Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Koi No Yokan.

An untranslatable term that could be used to describe the sense, upon first meeting a person, that the two of you are going to fall in love.

Ushijima Wakatoshi deduced that she wasn’t anything special.

It was plain as day. Nothing about her was worth piquing his interest on.

He met her in the disciplinary committee’s office; it was a day after Coach Washijo scolded him for bringing in certain students from Karasuno High. How was he supposed to know that some freak quick duo was going to tag along his daily jog? They weren't even on campus for that long.

Ushijima settled himself on an office chair. The representative that sat across him flipped through a page of the school rulebook. "According to protocol, you see," her index finger taps on a subheading, "rule breaches require incident reports. Since you committed to Assisted Trespassing, you'll have to sign one. It'll be reflected in your student records."

His expression is indifferent. Ushijima couldn’t care less— neither for the committee member in front of him, nor for the implications of his now-tarnished school records.

The table separating the two had her index finger dragging to some highfalutin clause, specifying that students are not permitted to bring visitors into school grounds without permission from a teacher-in-charge.

Or something like that. He just wanted to get to practice. He was already running late.

She cranes her head up. Her eyes flit from the white pages to the unconcerned boy.

“Ushijima-san, are you listening?”

Despite his exceedingly domineering presence and athletic prowess, his attention span for anything else other than volleyball was needle-thin.

“Yes, I understand. What forms must I sign?”

She sighed, internalizing that he did not, in fact, understand. “You know, you’re lucky you’re not getting detention. Coach Washijo himself called me to his office today, asking me to let you off the hook since you still have games coming up. I mean, it’s not like I could say no to the old guy, you know? He’s tenured and all,” she drawls. Her free hand absentmindedly plays with a ballpoint pen. “I know our school’s volleyball team is a powerhouse, but that doesn’t mean you get a free pass to break rules, ‘kay?”

Gathering the leftovers of his attentiveness, he musters all his might into imparting a stern nod.

She loosens her mouth to give him another verbal drilling, but her eyes flicker to the way his furrowed brows notched up his already intense features.

“It won’t happen again," he rumbles low, trademark stoicism etched on his face.

Her mouth tightens. And then it quirks up. “You look so serious!” she laughs, a glint in her eyes making itself known. Ushijima catches it.

"Don't worry, I believe you," she apprises. Her face is still amused by the captain’s overtly-serious reply.

Her sudden enthusiasm catches him off-guard. They lock eyes and Ushijima feels a collision of sorts. 

She was the first to look away, nothing but work occupying her mental capacity.

“Anyway,” the girl reaches over to a shelf and retrieves a copy of the school-sanctioned incident report. It's a multi-page document full of incomprehensible writings that Ushijima doesn't feel like reading through. A pen’s click! reverberates though the small room before it ticks off the blanks that require the student’s name, year and section, and signature.

She slides the papers towards the opposite end of the table, her clear-coated manicured nails glistening under the fluorescent light. “Please sign this.”

She hands him the same pen, fingers brushing momentarily.

Ushijima's left hand glides through the white sheets before he slides it back to her, not even sparing a second to read through the contents. “Here.”

“Thank you!” she intones with a voice much feather-light than the scolding she gave just seconds prior. “I’ll go ahead and file this. You may go to volleyball practice now.”

Ushijima rises from the chair, posture as perfect as ever. “Okay. Thank you.”

She does the same, seeing the slight shadow he casts over her in all his six-feet-something glory. That’s the volleyball captain for you, she thinks to herself.

Ushijima dismisses himself and takes two big strides towards the door, sliding it open.

“I hope I don’t have to see you again, Ushijima-san,” she echoes, a giggle bubbling in her throat.

“Ah,” he mouths, another joke flying right above his head. “Hopefully so.”

He looks back at her— one small hand holding on to the incident report, another waving a modest goodbye. The DISCIPLINARY COMMITTEE band pinned to her sleeve creases as she bids her farewell.

Ushijima slides the door shut makes his way down the hallway.

He looks over his shoulder to peek at the room he just left...

for some reason unknown to him.

He shakes it off and resumes with practice, glad to have finally ironed out the small kink in his usual schedule.

And yet he does see her again. Countless times, in fact.

He notices she’s there despite, especially despite Tendou’s incessantly animated rambling at the cafeteria hall.

He notices she’s there, eight rows away from him during the school's morning assemblies, her head awkwardly bobbing to show her losing battle to drowsiness.

He notices, from the volleyball gym’s open door, that she makes her way to the committee offices at half past three o'clock every school day.

It’s been like this for two weeks…

or so.

He's not sure. Everything's been a repetitive blur.

It baffles him. Ushijima spikes a volleyball strong enough to ricochet off the gym walls. Since that one meeting in the cramped disciplinary office, instances of seeing that committee member became increasingly common.

He had known what a crush is; he was a normal high school boy after all. Despite remnants of that knowledge neatly stored into a corner of his brain, feelings akin to butterflies were thrown out the window whenever he saw her— he just didn’t feel the same way he did for Aoi-chan in 3rd grade, or Saya-chan in 7th grade.

At least not yet. But he doesn't know that.

Ushijima finds his eyes trailing towards the scenery beyond the open gym door yet again. He follows her figure, retreating into one of the school’s buildings.

She always seemed as though she was within his reach. It instilled within him a sense of conviction— that perhaps, if he simply reached out and grabbed the opportunity, he could possibly enter into her world, and her into his.

She didn't give him any butterflies, but she sure did float around Shiratorizawa like one.

He was starting to feel irked by the way she was always so conveniently…

there.

Ushijima felt like the universe was baiting him. He whips his head forward as if he was guilty, as if he wasn’t supposed to be watching the way the orange afternoon sun bounced off her silky hair.

Koi No Yokan is unlike love at first sight— the idea of an immediate attraction. It is, however, the knowing feeling that something will happen down the line.

Ushijima Wakatoshi deduced that she wasn’t anything special.

There's no two ways about it.

There was no churning in his stomach, no prickly feeling in his fingertips, no skipped heartbeats upon landing sight on her. She was attractive, that was a given, but he wasn't attracted to her for that. She just, (I don't know), seemed to stand out more than anyone else.

It's as if she was adorned with a glow only visible to him.

He stands outside the disciplinary committee office as he recalls the last time they conversed. He’s prepared to eat his words when he clutches on the door's handle, head still fried from the onslaught of admonishments bestowed upon him by both volleyball and basketball coaches.

Basically, a high-powered southpaw spike had shattered a glass basketball backboard. God only knows how many kilometers-per-hour that ball kaboom!-ed into the air. And because of that, he was called again— this time, it was for Damage to School Property.

He doesn't hesitate to slide the office door open. Inwardly, he feels as though he left a task unfinished, a mission unaccomplished. Wakatoshi Ushijima never does anything half-assed; this much he knows.

“Welcome back, Ushijima-kun,” she gleams as she stands from behind the office table. “Guess we did end up seeing each other again, huh?”

She chuckles at her own joke.

“I never got your name.”

She blinks once, twice. Her mouth straightens into a line. “Huh?”

“I see you around often. Yet, I never get to say hello because I don’t know your name.”

Ushijima Wakatoshi did not strike her as the type to greet strangers, let alone engage in conversation. His taciturn personality bred a certain type of popularity around him, both to guys and girls. He was, simply put, way too intimidating for just anyone to befriend. This was true even within the volleyball club itself— or so she's heard. He’s revered like a local legend, a volleyball prodigy bound for things greater than spending afternoons in committee offices.

She’s surprised he even recognizes her among the masses of students within the school.

“You see me around? Really?” her eyebrows rise. “I don’t even spot my own classmates during club period. Shiratorizawa’s campus is huge.”

“I do see you around, and yes, the school is quite big,” he shifts his weight under his feet. “I often spot you at the cafeteria but you haven't been there for a few days. Did you get to eat today, at least?”

Strange. Ushijima doesn’t care for matters that don’t concern him, but he just felt an inexplicable need to ask. His logic isn’t making much sense to him either, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t awaiting her response.

He doesn’t realize the depth of his statement, nor does he see how her blood shot up to color her reddening cheeks.

Okay, so maybe this guy doesn’t talk much, but he sure is observant… and surprisingly concerned?

“Ushijima-kun, don’t try to sweet talk your way out of another disciplinary case!” she retorts, a feeble attempt to wrestle the control of the conversation back to her.

“But I’m not?" his eyebrows knit, "it's a question of concern. I wonder if you've been eating right."

His face is deadpan, as unreadable as ever. She looks at him, mouth agape, unable to wrap her head around how the Ushijima Wakatoshi can say things like that so easily— to a person he’s talked to once before, no less! Reckless confidence or pure denseness of character, she couldn’t differentiate right now.

She wordlessly watches him approach the office table before seating himself on a chair.

Ushijima's forthright words have stunned her ability to coherently respond. She remains standing, a tad bit immobilized.

The volleyball player hunches over the table as he signs another incident report, the pen looking comically small in his large hands. The committee member's eyes land on the super ace’s wide back, his nape exposing a clean barber's cut.

She settles down on her chair.

“… My name is [L/N] [F/N]," she finally says.

The sound of a scribbling pen fades into nothingness.

Ushijima hands the papers to her for a second time this year, hands brushing hers yet again. She double-checks the report, trying to ignore how warm his skin felt for that split second.

“Can I walk you home today after practice?”

Oh— and there he goes again, saying things without thinking much of it. This butterfly has been floating around his head all week and he wants to finally catch it.

She tilts her head.

Me?

Me?!

The captain of Shiratorizawa's volleyball club is asking me?!

Unfiltered disbelief is peppered all over her face but Ushijima doesn't seem to think much of it. She's dumbfounded, no doubt, but the offer entices her. Who in their right mind would refuse Ushijima Wakatoshi? He's a school celebrity in his own right— just about every other girl in her class has a tiny crush on him.

“Sure, Ushijima-kun— but only after you give me your schedule for the rest of this week.”

Ushijima rises from the chair. “The coaches will be gone for a sports meet this Friday, so I can walk you that day as well—“

“For detention, I mean. We need to pencil in your detention day,” she corrects him.

He attempts to hide an embarrassed blush creeping up in his neck.

“Ah.”

She ducks as she jots Ushijima’s detention day into an open log book, snickering low enough in hopes the sound doesn't register on his ears. She doesn’t catch the way he loosens his tie ever so slightly, suddenly feeling quite warm in the office’s air-conditioned room.

“… and done!” she says, straightening her back to look at him. “I’ll wait for you at the shoe lockers,” her declaration is decorated by the same glint he caught sight of during their first meeting.

Ushijima thinks that maybe, just maybe, breaking that backboard was worth it.

Chapter Text

The air seems heavier this walk home. Was it because of the way Ushijima’s fierce eyes fixated on the road in front of them? Or was it the fact that it was just him and her, walking side by side, alone on this street?

She agreed to let him walk her home, didn’t she? Why was she feeling so nervous? She seems to pay no mind to the background; everything else behind and beyond them blurred into a convenient haze. Instead, she allows the pressure of being a recipient of his kindness to creep up on her.

The shorter girl decides to shake the jitters away, thinking thinking thinking that the least she could do is engage in small talk in hopes of alleviating the awkward air. Even the most minuscule exchange that she could get, she’d try to stretch out for the rest of this walk home.

“Ushijima-kun, do you live nearby?”

Her face cranes up towards him, awaiting his reply. His gaze drifts from the street and towards her, not bothering to turn his head to her direction.

“Not really. My house is in the opposite direction.”

She bites her inner cheek, scolding herself for concocting such a dead end of a topic. She feels even worse when it dawns on her that she had let a guy as busy as Ushijima Wakatoshi walk her home. His time, she thinks, could have been productively used with solo volleyball practice. Or whatever high-level student athletes do.

“I’m sorry,” she pulls her mouth back to flash an apologetic grin. “I didn’t think about where you lived before I took up the offer. It must be dark by the time you return home.”

Ushijima cocks an eyebrow up. “I don’t go home to my actual house. Apologies for the confusion.”

She shuffles the schoolbag that was weighing down on her shoulder in order to alleviate the digging pain. “Where do you stay then?”

“I dorm in school. I go home during the weekends if there aren’t any practice matches.”

He says that as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She walks a notch slower, hand still on the sling of her bag. Ushijima notices the disappearing sound of footsteps to his right and turns on his heel to look back at her.

He watches her twiddle with the leather strap. “You’re going all the way to drop me home even though you stay in school?”

They share confused glances, although for clearly different reasons. “Is there something wrong with it?” He looks at her school bag. “Do you need help with carrying that?”

She gathers speed when she walks towards the taller student. “You didn’t have to go through all the trouble of walking me home,” she nervously laughs. “Now I feel really bad!”

Ushijima starts walking again, albeit with a slower pace to allow her to catch up to him. He gathers that she probably didn’t hear his second question. What’s there to feel bad about, he wonders, eyes trailing down to watch her adjust her bag for the umpteenth time. Does she feel guilty about me walking her home? It’s not a big deal to me, though.

She etches her eyebrows, a concentrated gaze is placed on the ace and it's dripping with tension in between them. It makes Ushijima rack his brain for a reply that could possibly appease her useless worrying.

He's reminded of the times incoming volleyballs would fly straight into his position. The opposing team would target the ace, believing that by deliberately having Ushijima bump it back, it could factor him out of attacking from the get-go. That incoming ball feels an awful lot like the lingering stare she's put him under. In that split second, he decides between two things: will he bounce it back or will he let his other teammates receive the incoming ball for him?

He usually allows the latter to transpire.

