Chapter Text
When Hinata Shouyo was four years old, the world was a very simple, very beautiful shape. It was the shape of his mother’s arms, warm and smelling faintly of laundry detergent and sweet mikan oranges, holding him close against her chest while the summer rain patterned soft music against the windowpane.
“Look here, Shouyo,” his mother whispered, her voice a soothing hum that vibrated right through Hinata’s small back. She extended her left arm, turning her wrist upward to face the soft, warm light of the living room lamp. “See this? This is why Mommy and Daddy found each other.”
Hinata, whose legs were still too short to touch the floor when he sat on the couch, leaned forward with wide, unblinking brown eyes. He reached out with tiny, chubby fingers, his skin looking incredibly pale against the vibrant colors etched into his mother’s skin. He softly caressed the bright orange and purple mark sitting right over her pulse point.
The mark was beautiful. It was a perfectly round, sun-ripened tangerine, and tucked gently right behind its green stem was a small purple iris flower, its petals curling delicately as if swaying in a phantom breeze.
“Tangerine,” Hinata chirped, his tongue slightly tripping over the syllables.
“That’s right,” his mother laughed, a gentle sound that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “A tangerine. Do you know why it’s this color?”
Hinata shook his head, his unruly orange curls bouncing.
“Because when your father turned sixteen, this exact same mark appeared on his upper arm. And the orange of the tangerine exactly matched the color of my hair,” she said, bopping him gently on the nose. “And when I turned sixteen, it appeared on my wrist. The deep purple of the iris exactly matches the color of your father’s favorite sweater—the one he wore the very first day we met at the train station. The universe knows, Shouyo. It gives you a piece of someone else, right on your skin, so you never have to walk through this world entirely alone.”
Hinata stared at the mark, utterly captivated. He didn't understand the complex logistics of growing up, or taxes, or how people decided to live together forever, but he understood the magic of it. He loved the theory that everyone in the world had a soulmate. A mark that would appear at the age of sixteen, signifying someone to be his—only his. It sounded like the fairytales his grandmother read to him before bed, full of stars and unbreakable promises.
“Will I get a tangerine too, Mommy?” he asked, his small hands wrapping around her wrist as if trying to hold onto the magic.
“No, sweetie,” she smiled, smoothing down his wild hair. “Your mark will be entirely your own. It will be something that perfectly represents the story of you and the person meant for you. One day, a completely different person, somewhere out there in the world, will wake up on their sixteenth birthday, and they will have the exact same picture. And when you look at it, you’ll just know.”
“I’m gonna take care of them,” Hinata declared fiercely, puffing out his little chest. “When I get my mark, I’ll find them super fast!”
“I’m sure you will,” she whispered, kissing the crown of his head.
Growing up, Hinata spent many a late night thinking about this mysterious other person. He would lie awake in his futon, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom while the moon traced slow silver lines across the tatami mats. He would press his palms against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thump-thump of his heart, wondering if someone else's heart was beating to the exact same rhythm across the mountains of Miyagi, or maybe even further away.
What are they doing right now? he would think, staring at his unmarked, bare skin. Are they awake too? Do they like popsicles? Are they fast runners?
The thoughts were comforting, a cozy little blanket he tucked around his mind whenever the world felt a bit too big or confusing. That was until he reached junior school. That was the year the trajectory of his entire universe fundamentally shifted off its axis.
It was a blistering afternoon, the sun baking the asphalt of the neighborhood streets. Hinata was pedaling his bicycle as fast as his legs could manage, his small sneakers pressing hard against the pedals. He was trying to get to the local playground before the older neighborhood kids occupied the swings and the small dirt field. He wanted to sprint, to feel the wind roaring past his ears, to feel limitless.
He was tearing around a corner near a local electronics store when the loud, crackling sound of a television broadcast drifted through the open door. Two men standing on the sidewalk were talking loudly, gesturing toward the display window.
“...unbelievable! Look at him go!”
“He’s so small, how is he doing that?”
Hinata pulled an abrupt, screeching brake. The tires of his bicycle skidded slightly against the gravel, his boots dragging on the ground to keep him upright. His chest was heaving as he turned his head, his wide eyes landing directly on the glowing television screen inside the shop window.
The screen was showing a massive, crowded stadium filled with a roaring sea of green and white banners. On the court, a high school boy wearing a Karasuno high school jersey with the number ten on it was sprinting down the floorboards. He was small—noticeably smaller than every single player standing near the net.
But then, the setter threw the ball high into the air.
