Chapter Text
☆ 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐓!! ☆
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғɪᴠᴇ
“MINA, NICE KILL!!!” You yell gleefully as your teammate, for the first time ever, pulls off a perfect setter dump.
Junko, on the other side of the next, is a second too late to the ball, and watches dejectedly as it rolls towards her feet.
Mina squeals, “A-Aha! I did it!”
You jump up and down in excitement, waving your arms about as you cheer the first year’s name. It’s been a while since your accident now, so moving around isn’t too much of an issue. You’re back to your old self, much to the team’s relief. But you’re still not allowed to play. Not until the end of the week.
So annoying…
Mina’s a first year, and isn’t a regular setter on the team. That’s Akane’s job, and honestly? Someone as cutthroat as your captain is pretty hard to live up to. Being on the court instead of Akane means Mina’s automatically under a lot of pressure. You’ve been trying to get her confidence back up after her plays during the Nekoma practice match lost the first set.
But she’s improving fast. You all are. Seriously, it’s crazy. And you liked it. Everyone that saw the Fukuroudani Girls as a broken team are about to be respectfully corrected.
And the Fukuroudani Boys won’t be receiving all the praise for much longer. You’re giving it until after the Inter-high Preliminaries. Some of the school have already seen it — the budding power you showcased at the start of the year against Nekoma. Now to solidify your strength, you guys have to make it past preliminaries.
”Mina-chan!!” Akane’s clapping her hands, impressed, “So cool!”
Flustered, the first year bows her head, “T-Thank you!”
“Don’t think about taking my spot just yet, eh? I’m still going strong!”
”Of course!”
I gasp, “We should put you two both in a ring! Winner takes setter spot!”
Hana and Himari snicker. Mina furiously shakes her head, “N-No!”
”Hell yeah! I’d pay to see it!”
”L/N…”
You jump and wince at your coach’s stone cold tone, shuffling sheepishly away from the court and next to her.
Still staring ahead, she speaks, “Been a week and a while since the scout came looking for you.”
”R-Right,” you clear your throat, “My parents and I filled out the documents that night. Mailed them off the next day.”
Coach hums, nudging you and finally meeting your eyes. A spitting image of Takeyuki — minus the darker hair, of course.
“It’s incredible to be the only person from Kanto region elected to represent Japan globally. I’m talking about sport in general, not just volleyball.”
You bashfully shrug, “I know. It’s a real honour. I’m totally psyched for it all.”
”As you should be. You know, a friend of mine from a school over in Miyagi called a couple days back. Told me a boy on their volleyball team also got scouted—“
”Ushiwaka.” You nod quickly, “I know.”
That was by chance. You only knew that because of a post you’d seen online. The Japanese YWC official site had already released the names of those competing in Frankfurt later this year. You’d memorized…
Every.
Single.
Name.
And prefecture and school. For the male and female volleyball teams.
Sometimes you wish your memory was as flawless when it came to academics. Alas, your brain only switched on when it came to your passion.
“Third year from Shiratorizawa. People are always talking about their boys team. Undefeated champions.”
Your coach is surprised, “I didn’t expect you to know much about Shiratorizawa. They’re from a countryside prefecture—“
”I…looked over the YWC selection a while back.”
“Wish you’d look over your notes as much as you did for the Championships.” She grumbles and you giggle nervously.
”You barely passed your midterms. I know you’re constantly raring to go, but school is just as important as sport.”
”I studied!” You uselessly argue.
”Not enough.” She rolls her eyes, “Try this in third year and you’ll be kicked off the team.”
”Yes, ma’am…” you shudder and glance back at the court. It’s a lot of pressure, to be honest. Now you’re not also thinking of the Inter-high, but the YWC, too. You didn’t know how you were gonna juggle it all.
But, it’s volleyball. You’re in love with it. And people go to hell and back for what they love, right?
You’d kill it.
”Work hard, Seishin. The others will be sad if you leave them next year.” Someone calls out by the bleachers.
You shriek.
“KOU-CHAN! YOU’RE ALIVE!!!”
