally my block."

When the match finally ended, everyone was panting, but no one looked angry anymore.

“Not bad,” Daichi said, nodding. “You’ve all got potential. And you didn’t kill each other, so that’s a win.”

“Whew. That was tiring. I'm beat,” Sugawara said as he slumped beside the two on the bench. The rest of the team started gathering around Daichi as the ones who played the match caught their breath and hydrated themselves.

"So." Daichi starts, "No Saturday practice just yet. We'll start with our usual schedule next week once everyone has settled in their classes."

Daichi turned to the first years, "We'll need your sizes measurements for the jersey and jackets. Kiyoko will ask for them next week so prepare. Since we didn't get to introduce ourselves earlier because our first-years here we're eager, I'll have to ask everyone to do it now before we change and head home,"

It was short. Just their name, year, and their position. There weren't a lot of them in the first place so it didn't take long.

Shouyou a wing spiker, opposite hitter. This got incredulous looks but they all chose to keep their mouths shut.

Kageyama, a setter.

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, both middle blockers.

Yachi ducked her head and whispered, “Manager. I guess.”

The rest of the team introduced themselves quickly after, though it quickly became clear that two members were missing. Shouyou already knew who—they’d been on his mind since the semester began—but he still hadn’t figured out how to approach them without looking weird and suspicious. The meeting wrapped up soon after. Yachi took his bag with hers as the two of them hobbled toward the door. His thoughts about Nishinoya and Asahi were cut short by a voice beside him.

“You better be able to score, shrimp,” Kageyama muttered, shooting Shouyou a sideways glance as they walked out of the gym.

Shouyou beamed, still hobbling along on his crutches. “Is that a hint of excitement I hear? You can’t wait to see me play, huh?”

“Tch. I won’t care if you play like garbage. But if you can, it'll be better setting to you than lanky over there.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes as he brushed past them, already making a beeline for the locker room.

Suga lingered at the gym doorway.

“They’re an interesting bunch. It was a good decision to accept all of them.”

“Even though two of them might actually kill each other?” Daichi said, grabbing his towel off the bench and catching up to Suga, who was already walking out the door.

“Yup,” Sugawara snorted.

“I think they’re good additions to the team. Three of them have been playing volleyball and competing in tournaments. Kageyama’s a genius, but he doesn’t trust anyone and he’s a bit controlling. Tsukishima’s smart, but he thinks he’s above caring. Yamaguchi… has potential, but he’s still a little hesitant.”

“I guess so. But I’m more interested in Hinata.”

“Hinata… He’s got no height, no club record, and a busted ankle.” Daichi sends Sugawara a questioning gaze.

“Yeah? But he’s already reading the court like it’s second nature. I heard him talking to Yachi during the match. I think he has great game sense.”

“But we don’t know how he plays though?”

“Then we’ll just have to wait. If he ends up being a beginner, we teach him. Easy peasy. I’ll even volunteer.” Sugawara jerks a thumb to himself as he walks up a step higher on the stairs, facing Daichi.

Daichi sighs, slightly exasperated. “Alright, fine.”

Sugawara grinned. “Yay! We get to keep them all. Kiyoko can handle Yacchan.”

Daichi looked on, already tired from the events of that day. “We train them. Mold them. Try not to lose our sanity.”

“Pray they don’t start a fight next practice.”

“…Or break a window.”

“…Or each other.”

They were both now staring at the chaotic club room full of teenage boys changing. Yachi was nowhere to be found, and Shouyou was just sitting on the bench, and making conversation with Tanaka.

Suga glanced at his best friend. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

Daichi rolled his eyes and walked forward to enter the messy room. “It’s not like we have a choice. They already look like a team.”

Chapter Text

It had been almost a week since they started practice properly.

Yachi stuck to his side as they watched the games; Kiyoko was busy with processing paperwork and other managerial duties so it was up to Shouyou to teach Yachi the basics of volleyball. Sometimes, he would help her in handing out towels and water bottles like a pair court-side fairies.

The girl picked up the mechanics and technicalities very quickly. It helped that Shouyou had matches on his laptop for Yachi's reference—they both reviewed those while the rest of the team were practicing diving receives. More often than not, Shouyou would complain about wanting to join them, already feeling restless from not playing for a while. At times when he wasn't teaching Yachi, he'd be passing balls for the setters to toss during spiking practice.

He wasn’t supposed to do much—just help, just keep off the ankle, just stand by and make himself useful. So he did.

Passing balls had a rhythm to it. One tossed out, another retrieved. Catch, toss, repeat. His mind could be completely empty and he could still do it so he’s been kinda-meditating in the middle of practice when he’s doing this. The cart of volleyballs at his side was already halfway empty, and he kept tossing them out one by one, careful, and deliberate.

“Ball,” Daichi called, already calling up the next player. “Next!”

Shouyou didn’t hesitate. “Here!”

He passed it cleanly. The setter tossed it up immediately.

Sugawara gave him a thumbs up between drills, then wandered by with a water bottle tucked under his arm. “You’ve got a good arm,” he said casually. “Might have to steal you as a backup toss machine.”

Shouyou grinned. “Better than being stuck on the bench.”

Kageyama didn’t say much. He caught every toss, precise as ever, and passed them off without so much as a glance.

He was still a little stand off-ish but, it was okay. It'll get better eventually.

Being on the sidelines wasn’t the worst thing. He was learning a lot about his teammates just from watching—things that he wasn’t able to catch in the past. The way the second-years adjusted their footwork, how Tsukishima shifted his weight when preparing a block, how Sugawara always kept his peripheral vision on Yamaguchi. If anything, it was motivating him even more.

The sunset was painting everything in orange when Shouyou made his way to the school gate, bag bouncing against his good leg. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi had already peeled off toward the train station, chatting lowly. Yachi had scurried ahead a few minutes earlier, her shorter legs moving twice as fast as anyone else's. The rest of the team were heading in random directions, breaking off in twos and threes down the hill from the school.

Furukawa’s car purred at the school gate, same as it had been since the start of the semester. The old coach leaned an elbow on the driver’s window, watching with a faint squint as the volleyball club dispersed after practice. Kageyama was walking alone, hands shoved deep into his pockets and face set on a scowl that screamed, "Don't talk to me."