The boy didn't hesitate. He took three explosive, powerful steps, dug his sneakers into the floor, and launched himself upward.
Hinata’s breath completely trapped itself in his throat. Time seemed to slow down to an absolute crawl. The television screen blurred at the edges, leaving only that tiny player captured in mid-air. It didn't look like a jump. To Hinata’s awe-struck eyes, it looked like the boy had suddenly sprouted a massive, majestic pair of pitch-black wings right from his shoulder blades. He was flying. He was defying gravity, suspended in the air for a fraction of a second longer than humanly possible, looking down at the giant blockers below him with absolute, fearless ferocity.
Smack!
The boy’s hand connected with the ball with a deafening, sharp crack that resonated right through the television speaker. The ball slammed into the opposite side of the court, entirely untouchable, before bouncing high into the rafters. The whistle blew, and a catastrophic explosion of celebration erupted from the stands. The boy landed lightly on his feet, throwing his fists into the air while his teammates converged on him, shouting his name.
Hinata stood frozen on his bicycle, his fingers gripping the handlebars so tightly his knuckles turned white. A strange, violent prickle of heat erupted deep within his chest, spreading rapidly to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was an overwhelming, soul-shattering sensation. He wanted that. He wanted to fly. He wanted to feel the absolute freedom of those invisible wings on his back, to look down at a sprawling court from above the net, and to be celebrated by a roaring crowd.
“Incredible,” one of the men on the sidewalk muttered, shaking his head. “Karasuno’s number ten... they call him the ‘Little Giant.’ He’s barely over a hundred and sixty centimeters, but he plays like a titan.”
The Little Giant.
The name echoed in Hinata's head like a sacred chant. He couldn't get that vision out of his mind. For the rest of the day, the swings at the playground were completely forgotten. He pushed his bicycle home in a daze, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
That night, as he lay in his futon, his mind didn't drift to the usual vague, comforting thoughts of a soulmate. Instead, his brain was completely consumed by the white-hot image of a yellow-and-blue paneled ball clearing a high net. He stared at his small hands in the dark, curling them into fists.
The Little Giant is small, just like me, Hinata thought, a fiercely hopeful smile stretching across his face. Maybe... just maybe... what if he's the one? What if the universe made him for me? It would be the best thing ever if the Little Giant was my soulmate. We could fly together.
That afternoon was the definitive turning point. The old, fairytale-like thoughts of soulmate marks were abruptly shoved into a corner of his mind, replaced entirely by the obsessive, consuming image of a volleyball. Every waking moment was spent learning the rules of the sport, analysing the court positions, and mimicking the footwork he found in old sports magazines. He didn't just want to play; he wanted to be an ace. He wanted to be the ultimate weapon, exactly like the Little Giant.
Because his hands were always itching to touch a ball, Hinata found himself constantly jumping in the hallways, in the backyard, and on his way to school. He would take three quick steps, launch himself into the air, and swing his right arm forward with everything he had, reaching out to hit a toss that wasn't there. A toss that nobody was sending his way.
The reality of his situation, however, proved to be far colder than his burning passion. When Hinata finally entered Yukigaoka Middle School, his bright, burning excitement was met with a crushing wall of disappointment.
The school did not have a boys' volleyball club.
When he stood in front of the club registration board on his first day, his eyes searching frantically for the words Boys' Volleyball, his stomach dropped. There was a girls' team, but the boys' side was completely non-existent. He didn't have a coach. He didn't have a court. He didn't have a single teammate.
But Hinata Shouyo was not someone who knew how to give up. The fire that had been lit in his chest by the Little Giant refused to be snuffed out by a lack of administrative funding. He persisted. He carried a slightly worn volleyball with him everywhere he went, his fingers constantly feeling the smooth panels.
Since he couldn't play on a real team, he spent his afternoons begging, pleading, and bribing his two best friends, Izumi, who belonged to the soccer club, and Koji, who was a dedicated member of the basketball club.
“Please, just one more! I swear, just five minutes!” Hinata would yell, bowing so low his forehead almost touched the gravel of the schoolyard. He would hold up a slightly crushed juice box as tribute. “Izumi! Just try to kick it toward my hands! Koji, you’re good at passing, just chest-pass it high!”
Izumi would sigh, wiping sweat from his brow after a long soccer practice. “Shouyo, I play with my feet. Tossing a volleyball with my hands feels completely unnatural! The ball spins like crazy!”