From the court, Momo yelps at your sudden noise, too shaken up to intercept the ball that promptly hits her in the face.
You ignore Coach’s shout as you bound up to your manager; first year Amagiri Kousei, Akane’s nerdy, bespectacled brother. She forced him to take up the job since you hadn’t had one in years.
”S-Seishin—!“
You tackle him to the floor, giggling like a madwoman as he whines for you to release his scrawny frame. He’d been off school since the start of the year because of a surgery to combat his epilepsy. You’d heard it’d gone well. He just needed some extra rest.
And now he’s finally back! We’re really all together again!
”L/N!” Your coach is suddenly grabbing you by your collar and dragging you away.
“B-But, Coach! I missed him!”
”You can miss him from over there.” She’s pointing outside, “You’re on towel duty. Go and fetch them from the changing rooms.”
You’re aghast, “What?! B-But—“
”You’re still handicapped. And Kousei just got back. He needs to take it easy.”
Kousei’s since picked himself off the ground. He rushes towards Coach, “N-No! It’s okay! I promise, I’m all good to go! I can do whatever!”
”No.” she says bluntly, clicking her fingers, “L/N. Now.”
You glare at your manager, “Your fault, Kou-chan.”
”Hey!”
He scoffs at the playful tongue you stick out at him. Then, you run off towards the exit.
“Easy on your ankle, Seishin!” He calls after you.
“Shut up!”
You use your left shoulder to barge open the door out of the changing rooms, hands too preoccupied to do so themselves. In your clutches are a large pile of towels for the girls. They’d been training like crazy since the school year started, especially after your selection for the Under 19s. It feels like they’ve been spurred on by the news, if anything. It makes you pleased.
You feel good. Really good about this year. It’s gonna be a great one.
Outside is quite barren. It’s club-time after school, so many are either inside another block at school or occupying the other gymnasiums available. The weather is still cool and breezy, given it being April and all. It’s hot enough for you to enjoy the weather without becoming sticky with sweat. Fukuroudani’s gymnasiums are all lined up outside the PE office block, established in alphabetical order. Loads of trees surround your area, which is why you believe it looks best during spring. Cherry blossoms are splotches of vivid pink, white and red that add more brightness to the kaleidoscope of colours already outside. A very pretty sight. You could stand there and admire your surroundings for ages.
But you have a job to do.
”Damn towels…” You’re struggling to see in front of you thanks to the clumsily folded towels in your arms. Like a crippled old lady, you’re waddling back outside and towards where the gyms are all lined up.
Coach is being so hard on me…future pros don’t have time for trigonometry and eukaryotic cells.
”What a drag.” You moan to yourself, eyebrows pinched together furiously. You already know what would cheer you up — receiving a powerful spike, saving an unattended ball…being on the court.
But you can’t. You can’t play until freaking Friday. That’s decades away.
I can practically smell the court right now…
No, like…I can literally smell it. Why’s it so strong out here—
“Hey, hey! Careful there, Seishin!”
You screech and jump, releasing the towels in the process. They tumble to the grass in a heap, much to your dismay.
When you look up, you see nothing. Just a light cyan blue. So you tilt your head up further.
Bokuto’s sheepishly grinning as you glare up at him. You take an embarrassed step back, “You freaked me out, you—“
”You were about to bump into me!” He shoots back, muscular arms crossed over his chest, “That would’ve been worse! I’m hard as steel, ya know! Easy way to get a concussion!”
You blink like an idiot. He’s in his gym kit again, cyan bib over his navy shirt, sweat thinly coating his face. Looks like he’s been playing volleyball. Lucky bastard.
Your frustration is written all over your expression. Bokuto notices and frowns, “Why the long face?”
Huffing, you turn away, opting to pick up the towels on the ground, “I’m fine—“
”I can do that.”
Casually, Bokuto bends down to scoop the remaining towels into his arms. You straighten to meet him stiffly.
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t reply. Only stares expectantly with round, puppy-dog eyes. You inwardly scoff. They’re an olive-tinted gold, weirdly satisfying to look at.