Despite her fidgeting, Ushijima stays silent, allowing the tension to eventually dissipate into thin air. It's not long before she picks up the conversation once again, changing the pace to her liking.

She swings her hair back. “Say, Ushijima-kun, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you alone with another girl. Could you be awkward with them?”

Ushijima feels a discrepancy in his chest. They take a few steps further down the road before he responds.

He wasn’t one to give indeterminate answers, yet it was all he could muster when it came to her. He finds that a bit puzzling. Out of character, even.

“I don’t know. I don’t talk to people I don’t have business with.”

She hums lightly, head ever-so-slightly closing in on his personal space.

“Could you tell me your business with me then, Ushijima-kun?”

The words leave her mouth smooth and sweet like honey. A completely innocent question, yet it makes Ushijima blank out. She realizes, however, how upfront that question is, and almost immediately she beams up at him as if to soften the blow of that unintentionally bold statement.

Ushijima doesn’t bother to turn his torso towards her when his long arm stretches out, single-handedly taking the heavy bag from her awkwardly-postured shoulder. He slings it over himself, the disappearing load allowing the blood on her arm to finally circulate back to normal.

“Your bag looked heavy. I’ll carry it the rest of the way home.”

“Oh,” she mouths, her attention completely diverted. Ushijima clears the weight of having to answer her question. It almost feels like the way he runs up for a straight but squeezes in for a cross instead.

“Okay, thanks!”

In volleyball, Ushijima usually relied on his teammates to receive the balls that were targeted towards him. That way, it would allow them to set up plays that could give him the leeway to spike the ball back into the opponent’s court. Sure, Goshiki or Ohira would have to lunge themselves in to reset the flow of the game, but Ushijima's strength undisputedly lied in his strong, silent power. He never did anything flashy like a certain top five ace, but he always delivered those spikes with a resonant bam! off the court.

He turns his head towards her and he catches her playing with her nails, eyes suddenly finding that the leather shoes on her feet were a lot more interesting, even though she was itching to steal a glance at the sight of a good-looking guy carrying her bag for her.

It was a delayed, yet simple and effective counter-attack. Ushijima - 1, [L/N] - 0. He bites his lip to fight back the tiniest of victory grins.

They finally reach her house. Ushijima holds her bag in front of her so she can retrieve her house key from the side pocket. He doesn’t hand it back until she swings the front gate open; he waited until her hands were free before depositing the heavy bag back to her arms.

“Ushijima-kun, thanks for walking me home. I really appreciate it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not a problem.”

“I’ll see you around school, okay? Make sure you say hi to me next time!”

She doubts if she really did see his mouth curl up into a smile for that split second. “I will.”

They bid their farewells and Ushijima makes his way back to the student dorms. The clouds had Miyagi’s sunset-coloured swirls mixed into the sky by the time he stepped into the gates of Shiratorizawa. Ushijima wonders if the walk back to school was really that fast, despite following the exact same route he used to drop her off. The walk to her house felt like hours compared to the minutes it took to take him back.

Ushijima had changed into a plain sweatshirt and jogging pants before settling down on the bottom bunk.

Like clockwork, a certain redhead walks into his room unannounced, just like he always does. He bears news that the dorm's dining hall was to serve dinner in a few minutes.

Tendou was arguably Ushijima’s closest friend. He could tell if things seemed off even in the slightest. He had his gut feelings; they came and went just as often as Ushijima stared into the crowds of people during lunch. He has yet to find out just what— or who— the volleyball captain was so intent on looking for.

The backboard incident, though, was the icing on the cake. Tendou couldn’t help but dip his finger in it.

“You seem to be spacing out a lot recently, Wakatoshi-kun.”

Ushijima raises his eyebrows at him. Well, Tendou wasn’t nicknamed the Guess Monster for nothing.

“Have I?”

The middle blocker rolls out one of the dorm room’s study chairs. He turns it around before taking a seat, looping his arms on its backrest.

“A few stray spikes are normal, but breaking the backboard during drills? Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

Tendou eyes narrow thinly, as if to lock on a target. “And I don’t think it has something to do with volleyball.”

Ushijima lays his back down on the mattress. He retrieves the volleyball positioned beside his pillow with one hand.

“Are you that troubled over the disciplinary cases?” Tendou asks, tilting his head up. The redhead doesn’t think that Ushijima would be the type to get muddled over such trifling things, but he questions anyway.

“It's not that. It’s about the girl who handled it,” he says plainly, tossing the ball up with his fingers. Ushijima can't lie.

“Oh?” Tendou enlarges his eyes, giddiness bubbling up his throat. “Is it a crush, then?”

Ushijima’s knee-jerk reaction is a solid, resounding no, it’s not a crush. Like he told himself before, he’s not attracted to her like that.

But he does feel the way gravity pulls him towards her. It’s confusing, and he doesn’t like seeing gray when black and white is what he trusts and knows.

“I don’t know if you can call it that.”

The redhead's mouth curls into a tight-lipped smile; he was expecting his friend to blatantly deny that joke of a question. What a lucky guess. Tendou was on a roll today.

“Do my ears deceive me? The Ushijima Wakatoshi is interested in another person other than himself?”

Ushijima exhales, putting the volleyball back down. “I’m not that cold.”

Tendou ignores his reply to egg him on. Ushijima doesn’t mind that weird, feline grin on his friend’s face.

The redhead drags the wheeled chair towards him. “You seem so intrigued by this girl, though?”

Intrigued? Was that it? Tendou did have a knack for naming some of Ushijima’s more ‘confusing’ emotions.

Maybe Ushijima was wrong for initially calling her someone not worth piquing his interest on.

He tightens his jaw, the familiarity of incertitude washing over him again. Only this time, he’s drowning in the thought of finding possible ways they could meet once more. And if one thing’s for sure, she’s the buoy he’s set his eyes on. She floats so leisurely while he's struggling to stay afloat.

“I may want to get to know her, if our schedules permit.”

Ushijima has only met her twice. Thrice, if he separately counts the two meetings today. He wonders if he really did have the right to say things like that.

“So you like her, but you don’t like her?”

“Yes and no. I don’t like her the way you think I do.”

“Maybe,” Tendou adds, not taking no for an answer. How weird, Tendou thinks. Someone has Wakatoshi-kun wrapped around her finger, and he doesn't even know it.

“But you do want to befriend her, don't you?” he puts a hand up his chin. "What's that all about?"

Wakatoshi stands up from his bed and scans the floor to look for his indoor slippers. Tendou slides it towards him from underneath the study table.

“I also do not know,” he says, slipping the footwear on. It’s a genuine answer. Wakatoshi could never say something like because she makes me feel something I can’t give a name to without making sure first.

Tendou chuckles before he stands up and returns the chair to its partner desk. Ushijima turns the doorknob open and walks into the dorm hallway where other male students begin filing out of their rooms for dinner.

“I think you already do know. You’re just waiting it out.”

“Waiting what out?”

Tendou lazily walks beside him, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“For things to fall into place.”

Chapter Text

Some people can be worlds apart, but every now and then, the stars will align and higher beings will thread their souls together. 

Detention came and went.

He waved at her from across the cafeteria and she waved back.

Practice would take place after class, and on a school day or two out of five, he would escort her back home. First term was nearing its end, and before they even knew it, the start of July greeted the pair with their respective introspections— they had been reflecting on their unlikely friendship, you see.

Ushijima acknowledged that it was a slow but steady build up of interactions. So this is what Tendou meant by things falling into place, he thought. Wakatoshi felt each needle of a hi, how are you? really? tell me more! poke through his heart, the strings pulling him towards her own, the fabric of their lives overlapping with each other. They weren’t cut from the same cloth, he could tell, but he didn’t think of it as a bad thing. What was that term he learned in grade school again? Something about color theory?

Ah, right. Complementary colors. That's what it felt like to have her in his life. She sat at the opposite end of the wheel, but she brought Wakatoshi’s colors out.

He was more than the bright yellow practice jersey that hung loose over his dri-fit shirt during volleyball practice. He was also the navy blue sweater that he'd wear on winter evenings over tea with his grandma. His obaa-chan offered to knit him a new one, seeing that loose threads had finally revealed its overworn state. She simply laughed when he turned down the offer, saying that he likes this one too much to wear anything else, and that's because it's the one she gave him when he became a regular on the volleyball team.

[F/N]'s eyes sparkled when he talked about that knitted sweater. Her voice greeted him with a light giggle at the end of his vignette.

"Is it that funny?"

"Not really. I think it's just nice to hear about your grandma. It’s the first time you’ve talked about your family."

And he remembered, oh right. When was the last time I spoke so freely about my life outside volleyball?

Everyone always talked about Ushiwaka top Miyagi ace this, Ushiwaka from Japan U-19 that. For much of his life, he also believed in those labels; he trained himself to the bone to become the type of ace that would fly his team to Nationals. But the walks home with her so simple, so ordinary. It was humbling.

What about Ushijima Wakatoshi, seventeen years old, hoping to play professional volleyball in hopes of seeing his dad again one day?

Anyone could tell by how brighter Ushijima had become. She ignited a spark that he had long forgotten about, and he wanted to do everything in his power to keep it from blowing away. Although he carried himself with that same, firm confidence that he always possessed, he now radiated a welcoming warmth that wasn't there before.

He was opening himself up. And it’s strange, even she agrees, because they never felt the need to talk about their blood types, their favorite artists, their comfort food— they've yet to even find out each other's birthdays. If Ushijima was asked what her favourite animal was, he wouldn’t be able to answer, but he could say that he knows her heart is big enough to be so moved by a box of orphaned kittens she'd undoubtedly want to raise the litter by herself. If she was asked which street he lived on, she couldn’t guess if her life depended on it but she could recount, in great detail, how his olive-hued eyes twinkled when he reminisced about his father teaching him how to properly receive a volleyball that one summer in their backyard.

“Could you tell me your business with me then, Ushijima-kun?”

Yet it gnaws on her at the back of her head, that record player of a question. [F/N] expected that walk home to be a one-hit wonder. When they’re walking side by side and their conversations drift off into the air, that feeling apprehension floats away with it. It’s nice to be with him, she thinks, but ambivalence roots itself once more when she bids him farewell and watches his back shrink into the distance. It's nice to be with him, but is it really okay that I take up his time?

Silly girl. She bit off more than she can chew. Protagonists like him aren't supposed to be with background characters like her. It disrupts the natural order of things. 

Well, at least that's what she thinks. After all, she sat at the opposite end of that color wheel, did she not?

Ushijima was oblivious to it all. She, too, would have been the same, even blissfully daydreaming about him in class if it weren’t for how she embossed the stark difference between them into her brain: her plain, anticlimactic self paled against someone like him— a teenage boy with the distinction of a volleyball wunderkind and all its other ceremonious titles attached to it. She wonders why he couldn’t anchor his sight on someone of equal caliber, like the captain of the Niiyama Girls Volleyball Team. Even [L/N] knew of her popularity, and she never played a day of volleyball in her life. Or what about someone from Shiratorizawa's roster of managers? She figured that would be more attainable, more realistic. Isn't that how these stories usually turn out?

Agh, it's all too puzzling. The world is tipping over.

Stars like him don’t know how bright they shine. They never do.

Wakatoshi, on the other hand, grew fond of her company. Talking to her came so smoothly, spending time with her even more so. It spurred within him a feeling stronger than the comfort of his mundanely volleyball-centric life.

It was addicting being with her. He wondered if it would be okay to get greedier, to eat lunch by her side near the topiaries in one of Shiratorizawa’s several gardens. She answered back with— pause— sure, Ushijima-kun, let’s eat together. It surprises her, but it doesn't catch her off-guard. Her mind whirlwinds to a mountain of why me's.

Most of Wakatoshi’s teammates had noticed his ascent to cloud nine, of course. Granted that the starting line up comprised of mostly seniors, it went without saying that the third years often flocked together, with or without Shirabu, Kawanishi, or Goshiki. Their distribution into different classrooms did not dampen their close-knit friendship, and although Ushijima was ways away from even differentiating love and attraction, the very act of him taking interest in a girl warranted enough brotherly support.

“He’s so whipped,” Semi quips. “It’s the third time they’re eating lunch together this week.”

Tendou slings an arm over him. “Oh, hush. We all miss him. You’re just sad you can’t get a girlfriend.”

“They're still in the talking phase, Satori. They're not even dating.”

“Not yet.”

Ohira laughs at the ruby-haired man whose snicker bothered Semi enough to whack his arm away. It does nothing but make Tendou cling tighter to him.

"Even so, Wakatoshi looks a lot—" Ohira hesitates to find an apt word. "— well, I wouldn't say 'more cheerful'— but maybe softer these days."

Tendou lets out an airy guffaw. "You got that right. Tsutomu challenged him again during yesterday's spiking drills. You should've seen his face when Wakatoshi-kun wished him luck, with a smile."

Yamagata stops chewing on his lunch bread. "You're joking."

"I'm not!" Tendou exclaims, making Semi's nose scrunch at the volume of his voice. "With teeth! He smiled with teeth! It was a tiny grin, but it was there! And I could've sworn I even heard Goshiki's knees buckle!"

Ohira rips a deep chuckle. "Wakatoshi must be over the moon with her, huh."

Their libero sets his snack down; the conversation topic makes curiosity prick at him. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know her? The girl Wakatoshi's hanging out with, I mean?”

Semi knew her because they were classmates, Tendou introduced himself to her once in passing. Ohira, though, pops his head out of the opposite end of the table to reply to Yamagata. “Same here. No idea what she looks like, either.”