“It doesn't matter if it spins!” Hinata would beam, his eyes sparkling with raw desperation. “As long as it goes up, I’ll run for it! I’ll catch up to it, no matter where it goes!”
Koji would chuckle, tossing his basketball into his mesh bag. “Man, you’ve got too much energy. Fine, I’ll give you three passes, but then I’m going home to eat dinner. My mom made katsu today.”
They lacked any semblance of volleyball skill. Izumi’s tosses were wild, often flying over Hinata’s head or veering sharply into the chain-link fence. Koji’s passes were too heavy, lacking the soft, lingering arc that a proper setter provided. But to Hinata, it didn't matter. He was getting a ball sent into the air, and that was enough to keep him breathing. He would sprint across the dirt, his knees getting scraped as he threw himself into the air, swinging his arm wildly to connect with the chaotic balls.
Yet, there were inevitable times when the schoolyard emptied out, when Izumi had an official tournament and Koji had extra drills, and Hinata was left entirely alone.
On those quiet, hollow days, Hinata would take his ball to the corner of the gymnasium exterior, throwing it repeatedly against the rough concrete wall. Thud. Smack. Catch. Thud. Smack. Catch. The sound was incredibly lonely, echoing off the school buildings.
His shoulders would sag, his lungs burning from the exertion of chasing his own rebounds. He would sit down against the wall, hugging the volleyball tightly against his knees, staring out at the empty sports field. He craved a toss. A real, beautiful toss. A ball sent perfectly, softly, only for him. He wanted a setter who would look at him, see him standing there, and choose to trust him with the ball.
On those lonely days, when the quietness of the school became too heavy to bear, his mind would involuntarily drift back to the soulmate theory he had tucked away. He would look down at his bare skin, tracing the smooth, unmarked expanse.
Where are you? he would think softly, his usual bright energy dipping into a quiet, wistful longing. Are you out there practicing something too? Do you like sports? Do you... do you like volleyball?
He would bite his lip, a sudden spark of fierce, stubborn pride flaring through his melancholy. You have to like volleyball. If you don't like volleyball, I don't think I want you! You have to be someone who can run fast, or at least someone who won't get mad when I talk about spikes all day.
He would close his eyes, leaning his head back against the cold concrete, and let his imagination build a perfect, golden fantasy. In this dream, the silhouette of his future soulmate wasn't a vague face from a fairytale. The silhouette was standing in the setter’s position. The person would look back at him, their hands perfectly aligned with the ball, and they would send a spectacular, flawless arc right into Hinata’s path.
One day, Hinata would promise himself, squeezing the volleyball until his fingers turned white. One day, I’ll have a real setter. And I’ll never be lonely on a court again.
When Hinata was fourteen, his little sister, Natsu, was six. She was a tiny, energetic bundle of pigtails and bright laughter, and she trailed after her older brother like a loyal shadow.
One chilly autumn evening, their mother was out late managing a neighborhood committee meeting, leaving Hinata in charge of making dinner and putting Natsu to bed. After a chaotic meal of slightly burnt tamagoyaki and rice, Hinata managed to herd Natsu into her bedroom, tucking her heavy blankets up to her chin.
Natsu, however, was completely awake, her dark eyes shiny as she stared up at her brother. Hinata was sitting on the edge of her futon, painstakingly applying a fresh layer of athletic tape to his scraped fingers.
“Hey, Onii-chan,” Natsu piped up, her small hand reaching out to tug at the hem of his oversized t-shirt.
“Yeah, Natsu? You gotta sleep, or Mom’s gonna scold us tomorrow morning,” Hinata said, biting the end of the tape to tear it off.
“Onii-chan, tell me about the marks again,” she demanded, turning onto her side. “The ones that come when you turn sixteen. Sally’s older sister just turned sixteen last week, and she got a tiny piano key on her ankle! She showed everyone at the park!”
Hinata smiled, his expression softening instantly. He put the roll of tape down on the floor and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “Oh, yeah? A piano key? That’s super cool. That means her soulmate probably plays music, or maybe they just really love listening to her play.”
“What are you gonna get, nii-chan?” Natsu asked, her voice dropping into a breathless, solemn whisper, as if they were discussing top-secret government business. “Do you think you’ll get a giant volleyball right on your face?”
Hinata burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained, before quickly clapping a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't wake up the neighbors. “On my face?! No way, Natsu! That would look totally ridiculous! Why would it be on my face?”
“Because you always get hit in the face with the ball during practice!” she pointed out giggling. “Izumi-niisan told me you took a soccer ball straight to the nose yesterday!”