Furukawa had always thought Shouyou Hinata looked like a small sun with too much energy. It was a little overbearing sometimes but even he raised an eyebrow when a taller, dark-haired boy was practically glowering at said sun, who was currently beaming like the cat that caught the canary. His eyes narrowed as if considering the benefits of smacking teenagers upside the head. To be fair, the taller boy seemed to just have that expression permanently on his face.

"You good?" Furukawa asked, glancing at the smaller boy whose grin had not dimmed in the slightest then back at Kageyama who still look like the world owed him money.

Shouyou beamed. “Don’t worry, he’s just like that,” he said breezily, closing the door of the car and putting his seatbelt on. Furukawa gave the boy one last glance, trying to see any hint of deception on his face. He can't have his charge be in trouble in school when his parents are far away.

"Well, okay. If you say so. But tell me if you're having problems."

"Of course. Thank you for your concern, coach. You'll be the first to know," Shouyou gave a playful salute before a comfrtable silence settled inside the car again.

Internally, Shouyou was overjoyed at Kageyama being his expressive self.

That glare? That stomp? That deeply passive-aggressive refusal to pass him the volleyball earlier?

It was adorable. Kageyama was like an angry baby chick—if said chick could launch a 90km/h serve and hated your guts.

Still, Shouyou missed his best friend. The one who used to scream "Jump, dumbass! I'll bring the ball to you," but for now, he'd take this growly, glaring one. There's still a lot of work to be done.

The gym had been buzzing all practice with the usual chaos—Tanaka nearly took out an entire ball cart, his shirt coming off as his definition of a celebratory dance after nailing a spike, Tsukishima rolled his eyes into another dimension, and Yachi dropping the 54th water bottle this week, surprised at the display. Kageyama appeared to be mad(?) at him. Shouyou knows that’s probably not the case but it looked just like that with everyone else. The setter’s eyebrows had taken up permanent residence somewhere near his hairline, and every time Shouyou so much as breathed too loud, Kageyama twitched. He didn't even realize when it started but it just did. Now, instead of Tsukishima arguing with Kageyama like everyone expected, it was Shouyou and Kageyama who got into banters most of the time.

"Don’t make me separate you two again," Sugawara warned as Shouyou casually tossed a volleyball in Kageyama’s direction with a mischievous grin.

"It was just a pass!" Shouyou said, blinking innocently.

"You threw it like a grenade," Daichi said without looking up from his stretching.

Suga, ever the elegant chaos-buffer, inserted himself between them like a parent pulling their toddlers apart whenever the two were in a five foot radius of each other.

Practice wrapped up the way it usually did—someone sweaty, someone yelling, and someone tripping over a ball. But then Takeda-sensei came barreling at the door, panting. His usually pristine work attire was mussed up, his glasses and hair askew. He was clutching a small slip of paper in his hand.

“We’ve received a practice match invitation for next week,” he said. “From Aoba Johsai.”

Dead silence.

Not even Tanaka made a peep. Tsukishima paused mid-sip from his water bottle. Yamaguchi blinked. Yachi was just confused.

“There’s a catch,” Takeda added, adjusting his glasses. “They want Kageyama to be setter for the entire match. They want to see how he... performs."

The atmosphere grew tense. Sugawara's expression remained calm, but a subtle shift in his posture was noticeable. Then the vice-captain clapped his hands once and offered a gentle, "It's okay. It’s just one match, right? This is a valuable opportunity for the team—a huge chance to test ourselves."

Daichi looked over at him—softly, gratefully—but didn’t say anything.

“But—” Tanaka almost protests.

Sugawara gave him a stern look, and so no one else uttered a word. They were all looking at Sugawara. No one missed the implications of this condition. That he would sit out. That they would play without him.

After a few seconds, Daichi tried to lift the mood. “Uh, right. That’s settled then. We'll all discuss more of the details tomorrow. For now, we should wrap up and go home to rest. Meat buns are on me today.”

That earned a cheer from the rest, and a loud “YESSIR!” from Tanaka, but it was a little forced. The tension hadn’t totally left the room.

Kageyama quietly gathered his things and walked out without a word, his brows deeply furrowed. His footsteps echoed down the hall like punctuation marks. The team watched him leave, the weight of the upcoming match settling in.

Later that night and back in his home, Shouyou sat on his bedroom floor, a warm basket of laundry in front of him and the familiar sound of a volleyball game playing low from his laptop. His ankle was propped up on a pillow. The brace was off but the joint still bandaged.

He picked up a practice jersey and started folding, but his hands moved on autopilot. His mind was already running laps around the court.

A week.

An entire week on the sidelines. A week of restraint. A whole week of collecting sweat towels, handing out water bottles, and trying not to look like a kicked puppy every time someone spiked a ball just right. It wasn’t a long time but for Shouyou it felt like forever.

A practice match against a strong team. Aoba Johsai. Kageyama as starting setter.

He folded a pair of shorts aggressively. Useful, he thought. I need to be useful. And loud. Not in volume since he already is, but in impact.

How could he show what he was capable of without being reckless?

If he played it safe, no one would know what he could really do. But if he pushed too hard, the others might label him impulsive—or worse, he could get injured again. There was a thin line between “underwhelming” and “unreliable,” and he had to land right in the middle.

The lineup isn’t yet official. They’re still having difficulties between the two setters on the team. One was the veteran of the team, one who knows everyone’s preferences and style inside-out. The other is a genius setter, with unmatched spatial awareness, however he has having a hard time connecting with the rest of the team.

The other positions, he could still fill in. Maybe he could talk to Daichi. They could sub him in, just briefly, when the game allowed. Even a short rotation was enough to show potential. He didn’t need to steal the spotlight—just spark curiosity. Make the enemy think they have a wildcard. Well, technically he is a wildcard that not even his teammates know about.

He glanced at the laptop screen. A pro match was on. Receivers shifting like water, a middle blocker sprinting for a quick. His eyes narrowed.

Yeah. He’d talk to them.

He folded the last towel with a sharp snap.

The brace was coming off tomorrow.

And soon?

He'd fly.

And a match against Seijoh was the perfect stage.