Tendou finally peels himself off of poor Semi who’s fixing his collar and tie that’s been made askew.

“Well, let’s do something about that, shall we?”

The four seniors poke their head out from a wall that diverges into an open hallway. One by one, they tiptoe to the nearest and thickest row of bushes. If it weren’t for the shrubbery sprawled out over the enclosed garden, the volleyball players would have been spotted by a mile away.

Ohira squats down into a frog position to balance himself. “Satori, I don’t know if we should be doing this.”

“It’s fine!” he peeks through a shrub gap. “I’ll show you guys a super-ultra-cute side of our captain today. This is where they have lunch together, if and when they do.”

Yamagata angles his head out. “I don’t see them anywhere, though.”

A crunching sound of leaves registers on their ears. They pipe down and shrink themselves, watching from behind the hedge.

Two girls smooth their plaid skirts before sitting down on a marble bench.

"Where's Wakatoshi?" Ohira whispers, leaving it hanging for no one could answer. "Is he on the way?"

Semi perks upon recognition of his classmate. “There, that’s her. The one with [h/c] hair.”

Ohira and Yamagata scramble behind the greenery, almost shaking the leaves off with it. Semi hushes them.

They tune their hearing senses in, although Ohira hesitantly so.

“[F/N]-chan,” her presumable friend starts. “I didn’t know you had a thing for the captain of the volleyball team.”

She scoffs. “Oh no, we’re just friends."

And yet, despite the feigned disinterest, her chest clenches.

“Really? But there are a lot of rumours of you and him dating.”

And then it hammers. “Me and Ushijima Wakatoshi? No way,” she huffs.

The boys catch the way her lips turn downwards into a disapproving frown. Ohira peers away to look at Tendou, whose face is holding a razor-sharp stare through the bush. 

“I think you guys would make a cute couple, though.”

She gazes down and shakes her head. The boys' obscured vantage wasn’t enough to capture how fast scarlet hues happened to spread on her cheeks, but they do register a dismissive, almost disdainful chuckle that leaves her mouth.

“Haha, stop it,” she utters. There's an unwelcome discomfort knocking on her ribcage.

Her eyebrows crease in unison with the eavesdropping boys. “There’s no way we’d end up together.” Because he's out of my league. "So, I don't think we'll progress any further than friends."

Yamagata gapes his mouth open. “Well, this is a letdown,” his voice rumbles low.

“Stop being so shy about it, [F/N]-chan!” her friend teases her. “Someone told me he walks you home often.”

She plays with the hem of her skirt, still averting eye contact with her friend. “Yeah, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying it. It’s fun while it lasts, though."

The uneasy girl alludes her relationship with the ace to a flimsy string, cord thin enough that it could snap any moment. She dreads the day he stops greeting her back at the hallways, or the day he stops asking if it'd be okay to walk her home.

However, the impression she unknowingly gives the boys is another story, one that's obscured by furtive glares and lush greenery.

"Don’t count on anything to happen between me and him.”

Some people can be worlds apart, but every now and then, the stars will align and higher beings will thread their souls together. 

The thing is, not everyone can feel the pull of those fated threads. The feeling of Koi No Yokan had no guarantee of being shared.

Semi's heart drops for his captain. He nudges Tendou’s arm. “Hey, I think we’ve seen enough.”

Ohira arises, arms folding on his torso. Disappointment is etched evidently throughout the dips of his eyebrows. "And to think we thought someone was special enough to finally crack Wakatoshi."

Tendou is eerily silent when he withdraws from his viewpoint. The boys huddle out of the garden and back to the open hallway, only to bump into a certain brunet.

Four pairs of eyes collectively stare into their captain’s, irises dilating at the unexpected run-in. The spies hitch their breaths and they forget what oxygen is for a split second, the feel of their muscles tense and rigid.

Everyone but Ushijima breaks out into a cold sweat.

“What are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

Tendou was the first to regain composure. He loops an arm around Ushijima’s neck, dragging him to the hallway from where they emerged from. The other boys follow suit, Ohira and Semi pushing the ace’s back to a deserted corner whereas Yamagata scrambles to follow them. Ushijima’s eyebrows peak in surprise yet he allows himself to be propelled by the disruptive group anyway.

Ohira looks over his shoulder to see if their unruly bunch attracted any attention. Tendou was the first to speak up.

“Wakatoshi-kun, are you really sure about [F/N]?!”

Ushijima relaxes his face back to its unexpressive state. “What do you mean?”

Yamagata puts his arms akimbo. “We just overheard her talking to her friend back there,” he points a thumb towards her direction.

Semi nods. “I don’t know how else to put this, but,” he bites his lip, hesitant to be the one to lay it down for him. “We don’t think she’s that into you.”

Ushijima doesn’t even flinch, face as still as a rock.

Tendou throws himself in an unreciprocated hug with his captain. “Wakatoshi-kun, don’t put on such a sad face! It breaks my heart seeing you so in love with someone who can’t reciprocate!”

“I’m not—“

“It’s not too late to start over with someone else! That’s what youth is about, am I right?!" the three boys nod their heads vigorously. "Listen, I have this classmate of mine, huge crush on you, real cute too, she’s been bugging me to introduce you to her—“

“Oy! Satori, keep it down!” Yamagata hisses, eyes peeling away to check the two girls in the courtyard garden. They’re still conversing just as they did before the guys fled the scene. He sighs in relief at this.

“I’m not in love with [L/N].”

Tendou withdraws himself. “Oh?”

Semi’s face starts prickling with uncomfortable heat. “Ah, really? You just seemed so happy these days, you know?” The rest of the boys grimace in awkward embarrassment. "It's like, how do you say this— the glow you get when you're in love?"

Ushijima clearly isn't following any of this.

“Wakatoshi-kun, we just didn’t want her popping your bubble like that,” Tendou admits, eyes dead-set on Ushijima. “What if she’ll tell you 𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎, 𝒰𝓈𝒽𝒾𝒿𝒾𝓂𝒶-𝓀𝓊𝓃! 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓎!” his voice squeezing to mimic a girl’s pitch, “Then poof! Gone. Or even worse, she’ll ghost you. You get me, don’t you?”

Tendou’s eyes are frantic when he grips both hands on Ushijima’s shoulders.

“We’re just friends,” he grunts out, but then his thought process snags on the latter half of Tendou’s concern. Ghosts?

Ushijima’s eyes squint, a confused expression finally finding way on his face. “Also, I don’t believe in ghosts. If you're saying I should be afraid of her, I'm not.”

Yamagata snorts, Ohira brings his hand to his mouth to prevent laughter from spilling out, and Semi heaves a heavy sigh fully knowing Ushijima wasn’t one to keep up with slang.

Tendou lets out a prolonged exhale before letting go of the ace. The quartet shares a few beats of silence before Tendou throws his hands up in defeat.

“Yeah, you know what, I don’t think we need to worry about anything,” he shares glances with the others. “He’s fine. False alarm, boys! He’ll be okay!”

Ushijima watches Tendou turn back on his heel, his severely scrunched eyebrows being the only indicator of bewilderment. The others trail behind Tendou, bidding their apologies and goodbyes for ambushing their captain.

They chat amongst themselves as they walk down the hallway. Ushijima hears faint conversations along the lines of we were worried over nothing and should we start teaching him some slang words in practice?

“Tendou, by the way,” Ushijima calls out. Tendou halts and turns towards him, leaving the other third years to walk on. “Tell your classmate I’m not interested. I don’t have time for anyone else.”

“Sure thing, Wakatoshi-kun,” he chimes before he turns back around to catch up to the other boys. Wait, anyone else?

Tendou looks back to see him approach the bench that [F/N] and her friend are sitting on.

“Ah, Ushiwaka is here. Bye, [F/N]-chan. Enjoy your lunch date!”

“Don’t call it that!” you scowl at your friend before she bounces off to leave you two alone. Ushijima sits on the newly-vacant seat beside you.

“Lunch date?”

“Yeah,” you sigh in exasperation. “Don’t mind it. Some friends have been teasing me; there are rumours floating around that we’re dating,” you let a nervous giggle tickle your mouth. “Isn’t that so funny?”

Ushijima removes the bag covering his plastic bento. The top lid has a sticker with the Shiratorizawa seal on it, indicating that he purchased it from the cafeteria before meeting up with you. “How is it funny?”

You feel stumped when you realize that his question is about as straightforward as it could get. “It’s weird, right? Me and you?”

He pops his chopsticks apart. “People shouldn’t spread false stories. We’re not dating.”

You almost jump out of your seat. “Exactly!”

He pokes at a portion of rice. “But you and I together, I don’t see how it’s weird.”

You watch the rice disappear into his mouth before it’s followed by a piece of teriyaki beef. He must’ve purchased the high-protein lunch box. “Why not?”

He gulps the food down. “I like spending time with you.”

You lean on the stone backrest and allow a cool breeze to take up a few seconds of silence. I like spending time with you? You can gather that much; you’ve already shared a number of walks home and lunches together. Yet he doesn’t hit the mark, not quite.

Maybe I wasn’t clear enough. You decide to lay out the context in hopes of him picking up obvious clues.

“Ushijima-kun, do you remember what I asked you the first time you walked me home?”

He looks away from his lunch to read your eyes. “What my business with you is?”

You tuck a sheepish hand behind your ear. “Yeah. I never got my answer,” a faint air of laughter leaves your mouth so as not to sound too pushy.

He hums. “I apologize. I couldn’t give you an answer back then.”

Ah, so he deliberately ignored me. You crinkle your nose at this.

“But I thought about it.”

Another breeze sweeps your face, two or three strands of hair tickling the side of Ushijima’s ear. You pull your hair back and mutter an apology. “What is it? I mean, why do you hang out with me? There’s not much I can offer you, after all.”

Ushijima’s face is expectant, as if waiting for you to continue.

You push further, allowing yourself to air out your pent-up apprehensions. The gap between you and him, the whispers surrounding the disbelief of your friendship, the feeling of not measuring up to his prodigious self. He was basically a school celebrity and you were one of the onlookers.

Everything trickles off your chest.

“When I say that it’s weird, I mean it in a way that we don’t have a lot in common. We’re not classmates. Most of my time is eaten up by committee work. I'm not involved in the sport that you play, let alone any sport at all. That… and among other things, so I can’t wrap my head around why you keep reaching out to me,” you ramble on.

You jolt up. “Oh! But it’s not like it’s a bad thing, okay? It’s just,” you relax your shoulders.

“I really thought Mina from cheer was going to snag Ushijima though.”

“Or the third year’s manager, Ryoko. Hasn’t she been crushing on him since first year?”

“How’d she of all people get that close to him?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like… I stick out like a sore thumb? I’m not supposed to be doing this?”

The wind ruffles Ushijima’s hair.

“Like I don’t belong in your orbit? Something like that…? So… I can’t find a reason why.”

Ushijima's gaze is steady on you. “Why I spend time with you?”

“Yeah,” you tuck a lock of hair that’s been blown astray. “I can’t find a reason why you’d want to spend time with me.”

The wind dies down but a pregnant pause replaces the air. You poke at your own lunch, waiting for him to voice a convincing reply. You’d never admit it out loud, but you half-expect him to agree with you and realize that, perhaps, this match up doesn’t make too much sense after all.

“You complicate things too much.”

There’s a tall tower of worries. It's the one you’ve been single-handedly building up these past few weeks. Ushijima pulls a block out from its base and it collapses on itself.

You whip your head towards him, ready to spill out and say but it’s true, it’s a real concern of mine!, but the look he gives you is impassive. You blink, letting the words on the tip of your tongue travel back down your throat.

“I do?”

He sets his bento down on his lap.

“I don't know what you keep fixating on, but I don’t care for such trivial things. If something will yield me good results, then I do it. It’s the same with practicing in volleyball and studying for exams.”

You tilt your head in confusion, his roundabout statement not making much sense. “What does that have to do with spending time with me?”

His eyes soften. “It’s the same. I feel something good is bound to happen when I invest time in you. I have yet to find out what it is exactly, but something tells me to stick around.”

He must be spending too much time with Tendou-san to have intuition take over like that.

“I’ve no idea what you mean by that.”

He stares into space in an attempt to rephrase those words. “There's a feeling I can't shake off when I'm with you, and I intend to find out why. That is my business with you.”

“What,” you laugh. What a strange guy. Suddenly, you don't feel that imaginary wall between the both of you anymore. Actually, you even feel like poking fun at him.

“Are you in love with me or something?”

Ushijima almost replies with "or something", but he bites his tongue back.

“No.”

Maybe Ushijima can lie after all.

You visibly deflate. “You didn’t have to let me down that harsh, gosh. It was a joke.” And jokes are half-meant, but you didn't need to put emphasis on that.

"Oh. I see," he says, voice deeply plain. You sigh out and a giggle leaves your lips. 

You wolf down the rest of your bento and set it aside. "Sorry for thinking too much into this."

Ushijima simply hums. You curl your hand into a fist and lift it up in front of him.

“Friends, right?”

Ushijima finally cracks into a small, closed-mouth grin. It’s a rare sighting, and you take a mental photograph of it. He bumps your fist back.

“Friends.”

Ushijima picks up his bento again to devour a chock-full of beef strips.

“Anyway, there’s a practice match tomorrow. I’d like my other teammates to meet you. I’ll walk you home after.”

You brush your thoughts aside to make space for a more light-hearted conversation. Well, trust Ushijima to tell me to go— without even asking if I’m free first. You chuckle.