“That was an accident! The wind caught it!” Hinata protested, his cheeks flushing red. He rubbed his nose defensively before looking down at his own lap. His voice quieted down, turning warm and deeply thoughtful. “I don't know what I’m gonna get, honestly. But... I hope it’s something powerful. Like... a lightning bolt. Or maybe a pair of huge wings, like the Little Giant has.”
Natsu watched him, her little eyebrows knitting together. “Do you think your soulmate is out there right now? Are they small like you?”
“They better not be small!” Hinata huffed, a playful smirk returning to his face. “I want them to be super tall! Like, a giant! So they can block all the scary guys on the other teams for me. And they have to be amazing at passing the ball. I want them to look at me and think, 'Wow, Shouyo is the coolest ace ever, I’m gonna give him all my tosses!'”
“What if they don't play volleyball?” Natsu asked innocently. “What if they like... flower arranging? Like Grandma?”
Hinata froze, a comical look of pure horror crossing his features. He gripped his hair with both hands, twisting his face into a dramatic grimace. “Flower arranging?! No, no, no! That would be a total disaster! If they try to give me a flower instead of a volleyball, I’m gonna throw it right back at them! They have to play, Natsu. They have to understand how awesome it feels when the ball hits your palm perfectly. If they don't... I’ll just have to force them to learn!”
Natsu giggled, her eyes growing heavy as the warmth of the blankets finally began to pull her toward sleep. “You’re weird, nee-Chan . But I hope you find them. I hope they give you a million tosses.”
“They will,” Hinata whispered, his voice full of an unyielding, absolute conviction. He reached out, gently smoothing her blankets over her shoulders. “They’re gonna give me the best tosses in the whole wide world. Just you wait.”
By his third and final year at Yukigaoka Middle School, Hinata’s stubborn refusal to let his dream die finally bore fruit. Through sheer, relentless persistence, a lot of whining, and the promise of endless convenience store snacks, he managed to assemble a ragtag group.
Izumi and Koji officially agreed to register as temporary members to fill out the roster, abandoning their own club practices for a few weeks. To Hinata’s absolute ecstasy, three completely inexperienced first-year students—three quiet kids who had previously shown zero interest in sports—agreed to join just so they would have the minimum six players required to enter an official tournament.
They had a team. A real, official, registered team.
And now, here they were.
The transition from the tiny, dirt-covered schoolyard of Yukigaoka to the overwhelming reality of the official tournament gymnasium was enough to make Hinata’s head spin. The moment they stepped through the heavy double doors of the stadium, a massive sensory overload hit him like a physical blow.
The gymnasium was humongous. The ceiling vaulted up into an intricate web of steel beams and blindingly bright floodlights that cast a sharp, professional glare over the multiple polished courts below. The air in the room was dense, hot, and smelled distinctly of expensive floor wax, sweat, and a sharp, clean scent that reminded Hinata intensely of a high-end hair salon.
Everywhere he looked, there were neat, uniform lines of players walking with a practiced, intimidating confidence. The rhythmic, deafening echo of hundreds of sneakers squeaking against the wood floorboard sounded like a swarm of angry hornets. Squeak. Squeak. Thud.
Hinata stood at the entrance, his chest rising and falling rapidly underneath his brand-new uniform. For the very first time in his life, he was wearing a bright green jersey with the number one emblazoned on the back, signifying his position as the captain of Yukigaoka. The fabric felt strange against his skin, heavy with the weight of his three long years of solitary waiting. He was so excited his hands were trembling, his blood fizzing like a shaken soda bottle.
“Wow,” Izumi gasped from behind him, clutching his sports bag tightly against his chest. “This place is huge, Shouyo. There are so many people... and everyone looks like an actual athlete.”
“Look at the size of those guys over there,” Koji muttered, pointing toward a team in red jerseys who were effortlessly executing high-flying spikes during their warm-up. The sound of the ball hitting the floorboards sounded like mini cannon blasts. BOOM. “Are you sure we belong here, man?”
“Of course we belong here!” Hinata shouted, though his voice cracked slightly with a mixture of terror and exhilaration. He turned to face his ragtag group, his eyes burning with a fierce, bright light. “We’re an official team now! We practiced, we registered, and we’re gonna play on a real court with a real net! No matter who we face, we’re gonna run and we’re gonna win!”
The three first-years nodded slowly, looking pale and entirely terrified, but Hinata’s infectious, unyielding positivity seemed to anchor them slightly.