The morning sun filtered gently through the clouds as Shouyou pedaled to school for the first time in a while. The brace was off, though he still brought it in his bag—just in case. His ankle felt fine. Good, even. He had called the old coach last night and was given a green light. But he wasn’t about to get cocky about it. Not yet.

By the time he walked into the gym for morning practice, most of the team was already there. Daichi gave him a nod; Sugawara shot him a grin that looked one part encouraging, two parts mischievous. Kageyama glanced over with a barely-there scowl, which Shouyou interpreted as a slightly improved greeting. The others were still a little worried for him but after some reassuring, he was able to get them to focus on practice instead.

Practice started, and Shouyou didn’t go all out. That wasn’t the plan yet. But what he gave was solid. Clean receives. Efficient footwork. Constant focus. No fumbles, no awkward steps, no mistimed jumps.

Just clean, functional play.

He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t explode across the court like he used to (and want to). But there was a calm, steady rhythm to his movements that even the older kids took note of.

“He’s kinda like you, Daichi-san,” Ennoshita murmured quietly on the bench. “Just… grounded.”

Daichi, who’d been watching closely, nodded. “He’s good. Not starting lineup for now—not with the ankle just healing—but if we need him, he’s ready.”

Shouyou’s chest bloomed with quiet pride as he heard the exchange. It wasn’t the explosive kind of praise he usually aimed for, but this felt earned.

“Good work today,” Daichi said after one set. “You’re solid, and your jumps are quite high. I think you’d be good at being an opposite with your defensive and offensive abilities. We should take it slow though, and incorporate you to the team slowly.”

Shouyou tried not to beam but failed.

Kageyama, of course, just scoffed when they were cleaning up the net together. “You didn’t even jump that high.”

“I wasn’t giving my all, you know. I have an exam tomorrow.” Shouyou shot back cheerfully.

They nearly got into it until Sugawara materialized. “Save it for Seijoh, you little nightmares.”

Over the next week, the rhythm continued. Morning practices were short but focused. The afternoon training more rigorous but fun nonetheless.

He helped the two girls with towels and drinks when he wasn’t on the court, and Shimizu started trusting him enough to toss him the clipboard when she needed help marking rotations. She didn’t say much but her responses came quicker now.

When the team rotated through drills, Shouyou volunteered to toss. He’d grab a cart of balls and line up behind the net, his tosses precise and quick. He mimicked Kageyama’s form just to mess with him, earning a low growl and dodged a few volleyballs pelted at his head.

He learned everyone’s quirks. Yamaguchi liked a slower toss when he spikes. Tanaka got impatient if the ball didn’t come fast enough. Even Tsukishima, grudgingly, admitted the tosses were good—if only because it meant they didn’t waste time.

“I'm surprised,” Tanaka muttered one afternoon. “He’s like… responsible.”

Sugawara only stared at him with an expression that said, "Did you think he's like you?"

By the end of the week, Shouyou could feel it, the shift.

He was holding back less with every drill. His jumps were getting higher. He was reading the court faster. Noticing how Tsukishima drifted too far back sometimes. How Tanaka’s shoulder dipped before he went cross-court.

He still wasn’t "amazing" just yet. But he could feel the gap between his actual abilities and the abilities he was willing to show for now narrowing.

Soon enough, the afternoon of the match came quickly.

The gym buzzed with excitement. Everyone was getting ready for the practice match against Seijoh. The team was stretching, organizing their gear, and making small talk. For them it wasn’t just any practice match, but a practice match against a top-tier team.

Shimizu entered the gym, carrying a box, her eyes scanning the players who were all gathered. She smiled softly, her presence immediately calming the room, and she took a step toward the slightly raised platform in the gym, catching everyone's attention.

"Alright, everyone," she said, her voice steady but full of excitement. "Before we leave, I have something for you."

The team paused, looking toward her. Shouyou, who had been doing some last-minute stretching near the back, straightened up. His heart gave a little skip. They’d been waiting for this moment for a while—the new uniforms.

Shimizu carefully opened the box and lifted out the first set. The vibrant black and orange of Karasuno’s team colors gleamed as she held it up. "Your jerseys," she said with a smile.

Daichi, who had been tying his shoes, straightened up and walked forward. Shimizu handed him the official and practice jerseys, and he accepted it with a nod of appreciation. "Thanks, Kiyoko."

One by one, she handed out the jerseys to each player. Sugawara’s eyes shone as he took his with a broad grin. Tanaka let out a loud cheer when he got his, nearly lifting it over his head like a trophy, the number 5 printed clearly on the fabric. The rest took theirs a little more quietly, the weight of the moment sinking in as they looked down at the jerseys.

Then, it was Shouyou’s turn. Shimizu paused in front of him, her gaze warm and steady as she handed him his jersey. The #10 that he thought every so often now in his hands again. Shouyou took the jersey, his fingers brushing the smooth fabric, tracing over the embroidered name. A strange fluttering feeling tickled at his chest. He was really here now. His eyes met hers briefly before he nodded and whispered a quiet, “Thanks, Shimizu-senpai.”

As the team admired their jerseys, Shimizu then reached deeper into the box and pulled out the matching tracksuits. The sleek black jackets bore the familiar kanji, and they looked even more impressive up close.

"I know you’ve all been waiting for these," Shimizu continued, tossing a one to Daichi, who caught it effortlessly. "Make sure to wear them with pride. You’re all part of the Karasuno volleyball team now."

The team eagerly began pulling on their jackets, their excitement building as they wore their new gear for this school year. Shouyou slipped on his jacket, the fabric settling comfortably against his shoulders. It fit perfectly.

Sugawara caught his eye as he zipped up his jacket. With a knowing smile, he gave a small thumbs-up to Shouyou. "Looking good, Shouyou."

Shouyou grinned back, "Thanks, Suga-senpai!"

The team gathered again in the locker room, changing in preparation for the bus ride to Seijoh.

Usually, Shouyou was already dressed by the time anyone else arrived. But today, he lingered, pulling on his practice jersey along with everyone else, still basking in the light atmosphere of the team.

At first, no one really noticed until Tanaka caught sight of Shouyou.

“Wait—you’re ripped?” Tanaka yelped, genuinely offended. This got the attention of other who drew their eyes on the shorter redhead.

“You’re joking,” Sugawara blurted, eyes wide as dinner plates.