“I just hope Tendou-san won’t cause too much of a ruckus again. We almost got kicked out of the food hall last week, remember?” you smile upon recalling the fresh memory. “The lunch lady was so mad at us for holding up the line. He almost knocked over someone’s miso soup, too.”

The scene replays in Ushijima’s head and he correlates the redhead’s movements to a sea anemone of some sort. “He did, didn’t he.”

Tendou’s eyes perk up like a deer in the headlights when he catches sight of the girl with the DISCIPLINARY COMMITTEE band wrapped around her sleeve. His hunch proves to be correct yet again when he recognizes that the wide back beside her belongs to his favorite brunet.

He makes a beeline for the pair. “Hey! Wakatoshi-kun, it’s her, isn’t it?”

Ushijima’s back rotates. “Ah. Hello, Tendou. [L/N], this is my teammate.”

Tendou crouches over and darts his face right in front of hers, a mere inch away before their noses touch. “Nice to meet you! I’m Wakatoshi’s best friend,” he recoils to stand up straight. She cranes her neck to meet his eyes. “What class are you in? Have you seen us play volleyball?”

You’re about to reply to him but a lunch lady’s booming voice ruptures through the conversational air. “Oy! You there, don’t cut in line! And the two of you, don’t hold up the line! We’re in the middle of lunch rush!”

Tendou skips away, bumping into a freshman holding a tray full of food. He apologizes profusely. “Whoops, my bad! Talk to you some other time, [F/N]-chan!”

“Oh,” your mouth pops. “Wait. I might be late tomorrow; we’re having a joint meeting with the council. We don’t usually converge with them unless it’s for school events, so it must be pressing. I can’t tell what time it’ll end, either.”

Ushijima finishes off the remaining kakiage. “It’s fine. Come when you can.”

The rest of the lunch passes by in comfortable silence. The bell rings, you both pack up, and he walks you back to Class 1 before disappearing into Class 3.

You return to your classroom lighter than when you left it. At least now you know he isn't driven by a crush. That's fine. Actually, that's even better. No, really, you mean it. You’re happy if he’s happy. What matters is that he likes having you around, and that he doesn’t really care much for what anyone else says. You've been making mountains out of molehills and it's about time you should just go with the flow.

"Don’t count on anything to happen between me and him.”

You meant it when you said this to your friend, and your conviction hasn’t faltered the slightest bit now that you’ve had that conversation with him— the L-word conversation— the only difference is that you no longer feel that dull ache of insecurity.

And you think,

I’m content with this. Yes, I like where I am and I'm happy to be friends with him.

Your classmate Semi wonders why you're smiling in your seat.

Your mom pops her head out from the hallway when she hears you close the front door shut.

“Hi, mom. I’m home.”

She walks back to the kitchen, wiping soapy dish water off her forearms with a cloth. “How was school?”

“The usual, same with committee work,” you say as you set your shoes down at the genkan. “I’ll be going home late tomorrow, though. There’s a big meeting.”

“I see,” she echoes from the kitchen area. You walk towards her voice, feet thumping through your house’s wooden floorboards. “How about that boy who drops you off?”

You approach the kitchen counter and lean over it. “He’s still in practice. He plays for the school’s volleyball team.”

“Wow,” she mouths, “I hope he’s a strong player.”

Strong was an understatement. You pull your mouth into a tight-lipped grin upon remembering how he got sent to the office for accidentally shattering a backboard. Seriously, what kind of high school boy does that with a volleyball spike alone?

“He's too strong.”

Your mom spins away from the sink to look at you. She holds a tiny glimmer in her eyes, and you can tell she’s about to tease you.

“You should introduce him one time. It would make me happy to meet the boy who goes out of his way to bring you home,” she smirks. “It would make me even happier if you’d introduce him to me as your boyfriend. He’s a real looker, [F/N]. I see him from the window sometimes. Imagine how gorgeous my grandkids would be, wow.”

“He’s just a friend, mom!”

She laughs at how embarrassed you’ve become. God, do I have to say this to everyone who brings him up? Your mom never lets an opportunity pass to push your buttons. “Since he’s so nice to you, let’s make him something in return. Something him and his team can eat would be okay.”

Your mom shuffles through the pantry before looking into the nearby basket of fresh produce. “Ah, here. Honey lemon slices,” she tosses a lemon to you. You barely catch it. “An after-practice treat, as a sign of thanks.”

You walk towards the kitchen wall to retrieve an apron hanging on a clothes hook. “You spoil this guy more than you do to me, and you’ve never met him!” you joke.

“That's because he sounds like a good boy!” she reasons, taking a knife and cutting board out. “And when you give this to him, you better say that it was my idea. Don’t go stealing credit for my kindness,” she fires back.

You huff in defeat. “Should I tell him that you have a fat crush on him, too?”

“Hey, watch it. I have a knife.”

You cackle. “Geez, fine! I’ll tell him it’s from you.”

Chapter Text

Behind the tall walls of Shiratorizawa Academy hides an intricate web of hierarchies under the guise of school culture. The ecosystem upheld by its students thrives in two particular areas of life: intellect and athleticism. Basically, you’d have to be really smart to get into Shiratorizawa through preparation for its hellish entrance exam, or gifted enough to be scouted into varsity teams and be granted a sports scholarship. You think it stops there, but there is another barrier to entering this school. 

It’s the one that lies underneath the maintenance fees of tennis courts, golf courses, and separate fields for horseback riding and baseball. The equipment prices of its state-of-the-art facilities and modern student dorms. The payrolls of its venerated teachers and high-caliber coaches.

Unless you’re on a sports scholarship, you’d have to be considerably loaded to afford the school tuition.

Now, you wouldn’t call yourself obscenely rich. You wouldn’t describe your family as meager, either. Your parents could afford a family trip or two abroad per year, but you weren’t chauffeured in an executive car to and from school. Up until junior high, you were enrolled to a public school that was a train ride away from your home. It was only recently when your dad got promoted and your mom suggested you take the Shiratorizawa entrance exam, especially now that the monthly expenses could be cushioned by a rapidly-growing bank account. You’re a smart girl, sweetie! I know you can get in, your mom said years ago. And you did, because you really are.

And because this is Sendai we’re talking about, getting acquainted with this academy’s breed of affluent students was as easy as ABC. This city's private school scene was unlike the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, as the rich kids of Shiratorizawa would weave through society much like any other modest salaryman. The only difference is that while they’re standing on this academy as a stepping stone, they’re carrying briefcases full of wealth to fund their plans of further education— be it abroad or in any of Japan's equivalent of the Ivy League. Nobody talks about how daddy's stocks increased in value after that celebrity endorsement, or how mommy's fat paycheck came in after doing that plastic surgery procedure on another actress. Nobody does, because my god, flashing your wealth is simply distasteful. You never felt the need to prove your worth in yen.

So, was it difficult for you to acclimate to its intricate web composed of the portioned elite?

Definitely not. You wore the same purple-plaid uniform as everyone else, and you took it off when you returned home to call it a day. Needless to say, you mingled yourself into this highly-guarded network— blending in had always been your strong suit. You were no phony, though. Oh, definitely far from it. In a school that prides itself with hand-picked students that can contribute to its high-flying name— good test scores, extracurriculars, or sports medals are the main currency— making you quite well-off in that aspect, if you do say so yourself.

Your footsteps echo throughout the corridor. At the end of the hallway, you set your eyes on a door bearing the plaque of STUDENT COUNCIL. Despite having been on the disciplinary committee since first year, your stomach leaps at the thought of attending such an impromptu meeting with the student body’s most powerful administrative group. You only ever see their pristine selves at the stage front during morning assemblies, so you can only imagine what kind of safari takes place during club funding allocation meetings. You wonder if captain Ushijima attends them himself, if not his vice captains.

As you clutch on the door handle, your mind jumps to the possible reasons for gathering today. It didn’t help that your committee chair’s text announcement had to be the most cryptic message you’ve laid eyes on.

【ＳＨＩＲＡＴＯＲＩＺＡＷＡ　ＤＩＳＣＩＰＬＩＮＡＲＹ　

ＣＯＭＭＩＴＴＥＥ　ＴＨＩＲＤ　ＹＥＡＲＳ】

Wednesday, 3:36 PM

Masahiro added you and Ryuuji.

Wednesday, 3:37 PM

Watanabe Masahiro: MEETING WITH THE STUDENT COUNCIL ON FRIDAY. CONVERGE AT THE STUDENT COUNCIL ROOM AT 3:20 PM.

Wednesday, 5:19 PM

You: what’s the agenda?
You: wait third yrs only? why

Wednesday, 7:42 PM

Kato Ryuuji: Hey the president will be there right
Kato Ryuuji: Shes so hot lmaooooo
Kato Ryuuji: Also what time does it end cuz my tutor is coming over that day

Thursday, 9:58 PM

Kato Ryuuji: Oy

read Friday, 7:01 AM

You slide the door open, only to find your committee chair as the room’s sole occupant.

“Watanabe-kun? Where’s everyone else?”

You wonder how this guy can keep such severely perfect posture, even while sitting down. He pushes his specs up and the overhead light glares at you through his thick glasses. Watanabe Masahiro is a high-strung third year whose parents work for the top legal firm in the prefecture, and you’re not surprised his passion for the law got him the position as the Disciplinary Committee Chair. This guy’s so obsessed with justice that he dreams about it; he had a nightmare wherein his hair grew too long overnight, thus inadvertently breaking the school’s grooming code. He woke up in tears. And that’s how he explained his fresh buzzcut back in second year.

“[L/N], to be on time is to be early.”

You take the seat beside him. 

“When does it actually start?” you grumble, thinking you could have eaten your share of leftover honey lemon slices before heading to the council room.

“In ten minutes. Kato has already arrived; he went to the washroom and will be back promptly,” he says like a train schedule announcer.

Your co-member Kato Ryuuji, on the other hand, is a bit more enigmatic. He’s tall enough to join the basketball team, fit enough for the track team, but too noncommittal for either sport. Kato, you figured, just wasn’t into breaking a sweat. He’s been on the disciplinary committee for as long as you have been, yet you’ve only scraped through a smidgen of his personal information. You know his family is at least balling since he has two other siblings enrolled in Shiratorizawa, neither of them on sports scholarships too, yet you don’t know what his parents actually do. You’ve thought about telling Watanabe the rumours of yakuza ties shrouded around Kato’s family, but you refrain in fear of creating explosive consequences. It’s a secret you like to keep to yourself when you watch them bicker over uniform policies in the disciplinary committee office.

You snap out of your hunger-fuelled reverie when the door opens to a pair of female students. One holds an ice-cold glare, but her long eyelashes and shaggy boy-cut hair offset the sharpness in her eyes. The other girl has her nose in a small pocket-sized planner; her gaze is doe-eyed when she looks up to survey the room. They’re Shiratorizawa’s first-ever female President and Vice President duo— Saji Nozomi from 3-4 and Ogawa Kimiko from 3-5, both college prep class students. The President’s dad is a politician while the Vice President’s grandpa is the school principal. It’s an unspoken rule that laying a finger on these girls could equate to social exile (if not assassination, in Saji’s case). They probably knew what they were doing when they ran for office together.

You and Watanabe stand up to greet them before they promptly tell you to sit back down and make yourselves comfortable. “Early as always, Masahiro!” Saji booms.

His face is smug. “Why of course, tardiness is unacceptable.”

They sit down on the chairs across you both. Ogawa draws her perfectly-straight hair around her shoulder. “The secretary and treasurer will not be attending this meeting as they have been sent to recharter the budget for this year’s cultural festival,” her nasal voice informs.

Just as Ogawa finishes her sentence, the sound of a sliding door gathers everyone’s attention. Kato has arrived a minute shy from 3:20 PM.

You gather a dull, uninterested look on his face but he’s quick to puff his chest out when his eyesight sharpens on the President seated at the table. He urbanely greets them before sitting beside you. The President, Saji, clears her throat once everyone has settled down.

“Good afternoon, disciplinary committee. Before we discuss the agenda, we’d like to weigh you in on some context— especially for those of you who do not know. Kimiko, the reports please.”

Ogawa flips through her notebook. “During Tuesday of last week, Andou from Class 3-2 reported her missing phone. It was relayed to the administrations office, but it has yet to turn up in the Lost and Found box.”

Watanabe clicks his tongue.

“It happened again during Monday of this week. This time, it was Fujimori from Class 3-3. She went through the same process as Andou, but nothing has come up.”

Kato shuffles in his seat. “That’s weird. These problems would usually solve themselves in a few hours, if not days,” he says, but you’re weirded out by how his usual voice is an octave lower. He crosses his arms on the table and you catch him flexing his deltoids under the uniform sleeve. Are you serious? Flexing in front of the student council in a meeting, of all places? You cringe.

“That is correct,” Watanabe affirms, completely oblivious. “Above all, this is Shiratorizawa Academy. It’s an exemplar of Miyagi’s private school system.”

Saji’s eyes steel up. “The progression to this story says otherwise. As the week is coming to a close and the lost items have yet to be returned, we suspect that these are not mere instances of misplacement.”

Watanabe’s eyes ignite. “What are you trying to say?”

“It could be deliberate theft, Masahiro,” Saji drops. Masahiro hangs his mouth open in astonishment, Kato is clearly taken aback. You're just as confused.

“A thief? In our school, of all places?” Kato wonders aloud.

You pipe up. “I’d understand if my bag was stolen somewhere in the city— like on the street in Tokyo, maybe— but really? Shiratorizawa? Why would anyone want to do that?”

You’re genuinely stumped. Most, if not all the students carry the newest models of their phones. Is it financial insecurity?, you think, but you’re quick to brush it aside. Economic status definitely plays a big role in school, but Shiratorizawa culture emphasizes merit over wealth. Why would anyone want to steal?