However, that bright bubble of excitement was violently popped just a few minutes later.
A sudden, dramatic shift occurred near the main corridor of the gymnasium. The standard hum of conversation in the room abruptly died down, replaced by a low, reverent murmur that rippled through the spectators in the stands. A huge group of incredibly tall players clad in pristine, intimidating white-and-light-blue uniforms marched into the court area.
A roaring, synchronized cheer broke out from the upper balcony, led by a massive section of supporters waving a giant banner that read Kitagawa Daiichi.
Hinata’s breath hitched. The sheer physical presence of the team was staggering. They didn't look like middle schoolers; they moved with the clinical, terrifying precision of a powerhouse academy. They were giants.
As the Kitagawa Daiichi line moved toward their designated bench, Hinata’s eyes were instantly magnetised to the back form of a single player walking near the center of their formation. The boy was tall, with sharp, dark hair, and he carried himself with an aura of absolute, tyrannical authority. The way his shoulders were squared, the way the rest of the team naturally spaced themselves around him, it was heavy. To Hinata’s vivid, overactive imagination, it literally looked as though the boy had a massive, flowing kingish cape attached to his shoulders, dragging behind him on the floorboard as he walked. A dark, terrifying crown seemed to rest invisibly on his head.
The sheer, oppressive pressure radiating from the "King" was a physical weight. Hinata felt a cold shudder run down his spine, his confidence suddenly wobbling under the
"Come on," one of the tall players said, barely giving Hinata a glance.
"They're huge," Izumi whispered, his jaw dropping.
Hinata stared at their broad backs. On the balcony above them, a massive banner was unfurled, displaying the words: Victory Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High School. A roaring, synchronized chant erupted from the supporters. "Kita-Ichi! Kita-Ichi!"
"It's Kitagawa Daiichi," Koji muttered, his voice trembling slightly. "They're huge."
"They're so intimidating," a first-year squeaked. "They're candidates to win. The 'king' is among them."
Hinata blinked, turning his head. "Who's that?"
"Don't you know? It's Kageyama Tobio. They call him the 'King of the Court'. He's an amazing setter."
"We're playing against those guys?" Izumi gasped, looking completely pale.
Hinata felt a massive spike of adrenaline shot straight through his chest. He looked back at the towering players, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He turned to his terrified friends, shouting loudly to drown out his own sudden panic. "What's this 'king' stuff? Don't worry about it! Who cares how lanky they are?! I'll shoot past them!"
"That's right, Sho-chan's jump is amazing. We're counting on you!" Izumi said, trying to smile.
"But first," Hinata suddenly groaned, his face going completely blank as his stomach did a violent, catastrophic loop. He grabbed his torso. "The bathroom..."
Hinata sprinted down the concrete corridor, bursting into the washroom, But as he pushed the heavy door open to head in, he froze. Three Kitagawa Daiichi players were filling bottles by the waterspout, laughing.
"I never even heard of Yukigaoka Junior High," one of them scoffed, flipping through a pamphlet. "They're small in number it seems. They don't even have a libero."
“Yeah, they’re the height of elementary school kids,” the other laughed, tossing a crumpled paper towel toward a bin. “They’re no match for us.”
Hinata’s stomach tightened, but it wasn't from the nerves anymore. A fierce, protective anger flared hot through his chest. These guys were making fun of the team he had practically begged into existence. They were looking down on Izumi and Koji, who had abandoned their own sports just so Hinata wouldn't be alone.
He stepped fully into the corridor, his jaw clenched as he stared down the tall players. “Hey, dudes. Don’t underestimate us.”
The Kitagawa players snapped their heads around, staring down at his small frame in utter surprise.
Hinata puffed out his chest, pointing a defiant finger straight at them. “Soon as my stomach settles, I’ll teach you guys a lesson, so be ready.”
“Is this guy serious?” one of them muttered, completely baffled by Hinata’s audacity.
“What are you guys doing?!” a deep, freezing voice suddenly cut through the air from further down the hall.
The Kitagawa players stiffened instantly, the color draining from their faces. Hinata blinked, turning his eyes toward the source of the suffocating pressure. Walking slowly down the corridor was the tall, dark-haired boy he had seen earlier, the one who carried the invisible aura of a tyrannical king. His dark blue eyes were like chips of ice, boring straight into his own teammates.
“Hey, second-years, It’s time for the official warm-up. Hurry it up,” Kageyama commanded, his shadow completely engulfing them.