And morbidly convincing.
Reluctantly, you mumble, “Uh…coach won’t let me play.”
He gasps loudly, “WHAT?!” Then points at you, “She ain’t gonna let the Seishin play?! B-But you’re awesome! What a bitch…”
”Right?!” Is what you eagerly reply with.
But then you pause, “Well…it’s with good reason. I sprained my ankle during the last practice match. Been off court since.”
”That match with Nekoma? That’s the one I saw!” He hums, “You took a pretty bad fall before match point.”
”You have a good memory.”
”Of course I do! I’m amazing!”
You snicker at that. He cracks another smile at your amusement, “You’d know that if you’ve seen me play! Hey, have you seen me play?! You’ve gotta see!”
You raise an eyebrow, “Maybe I already have.”
”Well, you gotta see again!” He replies, free hand grabbing your arm, “Come on, watch me spike! I’m cool too, I swear!”
I don’t doubt that— hey, wait!!!
”I can’t!” You say as he begins to drag you towards his team’s hall, “Coach wants me back with the towels—!”
”You’d rather deliver towels than watch me spike a ball?!”
He releases you and places a hand on his hip, bending down to reach your eye level. The patronizing gesture pisses you off. But his coy, knowing smile and raised, bushy eyebrows will you to meet his gaze.
”Just watch me! I’m the greatest!”
I know, you dumbass.
So you sigh and raise your arm. He gives you a confused look.
”Are you gonna drag me again or what?”
He chuckles and gladly takes your offered arm, excitedly hurrying past your own gym and towards his.
You were already regretting this crap.
The minute you enter the gym, Bokuto snatches the towels out of your grasp and drops them by the door. Next, he takes your arm again, and tugs you along towards the court.
You feel them instantly — numerous faces in matching navy shirts and white gym shorts, either doing drills or practicing receives; looking up to curiously eye you. Not that you blame them. Like mentioned earlier, the boy and girl teams don’t mix. You’re a foreign face.
Or maybe not so foreign. You know, since you were almost murdered at the hands of this team’s captain.
The captain who is hauling you towards center court right now.
The fact that you possibly, probably, definitely shouldn’t be here dawns on you, hard and heavy like an anvil dropped against the ground. You need to go back to your girls. If Coach finds out—
“Hey, Coach!” Bokuto yells, “Let Akaashi set for me! I want her to watch me spike!”
Coach Takeyuki is talking to another player as you two approach him. You recognize that boy as Konoha, the one from a week or so go. The glare you shoot in his direction is enough for him to back away, shivering.
Takeyuki’s face is stern, “Since when do we bring random girls into training?”
”Random girl?!” Bokuto exclaims, shaking your arm wildly. You wince as he continues, “This is the girl team’s Seishin! I need to prove—“
”It’s too early for this crap…” You hear somebody yawn behind you. Another guy shouts, “We already know you’re good, man!”
Bokuto turns over his shoulder, “She doesn’t, though!” His eyes widen again, “Akaashi! Set for me!”
You glance wearily back at Takeyuki. He reaches under his glasses to tiredly rub his eyes.
Then he smirks.
”Why not? Then Seishin can hurry back to my darling niece and let her know how well my boys are performing.”
Oh. So it’s like that?
You immediately scowl. You knew your coaches had a bit of a petty rivalry, but seriously? You’re royally pissed.
Bokuto’s long since joined Akaashi on the court. Everyone else in the gym has huddled around you and the Coach by the sidelines, watching center court. Shirofuku, one of the team’s managers, is casually stood by a trolley full of balls. She’s probably gonna be tossing for them.
You shudder. You’ve already been absent from practice how long? 10 minutes?! Coach will kill you…
”I, uh…should probably head back—“
Takeyuki lays a strong hand on your shoulder, murmuring, “You’ll wanna stay and watch. Trust me.”
If I watch him spike once, then I won’t wanna leave!
You can’t even get a word in before Shirofuku’s toss is in the air, Akaashi’s in position to set, and the ball is sailing for his hands.
