---
The gym still buzzed with the aftershocks of the practice match. Team B's victory in the second set—25 to 17—hung in the air, heavy with pride and sweat.
Daichi had insisted on a full-set game to keep things real, to keep stakes high.
Most of the team had changed out of their jerseys, the first-years still adjusting to the weight of their new Karasuno blazers, when the gym doors slammed open with a loud thud.
Takeda Ittetsu stumbled in like a whirlwind, gasping for air, glasses halfway down his nose, and tie swinging wildly.
"I've got news!" he wheezed, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Important news!"
Everyone turned, surprised by his sudden entrance.
"I'm Takeda Ittetsu," he said, bowing hastily, his words tumbling over themselves. "Faculty advisor to the volleyball club. First years, nice to meet you! I've been fighting to get this club recognized again—and it's happening. We've got a practice match."
"A practice match?" Daichi asked, eyebrows raised. "With who?"
Takeda grinned like a man who'd just survived a storm. "Aoba Johsai. Next week."
The gym froze.
Tanaka's jaw dropped. "No way—Aoba Johsai?"
Sugawara straightened up, all levity gone. Even Kageyama tensed, brows knitting together in surprise.
Daichi stepped forward, arms crossed. "You didn't beg on your knee5, did you?" he asked, half-joking, half-serious.
Takeda's nervous laugh gave him away.
"No begging, I swear!" he said quickly, waving his hands. "But there is… one condition."
That got everyone's attention.
"They'll only play us if… Kageyama is the starting setter."
The words hit like a spike. Sugawara's eyes flickered—just for a moment—but he stood still, composed.
Kageyama's jaw tightened. Tanaka's voice was the first to break the silence.
"What?! Over Suga-senpai?! That's total crap!"
He stepped forward, fists clenched, face flushed with anger, but Sugawara held up a hand.
"It's okay," he said quietly. His voice didn't shake, but something in his eyes did.
"Suga—" Daichi started.
"No, really. It's fine." Sugawara's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "This is a powerhouse school we're talking about. We need to test our strength. If they want Kageyama, let's give them Kageyama. It's not about pride—it's about growth."
The tension didn't dissolve completely, but his calm steadied the room.
Even Tanaka, bristling with protest, stepped back, though his glare said everything he couldn't.
Takeda gave a grateful bow. "Thank you. Really. We've got a week—train hard!"
And just like that, he was gone, the door thudding shut behind him.
Daichi exhaled slowly, then clapped his hands. "Alright. Let's talk lineup. Aoba Johsai isn't going to hold back, and neither will we."
Kageyama turned immediately to Hinata, eyes gleaming with purpose. "Let's start working on those quicks. The superfast ones."
Hinata blinked, then grinned, all nervous energy and raw excitement. "Yeah!"
The two hit the court again. The sound of sneakers squeaking on the wooden floor filled the gym as Kageyama sent toss after toss—some too high, some too far left—but others landed perfectly, and Hinata met them with explosive spikes that echoed like thunderclaps.
The gym buzzed again—this time not with the memory of the match, but with something new. Determination. Grit. A hunger to grow.
After another thirty minutes, Daichi called everyone back.
"Lineup time," he said. "Here's what we're going with: Setter—Kageyama. Wing spikers—Hinata, Ennoshita, and myself. Middle blockers—Tanaka and Tsukishima."
Hinata blinked, confused. "Wing spiker?"
Daichi caught the look. "You've been great as a middle blocker, Hinata, but we need you on the court more. Wing spiker keeps you in play longer. You'll be attacking, moving, switching zones—we want your speed and unpredictability."
Tanaka raised a brow but laughed it off. "No worries, Captain. I'll handle the middle just fine. Hinata's a monster up front—keep feeding him sets, and we'll be golden."
Daichi gave a small nod, grateful for Tanaka's understanding.
"Rotation's important," he went on. "Front row starts with Kageyama, Tsukishima, and Hinata. We've got height, strength, and Hinata's vertical leap he makes up for it. Back row will be me, Ennoshita, and Tanaka. Defense, coverage, control."
The team nodded, absorbing the strategy. Tsukishima adjusted his glasses with a nonchalant "Fine," while Ennoshita gave a small thumbs-up. Kageyama didn't say anything, but he was clearly already visualizing the sets.
Hinata flexed his fingers. Wing spiker. More space. More room to run. More chances to fly.
Daichi checked his watch and waved them toward the lockers. "That's enough for today. Rest up—we start drilling the new formation tomorrow. And tonight... dinner's on me!"
A cheer rose up—Tanaka loudest, of course—and they scrambled to change, the adrenaline morphing into laughter as they spilled out into the cool evening air.
---
The diner was a warm glow in the night, the glass windows fogged with steam. Inside, the team crowded around a long table.
Yakitori, rice bowls, miso soup—plate after plate filled the table as Daichi paid at the register, grinning.
Hinata slid into a seat between Tanaka and Kiyoko. He felt awkward at first—nervous around the third-year manager—but her presence was calm, grounding.
As the noise around them grew with jokes and chatter, Kiyoko turned slightly, tea in hand. "Hinata," she asked gently, "what made you start playing volleyball?"
He paused, caught off guard by the question. Then he smiled—not the frantic, high-energy grin he wore during games, but something quieter.
"When I was little," he said, "I saw the Little Giant on TV. He was small, like me. But he jumped higher than anyone. He played like size didn't matter. He... flew."
The table went quiet. Even Tanaka, mid-slurp, looked over.
"I wanted that," Hinata went on. "To prove I could jump, score, win—just like him. Karasuno was his school, so I came here. To stand where he stood."
Kiyoko's expression softened, and she gave a rare smile. "That's... inspiring."
Tanaka grinned, leaning over to clap him on the back. "Hell yeah! You're gonna out-jump the Little Giant someday—I can feel it!"
Sugawara gave a soft nod. "You've got the spirit. That's what matters most."
Tsukishima stabbed at his rice. "It's a little dramatic," he muttered, but not unkindly.
Yamaguchi, sitting next to him, smiled quietly. "I think it's cool."
Across the table, Kageyama finally spoke, eyes fixed on his plate. "Those quicks. You're sure you can keep up?"
Hinata looked straight at him. "You set it, I'll hit it. No hesitation."
Something in Kageyama's jaw relaxed—just a bit.
Kiyoko sipped her tea again, gaze flicking between the two.
There was something different about Hinata. Not just energy—conviction. The kind that pulled people in.
A few seats away, Daichi leaned toward Sugawara, voice low. "He's got soul, that kid."
Sugawara's eyes never left Hinata. "Kageyama's the mind. Tsukishima's the edge. But Hinata?"
"He's the heart," Daichi finished.
Ennoshita, overhearing, smiled. "And relentless, too."
The night wore on. Food disappeared. Tanaka regaled them with a story about a time he flubbed a serve so badly it hit the referee.
Laughter echoed as Ennoshita fired back with an even worse story about a lost shoe during warm-up. It wasn't just a team anymore—it was a group growing into a family.
When they finally stepped outside, the air was crisp. The stars above Miyagi seemed closer somehow.
"Good night, Hinata," Kiyoko said softly, her voice barely above the wind.
He turned to her, surprised by how much it meant. "Good night, Kiyoko-san."
Her nod was small, but it felt like a stamp of approval.
Aoba Johsai was coming. But they'd be ready.
Together.
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To be continued…
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