“I’m sorry, right away!” the player squeaked. He turned to his friend in a blind panic. “Bad news, it’s Kageyama-senpai. Hurry up, two more energy drinks!”
“We don’t need to drink that much,” the other muttered as they both scrambled away down the hall, desperate to escape.
Kageyama didn't look at them as they fled. Instead, his piercing, razor-sharp gaze snapped directly onto Hinata. He looked down his nose at Hinata’s small, vibrant green jersey, his voice laced with a harsh, biting reprimand. “Just look at our opponent. That’s for sure. What did you say? You guys... You’re not even on the bench. You think you’re good enough to look down on your opponent? Don’t ride the coattails of your school’s reputation.”
“S-Sorry...” Hinata mumbled involuntarily, his body reacting to the sheer, immense presence before he could stop himself. But then he shook his head, his temper flaring as he realized Kageyama was scolding him too. Scary... I was going to tell them a thing or two myself, too!
“You’re not even physically ready,” Kageyama snapped, his eyes narrowing into cold slits as he noted Hinata's lingering paleness. “Don’t talk big. That’s why they look down on you.”
“What did you say?!” Hinata bristled, taking a definitive step forward.
Kageyama stepped closer, his posture unyielding, clinical, and dominant. “What are you doing here, anyway? Making memories?” His voice dropped into a lethal, serious register that resonated deep in Hinata's chest. “I came here to win. Nothing else.”
The absolute coldness of it made Hinata’s breath lock in his throat. But the three years of hitting empty air, of pleading for a single toss against a concrete wall, roared back to life with a deafening fury inside his soul. He refused to look down. He tilted his chin up, staring directly into the King's freezing eyes. “You make it sound so easy. Sure, I’m not tall. But I can jump! You can’t assume we’ll lose, as long as we don’t give up—”
“‘Don’t give up.’ That’s not as easy as it sounds,” Kageyama cut him off, his face unreadable, cold as stone.
“The six of us... the six of us can finally play volleyball on the court!” Hinata shouted, his voice echoing fiercely off the narrow concrete walls, heavy with all the wistful longing and loneliness he had carried for three years. “The first game, second game... We’ll win and keep winning. We’re going to give it our all!”
Kageyama stared at him. For a split second, the clinical detachment cracked. Something dark, raw, and violently intense sparked in the setter’s eyes—a terrifying reflection of Hinata’s own absolute, consuming obsession with victory. Kageyama’s jaw tightened, recognizing the terrifying hunger in the small player.
“The first game, second game, the playoffs, the nationals...” Kageyama’s voice became a quiet, ironclad vow. “I’m going to win them all.”
Their eyes locked, a fierce, competitive heat settling over both their features before the heavy spell was abruptly broken. Izumi came scrambling down the hall, pale and frantic, tugging Hinata away from the terrifying, statue-like setter and dragging him back toward the overwhelming roar of the main gym. By the time they reached the courts, the nervous ache in Hinata's stomach was entirely gone, replaced by a violent, electric shiver.
Across the net, Kitagawa Daiichi was conducting their official warm-ups, and Hinata stood by his bench, completely immobilized. His eyes were entirely magnetized to Kageyama Tobio.
The boy moved with a terrifying, graceful precision. He leaped into the air, his hands perfectly aligning with the ball to send a lightning-fast toss right into the palm of his spiker with microscopic accuracy.
BANG!
The ball exploded against the polished timber, bouncing high into the steel rafters.
Hinata gripped the damp fabric of his green jersey right over his heart, feeling his pulse hammer wildly against his ribs. Standing there, listening to Koji whisper about the "King of the Court," the massive, terrifying scale of the challenge crashed down on him. Across the net, the atmosphere on the powerhouse team was tense and fractured, Kageyama was already coldly barking orders at his own resentful hitters, turning his back on his coach's warnings. He wasn't a savior. He was a ruthless, unyielding wall.
Yet, looking at him, the golden fantasy Hinata used to dream about on his loneliest days against the concrete wall suddenly caught fire. His team didn't fully know the rules, and they were predicted to lose. But beneath the fear, an intense, brilliant wave of raw passion made his blood sing. This was a real court. This was a real match.
A bright, soulful smile broke across Hinata’s face. "It's finally about to start," he whispered to the wind.
The referee's whistle blew loudly, booming through the cavernous gym rafters to signal the start of the war. As the teams walked onto the floorboards and lined up, the King and the boy who wanted wings locked eyes across the net, and the air between them instantly ignited.