You watch the setter receive, watch the ball shoot towards the left.
You watch Bokuto’s perfect leap. You watch his perfect form. You watch his right arm retract backwards. You watch it strike the ball. And in split seconds, it’s slammed harshly against the wooden floorboards, sound echoing like a volcanic eruption in the hall as it rolls to a stop a couple metres away from the wall.
You’re breathless. As if you’d just performed that spike yourself. Power wouldn’t even cut it — this was borderline divinity.
A spike so lethal it could break past any block. I couldn’t receive that if I tried.
Could I?
You could.
I wanna try.
Your hands are twitching at your sides. A reflex. That happens a lot when you watch a spiker.
Just not the way it’s happening now.
When your pupils dart back to Bokuto, you find he’s already staring at you, lightly panting, but grinning like a madman. He’s happy that you’ve witnessed that.
Then, he yells, “One more!”
And you watch, enthralled, again, as he lands another flawless straight shot. You watch another spike. Then two more. Than three more…
Half in a trance, you gaze behind you. His teammates, the Fukuroudani Boys, look a lot like you — awe-inspired, captivated, proud.
You consume any type of volleyball media like food. So you know the ins and outs of teams in your area and others, male and female. Naturally, you’ve heard about Bokuto Koutarou’s mood swings in the middle of various matches. You’ve heard how easily his confidence can shatter in the face of a difficult opponent.
But ultimately, this is their team’s captain. Their ace. And the appreciation is written all over their faces.
”That’s our Bokuto.” Takeyuki nods triumphantly towards the court, “That’s our ace—“
”I wanna receive it.”
You interrupt him without thinking. The words fly out before you can properly compute them. You speak straight out of your ass. But it’s the truth.
You repeat it, “Can I…can I try? I wanna try and intercept.”
“His spike?” A guy with brown hair, stood beside you, eyes you up and down. That’s Komi Haruki, the team’s starting libero. He looks a bit like monkey, in all honesty; cheeky smile, short, bushy brows… what is with this club and ugly eyebrows?
“You sure, lady?”
Konoha elbows him, hissing, “Don’t try her, she’s scary.”
”I am not—“
”You can try.” Takeyuki barks a laugh and you kiss your teeth in annoyance. But he says nothing more afterwards. Komi sighs.
”Libero to libero…he’s a tough attacker. You’ll struggle more than you think.”
”We’ll see.”
Coach is still in the back of your mind. You need to get back to your team. And you shouldn’t even be playing right now, not with your ankle’s condition.
But I won’t get a chance like this again. A chance to be on the same court as the spiker I’ve admired so long…
You inhale deeply and brush past the brunette beside you. You head onto the court, to your usual starting position when playing, towards the back. You exhale, and relish in the many pairs of eyes now on you; as they should be. You’re the spirit, after all.
Akaashi’s face from over the net morphs into a confused, yet intrigued frown.
“Whaaat is she doing?!” Bokuto’s incredulous, “Coach, what’s she doing?!”
Takeyuki only looks pointedly at Shirofuku. She turns to you and winks, almost as if to say, show ‘em what you’ve got.
Oh, you will. Just so Takeyuki knows how well your coach’s girls are doing. You convince yourself that’s solely why you’re on the court right now — to defend Coach’s honour.
That’s only half true.
“Heads up!” Shirofuku yells. Before you know it, she’s tossing the ball to Akaashi.
You bend your knees, tense your arms, flex your fingers. You’re in game mode.
You filter any sound out of your mind, mellow down the scene — simplify it so the only thing in your world is you and the ball.
It’s times like these, when you’re playing libero, that you find yourself to be on autopilot. A part of your brain, a part you really just can’t explain, takes over your body, like a pilot steering a fighter jet. You sometimes even feel as though you’re watching from afar; when you let this driven, focused part of you exist and flourish, it gives you a delicious feeling, like a drug that keeps you high. And to put it simply, you're addicted.