Tsukishima paused mid-strip, staring. “What the hell…”

The expected wiry, small build under Shouyou’s uniform turned out to be lean, cut muscle—not bodybuilder level, but unmistakably athletic. Shoulders broader than expected, muscles visible with every shift of movement, arms bulky from something more than just school gym class.

Okay, he's not that built like an adult but he was quite fit(?) for his age. The combination of his meal preps and exercise resulted in this. This even convinced his own dad to start working out back in Brazli.

Even Yamaguchi blinked, confused. “Were you, like… training in the mountains or something?”

Shouyou blinked back at them. “Oh. I played beach volleyball. In Brazil.”

Dead. Silence.

Shouyou was quite amused by their reactions. He did want to drop the bomb on them sometime after making it to the team but he didn’t expect such interesting expressions. Though, he didn’t really realize that building his body as it is now would be a huge deal.

“YOU WHAT?”

“You’re from Brazil?!”

"I did hear that there's like, someone from abroad in our year. Didn't know it was you."

“Yeah?” Shouyou said casually, rummaging through his bag for a new pair of socks. “We lived there since I was little.”

“You mean you’ve been buff this whole time and just hid it under the gym uniform?” Tanaka was practically tearing his hair out.

“Why are you focusing on that when he just said he’s literally from across the globe,” Ennoshita says. “Well, that kinda explains the slight accent,”

Daichi was also surprised but still, he had a team to wrangle so he clapped his hands to bring order. “That's enough. We can talk about Hinata's personal life on another day. Let’s move, people. We’re not late, but we will be if you keep gaping like goldfish.”

As they filed out, Sugawara leaned toward Shouyou with a sly grin. “You’ve been hiding things from us. Do you have more secrets to share?”

Shouyou just shrugged. “You never asked.”

The bus ride was filled with a quiet excitement as the team made their way to Seijoh. The familiar hum of the engine mixed with the distant chatter of the others, but Shouyou could barely contain his energy. He was bouncing in his seat, his leg tapping with anticipation. He was feeling grounded, stable. It was his first match with the team this time, and he was already feeling the buzz of the game in his bones.

He leaned against the window, eyes scanning the landscape outside as his thoughts drifted to the one person he couldn’t wait to see.

Oikawa Tooru.

The last time they'd met, Oikawa had promised to visit every month, but their busy schedules hadn’t allowed it. His friend was still playing overseas in Argentina. The older setter had become the nearest reminder of his hometown in his second home. It was funny remembering the article about Oikawa’s frequent trips to visit him. He laughed in the setter’s face after a headline about a possible secret lover came up in gossip blogs. However, he wasn’t about to let their friendship stand in the way of his own goals at the moment.

Still, there was a certain thrill knowing that Oikawa, the friend he’d shared countless matches with on the beach and on court, would be there today. His younger self at least.

His thoughts were interrupted by the team’s usual banter. Tsukishima and Kageyama were arguing as usual, and Daichi had that firm demeanor, trying to get them to settle down. Tanaka was already hyping himself up for the match with way too much energy that earned him a smack from Ennoshita. Sugawara, ever the calming presence, was keeping an eye on everything.

When they arrived at Seijoh’s private academy, one can already pick out the gym from the multiple buildings in the campus. It was large—at least thrice as large as theirs—sleek, and polished. It felt intimidating. And when they stepped onto the court, the Seijoh players were just as imposing as their school. Tall, bulky, and radiating that aura of elite athletes. Karasuno, in comparison, felt like lambs entering the lion’s den.

Takeda greeted the Seijoh coach. Shouyou felt a familiar flutter in his chest—the kind he got before stepping onto a court—but this time, it was different. He was feeling sure of himself. He kept his movements slow, pacing himself through his warm-ups, not pushing it yet. He had to make sure his ankle was 100% before he gave everything he had later. Later.

The Seijoh players were also warming up on the other side of the court, their movements efficient and precise. Shouyou watched them for a moment. Oikawa wasn’t in sight yet. According to what he can remember, He was joining in on the second set. Shouyou wonders if that would also be the case this time.

Daichi and Iwaizumi, the Seijoh vice-captain, were huddled together by the referee, deciding the starting lineup and for the coin toss. There was a quiet tension in the air as the two captains exchanged a few words. Soon enough, they both walked back to where their teams were resting.

“Shouyou,” Daichi said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Keep warming up for now, we’ll keep you out of the first set to let your ankle adjust.”

“Got it, Daichi-san!”

Meanwhile, Kageyama began a round of rapid-fire setting drills with Tanaka and Tsukishima while Sugawara helped stretch out the others.

Once warmups ended, the starting player for Karasuno gathered at the net. The two captains for this match shook hands and took their places on the court.

The first set began, and Shouyou watched the game unfold before him.

Seijoh’s first serve rocketed across the court like a bullet. Yamaguchi, nerves barely hidden beneath his smile, managed to receive it albeit a little shaky, but Kageyama’s quick set to Tsukishima caught him half a step off.

The spike went into the net.

It was the beginning of a pattern.

Kageyama’s sets were sharp and accurate, but the synergy just wasn’t there. Tsukishima hesitated. Narita swung too late.

Kageyama was fast. Too fast.

Tsukishima and Kageyama couldn’t seem to stop clashing, and it was throwing off the team’s rhythm. Even Tanaka was growing agitated from the tosses, and Sugawara, as usual, was trying to keep everything in check on the sidelines with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And Seijoh? They were a machine. They play like they've been a team for years and not a mere month with the first years in their own roster.

By the time Karasuno adjusted to Seijoh’s rhythm, they were already lagging behind at 4–11.

From the sidelines, Shouyou fidgeted. He was still warming up, taking time to stretch his legs, side-eyeing the court and memorizing movements. He was watching—not just how Seijoh played, but how Karasuno didn’t.

A miscommunication here. A late block there. Tanaka’s swings were beginning to get forceful, but Matsukawa's block placements picked him off. That irritated the bald spiker even more. Even Daichi’s usual calm cracked under the tension.

“Time out!” Daichi finally called to Takeda, breathing hard as they huddled in.

Sweat dripped down their faces. Tsukishima pushed his glasses up, annoyed. Kageyama was scowling at the floor, fists clenched. His teammates were fighting hard, but the frustration was palpable.