Saji shakes her head and Ogawa flips another page. “On top of this, both students reported to losing their phones during club period. The gadgets were last seen in their respective clubrooms— Andou’s in archery, Fujimori in golf. It may be coincidence, but the culprit seems to target those who play sports.”

Kato cocks an eyebrow up. “I thought they had individual lockers and keys for each member.”

Ogawa shakes her head. “Even so, they recall their lockers appearing to have been broken into.”

Watanabe audibly gasps. “That’s an unlawful entry! The perpetrator of this horrific crime must be caught by all means!”

“Watanabe-kun, stop talking like someone was murdered,” you whisper.

Ogawa’s fingers dog-ear a page in her notebook. “Since the instances of theft transpired during club period, we can also assume that the culprit stays on campus after class. We can’t say if they’re engaged in any clubs or committees, though. People with no extracurriculars may opt to study in the library, or go back to their dorms.”

Saji’s pen rolls onto the tiled floor and Kato picks it up for her. The President barely gives him a glance before continuing. “We thought about asking the disciplinary committee to perform bag checks after school, but we realised that it’s impossible to regulate. Not everyone’s after-school activities end at the same time, nor does everyone go home— a large number of students dorm on campus.”

Ogawa sighs and a worried look drifts onto her features. “As much as we’d like to take immediate action, first term will be ending in two weeks. All extracurriculars— clubs and committees— shall be suspended starting next week in preparation for finals,” her soft voice trails, “making this the first and last time we meet before summer break.”

Saji taps her fingers on the table. “The reason why we’re meeting today is because we’d like to give you a heads-up— not only on what’s been happening, but also on what’s to come. Because of the obvious time constraints, we’ll have to put off the investigation.”

Watanabe grunts. “So what do we plan on doing?”

Ogawa clicks her pen open. “That is our agenda for today, Watanabe-san. We are to discuss our plan of action in preparation for the second term.”

A frown overtakes Watanabe’s mouth. “I say we formally denounce the thefts during the next school-wide assembly and demand the culprit to surrender the phones. It is abhorrent to even think that someone from our school would take another’s belongings.”

Kato looks at him quizzically. “What, launch a witch hunt and scare the culprit away into hiding? We’d never be able to retrieve the items if we hound them like that.”

Ogawa nods. “I agree, Kato-san. An announcement could create an uproar and reach the teachers, the board of directors, or even worse— the stakeholders. It’s not good for the school’s image,” she says, spoken like a true principal’s granddaughter. “Tainting the Shiratorizawa name as a school that houses thieves will be deeply humiliating.”

“I see… so we must find a way to keep it under wraps,” Watanabe trails.

Saji leans into her chair. “Yes. And that is exactly why we only called for the disciplinary committee’s third years. We commit this problem to you, the members whom we’ve known the longest, in hopes of preventing it from blowing up.”

Everyone solemnly absorbs the President’s statement before you chime in. “We’ll trigger a cluster of events if we release an official statement from the council, right? But what if, let’s say, we fan the rumours of theft happening?”

The President and Vice President shoot you a perplexed look before you continue. “Bag checks can’t be regulated. Crackdowns lack the guarantee. But if we get people to be more aware of what’s happening— while keeping the rumours themselves questionable— they’d at least become more vigilant. Preventive measures can curb the stealing. From there, we can watch out for whoever’s acting strange and narrow down our culprits.”

Watanabe whips his head towards you. “We’re one of the top academies in the Miyagi prefecture! I won’t allow us to turn a blind eye and engage in such useless rumours!”

You sigh. “We’re not turning a blind eye; we’re going to blend in and see things from the ground. Going for a direct approach is out of the question— especially if the culprit knows we’re looking for them.”

Saji purses her lips. “Watching and waiting so you can catch the culprit red-handed, you mean?”

“Yes,” you finally cut through. Everyone’s silent for a few seconds and you try to gauge the reaction that the President and Vice President are giving you.

Saji smirks. “Let’s give it a shot. Although I do see the value in reconnaissance, I must point out that this is by no means a long-term plan. We need to catch that thief, and catch them fast before the situation gets out of hand.”

You nod in agreement. “I understand. We’ll think of plans B to Z, as well.”

She hums. “I trust that the committee becomes my eyes and ears for this matter,” Saji looks over to Ogawa who starts jotting down notes. “You are to continue your usual work— enforcing school rules and the like— but I will also be deploying you into patrolling the school grounds during club period next term.”

Saji then calls for the agenda of plotting patrol routes. Everyone stands up to approach the wheeled whiteboard at the far-right side of the room; Ogawa sketches out a condensed version of the multi-levelled clubroom building as Watanabe marks possible stake-out spots. Luckily for you, you’re assigned to the first floor. You’re permitted to roam around the building’s outside premises.

The Vice President summarizes main points before Saji adjourns the meeting. Everyone thanks each other for the hard work, and you check the time on your watch to see that it’s five minutes to six o’clock. Based on what Ushijima said this morning in passing, practice matches usually end around 5:30 PM. There’s a thirty-minute game review period before the volleyball team is released for the day.

You mutter a profanity under your breath, panic washing over you. You take your bag and the lunchbox that holds last night’s honey lemon slices.

“I’ll take my leave now. Bye, everyone!”

As you’re nearing the volleyball gym’s entrance, the knots in your stomach tighten when you realise that the sound of volleyballs bouncing off the floor are long gone. Am I too late? Did everyone leave already?

You take a downcast expression when you peek in and see the gym completely empty. Not only was it the first time Ushijima invited you to a practice match, it was also an invitation for you to meet his teammates. An uncomfortable lump of guilt forms in your throat.

“[F/N]-chan?”

You rotate and see a very wide-eyed Tendou looking at you. “Hey! You came after all!”

“Tendou-san, I’m so sorry,” you apologise profusely. “I couldn’t make it in time because the meeting went on for too long, and the student council office is located at the top floor, and I ran as fast as I could but—“

He puts a big palm on the crown of your head and pats you. It derails your train of thought. “It’s okay,” he insists, sending a comforting laugh down your way. “We didn’t wait for long.”

We?

Tendou looks away from you and into the volleyball gym to your right. A group of players step out of the doorframe and you recognise your classmate Semi who waves hello at you. Ushijima is the last to appear.

“We just came from the gym’s shower room. You're alright,” Semi relieves you.

Ushijima’s eyes land on yours. “You’re here,” he rumbles.

You’re about to utter another apology but he interrupts you. 

“[L/N], this is Ohira Reon.” He smiles in a way that even his brown eyes make you feel soothed.

“Yamagata Hayato.” You think he’s glaring at you because of his slanted brows, but he flashes you a grin and proves otherwise.

“Kawanishi Taichi.” You feel small with how his hooded eyes and tall height loomed over you, but his mouth turns up when he says hello.

“Shirabu Kenjirou.” He gives you a curt nod and studies your face behind his layered bangs.

“And Goshiki Tsutomu.” He draws himself nearer to you. “So you’re the rumoured girl!” he exclaims, ebony bangs jumping along with him.

The other bowl-cut boy is quick to elbow his side. Goshiki curls up in pain. “Have you ever heard of manners?”

Your mood picks up at this. “Hi, everyone. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m [L/N] [F/N],” you pronounce. “Yes, I am the rumoured girl. Ushijima-kun is a friend of mine,” you chuckle. He nods in agreement. “I was the one who handled his cases— and I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it to your practice game.”

“Don’t worry about it, [L/N]-san. We have plenty more lined up next term,” Ohira assures.

You feel your lunchbox bump your schoolbag and you perk up when you remember what you have in tow. “Right, I made you guys some after-practice snacks with my mom,” you shuffle through your lunchbox, a leg placed precariously at the step leading up to the gym door to support your bag. “Sorry, would you like to sit down?” you point at the pair of wooden benches outside the gym.

“Go ahead,” Ushijima says. “I’ll lock the gym up and follow.”

You lead the boys to the benches and you put your bags down before fishing out a tall container of honey lemon slices. The top lid comes off and the boys are in awe of the layers upon layers of delicately-sliced lemons, all of them being thin enough that surely the sweet substance must have seeped through the tart pulp. The yellow fruit is submerged in a clear, glossy sheen of honey, sprinkles of fresh mint for that added freshness. 

“Everyone, please have some.”

They say their modest thank-yous before piling in. You watch their eyes glisten and you feel the weariness of sprinting to the volleyball gym wash away.

Tendou squeezes his face in delight. “This is really refreshing, [F/N]-chan! Thanks!”

You’re happy even Shirabu is stuffing two slices in his mouth at a time. Ushijima finally walks over with the gym key in his hand. He cuts through the group that forms a half-circle around you and takes a slice.

“Ushijima-kun, my mom wanted me to specifically tell you that it was her idea to make this. It’s a thank-you gift for always walking me home,” you disclose. “She didn’t want me to go stealing her thunder.”

Tendou erupts into laughter. “Well, tell your mom that we’d all walk you home if it meant getting this as a treat. We’d love to eat this every day after practice.”

“That’s overkill, Tendou-san,” Kawanishi comments.

“The honey that’s dripping down your mouth is telling me otherwise!”

Kawanishi reddens before bringing the backside of his palm to his mouth.

Ushijima’s face doesn’t change as he chews on his first slice, but you figure it’s a good enough reaction to see him reach out for another. “Your mom didn’t have to go through all the trouble, but thank you.”

“Same,” everyone follows in an offbeat chorus. “Please tell her we’re thankful.”

You nod. Tendou starts talking about the up-and-coming ace Goshiki, who so obviously wears a self-approving grin, and you’re fished into the exchange as the guest spectator. Kawanishi tells Shirabu what Tendou’s up to before the younger setter reproaches the redhead’s over-indulgent conversation topic. Ohira laughs at this, Semi cringes in second-hand embarrassment, Yamagata’s too busy stuffing his face with the remaining lemon slices, and Ushijima keeps to himself as he chews.

The laughter eventually dies down and the tupperware is finally emptied. You bid them your thank you for waiting for me, I’m sorry once again, it was nice meeting you, to which they exchange with no problem, don’t worry about it, bring us some more honey lemon things. Everyone, with the exception of Ushijima and Tendou, leaves for the dorms.

“I told you I’d talk to you some other time, didn’t I?” Tendou reminds you. “I can’t believe it’s already July. Are you ready for finals week, [F/N]-chan?”

“I haven’t even started studying,” you shyly admit.

“If that’s the case,” Tendou holds your hands up, his two honey-coated fingers sticking up so as not to touch you. “Study with us! Wakatoshi, it’s okay if we bring her over tomorrow right?”

“Okay.”

Your eyes dart to and from Tendou and Ushijima. “Bring me where?”

“The team studies in my house the weekend before finals week, up until exams finish,” he explains plainly.

“Everyone’s at the library, food halls are too noisy, the courtyards have bugs,” Tendou turns towards Ushijima. “School is no good. That’s where everyone is, but his house is big and quiet.”

You, a sole female student studying with the male volleyball team’s first string? Most of them you barely even know? You’re too busy finding the most polite way to turn the offer down, so you don’t catch Ushijima taking your lunch box from your side. He opens it up to reveal a smaller tupperware of honey lemon slices.

“Oh— I really don’t know about that, I’m not that close to you guys so I feel awkward about—“

“It’s fine!” Tendou interjects. Ushijima pops the container open and you’re yet to notice how he holds up a savagely uneven slice of lemon. “A friend of Wakatoshi’s is a friend of ours. What subjects are you good in, [F/N]-chan?”

“... I like Japanese literature and History, I guess?” you mutter. Tendou gets even more pumped up. Ushijima squints his eyes at the slice’s weirdly thick shape.

“That’s perfect! I hate History!” Tendou exclaims a bit too excitedly. “You’ll study with us, won’t you?!”

You’re about to make up some falsified reason because, obviously, you’re too hesitant to be intruding in their circle— until you finally see Ushijima slip a strange-looking lemon slice into his mouth. Your face pales when you realize he’s holding onto the tupperware of failed attempts— you had initially planned to make another batch in case one serving wasn’t enough, but your knife skills begged to differ. How’d you cut it this bad, [F/N]!? Aren’t you a little too young to have a hand tremor?, your mom joked.

“Ushijima-kun, no!” you scramble to your feet. He’s already begun chewing. “Why’d you eat that?”

“You said I could have some.”

You try to wring the tupperware out of his grip but he doesn’t budge. “Not that one! That’s the reject pile. I was going to eat it myself since it’s not as good as the one my mom and I made together.”

This catches Tendou’s attention. He studies the clear tupperware in Ushijima's arms, filled to the brim with a supposed amalgamation of honey and lemon. “Your mom didn’t help you out with this one?”

You nod and explain that it was meant as an addition to the bigger serving from earlier, but its quality was no match to the original. Tendou chortles at this when he sees a slice so strangely cut that it almost looks like a wheelchair ramp of some sort. “I can see that now!”

Ushijima picks up another lemon slice. “I’ll finish this off.”

“Listen, it’s really not that good. Some slices are so thick that I doubt the honey was absorbed all the way. You don’t have to keep eating it.”

He completely ignores your pleading. “But I will.”

You let go of the tupperware in defeat, acknowledging that brute force was no match against this gargantuan man. 

You huff at him. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

Tendou distracts you once again and he’s talking about how he barely passed second year History; because of that, he’s teetering on his sports scholarship. He explains that athletes need to reach a grade minimum to remain on the starting lineup. He eventually wins you over through staged pity and you begrudgingly accept the invite to study with their group.

