Chapter Text
The Kitagawa Daiichi Boys’ Volleyball Club was one of the best in Miyagi, maybe even all of Japan. Nonaka Satoshi was well aware of this. As the starting libero for the past two years, he had been pushed farther than he thought possible all for the sake of victory. He has witnessed all sides of Hirayama-san, their head coach, and become well-versed in spotting when he was in a bad mood.
Today was one of those days. Satoshi had known from the moment he walked in for afternoon practice that Hirayama-san was pissed off. There were no obvious signs of it on his face (it remained as impassive and stoic as ever) however there was a subtle line of tension that ran along his shoulders. His grip on the clipboard in his hands was just a little too tight for Hirayama-san to be fully calm.
“Crap,” Satoshi mumbled underneath his breath when he noticed how tense Hirayama-san was. His teammate, Oka Katsumi, glanced at him.
“Bad mood?” He asked Satoshi. Satoshi nodded and Oka-kun swore underneath his breath. Satoshi was notorious among the members of Kita-Ichi’s first string for being able to accurately read all of Hirayama’s moods. He had picked it up for survival reasons. Being able to read Hirayama’s moods had saved his skin more than once.
“How bad is it?” Another teammate, Uemura Michi, asked. Hirayama has varying levels of bad moods. Satoshi categorized them on a scale of one to five, with one being the least dangerous and five being the most. He had only seen a five once in his nearly three years on the team, and that was when Kita-Ichi lost last year at Spring Nationals Prelims. Even the memory of it makes Satoshi shudder.
“I’d say it’s a three, but I won't know for sure until practice starts,” Satoshi answered. Body language was a good indicator of Hirayama’s moods, but the best indicator was how intense their warm-up was. The more upset Hirayama was, the harsher the warm-up.
He assigned five laps around Kita-Ichi’s massive campus (roughly fifteen kilometers in total) and then had them do agility work for thirty minutes. This was a standard level three bad mood warm-up for Hirayama, solidifying Satoshi's guess. Level three moods weren’t uncommon, they actually happened semi-frequently, but it had been a while since the last one occurred. Satoshi knew that this could very easily escalate into a more precarious situation if he wasn’t careful.
The big difference in all of the levels was how Hirayama would choose to punish someone if they made a mistake. Level one was the most common; it happened every time someone made a mistake more than twice in a row and usually resulted in intense drills for that person. Level two was usually “do ______ until you _____.” The most common version that Satoshi had to deal with was “do receiving drills without knee pads until your knees are bloody,” (his knees were pretty scarred because of it). Level three was when the lectures came out. Level four usually happened in more private settings and resulted in a degrading lecture and a medium strength slap or two. Level five…
He didn’t want to think about level five.
Level three was manageable. Satoshi could handle a level three mood. He knew his teammates could as well, the first-years were even used to it by this point. There was nothing unpredictable about level three’s, he always knew how Hirayama would react to something during a level three.
But then, unfortunately, things escalated. They split off into two teams with the starters mixed up with the others and had a practice match. One of the first years (Hayashi Tatsuo, a wing spiker) kept hitting his spikes out of bounds. The kid was deadly powerful but was still learning control; he had just started playing this year so it was to be expected.
“Hayashi!” Hirayama shouted from the sidelines after the fourth missed spike.
“Yes sir?” Hayashi was kind of a nervous kid, and it was amplified even more by his hesitation around Hirayama. Not that Satoshi could blame him for being hesitant, he acted the same way. He just got better at hiding it.
“Use your fucking brain for once in your life and hit the ball correctly!” Ah shit, Hirayama-san swore. That was a very clear sign that he was spiraling into a level four. This would not end well.
“Y-yes sir,” Hayashi replied, very clearly uncertain on how to handle Hirayama-san’s rapidly decreasing mood. Satoshi was hit with the realization that the kid might have never faced a level four mood head-on. Level Four moods were nasty and usually happened towards starters in private after a bad game. There was one game recently where Satoshi had a hard time picking up some of their spikes and Hirayama-san called him into his office afterwards. He ended up leaving the office with a nasty bruise in his cheek and nail marks on his shoulder. Hayashi didn’t deserve to deal with that when he wasn’t even a starter yet.
Things just got worse from there. Hirayama-san kept getting visibly more frustrated with Hayashi which in turn made the kid even more nervous which made his spikes have even less control. It was a vicious cycle that had no end in sight.