“We need to slow the tempo,” Sugawara said from behind them. “Run some safer plays, even if it means fewer points.”

Kageyama didn’t respond.

“And maybe,” Sugawara added, voice lower now, “listen to the rest of us.”

Karasuno returned to the court, but the damage was done. Seijoh began targeting Yamaguchi’s receives, forcing shaky first touches. Daichi scrambled to cover too much ground. It really didn't help that they didn't have a libero with them. Kageyama was sharp, but alone.

16–25. The scoreboard was flipped at the final point of the first set.

Seijoh had wiped the floor with them.

Karasuno gathered again, frustrated. Tsukishima muttered something under his breath that made Tanaka glare. Kageyama sat on the bench, wiping his face and covering it with the same towel, jaw tight.

Shouyou stepped lightly to Sugawara’s side, hesitating for just a second before tapping his shoulder.

“Suga-san,” he said. “Can we talk?”

Chapter Text

Suga flinched slightly at the tap, yanked from his laser-focused staring contest with the scoreboard. He turned, expecting maybe Tanaka or Daichi, but instead found Hinata standing there, breathing steadily with eyes sharp with determination.

“I’m good to go,” Shouyou said quietly, just loud enough for Sugawara to hear over the buzz of the gym. “Like, really good.”

Suga blinked, noting how even Shouyou’s posture had shifted—less tension but also not floundering. “You sure?”

Shouyou nodded. “I warmed up the entirety of the first set. I'm ready. I want in, Suga-san.”

Sugawara studied him for a second longer. Then he offered a lopsided grin. “Tch. You're being intense again. No need for that.”

Shouyou scratched the back of his head. “Sorry. Kind of got carried away with the atmosphere.”

Suga’s grin widened. “It’s fine. We’re in the middle of a disaster. That might actually help.”

The older setter tugged at Daichi who had just finished barking something at Tanaka who was getting rougher.

“Hinata’s ready,” Sugawara said simply.

Daichi looked over at the redhead, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“He’s all warmed up,” Suga added. “He knows his limits."

Daichi frowned. “He’s not used to team dynamic yet. I don’t think it’s a good idea with those two clashing.”

“But he adapts fast.”

“And this is a full-court, full-power Seijoh. Well, maybe not full powered since their captain isn’t here but that’s not the point.”

“So? This is a practice match we need to try thing out. Better that we let him get a feel for it now, not when they’re already widening the gap again later.”

Daichi exhaled slowly, realizing the logic in Sugawara’s words, “So, who comes off?”

Suga glanced toward Yamaguchi, who was anxiously watching the court. “Yamaguchi hasn’t been bad, but his nerves are shot.”

Daichi hesitated. They were taking off a middle blocker for the second set?

“We need someone who won’t freeze up with Tsukishima and Kageyama acting like rabid dogs. And we can rotate the positions around. I think Shouyou will be a good opposite.”

Daichi deliberates for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Fine. We’ll shuffle the rotation. I’ll cover the middle blocker position for now.”

Suga turned and called to Takeda. “Sensei! Requesting a change in our lineup for the second set!”

Moments later, Shouyou joined in the rest of the group who were walking back to the court.

Kageyama, already wound up from the chaos of the first set, turned slowly toward him. The expression on his face wasn’t outright disapproval but it wasn’t far off. More like confusion, coated in territorial bristle.

Sugawara clapped Shouyou on the shoulder. “Don’t die.”

“I’ll try my best,” Shouyou chirped.

Tsukishima scowled. “We don’t need cheerleaders.”

“Cool, I wasn’t talking to you.” the redhead singsongs.

The tension was sharp enough to slice a volleyball in half. But even so, the moment Shouyou stepped into his zone, the look in his eyes changed into something more focused. He was toying with the ball in his hands, tossing it between his palms like he's shaking off the sand—a habit of his from beach volleyball.

Then whistle blew.

Second set, Karasuno serves first.

Seijoh’s players seemingly loomed across the net; tall, sharp-eyed, intimidating even in their resting stances. But Hinata stood at the backline, ball in hand, and his heartbeat was steady.

He took a breath.

Tossed the ball up.

Jumped.

And then—

The ball flew. Clean, fast, and kissed just inside the back line. A perfect jump serve. A point.

Sugawara, from the bench, let out a breath of relief. Tsukishima merely blinked. Kageyama narrowed his eyes, but stayed silent.

Shouyou kept going.

Another serve.

Another point.

He wasn’t just making up for lost time—he was setting pace. His serves were a rhythmic drumbeat, pounding pressure into the opposing team’s defense. Not flashy and showy but ruthless in their consistency.

On the third serve, Seijoh finally returned it with a pass.

Tsukishima received, almost startled, and the ball popped up awkwardly. Kageyama scrambled, set high and fast. Too fast, honestly. The setter knew that and winced slightly. It arced toward the outside.

Shouyou was already there.

His jump wasn’t his highest—not yet, he thought—but it didn’t need to be. He twisted midair, arm drew back, and smack. The ball slammed into the court behind Seijoh’s blocker.

The gym stirred. A few heads turned and murmurs rose from the stands.

Seijoh took a time-out.

From the hallway entrance, someone leaned against the doorway, freshly out of the infirmary. Tousled brown hair. Sharp eyes. A small, wolfish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, well,” Oikawa muttered, arms crossed. “That’s not a face I’m familiar with.”

He squinted at the redhead, now wiping sweat off his forehead, laughing at something Tanaka said.

“That kid,” he said to no one in particular. “Who the hell is he?”

Back on court, the timeout ended. Karasuno resumed with a small shift in energy. They were less frantic and more focused.

Tsukishima still looked vaguely annoyed, but he wasn't snapping. Kageyama wasn’t yelling. He was watching Shouyou now, carefully, like he was some sort of extraterrestrial lifeform.

Seijoh scored two points. Then Karasuno stole one back with a coordinated block—Daichi, Tsukishima, and Hinata in sync, a wall of timing and grit.

The gap narrowed.

There was a rally. Then another.

Oikawa clapped slowly, now fully inside the gym, grinning like a fox.