You don’t know what you just got yourself into.

Ushijima’s too busy slipping slice after slice after slice into his mouth, until he ends up finishing the entire tupperware.

He wipes his mouth. “You’re right, it’s not good.”

You can’t help but laugh at his blunt comment. “I just warned you! Why’d you eat it, then?”

“Because you made it for me and the team.”

His face is plain and you wonder if his tastebuds are still in tact after how acidic your creation might have been.

“Well, I better get back to the dorm. I’ll see you later, Wakatoshi-kun! And you tomorrow, [F/N]-chan!” Tendou victoriously proclaims. You watch him bounce off as Ushijima returns the empty case to your lunchbox.

“Let’s go, [L/N]. I still have to walk you home.”

The both of you halt in front of your house.

“Ushijima-kun, I just want you to know I was coerced into the study group,” you take your phone out. “Address, please. I’ll pin it for tomorrow.”

He takes your phone and inputs his house location. “Your phone number too, in case I need to reach you,” you add. He wordlessly saves his digits into your address book a few seconds after. He hands it back to you and you send him a text, to which his phone vibrates in his pocket. He unlocks the gadget and saves your number as well.

Your front door creaks open, indoor light spills from inside, and you both look at the lady at the doorframe. It’s your mom.

“[F/N], you’re home. Is that your friend?”

“Yeah, this is Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

He robotically bends over in a bow. “Good evening, [L/N]-san. Thank you for the snacks.”

Your mom smiles. “[F/N] tells me you dorm in school. The food must get so repetitive, doesn’t it? How about having dinner with us?”

“Mom, they had a practice match today. I think he wants to get back as soon as possible.”

“It’s fine!” your mom insists, hand pawing the air. “I just need to drop by the store. I’m missing an ingredient for dinner.”

“I’ll buy it, mom. And Ushijima-kun needs to start walking back now.”

“You can’t, sweetie. I need red wine and you can’t purchase it because you’re a minor. It’s for the hayashi rice.”

You catch Ushijima’s eyebrows raise the slightest.

“Would hayashi rice be fine, Ushijima-san?” your mom questions. You’re about to tell your mom to give him a break but he holds his gaze with her. 

And then it clicks: he’s interested, but he’s too hesitant to accept the offer.

“Okay fine, just dinner. That should be okay, right Ushijima-kun?”

He immediately nods. “Thank you for the invite.” 

Yeah, you knew it. He was too shy.

“Great! I’ll be right back. Chop the onions while waiting for me, [F/N]. And be mindful of the thickness!”

Your mom walks past you both and you step into your modest home. Your shoes, looking tiny beside his, are placed at the genkan. He follows you into the kitchen and you start cutting an onion up. He looks oddly intimidating, standing at the other end of the counter like that. 

“Do you like hayashi rice, Ushijima-kun?”

“It’s my favourite.”

You hum. “I kind of picked that up, actually.” The knife continuously hits the board in a steady beat. “Sorry for the abrupt invite. My mom’s really pushy like that.”

“She’s nice.”

You continue chopping. “Is your mom as in-your-face as mine is?”

There’s a pause before he replies. “I don’t talk to her much. She works until late at night.”

Chop, chop, chop. “What about your dad? You probably text him a lot even if he lives overseas, right?”

“The occasional greeting. Happy birthday. Merry Christmas. Congrats on making it to Nationals. Things of that sort.”

Chop, chop. “Is he a busy guy?”

“He has another family.”

Chop. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing.”

You continue chopping, empty air doing nothing but fuel your inner thoughts. Is that why he talked about his grandma that one time? Because he doesn’t have a lot to talk about when it comes to his parents? What does he do…

“… outside of volleyball?”

“What?”

“What do you do outside of volleyball?”

Ushijima takes a while to respond. You've stopped chopping to watch him intently, his mouth slightly gaping open as if to give you a response, but it doesn’t come. You don’t think it’s going to come.

“... I go home to eat, study, and sleep.”

But it does. And you wish you never asked in the first place because it’s an answer so painfully jarring from this super ace, this volleyball captain, this Japan U-19 representative, this child of a failed marriage, this boy who barely gets to see his parents, this grandson who seldom goes home. 

You look at him staring back at you, his gaze so unapologetically honest. A part of you wants to ask, That’s it? You don’t watch anime? Catch up with your friends? Watch a new movie with family? because you just know you’ll be met with a concise “no”.

So instead, you stare back at him— the way he appears, the way he carries himself.

Sure, he towers over you, but he doesn’t seem that intimidating now that you’ve taken a better look at him. The same goes for his sharp eyes; they’re not as fierce as you initially made them out to be. The stony expression he carries doesn’t necessarily mean he’s impassive, either.

He’s just a simple guy in a huge body who happens to be crazy for volleyball.

“Ushijima-kun, do you ever get lonely?”

He doesn’t get to mull over his response before your mom walks through the front door.

“[F/N], I forgot to tell you, but your dad is working overtime tonight. It’s just us three,” your mom informs you at the genkan.

You go back to chopping the onions before finishing up and setting the knife down. You wash your hands at the sink and Ushijima helps you reach for some plates stored away at the cupboard. The both of you set the table and soon enough, the rich smell of hayashi wafts throughout the house. The three of you take your seats, a chorus of itadakimasu leaving your mouths before piling in the piping-hot food.

“Mom, did you know Ushijima-kun’s favourite meal is hayashi rice?”

“Really?!” she smiles wide. “It’s like you’re meant to eat with us tonight! Go on, try it!”

Ushijima hasn’t had hayashi rice in a while. The last time he did, his mom set it on the table with a cling wrap neatly secured over its plate. She flew out for a business trip earlier that morning while his grandma left Sendai a few hours prior to visit his aunt. He sat through that dinner in silence, the clanking sound of his spoon echoing throughout his empty house.

He doesn’t remember the last time it tasted this good.

“How do you find it?” your mom asks him, fishing for praise.

He swallows a spoonful of rice mixed in savoury sauce.

“Food does taste better with good company.”

The grip on your spoon loosens when you look at him, a tightening sensation at the core of your chest making itself known. 

You become fully aware of another side of Ushijima Wakatoshi. You wonder how long it has been since he last experienced what you identify is your usual, your normal, your every day— dinner with family. You kinda…

feel like…

protecting him?

No, that’s weird. Why did I even think that? He looks like he could decapitate me if he smacked my head like a volleyball.

He’s fine, he’s a big boy.

He probably just needs a hobby or something.

“You flatter me! I can even make you bentos, if you’d like!” your mom exaggerates. You’re quick to tell her off and you launch into another playful conversation with her. Ushijima munches away, studying what he perceives is an alien interaction between a teenager and her mother. He doesn’t quite understand the flow of the conversation, but he doesn’t feel unwelcome, either. 

Ushijima is the first to finish his plate clean and a comforting sensation spreads throughout his body. He thinks it’s the food, but it’s different from the usual warmth he gets from eating steaming hot rice paired with rich sauce. 

Your mom takes a sip of water. “Ushijima-san— whenever you walk [F/N] back home, please do join us for dinner. We’d love to have you over.”

Ushijima ponders on this invitation. As scrumptious as tonight’s meal was, he knows this added detour will throw him off his usual routine. He’s already settled in with his week-by-week schedule: go to class, have lunch with the boys (if not the occasional lunch with you), attend practice, and even walk you home (the scattered invites came infrequently, but that's only because he first makes sure that practice ends early), so he thins his mouth in contemplation. He thinks that any more time already spent with you would be unnecessary to his routine.

His eyes flicker towards you, expectant of another blatant refusal from your end on his behalf, but you don’t say a word.

You look towards him to offer a gleaming smile instead.

“I don’t mind,” you shrug, “We’re friends, after all.”

And then the cogs in his brain slow down to a full stop. He relaxes his face and gathers his voice.

He thinks— no, he thought that any more time already spent with you would be unnecessary to his routine. But routines can be switched up every now and then. It's not like he regrets accepting the invite to this dinner.

I'm content with eating lunch with her, and walking her home...

but today was good. A little more should be fine.

“That would be nice.”

Well, that required a tremendous amount of thought. But he deduces that he can afford to do this— incorporating another hour spent with you, he means. He's inching into your life just a bit more, past the orange sunset of concluded walks and into the inky skies that greet him outside when he leaves your home.

It’s not warm in his belly. It’s warm in his chest.

I seem to have eaten too fast.

He thinks it’s heartburn.

Chapter Text

As the capital of Miyagi, Sendai has an extremely rich history. You’ll see it in the remnants of the Aoba castle, the grand Zuihoden mausoleum, and the gold-furnished Osaki Hachimangu Shinto shrine. These monuments echo a citadel of power and prestige that was once ushered in by Date Masamune’s founding of this city. As one of Japan’s most famous feudal lords, or daimyo for short, he fulfilled an extremely powerful role that required military service and land governance. Lesser daimyos— shomyos— would also dabble in such. As land owners, they’d convert their acres into military strong points that often doubled as extravagant homes— but we’re not here to talk about that today.

Which brings us to the question— why am I telling you this?

Because you know Tendou said Ushijima’s house is big, but you didn’t think it would be this huge. You initially stopped the moment your location app said you've arrived at his address. Yet here you are, walking down his street for the past five minutes, still looking for the entrance to his house. You’re starting to get tired of seeing this same stone wall to your right.

Ring-ring-ring.

【ＵＳＨＩＪＩＭＡ　ＷＡＫＡＴＯＳＨＩ】

calling

Click!

“Where are you?”

“No, where are you?”

You can imagine him furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m at home. Everyone is already here. Are you still coming?”

A sigh. “It says I’ve arrived at your house location, but I can’t find your gate anywhere. Are you sure you typed it right?”

He doesn’t respond. Through the phone static, you hear what you assume is his footsteps walking on wooden floorboards, the sliding sound of a shoji door, and finally, the clicking of a gate open.

You look around and you see him step out of a wooden gate a couple of metres up front. Oh, okay. So it was further up.

You exchange your greetings. “Ushijima-kun, your house practically owns half the street. Were your ancestors feudal lords to get a huge lot like this?” you joke.

“Yes.”

You see, the ever-modest Ushijima family is a lot more than meets the eye. As his family is deeply rooted in Sendai, his propertied ancestors dabbled in politics and military work at the height of the Edo period. Despite the feudal system being abolished long ago, hundreds of years of societal prominence have compounded on his lineage, granting his family the privilege to not only keep, but also ascent their generational wealth.

To cut to the chase, the Ushijima family is extremely rich, and not just any kind of rich— they’re old rich. They’re the type of rich that’s so used to being rich, they simply gloss over how rich they are. His family owns a conglomerate with a specialty in real estate development, his mom helming at the operations. You once asked him why his father married into his mother’s family, but he didn’t have enough will nor brainpower to recount his entire ancestral history to you. He merely answered “my mom’s side of the family is richer than my dad’s”. Ushijima could have easily foregone his tuition’s sports scholarship with how fat his bank account was, to be honest. And to tell you the truth, he didn’t really know the difference.

You don’t get to process his simple “yes” of a reply before you leave the unassuming fenced walls to walk into the arched torii gate of his residence.

Your mom’s side is richer than your dad’s? Ushijima-kun, your mom can practically buy my family.

When you walk past his gate, you’re immediately greeted with a two-storied traditional Japanese house that looks straight out of a tourist pamphlet. The housefront is so wide it could rival that of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball gym. You then focus on a grand hinoki wood door held by equally lush wall panelling. It stands regal across meters-long of a cobblestone path. It’s a sunny Saturday morning and his house’s curved irimoya roof is glistening with its near-black stone tiles. His front garden is perfectly kept; it’s as if it has never seen a day of neglect. As you’re walking down the long stone aisle to his front door, you’re greeted with zen gardens the size of classrooms to your left and right, pebble indents creating ripples that reach out to you. There are a number of cicadas resting on the manicured trees planted around his front yard, each murmuring buzz signalling that the summer season will soon be arriving. The sounds fade out when you walk up to his front entrance and into his genkan. It’s almost as big as your room; there are eight shelves to his shoe cabinet, the first two occupied by an array of male-owned sneakers. You hold back from laughing at how small your pair of shoes looks amidst the team’s sized 9 and above footwear. On the other side of the genkan is an antique ceramic vase that’s almost as tall as you are. You make sure not to go anywhere near it when you slip into the Ushijima residence’s own indoor slippers.

And then it suddenly makes sense why he’s a school celebrity— even among the elite of Shiratorizawa. This guy’s the tall, objectively handsome, and filthy rich captain of a powerhouse volleyball team. For a lot of female students, getting his last name would probably be the same as landing a gold mine. Nobody knows who’s rich better than the rich themselves. Now, who wouldn’t want to bring this guy home to mom?

You snicker because you’ve actually, already done that. And because he’s a good friend, it makes it all the more funny. It looks like the girls who have been pining for him for years weren’t lucky enough to invite him to dinner on the very day your mom planned to make hayashi rice.

You follow him down the main hallway, wood-panelled shoji doors adorning the corridor like a stretching labyrinth. The house's delicate fragrance wafts into your nose as you watch his wide back lead you to your destination. You can detect that magnificent smell of full-bodied wood, coupled with a faint, herbal-like afternote. His historical home is divided into two wings— the west wing for individual rooms and living rooms, the east wing for kitchen and dining, family shrine, and function rooms. The thickly-papered lining of his doors allows for light to pass through and illuminate his home with natural lighting. You allow a muted sunbeam to touch your face.

