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The bus rumbled steadily along Miyagi's winding roads, the faint whir of tires and engine a low hum beneath the chatter of Karasuno's team.
Hinata sat by the window, his forehead lightly pressed against the cool glass, eyes distant as scenery blurred past.
He wasn't just looking—he was imagining. The gym at Aoba Johsai. The soaring spikes. Oikawa's pinpoint sets. The weight of reputation.
A voice, soft and steady, pulled him back to the present.
"Nervous?"
Hinata turned, blinking as he realized Kiyoko was beside him. She'd slipped into the seat somewhere between his thoughts of victory and Oikawa's smirk.
"Huh? Oh—nah, not really. Mostly excited," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a grin. "You?"
Kiyoko adjusted her clipboard with practiced ease, calm as always. "I don't play, but… I get it. This is a big match. Aoba Johsai's no joke."
He nodded slowly, then glanced out the window again. "I was thinking about the game… and food," he added with a sheepish chuckle. "Daichi-senpai's treat last night got me craving yakitori again. Mom makes it with this extra sauce—super good. You ever try it like that?"
Her lips quirked slightly, the closest she came to a smile. "Not yet. Extra sauce, huh? Maybe I'll ask your mom for the recipe someday."
"You should! She'd totally love that," Hinata beamed, warmth rising in his chest. Talking to Kiyoko always calmed him in a weird way—like everything would be okay just because she believed it.
Their conversation drifted with ease—from food to practice, school to strategy. Hinata's voice picked up energy as he spoke of Kageyama's sets, his hands mimicking quick attacks midair.
"I wanna hit every one of Kageyama's tosses today. All of them. Just blast through Aoba Johsai's blockers!"
"You will," Kiyoko said, her tone quiet but certain. "I've seen how hard you work. You're hardworking, tenacious and I'm sure you will win."
That affirmation wrapped around him like a blanket. As the bus slowed and finally pulled into Aoba Johsai's parking lot, his nerves settled into focus. Game time.
The doors hissed open, and the team stirred. Tanaka was first to leap down, his head swiveling in awe. "Damn! This place is fancy as hell. Look at those windows—feels like a rich kid's school."
Hinata bounded down after him, stretching out his legs, eyes wide. "Whoa… it's huge. You think their gym is this cool too?"
The school stood like a monument—modern glass, sleek lines, pristine grounds. Karasuno's red rooftops and creaky floorboards felt like another world.
Tsukishima strolled down behind them, hands shoved in his pockets. "Don't get dazzled by the aesthetics. It's still just a court inside," he said with his trademark sarcasm.
Hinata only grinned, undeterred. "Yeah—but I'm gonna fly higher than ever in that court."
Just beyond the gym doors, two familiar Aoba Johsai players—Yahaba and Kindaichi—were warming up, casually tossing a ball between them. Their chatter turned sharp when they spotted Karasuno bus.
Kindaichi spun the ball on his finger, snorting. "Karasuno's really here. And Kageyama's with 'em. Can you believe that guy? After all that 'King of the Court' crap?"
Kindaichi's brows furrowed. "I thought he'd go to Shiratorizawa or something, not a washed-up team like Karasuno."
Yahaba scoffed. "Perfect fit, honestly. They're nobodies now. Used to be big, but people call 'em wingless crows these days. What a fall."
Yahaba chuckled and continued. "And their team looks like a circus. That punk with the shaved head, some loudmouth idiot, a dude that got held back for 5 years and the only thing good about them is their manager's i heard they got some super hot babe as thier manager."
Before he could elaborate, heavy footsteps rounded the corner.
Tanaka stomped into view like a storm. His eyes locked on Yahaba, and he'd clearly heard enough. "Oi!" he growled, fury flaring in his chest. "You got something to say about us? Say it to my damn face!"
Yahaba flinched, startled. The ball slipped from his hands.
Tsukishima stepped in, calm and cutting. He adjusted his glasses, smirking as he surveyed the startled pair. "Relax, Tanaka. But yeah—I'm curious too. Dead team, huh? Sounds like jealousy. Must suck being scared before the match even starts."