The match suddenly shifted with the entrance of a new player on Karasuno’s side. The redhead didn’t hog the spotlight, but every time the ball went his way, he made sure to soar and to score. Even Watari, the Seijoh libero, muttered that he was hard to predict. The ball came off his hands like a loose cannon. Everything seem to slow when he jumps, as if time itself was taking a breath.

But what stood out the most was how the court bent around him.

Kinda like how things always moved when Oikawa was on court, except this time, it wasn’t the brunette at the center.

And his serve. It was a nuke.

When the timeout was called from the Karasuno side, the onlookers and other benchwarmers started to whisper.

“You guys see that? He’s like a magnet. Even the King’s passing to him more.”

“His teammates said he just recovered from an injury. Are they really letting him play like that?”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s turning the game in their favor.”

A bead of sweat slid down Oikawa’s temple. They initiated the match so they should come out as victors here.

He cracked his knuckles. “I’m going in next set.”

Coach Irihata nodded without looking up from the clipboard.

Karasuno gathered near the bench. Their breathing was still ragged, legs a little shaky from the intensity of the last rally. The tension hadn’t vanished, but it had a direction now. The court, focused on the rhythm Shouyou had built since stepping in.

The timeout didnt take too long. Shouyou was already back in position, eyes scanning Seijoh’s line.

They were adapting. The blockers, especially, were drifting to the right now, toward him with every play.

Tsukishima called the serve from Iwaizumi. The ball arced to their side.

The blond reached it and passed—low, clean, and surprisingly accurate. Kageyama set instantly. Shouyou made a split-second read: the set was going left. Meant for Tanaka.

But midair, Kageyama adjusted. The ball shot to the right instead. A decoy set?

Shouyou was already moving.

So he’s already learning to use us as decoys, huh, Shouyou thought, a grin ghosting his lips as he sprinted into the approach. He remembers the good old times.

His steps were sharp, precise, and so fluid it almost looked rehearsed. He launched into the air—one, two, three—and spiked.

Not with all his power. He didn’t want to showcase all his cards in a practice match. But only enough.

Enough to send the ball shooting accurately across the seam of the block, splitting the hands of the blockers that had shifted toward him. It hit court untouched.

“Again?!” someone from the Seijoh bench yelped.

Shouyou landed softly, breathing steady. He kept his head down, but a grin was evident on his face.

The next few plays only cemented the fact that he had truly become a threat.

Every serve Seijoh sent curved toward him. Every jump floater, every high-speed spike serve.

And he passed them all to the setter perfectly.

Clean. Crisp. Accurate.

Daichi gave a nod of approval. Even Kageyama didn’t bark his complaints.

Karasuno’s attacks naturally bent around him now. Not always the scoring player, but the cornerstone; Shouyou was the one receiving critical passes, resetting panic plays, and extending rallies with impossible digs. When he didn’t hit, he blocked, light on his feet but timed just enough to get fingertips on the ball or a block out.

And the other kids noticed.

“Is this really his first match playing with us?” Ennoshita muttered.

“Beach volleyball, huh,” Kinoshita said, blinking. “No wonder he moves like that.”

From the sidelines, Sugawara leaned toward Takeda and whispered, “That’s the kind of player you build a new style around.”

“Eh?” Takeda blinked.

“He doesn’t just play. He recalibrates the team. So, if we focus on a rotation with him, we need to move around players and strategies to take advantage of his jump and game sense.”

“Hinata is also baiting the other team, his presence makes him a good decoy for our other spikers,” Shimizu adds from the side.

Takeda and Yachi both took notes of the observations from the two third-years.

The rally on court kept going on until the ball dropped on the Karasuno court. It was their loss of a point however, the other team was getting exhausted scrambling for the ball.

Timeout for Seijoh for the first time in this match.

This time, Karasuno jogged to the bench with happy expressions on their faces. Not smug, just stunned, like they had some kind of revelation on court.

Shouyou plopped down, sipping water. Sugawara reached over and ruffled his hair with a grin.

“You’re not bad, beach boy.”

Shouyou, cheeks puffed with water, simply smiled in response.

From the other side of the court, Oikawa’s water bottle hung limp in his hand as he stared at #10 on the Karasuno bench.

“Really...Who the hell is he?” he asked again, now to the coaches sitting on the bench.

One second the match had been an awkward tug-of-war between a crumbling first-year setter and his teammates, and the next a new player—a short and fast redhead was taking control of the game after a few precise serves. Right now, he was chatting easily with their vice-captain, laughter tucked into the corners of his eyes like he wasn’t standing under the glare of another team who had been struggling with his attacks.

The assistant coach was the one to answer, eyes narrowed. “#10. First-year and he changed everything when he entered in the second set.”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Oikawa said, brow furrowing. “I’ve never seen him in tournaments like, at all.”

“Iwaizumi’s asking the same thing. Kid’s throwing off their entire momentum.”

The teams continued the play.

Oikawa watched the ginger blur land from yet another sharp spike, this time doing a wipe and taking advantage of their middle blockers. He wasn’t hitting through the block—he was reading the angles, almost like he sees things in slow motion rather than a millisecond flash of movements.

“He’s being targeted,” Coach Irihata muttered, “and yet he’s still setting the tempo.”

“What position is he?” Oikawa asked after seeing a particularly solid block from the redhead.

“Spiker. Maybe a wing. But he receives like a libero. He’s good at blocking too. He’s shorter than our players yet he can match them in height midair.”

Another serve, Shouyou’s this time. A jump float that dropped too fast for Kunimi to adjust. It landed on his forearms, but the spin made it bounce out of bounds.

Their last time-out.

They gathered near the bench. Iwaizumi immediately leaned in, fists clenched.

“We’re fpcusing on him too much,” he said. “He’s adapting too fast.”

“Thought we could break him early,” Hanamaki muttered. “Kid’s eating pressure like it’s nothing.”

Oikawa’s gaze hadn’t left the court. He watched as Shouyou jogged back to the huddle, casual, almost loose in posture. But his eyes were still focused.

Where had he seen him before?

Oikawa furrowed his brow.

“Something wrong?” Iwaizumi asked, nodding toward the court.

“I’ve seen that number ten somewhere. Not sure where” Oikawa’s voice was low. “He’s too smooth for a first year.”

“You stalking middle schoolers again?”