You peek into the shrine room when you pass by it and you see a stick of incense— the source of that aromatic afternote— has been lit for a man whose portrait looks like a spitting image of an older Wakatoshi. Your friend takes after his strong eyes and chiseled face.

“Grandpa?”

“Yes.”

You continue trailing behind him. “You look a lot like him.”

“Mother's family genes are quite strong, or so I’ve been told. He wasn’t as tall as my father is, though.”

So he looks like his mom, huh. You continue walking down the paper-walled hallway and you hear indistinct laughter with each step you draw near. You can’t figure out if it’s Yamagata or Tendou.

And then you hear a muffled “Goshiki, shut up about trying to overtake Ushijima-san!” from the beyond wall. Yeah, that laughter definitely belonged to Tendou for laughing at Shirabu.

Ushijima slides the door open and everyone stops the shenanigans to look at their captain. You pop out from behind his back a few seconds later, realizing that the team couldn’t have spotted you with Ushijima’s sheer size in the way. He’s big enough to cover your body whole.

“Late again, [F/N]-chan!” Tendou exclaims.

“I couldn’t find Ushijima-sama’s front gate!” you fire back. Ushijima doesn’t realize that you’re poking fun at him.

Ohira chuckles at this exchange. “Overwhelming at first, isn’t it? I was shocked as well.”

“It’s my first time here too, [L/N]-senpai!” Goshiki announces. The rest of the boys greet you hello.

Ushijima ushers you in the large tatami-matted room. There’s a long floor table in the middle and it’s occupied by most of the boys— with the exception of Shirabu at the corner of the room. Aside from the sole table, the relatively empty room has a couple of built-in shelves that seamlessly blend into the room’s paper-beige and wood-brown architecture. You think the room would probably look bigger if these large-bodied athletes weren’t inside.

Ushijima walks to the other side of the room to clutch on a double-doored shoji bigger than the one you entered through. He spreads it apart to open up to a front porch that greets a picturesque enclosed garden. This patch of land alone is, what you think, as big as the house and lot that you reside in. There’s a solitary sakura tree rooted firmly in the middle. It's the weeping type of sakura— a shidarezakura— and its branches stretch out over the lawn to give an off-pink tint reminiscent of the way coloured umbrellas look under the sun. You can make out another, smaller building behind its curtain of flowers, probably a guest house of some sort. The tree isn’t in bloom but that doesn’t mean you’re not in awe of how majestic this view is. You wonder how much a residence like this would fetch in the real estate market nowadays.

The wind blows some branches into swaying, longer flowers drooping over the grass, pale pink tickling vibrant green. It’s tremendously calming for a study venue, and now you get why the boys flock here during finals week.

“Sorry for intruding in your study gr—“

“Ah!” Semi interrupts you. “I’m gonna stop you there. Let’s help each other out.”

Tendou perks up. “Hey! She’s tutoring me for History, I asked her first!”

“Classes 1 and 2 have the same History teacher, Satori. We’ll be answering the same test.”

You sit down beside Tendou, across Semi, and diagonal to Ushijima. Goshiki, Yamagata, Ohira, and Kawanishi are at the other end of the table. You spare a look at Shirabu who’s huddled by himself at the corner, surrounded by a mountain of books, papers, and writing materials. His eyes are glued to his biology book.

“He’s been in a bad mood since last week,” Tendou informs you like he’s read your mind. “Shirabu’s in college prep, plus he’s the only one in the team not on a sports scholarship. He needs the grades for med school.”

Shirabu’s ears twitch at the conversation, but he ignores it to highlight another sentence.

“Shirabu-kun,” you lean over. “Do you want notes?”

“I don't remember you being in a college prep class, though,” he mutters, not even looking up from his book.

You squint your eyes at him, wondering where that snarky comment came from. Okay, chill. He’s probably stressed. “My best friend is in a college prep class. She’s a consistent top ten-ranked student, too. I can ask for her notes if you’d like more material.”

He gives it some thought.

A syllable escapes Ohira’s mouth, hoping to coax Shirabu into politely accepting the offer, but Ushijima suddenly wedges himself in the conversation.

“Shirabu, don’t hesitate to receive help,” he rumbles. The third years widen their eyes at their captain before exchanging glances with each other. That’s surprising, they uniformly think to themselves. Wakatoshi doesn’t usually poke his nose into these things.

You’ve no idea what warrants such a reaction from them. It’s not like Ushijima said anything groundbreaking.

Semi’s lips tie up in a smile. “If Wakatoshi himself tells you that it’s fine, it’s a clear sign you should take the offer already.”

Shirabu sighs. “Fi— I mean, sure. Thanks, [L/N]-senpai.”

A victorious smirk glazes over you. “So,” turning back to Tendou and Semi, “History, right? Let’s start.”

You get right down to business. A few hours later, you’ve managed to produce some fifty flashcards of events, historical implications, and their respective years. Your study subgroup eventually masters a quarter of the test coverage— but it wasn’t without Tendou randomly blurting out guesses every now and then. Semi had to tell him to at least recall before throwing out answers.

Truthfully, you’ve built up some aversion to working with boys when it came to anything related to academics. You don’t like having guys in group projects, because based on your experience, they usually don’t carry their weight. But seeing how Ohira was able to supply you worksheet answers to physics, Yamagata popping in to compare English sentence structure, and even Ushijima letting you copy his calculus notes, you decided that maybe, this isn’t so bad after all. Studying with the male volleyball team is a lot like eating a box of chocolates— you never know what you’re going to get with this bunch, but hey— chocolates are chocolates.

Speaking of chocolates, all this studying is making you hungry. It’s been a few hours since the session started. You slump your frazzled self over the table and observe Tendou taking a cat nap, Semi scrolling down on his phone, Goshiki distracting Ohira and Ushijima to prattle on about professional volleyball, and Kawanishi and Shirabu painstakingly decoding notes. It seems like everyone’s due for a study break.

“Ushi,” you call out, too tired even address his name completely. He doesn’t call you out on it so you think it’d be fine to stick with that instead. “Do you have snacks?”

“Yeah. I’ll get some,” he stands up. You do the same.

“I’ll come with you.”

His kitchen greets you with an elderly woman wearing an elegant sea-green yukata. She meets your eyes in a scrutinizing glare, perhaps even more intense than Ushijima’s own— wait. It looks too familiar.

This must be his grandma.

You bow deeply before her. “Good afternoon, Ushijima-baasan. I am [L/N] [F/N]. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

The pressure of being under an elder’s gaze fades away when she breaks into a softly-lined smile to greet you. Ah, the Ushijima air of intimidation sure is hereditary.

“Waka-chan, since when did you start bringing girls around?”

While he’s walking to his pantry, his grandma tells you to stand up straight. “Just today, obaa-chan. She’s studying with the team,” he ruffles past some rice crackers. “Can we have food?”

She goes on about how he should feed guests proper food before sending him off to the fridge to pick up two plates of triangularly-sliced watermelons. They’re deep red when he retrieves them from inside. “Watermelon season is rolling around. Since I’m a patron to Suzuki-san’s fruit store, she sent us the sweetest ones she had,” she laughs behind her delicate hand.

He says his thanks and so do you. You excuse yourself when Ushijima starts walking back to the study room, but she holds you back with an emphatic wait. Ushijima continues his journey, oblivious to his grandma calling you out.

Oh no. Am I going to be grilled?

“What did you say your name was, my dear?”

“[L/N] [F/N], obaa-san.”

She hums. “Don’t think I’ve heard of that family name before.”

What is it with rich people always needing to know who’s who?

You can’t figure out a response to that. Thankfully, she fills the air with another question. “Well, that’s not what I wanted to ask anyway. Are you two dating?”

This again…?!

“No, obaa-san,” you answer clearly. “We’re friends.”

She hums again longer this time, drawing out the sound of her voice. A fox-like smile is sent your way. It makes you fidget in uncomfortable embarrassment. “I haven’t seen Waka-chan in a while, but there’s something about the way he’s been recently.”

“Really,” you monitor your voice. “May I ask what you mean by it?”

“He’s always been a withdrawn boy, not very good at expressing himself— but he looks so bright these days, do you get my drift?”

You don’t. You’ve only known Ushijima for so long, so it’s not like you had a basis for comparison.

“I was wondering if you had any part in it,” she finishes.

“I don’t think I understand, Ushijima-baasan.”

“What I’m saying is, could it be you whom he has his eyes on?”

“Eyes on…? You mean like, you're asking if he likes me?”

“What else could it be, dear?”

“Are you in love with me or something?”

“No.”

You let a genuine laugh escape your lips. “No, obaa-san. We’re simply friends. I asked a few days ago; he said no himself,” you divulge like a gossiping auntie. What was once a conversation with you getting ahead of yourself is now a receipt bearing truth against the doubt of your unexpected connection with the ace. You hope this could be the last time anyone had to ask about your friendship with Ushijima.

Why can’t a guy and girl just be friends?

“Well,” she finally voices. “If Waka-chan says so himself, then it must be true, mustn’t it?” she gets infected by your own laughter. The pressure finally lifts off your chest. “Terribly blunt, that boy. He can never tell a lie. Take care of him, will you? Introduce him to more girls, even, I think it could do him good.”

You chuckle agreeably. “I will, obaa-san.”

Heavy footsteps interrupt your conversation. It’s probably Ushijima finally realizing he left you in the kitchen.

“Study hard, now,” she waves you off. “Good luck on your exams.”

You meet Ushijima at the hallway to tell him you had a short conversation about him school. He words a nonchalant “I see,” before entering the study room with you again.

The rest of the weekend went by uneventfully. Soon enough, finals week rolled in.

Your last exam’s time slot ended the same time as your best friend’s. As you slip into your outdoor shoes, you hear her voice calling your name from down the hallway.

She’s Amano Ayumi— Yumi for short, Yumi-chan when you felt like being sweet, and “Yumi, stop!” when she was milliseconds away from doing something stupid. Nobody ever believes her when she tells them that she's one of the top students in her year. She's been typecasted as a bimbo, to be honest, but she's gotten used to it. Her own carelessness brought her premature retirement from the school’s equestrian team. A nasty fall in second year fractured her hip, but it’s not like she was sad about leaving— she was pretty relieved, actually. The guys were really nice to me, but the girls were so awful when I started raking up medals, she once shared. Shouldn’t they devote their energy to practicing harder?! They tried to sabotage my horse a day before a show! I could’ve called for animal cruelty!

(Needless to say, some sports teams were really toxic in this school.)

You can spot that huge, curled ponytail from a mile away.

“Yumi, stop running in the hallways! Even if I’m your best friend, I’m still on the disciplinary committee!”

She throws herself on you. “[F/N]-chan, you are never going to guess what I just heard.”

You know what they say about girls with big hair— they hold the most secrets. And now that you’re assigned to the phone theft case, she’s one of your biggest assets.

“Apparently, Andou broke up with her boyfriend the other day.”

“Andou from 3-2? As in Andou who got her phone stolen?”

“Yes! That’s her. Speaking of, it’s all everyone’s ever talking about these days. It’s like you’ll never know who’s next,” she groans. “I keep double-checking my pocket because of it,” she pats her skirt.

And to think Watanabe-kun rejected my idea at first.

“Anyway,” she swings her curled locks back. “I didn’t think they’d ever break up— they’ve been together since junior high.”

“Yikes,” you close your shoe locker. “Must be rough getting your heart broken during finals week.”

“Right?! I’m so glad Takeru and I are smooth-sailing.”

The only other thing she’ll never shut up about is her boyfriend. While she’s blathering on about how they went on an aquarium date on their third anniversary last week, your eyes land on a familiar copper-haired bowl cut over Yumi’s shoulder.

“Shirabu-kun!”

Shirabu’s pulled in by your voice. He spots you from the hallway and starts walking towards your direction. “[L/N]-senpai, I was just looking for you,” he hands you Yumi’s notebook. “Here are the notes. They were very helpful, I think I did well on the biology exam.”

You smile at him. Seems like it was worth taking his pre-exam crank with a grain of salt. “Don’t thank me, thank her!” you advise, cocking your head to Yumi.

“Oh,” Shirabu bows to Yumi as they exchange introductions. “Thank you very much. Your notes were a huge help.” Yumi grins at him before suggesting that he keeps it instead. “It’s fine, I’m graduating soon anyway. I have second and third term notes in there too, so use it to your advantage.”

Shirabu’s about to politely decline but you cut him off. “Shirabu,” you playfully mimic Ushijima’s deep voice, “don’t hesitate to receive help.”

You figure he’s not one to laugh at such corny jokes when his face breaks out into a grimace. Good thing Yumi bursts into an ugly chortle, the sound of her horrendous laughter making you chuckle too.

“Anyway, I passed by Tendou-san just a while ago. He’s asking to meet you at the Lawson outside school,” he bows slightly to signal his leave. “Thanks again for the notes. See you around, senpais.”

You wave bye at him. Looping your arm around Yumi’s, you ask her if she’d like to tag along and meet Tendou.

“I’m good,” she loops back as you both walk out of the main entrance. “Takeru’s taking me out on a post-finals date. Don’t forget to text me about your schedule this summer break, ‘kay? You promised we’d go on a trip!”

Yumi squeezes your arm closer to hers.

“Yes, I promise.”

You lock on a tall boy’s amber-coloured hair from across the street. Like a sixth sense, he feels your gaze and turns towards your direction. Tendou brings both of his hands up into the air to create big, eager waves at your arrival. You pick your pace up to jog towards him.

“[F/N]-chan, I only guessed eight out of one hundred items!”

“Not bad!” you jump up to give Tendou a high five. “And you’re confident with the rest, right?”