Everything came to a climax at the end of the practice match, Satoshi’s team won and Hayashi’s team lost, with a score of 25-18. As the first years began to clean up practice, Hirayama-san called Hayashi over to him. The two of them were only five feet away from where Satoshi was stretching, allowing him to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“I will not allow someone with the control of a feral monkey to stay on my team,” Hirayama lectured Hayashi. “If you ever hope to be a starter, you have to be better than this. If you do not improve, you will just drag my team down and be the cause of our defeat. I will not put in a player who so clearly lacks talent and control. If you want to be a starter, you have to--,” Hirayama cut off abruptly. Satoshi watched as his features descended rapidly into pure fury.
“Are you crying?” His voice was quiet and deceiving calm, but Satoshi knew better. The last time he heard that voice was when Hirayama reached a level five mood. Fuck. This was bad. This was so, so, so bad.
“I’m-I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to,--” Hayashi choked out with visible tears dripping down his face. Satoshi knew what would come next. Hayashi didn’t deserve what was about to happen, and it was his job as a senpai to protect him as much as possible. He was just a kid. They were both just kids.
Satoshi moved on instinct and then didn’t register much beyond a loud slap, and then a blinding burst of pain along his left cheek. The force was so great that it knocked him back a little, sending him stumbling into Hayashi. Hayashi caught him while staring in shock at what had just occurred.
Hirayama had used his clipboard to slap Satoshi. He used the side with the metal part as well, and the force of his hit had cut into Satoshi’s cheek so hard that he could feel blood dripping down his face. The gym was silent. Then Hirayama exploded.
“HOW DARE YOU! You do not get to interrupt someone else’s punishment, Nonaka! You know the rules! You know my expectations! This behavior is unacceptable---,”
“His behavior was perfectly acceptable,” A cold voice cut Hirayama off. “In fact, I would even go so far as to praise him for protecting his kouhai from your abuse.” Satoshi looked over to voice and was surprised to see a gathering of people there, all of them with ranging displays of fury on their faces. The person who had spoken was Fujimori Azumi, the head of Kita-Ichi’s sports department.
He noticed someone else in the line-up that made him pause. “Dad..?” Satoshi questioned softly, still reeling from the slap across his face. His father was standing next to the President of the school board and visibly fuming.
Satoshi had done everything in his power to keep the truth from his family. He was the youngest out of all of them (his twin sister being born a few hours before him on an entirely different day) and he knew that all of them would cause a massive scene if they found out about Hirayama’s methods. Satoshi didn’t want that. He could handle it. He didn’t need to be babied or coddled or protected. He just wanted to be good. He wanted to be a good player, a good teammate, a good son. He wanted to be someone who his father could brag about to everyone, just like his sister is. Hirayama’s methods are harsh, but they work well enough. At least, he thought they did.
As Satoshi was lost in thought, a man in a suit pulled out a pair of handcuffs and walked towards Hirayama. “Hirayama Yoshito, you are under arrest for the mental and physical abuse of children,” The man said as he grabbed Hirayama and began to cuff him. Hirayama struggled against him, trying to break free.
“I’ve done nothing wrong! These boys won’t learn unless--”
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Also, if you continue to struggle, I will add ‘resisting arrest’ to your charges,” The man's voice was cold and stoic, but Satoshi could tell that his eyes were raging with fury. Hirayama stopped struggling after that but was still vibrating with repressed rage.
The man escorted Hirayama out of the school, leaving the gym full of tension. The adrenaline coursing through Satoshi’s brain began to wear off, and he wobbled on his feet.
“I should probably sit down,” He mumbled under his breath. Hayashi, who was still supporting a good portion of his weight, heard him and quickly led him to one of the nearby benches.
“Nonaka-senpai! Do you need anything? Water? A towel?” Hayashi fluttered about him, obviously worried.
“A first-aid kit would be appreciated,” Satoshi replied. Blood was still dripping down his face and ruining his shirt. By now he probably looked like something straight out of a horror movie. God, he hoped he didn’t stain the floor. Hayashi nodded and ran off to find a first-aid kit. Out of the corner of his eye, Satoshi saw his dad approaching him.
“Dad,” he murmured. He knew it was silly, but sometimes he just needed the comfort of one of his parents. He needed them to hold him and tell him that everything was alright, that he did good, that he was safe. Now was one of those times.
Satoshi thought he could handle it. He thought he could handle the harsh words and the hard slaps and the bloody knees. He thought he could handle the pressure. He thought he could handle the insane intensity and impossible demands. But he couldn’t. That slap was his breaking point. Everything that Satoshi had been holding back for two and a half years came pouring out when the first drop of blood spilled from his cheek.
His dad approached him and Satoshi jumped onto him. His father returned the hug with just as much enthusiasm, if not more. Tears that Satoshi had been subconsciously holding back now flowed freely once his mind recognized that he was safe.