“What do you mean 'again'? Shut up, Iwa-chan. People will get the wrong idea,” he hissed, swatting him with a towel. “Maybe in a video? I'm not sure. I've been into international junior volleyball circuits recently.”

Iwaizumi narrowed his eyes. “You think he’s in them?”

Oikawa just shrugged, eyes narrowed as the whistle blew.

Even with the timeout, Aoba Johsai couldn't quite shift the momentum back.

“That kid’s everywhere,” Yahaba muttered, tugging his compression sleeve down over his reddening forearm as they returned to the court. His serve receive had been solid until that #10 showed up and started putting weird spin on the ball. It wasn’t floaty or float serve sharp—just weird. Unreadable. Like the wind was bending to his will or something.

Matsukawa narrowed his eyes. “He’s not playing like a rookie. You sure he’s a first-year?”

“I don’t think he’s even from here. I don’t recognize him from junior high tournies.” Kindaichi mumbled.

“Has anyone even heard of this guy before?”

Across the court, Karasuno had their heads together, Daichi calling plays in a calm, low voice. The mood had shifted dramatically since Shouyou subbed in. No bickering. No second-guessing. Kageyama’s jaw was still tight, but the passes he sent to the redhead were cleaner now and almost instinctive.

And he met every single one.

The opposing team could barely keep up.

His approach was deceptively quiet, not flashy—but the height on his jumps was stupid. He hung in the air like he’d forgotten gravity existed, body twisting midair to adjust to the sets.

Then he started tipping.

Twice in a row, the blockers soared up to meet his spike, and both times he simply tapped the ball off their fingertips, landing clean on Seijoh’s side.

That was when Yahaba, crouched at the back line, hissed, “He’s baiting us.”

“What?”

Watari gestured subtly. “He spikes once, hard. Next, he taps. Then he fakes like he’ll tip but drives it. It’s like he wants us to keep guessing.”

And they did.

Their timing fell apart. Even Iwaizumi, the most grounded of them, got caught flat-footed once trying to compensate for a late read on a decoy.

Karasuno’s momentum built with every rally.

Kageyama’s face, tense and unreadable at the start, was now focused and calm. His sets came faster, sharper. The kid was adjusting to Hinata’s approach tempo in real time, and the ball was already in the air before Hinata even took off.

“That really quick set again,” Yahaba breathed. “But they’re not even talking.”

Nope. Just moving. Together. The ball didn’t hit the floor for three whole rallies. Seijoh scored, but Karasuno earned every point back.

And then it was Hinata’s serve again.

Matsukawa braced himself. “He’s probably gonna hit the backline again—”

The ball gently landed on near the net.

They scrambled. Barely kept it alive. It became a free ball.

Suga received, Daichi bumped it clean, and Kageyama—

Set it sky high.

Everyone's eyes followed it.

No misdirection. No tricks. Just a soaring arc.

Shouyou was already in motion.

He jumped higher than anyone should be able to.

The hit came down with terrifying precision, slicing through a two-man block and hammering the line.

The wooden floor shook.

The scoreboard lit up: 25–23. Karasuno took the second set.

Silence.

Then the low whistle of the ref. Cheers from the Karasuno bench.

Oikawa, stretching on the sidelines, stood up slowly.

“Well,” he said, glancing toward the Seijoh coach. “I guess it’s time I joined the party.”

Oikawa Tooru stepped onto the court, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. He felt the tension before the whistle even blew.

Karasuno bristled like a bunch of cats—not in fear, but in alertness. Shouyou, the little redhead, blinked up at him but didn’t smile. Didn’t wave. Just nodded once, like someone who recognized him. That should’ve made Oikawa smirk.

Instead, it made his heart pound. Was he nervous?

He took position across the net from the little guy. The height difference was laughable, and yet, the muscle definition, the composure, the way the kid scanned the court like a seasoned pro. It all felt off.

Oikawa’s brows knit together. He decided to divert his attention to the reason why the practice match even happened in the first place.

Kageyama was wiping his sweat when he noticed Oikawa looking at him. With that annoyingly perfect face that looked like it belonged on a billboard. He's never saying that out loud, Oikawa's ego is already inflated enough.

“Are you smiling at me or are you trying to hide your constipation?” he hissed under his breath when they made eye contact.

Oikawa beamed. “Aww, Tobio-chan! You finally noticed me!”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

Tanaka had to physically hold Kageyama back when the other setter kept calling him, "Tobio-chan" in a shrill voice, obviously done to annoy him.

“He’s trying to get to you,” Daichi said calmly. “Get your head on straight or we lose this set if you get distracted”

Kageyama didn’t respond, but his eyes said he’d rather eat a volleyball than lose to Oikawa in anything.

Which, ironically, was exactly what Oikawa wanted.

The whistle blew. Third set.

Oikawa served hard and fast after getting his fill of annoying Kageyama.

Karasuno stumbled slightly on the receive, but kept it alive. Kageyama took the ball and set a high toss, not to Tsukishima or Tanaka, but straight up to Shouyou.

And the redhead flew.

Oikawa’s eyes widened as the ball slammed down hard on the back corner, Watari diving in too late.

2–1.

Karasuno didn’t celebrate too loudly, but they did have more confidence compared to earlier. They were locked in. Shouyou rotated to serve and launched the ball with pinpoint control and surprising power, aiming sharp at the edge. It grazed the line.

A service ace.

The Seijoh benchwarmers flinched. Oikawa didn’t.

He was too busy narrowing his eyes.

There was something familiar about that technique. Not just the movement, but the fluidity. The training behind it. He’d seen it before, in a video during one of his late-night deep dives into international volleyball. Indoors, beach, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s volleyball. It was a clip of some 160-something kid dominating a match in the sun-blasted sands of Brazil. They called him a ninja. Just ridiculous jumps on the sand, perfect control, and a grin that screamed confidence and self-assurance.

He’d watched that clip a dozen times, imagining what it’d be like to play against that kind of raw, unfiltered power. He couldn't see the boy's face, hidden by his visor and a cap.

Could it be…?

No. Impossible.

Still, Oikawa's gut didn’t lie.

He rotated to receive again, eyes scanning Karasuno's formation. Kageyama was more stable now, setting with a measured rhythm, but the wildcard energy wasn’t gone, it had just been from a different source. From Shouyou.