Bokuto’s hand has already connected with the ball. You almost want to shudder at how beautiful it is to watch. But you’re eyes are pinned to the prize, the ball thats spinning uncontrollably towards you.
To the right. Go.
You roll to the side, clasp your hands together, outstretch your arms. And you’ve got it. You’ve got it.
I’ve got it.
The. Ball. Is. Up.
It flies to the left, bounces against the floor, rolls to a stop near the sidelines where everybody’s stood.
You just received Bokuto Koutarou’s spike.
When you look down, your arms are an angry red, skin rough and raw from the impact of his attack. It stings. You love it.
An unhinged, smug smile creeps onto your face. You start giggling under your breath.
That felt so, so good. You want to do it again.
Again.
”Spike again.” You call out confidently.
Akaashi nods at Shirofuku. And you all fall into a rhythm.
Shirofuku tosses the ball for Akaashi to set. Bokuto attempts to spike a ball you can’t receive. But you’re the Seishin, for crap’s sake — you can receive whatever ball that comes your way. You can reach any corner of your side of the court in seconds. You’re the best teen libero in Tokyo. About time this team knows that yours is rising in the ranks.
You’re not sure how much time passes. A couple of his spikes are hard to combat; a couple of them you miss. But most of them you receive. And every time you do, your heart swells; your body is breathless.
And fuuuck, how you missed playing volleyball.
If you’re ankle is in any pain, the adrenaline rushing through you has neutralised the feeling. And anyway, with game mode on, it’s hard to focus on anything but the ball and the serotonin it’s feeding your desperate ass.
Bokuto spikes again, and again, and again. If he’s tired, you don’t notice it. If he’s tired, all the better. Tiring out Bokuto Koutarou means that tiring out any damn ace on the court won’t be a problem for you.
Bokuto isn’t tired, however. He’s determined. Over on the other side of the court, he’s too focused to get upset at how difficult it is to break you. To break through your steel defence. Almost every ball you receive like it’s nothing. And almost every damn spike honestly makes Bokuto even more driven.
He likes this. He likes you. He subconsciously decides it then. He likes how crazy you are on court, how relentless you are in chasing the ball, how flawless you are in receiving his spikes.
Seishin. He understands it now.
He—
“SEISHIN, NICE RECEIVE!!!”
The familiar voice snaps you abruptly out of your trance. Before Shirofuku can toss another ball, you spin to face the exit of the gym.
“Momo!”
She’s leaning on the doorframe, laughing at your surprise and waving a slender, dismissive hand, “You didn’t have to break your focus! You were killing it!”
The world returns to you in a flurry of sound and scent and movement. You’re suddenly aware of where you are, what you’re doing, and who’s around you. A couple gasps and murmurs arise from the crowd of players watching Momo. This has to be bizarre for them; two girls from the other volleyball club in their gym.
Regardless, you pick up on specific words, like “cutie” and “hot stuff”.
Guys are gross.
You don’t feel so untouchable like you did a second ago, defending your area against Bokuto’s spikes. You just feel like normal L/N Y/N, 16 year old highschooler. Seishin’s disappeared with the wind.
Ugh.
”D-Don’t tell Coach!” Is the first thing that flies out of your mouth, voice squeaky and girlish, devoid of resonance, “If she knows I—“
”I won’t.” Momo shakes her head, “We all assumed you got bored and did a lap around the school, or something. You know, what you did the last time you injured yourself in beast mode?”
Excuse me?
Your eye twitches, “Beast mode? That’s what you call it now?”
”Ah…” she chuckles sheepishly, “More or less.”
You’re suddenly a bit shy. Everybody, you remind yourself, is still watching. And you’re in a gym full of gross, teenage boys. You want to leave. The magic’s been snuffed out. You’ve since tumbled down from your high.
Bored now.
So you straighten and stride fast towards Momo, swipe the towels up from the floor, and grab her hand.
Wait.
You turn back and scan the gymnasium. You spot Bokuto. His lips are parted in mild shock. You grin at him.
”You’re super cool, Bokuto-senpai!”