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The Karasuno gym thrummed with raw energy—volleyballs cracked against the floor like thunderclaps, sneakers squealed with each pivot and dive, and Daichi's voice snapped through the air like a starter pistol. "Receives, first years—focus! Tanaka, hit those spikes like you mean it!"
The late afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, striping the floor in gold and shadow. Sweat and rubber filled the air, the scent of battle earned through repetition.
Hinata sat on the sideline, a damp towel draped across his shoulders, his bright orange hair plastered to his forehead.
His chest rose and fell with steady breath, but his eyes burned—sharper, hungrier.
25–15, 25–19… The score flashed in his mind like a scoreboard on repeat.
They'd swept Aoba Johsai.
A clean, satisfying victory.
And yet…
Not enough.
His gaze tracked the court—Tanaka's reckless power, Kageyama's sniper-like sets, Tsukishima's textbook blocks, all moving in sync like a living, breathing organism.
We're getting there. His fingers clenched around the towel.
Me and Kageyama—we're synced. Quick attack, instant kills. But it's not just about us. We need more.
Everyone at their peak. Nationals-level form. The kind that shook the country.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes on the scuffed wooden floor.
Shiratorizawa's not a team—they're a war machine.
Ushijima alone is terrifying, but their real weapon is unity. Six players. One mind. We don't win with two stars. We win with six killers
Afterall Cohesive Team Of Six Is Better Than Just 2 Star players.
He stood abruptly, the towel slipping off his shoulders.
Purpose lit his steps as he strode across the court, zeroing in on the pair near the net—Tsukishima, half-heartedly blocking, and Yamaguchi, feeding him tosses with hesitant rhythm.
"Hey, Tsukishima. Tadashi. Got a minute?"
Yamaguchi flinched slightly at the sound, turning toward him with wide, uncertain eyes.
Tsukishima didn't stop moving, catching the toss and blocking it with robotic efficiency before finally turning, glasses glinting under the gym lights.
His mouth twisted into a familiar smirk, voice lazily mocking. "What now, shorty? Another sermon about the power of friendship?"
Hinata didn't bite. His feet planted, his voice calm and clear. "Tsukishima. Do you think volleyball is fun?"
The question cracked the air like a serve. Conversations around the gym faltered. Tanaka's hand froze mid-spike, Kageyama fumbled a catch, and even Daichi turned, blinking.
Tsukishima's smirk deepened, but something behind his eyes flickered. "It's a club. I show up, I play, I leave. Fun doesn't factor in—unlike you, who treats it like a religion."
Hinata's jaw tightened. Then, without missing a beat: "Is that 'cause you suck at it?"
The words slapped the air raw. Tsukishima blinked. The smirk faltered. Yamaguchi let out a strangled noise, the ball slipping from his fingers and bouncing away.
Hinata stepped closer. His voice rose—not in volume, but in heat. "You're tall, Tsukishima. You've got the height people dream of. But your blocks? They're lazy. No power, no timing. You're just standing there like a scarecrow. I'll show you how it's done."
He lifted his hands into position, snapping them up like he was sealing off an invisible spike. His feet slid into stance, balanced and firm.
"It's about timing—hit your peak when the spiker swings, not after. You need rhythm. You need eyes—watch where they're looking. They'll give it away. And you plant your feet like you mean it, push up through your legs, and form a wall they can't get past."
The gym stilled completely. Sugawara's eyebrows lifted. Kiyoko stopped mid-scribble.
Even Kageyama's eyes widened—this wasn't the bouncing, hyperactive Hinata he knew from middle school Match. This was something different. More focused. More deliberate.
Tsukishima narrowed his eyes. "Why are you even telling me this? I didn't ask for your advice."
Hinata's expression twisted into a mock-scowl. "You think it's just some 'club' because you're too scared to care. Because if you care and still suck, it hurts, right? That's why you don't try." He stepped in again, the fire in his eyes searing.
"But you're not useless. You're just holding back."
Tsukishima stiffened. Behind him, Yamaguchi's lips parted, unsure if he should intervene or stay out of the storm.
Hinata's voice dropped, not quieter, but heavier—like each word carried weight. "You're a teammate, Tsukishima. A crucial one. I'm not saying this to hurt you—I'm saying it because I need you. Because this team needs you."
He drew a breath, eyes locked like lasers. "Everyone here has a moment that hooked them—mine was the Little Giant, spiking through blockers twice his size. I saw him on TV, and something just clicked. I knew—that's what I want. That's who I want to be. You'll get that moment too. It'll come out of nowhere. And when it does, everything changes."
Hinata eyes suddenly became sharper"If That Moment ever does come to you that's the moment you fall in love with volleyball"
Tsukishima got scared of those eyes for a second.
The words sank like lead into silence. Tsukishima's smirk was gone, his lips pressed in a tight line. His gaze flickered, briefly unsettled.
Daichi stepped forward, voice cutting through the charged air. "Hinata's right. We play better when we care. When we feel it. Tsukishima, you've got the tools—you just don't use 'em. So start. Now."
Tsukishima didn't argue. He didn't smirk. He turned to Yamaguchi, voice low. "Toss me more."
Yamaguchi blinked. "R-Really?"
"Yeah."
The next ball soared. Tsukishima leapt—not casual, but driven.
He snapped his hands down on the phantom ball, and when they hit the floor, the thwack was louder.
Firmer.
Focused.
He landed with a scowl and looked at Hinata, eyes narrowing. "You better be right."
Hinata just grinned. "I usually am."
Across the gym, energy surged like a breaker flipping on.
Tanaka whooped, pounding his chest. "THAT'S what I'm talking about!" Sugawara laughed under his breath, and Daichi nodded, already barking the next drill.
Kageyama stood frozen. His mind spun back to junior high—the first time his fingers had met a perfect quick, when he'd realized he could trust someone.
That electric jolt of yes, this is it. He watched Hinata now, not with irritation, but something closer to awe.
Kiyoko's pen resumed its stroke, only now it scribbled faster. He's not just instinct. He's strategy. Leadership. Passion. Her gaze stayed on Hinata, a quiet smile tugging at the edge of her mouth.
Hinata jogged back to the sideline, wiping sweat from his brow but not from his grin. His mind raced ahead.
Step one—Tsukishima's awake. Next: Nishinoya. He's back tomorrow. Then Asahi. One by one, we rise.
The drills intensified. Receives sharpened. Spikes gained bite.
Kageyama's sets came quicker, testing everyone's reaction time.
Tsukishima's blocks got louder, more aggressive.
And at the center of it all, Hinata sat still, watching everything—not as a first-year finding his place, but as a core.
A catalyst.
The spark was lit.
And it was only the beginning.
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To be continued…
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