Seijoh tried to pin him down with blocks and redirects, but Shouyou adapted quickly. Faking swings, slipping past the triple block, even baiting Iwaizumi into a joust at the net and tipping the ball just behind him.

17–16.

Oikawa clicked his tongue.

He couldn’t shake the feeling. Where did I see this kid? He kept his expression smooth, but the gears in his brain were turning fast.

Brazil. That kid... could he really be—?

But no. He couldn’t say it out loud. Not here. Especially not when no one knew about his plans for Argentina.

Karasuno scored again. The tension on Seijoh's side thickened.

Oikawa didn’t let it show. He tossed the ball for his serve, eyes locking with the redhead across the net.

“Well then,” he murmured under his breath, “Let’s finish this.”

Fortunately, they won the last set.

It hadn’t been easy (nothing ever was when pride was on the line) but Karasuno clawed their way up with sheer grit (and an unfair number of service aces from Shouyou and Kageyama). The tension from earlier had mostly burned itself out, funneled into laser-precise serves from Oikawa, Kageyama, and Shouyou, whose grin only widened the more serious the game got.

Shouyou was still bouncing in place even after the final whistle. His ankle was totally fine, he reassured Daichi for the third time. No, it didn’t hurt. Yes, he’d stretch and hydrate.

The final point came from Tsukishima, a sharp cross that cut through Seijoh’s blockers like a well-placed insult. Kageyama’s set had been perfect—because of course it was—and the smug grin on his face only made the Seijoh players scowl. Shouyou clapped wildly, positively glowing as he threw compliments at the two of them like rice at a wedding.

“Nice set, Kageyama! And Tsukishima, that was so cool—”

They both glared at him.

Like, visibly recoiled.

And walked away.

Still, it was hard to feel snubbed with the win in their pocket.

The teams switched sides of the gym with the coaches giving feedback, and managers taking down notes. Seijoh was quick to circle up, Oikawa already chatting animatedly with Iwaizumi and their coach. Meanwhile, Karasuno’s squad scattered around Takeda, who was beaming despite his persistent anxiety over Shouyou’s entire existence.

Shimizu stood at his side, quietly passing her observations to the clipboard. She gave Shouyou a bottle, urging him to drink up.

Takeda kept Shouyou back a little longer to go over individual notes. With the others busy listening to their own breakdowns, he seemed to take the opportunity to study Shouyou closely.

“you guys still don’t have a proper coach,” Takeda said with a sheepish smile. “But I’m working on it. Hopefully, they’d agree before the official tournaments start.”

Shouyou just gave a thumbs up. “I think we’re doing great already! But I wouldn’t mind someone who could yell more specific instructions.”

“...I’ll take that into consideration.”

Across the gym, Oikawa finally pieced it together. The weird familiarity, the eerily professional posture, the raw beach-born talent…

Ninja Shouyou.

He didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t have to. A private giggle bubbled in his throat as he recalled watching the viral clips; ridiculous verticals, absurd recoveries, some kid dominating bigger athletes in Brazil’s beach circuits. He’d stopped following after second year got too busy and never heard about the hiatus.

Well. He’d found him now. And he was keeping that little secret to himself.

Volleyball tournaments that year is going to be very interesting.

They all exchanged polite bows as they all packed up to leave, with Kageyama still not having resolved his score with his former teammates. He glanced back once at Oikawa, jaw tight. Oikawa waved sweetly, smug as ever.

The bus ride back to Karasuno was noisy and filled with post-match chatter. Tanaka practically vibrated with pride, clapping Shouyou so hard on the back he almost hit his head on the seat in front.

“You were a freakin’ monster out there, shrimpy!” Tanaka whooped. “We gotta keep you in the starting lineup!”

Shouyou beamed. “If that’s possible then sure!”

“Please don’t,” Tsukishima muttered from two rows up. “One of you is already loud enough.”

When they finally got dropped off at school, dusk was settling in. The team shuffled off the bus in a loose pack, stretching sore limbs and yawning.

Shouyou, ever the opportunist, glanced at the group and asked (like he was just casually thinking out loud).

“So, do we have a libero? I think we'll need it if we want to win in tournaments. We can't depend on Daichi-san all the time.”

Everyone stopped walking.

Daichi blinked and glanced at Sugawara. “Well, Yuu’s been out with a... cold. So it’s sort of open right now.”

“We're waiting for him to come back." Sugawara added.

"You could fill in,” Ennoshita chimed in. “You’re quick on your feet.”

Shouyou grinned wide.

And immediately crushed their hopes.

“Nope!”

He kept walking, hands behind his head, still grinning.

Tanaka choked. “You can’t just say that with a smile, that’s evil!”

“I mean, I could be your libero. But wouldn’t it be more fun to fly?”

Daichi exhaled like he aged five years on the spot. “We need to rethink our positions on court so we’re really going to need that coach soon.”

Later that night, after the team had scattered home, Takeda sat at his desk, phone in hand, resolve hardening like yesterday’s cold meatbun.

He dialed a familiar number, one he knew by heart by now.

Ring...

Ring...

Click.

“Ugh—hello?” came the voice on the other end. Tired. Suspicious. Like someone who knew exactly who was calling and wanted none of it.

Takeda sat up straighter, launching into the politest ambush known to man. “Ah, good evening! I hope I’m not calling at a bad time—well, of course I am, but this won’t take long, I promise—”

A sigh. “You again.”

“Yes!” Takeda laughed nervously. “Only me! Again! I just wanted to say that we’ve been doing really well lately! The kids are showing tremendous growth, their communication’s improving, and our libero should be back soon! Also, we had a practice match with Aoba Johsai today—”

“...And?”

“We won.”

A long pause.

Takeda leaned into it. “Just… just imagine how much more they could accomplish. With someone like you guiding them. Just a few training sessions—”

“I’m not—” the voice snapped, then immediately reigned it in. “I’m not a coach.”

“But you could be,” Takeda said, practically glowing with hope.

Another long silence.

“Look, I know you want the Ukai name but I’m not a coach. My grandpa's already hospitalized, he can’t do any more of that so please look somewhere else.” Then the voice muttered, “I’ve got deliveries in the morning.”

Click.

Takeda stared at the phone, frowning.

He'll try again tomorrow.