“I’ve got you, kiddo. You’re okay now, You’re okay,” His father said to him. It was comforting to feel so loved and protected. It was comforting to be truly safe for the first time in years. He hadn’t told anyone because he didn’t want his family to force him to quit.
Satoshi loved volleyball too much to quit. He would never be able to stomach it if he had to let go of the one thing that he would struggle with. Almost everything in his life came easy to him; All of his schoolwork was a breeze to get through and every hobby he tried always bored him quickly. But volleyball was a challenge. He didn’t know why it was so different, but it was. Volleyball was the one challenging thing Satoshi had in his life. He could never give it up.
Eventually, his dad let go of him and they managed to clean and bandage his wound. Fujimori-san had asked everyone to stay in the gym because she wanted to fill them in on what was happening. Satoshi appreciated this. While he was sure that his dad would tell him about it later, curiosity was eating at him and he wanted to know now.
All of the players gathered around Fujimori-san. Satoshi always forgot how small she actually was until he stood next to her; she just had such a large presence that it usually canceled out her stature.
“I’m sure you all are wondering what just happened, correct?” Fujimori-san began. Several people nodded. “Well, about a month ago, the Aoba Johsai Boys’ Volleyball coaches brought some information to my attention. Some of their players, as well as players from other high schools, had previously gone to Kita-Ichi and had bad experiences with Hirayama, to say the least. After they recounted the details of his abuse, I brought the evidence to the attention of the school board.
“The school board agreed to take action, but not before acquiring more physical evidence. So, we installed cameras as well as microphones in this gym without Hirayama’s knowledge. Over the past week, we have been collecting evidence to use against him in court. Today we had planned to arrest him privately after everyone had left and then inform everyone of the development tomorrow. However, after seeing him hit Satoshi-kun, we unanimously decided to take action earlier than planned to prevent further incidents.”
Fujimori-san’s words were met with an echoing silence throughout the gym. Then, Oka-kun let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god,” he said.
Everyone else began to echo his sentiment, even the first years joined. Everyone respected Hirayama, after all, he was an amazing player, but recently he had been getting more and more intense. He was worse than he had ever been and was pushing everyone way too far. Even some of the die-hard players like Satoshi himself were starting to contemplate if it was still worth it.
Now, all of them could breathe a little easier. Their abuser was gone, and hopefully, they would never have to deal with him again.
Legal proceedings are a long tedious process that drains a person mentally and physically. The players of Kitagawa Daiichi, both past and present, became intimately familiar with this feeling over the course of the next eight months. The days seemed to drag out in anticipation. Everyone wanted to see Hirayama face his consequences; everyone wanted to see him suffer.
And suffer he did. The trial took place on a Saturday morning during March and was open to the public. The pews were filled with Kita-Ichi alumni, as well as their teammates who offered emotional support to witnesses. In the end, only six people were called to the stand to testify against Hirayama. However, evidence from many others was used to further convince the jury.
The six called to stand were Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, Kunimi Akira, Kindaichi Yuutaoru, Kageyama Tobio, and Nonaka Satoshi, in that order. Each of them gave a detailed description of everything Hirayama put them through. All of them underwent questioning by Hirayama’s lawyer, and all of them answered as honestly as they could.
Many of them were nervous during the questioning. Hirayama was a wealthy man, meaning he had a great lawyer. He would try to trick the boys into contradicting themselves, he would push and push and try and get them to admit that they deserved the punishments. Satoshi, who had barely any time to fully process everything, almost fell into the lawyer’s trap. A part of him still believed that he deserved it, that Hirayama was just doing what was necessary. But he remembered what his family had told him, and how they had coached him in answering, and he was able to answer honestly.
Even the best lawyer couldn’t spin the cold hard truth. Hirayama was an abuser. He had ruined these boys’ lives for years and only regretted getting caught. He didn’t see himself as wrong. The only reason he was defending himself was to maintain his reputation.
The jury had very little sympathy for him. After five hours of deliberation, they came to the conclusion that he was guilty. The judge wasn’t sympathetic to him either and sentenced Hirayama to twenty years in prison with no chance of parole.
Everyone knew that he would have a hard time in prison. No one liked child abusers; in fact, they were at the bottom of the food chain there. It would be a miracle if Hirayama came out after twenty years unscathed.
To the Kita-Ichi boys, his sentencing was the best news they had ever received in their entire lives. Finally, they could live without looking over their shoulder. Finally, they could allow themselves to heal without feeling guilty. Finally, they could mess up without hearing Hirayama’s voice in the back of their heads calling them a disappointment. Finally, they could fall in love with volleyball again.