He turned to Tanaka again, mock-serious. "You really frightened them. I think the hotshots from Aoba Johsai are practically shaking in their designer shoes."
Kindaichi's smirk twitched, but before he could fire back, Hinata stepped forward.
He wasn't tall. He wasn't imposing. But the moment he stepped into the space between them, his presence hit hard—170 centimeters of focused energy, not an inch wasted.
"Wingless crows, huh?" Hinata said, voice calm but loaded. "Guess we'll just have to fly right over you. Might even clip you on the way up."
His smile was friendly, but his tone cut like a knife.
Yahaba blinked, rattled. Who the hell is this guy? He's got something. Like he's already seen how this ends…
Tanaka came face to face and said "Don't mock my team bruh we'll have your heads"
They say crows flying upward to the sky in the background
Kindaichi stiffened. "Don't mock us, bruh. We'll wipe the floor with you."
But the bark was hollow, and the confidence faltered. The moment belonged to Karasuno now.
Then Daichi arrived like a hammer, his grip locking onto Tanaka's collar. "Tanaka! Apologize. Now."
Tanaka recoiled. "What?! They started it!"
"I said apologize." Daichi's voice was steel. No room for protest.
Tanaka huffed, bowing stiffly, his eyes still burning. "Sorry," he muttered, clearly not sorry at all.
Daichi turned to Yahaba and Kindaichi with a nod. "Let's keep this clean. We're here to play, not throw insults."
Yahaba nodded reluctantly, but Kindaichi wasn't done. His eyes tracked Kageyama, who'd just walked up, expression unreadable.
"You're really here, huh?" Kindaichi said, voice sharp with old wounds. "Karasuno, of all places?"
Kageyama's eyes were cold. "Yeah. So?"
Kindaichi sneered. "You could've gone anywhere. What are you doing with them?"
"They're not just 'them.'" Kageyama's voice was quiet, but firm. "They're my team."
Kindaichi scoffed, but Kageyama didn't wait for a reply. He turned and walked away, the dismissal clear.
Hinata followed with a spring in his step, watching Kageyama's back with a grin.
"That's right," he muttered. "We're not just any team."
Inside the gym, the team finally got their first look—and it did not disappoint.
The space gleamed under the lights. Hardwood so polished it reflected the net. Banners lined the walls, and every corner of the court screamed excellence.
"Whoa," Tanaka breathed. "This is like a freakin' pro stadium."
Hinata nodded slowly, awe mixing with excitement in his chest. This wasn't just a match—it was a stage.
"Gotta bring everything," he whispered.
Sweat already forming on his brow, he turned to Daichi. "I'll hit the bathroom real quick."
"Don't get lost," Daichi called.
Hinata jogged off, nerves coiling again now that the confrontation had faded.
Inside the restroom, he splashed cold water over his face. It shocked his skin, but cleared his mind. He leaned forward, watching his reflection as if sizing up an opponent.
I'm ready.
The door creaked. Yahaba and Kindaichi stepped in, their eyes immediately locking onto him.
"Huh," Kindaichi muttered. "Hinata, right? So, what's the deal with Kageyama? Still the same control freak from Kitagawa?"
Hinata dried his hands slowly, then turned to face them, calm and sure.
"Nope," he said. "He's different now. He's not a king. He's a teammate. My teammate."
Kindaichi folded his arms. "You think that just changed overnight?"
Hinata shrugged, his smile casual, but firm. "People can change. He listens now. We work together. You'll see."
He walked past them, light on his feet, but the weight of his words lingered.
Yahaba watched him go, eyes narrowing. He's not bluffing. That confidence—it's real. Who is this guy?
Back in the gym, Karasuno had started warming up. The thuds of volleyballs echoed through the space, sharp and precise. Hinata joined them, stretching, his muscles buzzing with anticipation.
This wasn't just about proving something to Aoba Johsai.
It was about proving something to himself.
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To be continued…
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