“As confident as I can be,” Tendou’s cheeks are warm and fluffy when he grins down on you. “Couldn’t have done it without you! I’ll buy you a popsicle for helping me out.”

“What,” you jokingly drawl. “All that hard work for a popsicle?”

Tendou plays along and huffs. “I’ll treat you lunch when I actually get my test results. Deal?”

You purse your lips, placing a hand on your chin. “Okay, deal.” Tendou tells you he’ll be right back before he disappears behind the convenience store's automatic sliding door.

While waiting for him to pop out, you walk towards the corner of this Lawson branch to lean on a pillar. You take your phone out to scroll through Twitter and pass the minutes by. You then hear gravel crunching under footsteps belonging to a group of people. The DISCIPLINARY COMMITTEE band pinned to your sleeve was what made them pounce.

“Look, it’s the volleyball club’s whore.”

Your attention is snagged by the untoward comment. Peeling your eyes away from your phone screen, you see that the voice came from a group of three students wearing the purple-plaid skirts of Shiratorizawa. When you meet their eyes, they look at you up and down, wrinkling their noses in disgust.

You’ve never seen these girls in your entire life.

“Are you talking to me?”

The one with jet-black hair clicks her tongue. “You got guts speaking to me like that. Don't you know who I am?”

You knit your eyebrows. “I have no idea who you are. Can I help you with something?” you ask her, still trying to control your tongue.

You hear one of them mutter bitch under her breath. Another one crosses her arms before inserting herself in. “Did you clear the first string yet? How about the second string, huh?”

One of them snickers behind the raven-haired girl. “Hey, don’t be so quick to assume. Maybe she only goes for the starting players. Give it a week or so, she’ll jump to the basketball team and start fucking them next.”

You straighten your back and stand firm on your feet. “What’s your problem?”

Nobody hears the automatic sliding door open when Tendou leaves the convenience store.

The girl with the black hair leaves the comfort of her trio to walk up to you. As she draws near, you find your head craning up to meet her eyes. She’s just a bit taller than you are.

“You, bitch,” she venomously quips. “You think you’re so cute swooping in the volleyball team, doing what you like.”

You angle your head closer towards her, not wanting to back down from the height difference. These girls must have some immediate connection to the guys— you’re just not sure if they’re volleyball-related or a bunch of delusional fans. “Oh, so that’s what this is about? Are you pissed that I hang out with the team?” You take a step forward. “Pissed that I get to study over at Ushijima’s house with them?”

She clenches her jaw. "Why would I be? They probably took turns fucking you in there. You don't deserve to be in Wakatoshi-kun’s circle."

"Really, now. Tell me why I’ve been included in it, then,” you say through gritted teeth. “His house is really big. Bet you've never been invited over, huh?"

“Nah, they haven’t,” Tendou’s voice ruptures through the thick tensioned air. The girls look away from you and towards him. “Hey there, managers. Looks like you’re making a new friend.” His face curls into a dangerous grin.

So this is the volleyball club’s roster of managers?

The taller girl backtracks by a step. The other two are searing with embarrassment.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Tendou walks a few lazy steps towards the gathering, his plastic bag of popsicles swaying to and fro. “Go on. I’m all ears,” he urges them, voice dangerously notched down.

She finally lets out an exhale before crossing her arms defensively. “We didn’t peg you the type to go for a girl so cheap, Satori-kun. Nothing to her name, too. Where’d you pick her up?”

Tendou moves in to loom over her. “I didn’t. Wakatoshi-kun did,” he puts a hand on his hip. You catch her eye twitch when Tendou drawls out Ushijima’s name. “You’re jealous, aren’t ya? To—tally understand that, not everyone can befriend Shiratorizawa’s golden boy that easily,” he answers with a voice dripping thick with poison.

She doesn’t let up. “Friend? Don’t flatter her. She’s probably the team bitch that you guys pass around.”

You are not going to let a complete stranger cuss you out like this. “If you’re going to corner me, at least get your facts straight. We’re just friends,” you scoff. “Stop eating that shit up.”

Tendou tilts his head up to air a laugh out before his eyes lock back on the manager. “Hey, Ryoko-chan— don’t tell me you haven’t heard? Wakatoshi-kun and [F/N] are such good friends, they’ve even met each other's families,” his wicked grin grows wider. “Wakatoshi-kun really likes her mom’s cooking.”

The middle blocker’s eyes are burning with malice. Tendou’s trying to rub salt into this Ryoko girl’s wound.

They hold a stare-down before she withdraws. “Whatever,” she backs down, turning on her heel to escape from his gaze. “See you in summer camp. Polish up on your blocks, it could do you good.”

Tendou then lightens up in a flip of a switch. You’re unnerved by how fast his expression changes into a beaming smile. “See you, Ryoko-chan! I’ll be missing you during the two-week break!”

The girls take their leave, but not without sparing you a few glares over their shoulders. Tendou waits until they’re out of earshot.

“Fucking bitches,” he finally utters under his breath, a shadow forming under his eyes.

Definitely chill-inducing.

You let out a long, relieved sigh. “You have a ravenous pick of managers, Tendou-kun. I thought they were going to pull me into an alley or something.”

He digs his hand into the plastic bag to toss you a popsicle. “It was just a matter of time before they swooped in on you,” he also takes a popsicle for himself before tearing it open.

You catch the cold treat with both hands. “What do you mean? Have they been talking about me for a while now?”

Tendou nibbles on the chocolate ice. “Not that I’ve personally witnessed it. I have this hunch that the girls who apply as team managers are bound to be motivated by crushes on Wakatoshi-kun,” he swallows.

You’re glad Tendou gave you ice cream over anything else because it’s seriously cooling your head down. “I mean, if you're that perfect of a bachelor, I guess having a rabid following isn't so far off. How’d you know she was going to pick on me?”

“Because she sucks at her job. She’s not doing it for the love of the sport, she’s doing it to get close to Wakatoshi-kun. Ryoko’s been on the team since first year, yet I have no idea why coach won’t kick her out. She can’t keep game stats for shit,” Tendou jolts up. “Whoops! Sorry for the potty mouth.”

You break into a laugh.

“I should’ve seen this coming since you’ve been spending time with us recently— Wakatoshi-kun the most, out of all people. Sorry I didn’t warn you earlier.”

You bite a melting piece off the popsicle. “It’s fine. I kinda knew what I was getting into when I started hanging out with Ushi.”

“Want me to tell him about today?”

“No need,” you bring up your free hand to flex at him. “I’m tougher than I look!”

Tendou chuckles at you. “Too bad. I would have loved to see Wakatoshi-kun break into another expression we've yet to unlock.”

“Was his test scheduled later than ours was?”

Tendou’s beginning to finish up his popsicle. “It was. I’m camping out here while waiting for everyone else. It’s our last chance to persuade him into joining our yearly summer road trip.”

He leans over to a nearby recycling bin to toss the wrapper through its opening. “Cute,” you take another bite. “You guys do that?”

“Started out with just me, Semisemi, Reon, and Hayato. Dragged along Kenjirou and Taichi when we were in second year. This year, we’re planning to take Tsutomu, too.” You watch Tendou fish another popsicle out of his plastic bag.

“What about Ushi?”

He rips the second popsicle wrapper open. “Wakatoshi-kun’s never gone. His family trips overlap with our schedule, so we’re planning it as soon as possible this time,” Tendou narrows his eyes. “And I’m going to do everything I can to get him onboard.”

A drop of melted popsicle juice hits the concrete when you see his eyes widen in determination. “Good luck with it, Tendou-kun.”

“Satori’s fine.”

You smile warmly. “Good luck, Satori-kun. Thanks for today— the popsicle and the confrontation both.”

He pats your head the same way he did when you came in late from the committee meeting. “See you after summer break, [F/N]-chan.”

“See you, Satori-kun. Enjoy your trip.”

Unbeknownst to the both of you, your first term-farewells were bid too soon.

Ring-ring-ring.

【ＵＮＫＮＯＷＮ　ＮＵＭＢＥＲ】

calling

Ring-ring-ring.

You look at your phone flashing on your bed.

Ring-ring-ring.

“Ugh. Fine.”

Click!

“Hello?”

“[F/N]-chan?!”

You recognize this voice anywhere.

“Satori-kun?”

“You’re coming with us to the summer trip, no ifs and buts!”

“Wh-what? Wai—“

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Chapter Text

Ushijima was carrying his school backpack and dorm duffel bag when he walked out of Shiratorizawa’s gates. He scans the vicinity around the pillared entrance to search for his equally large-bodied, bag-heavy teammates.

They huddle at the Lawson branch a few meters over. Ushijima has yet to spot them.

“Not that I hate staying over at the dorm or whatever, but I hate having to carry my stuff all the way home every term,” Semi rants, pulling the strap up on his shoulder.

“That’s because you insist on bringing your guitar to school, Eita,” Ohira points out. “You don’t even practice that much because of volleyball.”

“I do when we’re released early, okay,” he answers. “I’m a musician. The band member in me just has to.”

Ohira chuckles. Goshiki’s wandering gaze meets Ushijima’s and the captain is prompted to walk towards them. He passes by the school’s eagle monument.

“Ushijima-san is here,” he notifies the rest of the team. Kawanishi and Yamagata step back, opening up the circle for him. The reigning ace walks up to the group of seven-turned-eight. They look like a bunch of nomads, surrounded by a mountain of luggage like that.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou starts. “I think you already know why we’re meeting here before heading home.”

Ushijima scans his teammates’ faces. His mouth doesn’t move.

“That’s right! It’s to plan our yearly summer trip, the one you’re finally joining.”

And then it does. “I can’t.”

“We haven’t even discussed it yet!”

“My mother’s going to plan something this break.”

“We know,” Yamagata advances. “That’s why we’re planning it earlier than the usual. We’ll beat your mom to it.”

Ushijima frowns the slightest, not in distaste, but in regret. “I don’t think that will work.”

Tendou takes a step forward and bumps into Shirabu’s sling bag, earning him a subdued glare from the second year setter. “Come on! It’s our third year; we’re all going our separate ways once we graduate. Don’t you feel like you’ve missed out on that trip to the Akiu Great Falls? How about when we trekked over at Rairaikyo Gorge?”

Ushijima has, but it’s not like he's ever gone against his family’s matriarchal stronghold. His mom’s not home often anyway, so in the rare weeks that their schedules interlap, he has no choice but to adhere to his familial duties. Even if that includes getting whisked along her business trips.

Yamagata snorts upon recalling the summer of last year. “Remember when Taichi passed out at the onsen?”

Kawanishi shoots a silencing look at their libero. “Yamagata-san, we don’t talk about that.”

“Anyway,” Semi interjects. “C’mon, Wakatoshi. Loosen up a bit. You’re going to play for the league after high school, so it’s our last chance before we go our own ways!”

Shirabu’s face droops the slightest when he realizes that he’ll be left with Goshiki when the third years retire— which means that he’ll have to acclimate to setting for him more. And then he suddenly feels the need to pull alongside the third years. “You should join us, Ushijima-san. I went last year and it was fun.”

He doesn’t let up. “I’ve tried asking before,” he reveals, “but she’s never allowed me to go. It’s just how it is.”

The boys study Ushijima’s face. It’s devoid of any passionate teenage rebellion. Somehow, they’re not surprised when he lays it down like that.

Tendou takes in a long breath, his chest puffing out, before sighing dramatically. “Too bad. We were rea—lly looking forward to finally having you this year.” He attaches a pout like a finishing move.

Ushijima wrinkles his eyebrows.

It’s greatly ineffective.

Ohira laughs at his act. Semi leans back on the convenience store’s outdoor wall, joining in on Ohira’s reaction. “Give it up Satori,” his lips turn up. “The only way he’ll go is if— I don’t know, [LN]-chan comes along,” he throws that guess up into the air.

Kawanishi snickers. “I doubt that. It sounds like Ushijima-kaasan is at the top of the pecking order.”

“But then,” Goshiki looks at him. “It won’t be a boys trip anymore if we have [L/N]-senpai tag along.”

“I think Eita was joking, Tsutomu,” Yamagata bluntly replies.

The knit in the rookie ace’s eyebrows come undone. “Oh.”

And then the blanketing sound of awkward silence.

Ushijima loosens his jaw. “If [LN] is coming, then so will I. I’ll talk to my mother and get her to say yes.”

That declaration lassos the team’s attention, drawing their heads towards their captain. Ushijima, however, is unchanging under their concentrated gazes.

Tendou throws the other third years a trademark smirk. Yamagata snorts, Ohira grins, Semi’s mouth hangs open. It then dominos to the lower years— Kawanishi’s eyes squint, Shirabu barely hides behind his bangs before a chuckle escapes.

Goshiki simply tilts his head to the side. “Ohhh, I get it. Now I understand why you told Shirabu-san off when he was being rude to [L/N]-senpai last Saturday.”

Shirabu’s eyes shoot daggers. Goshiki flinches. Ushijima’s eyebrows furrow at them both.

“Huh?”

They wordlessly blink at his non-response.

Oh, how they love their endearingly dense captain. But first, the summer road trip.

“Wakatoshi, you’d really do that? You’re not joking, right?”

“Dude,” Yamagata turns to the vice captain. “Has he ever joked about anything?”

Tendou thaws out Ushijima’s initially ice-cold rejection. His beady eyes fire up when he remembers you were just with him fifteen minutes ago. “Damn it! If I just got her to stay a bit longer before you guys arrived—“

“You were with her?” Ushijima asks.

“Yes, we hung out for a bit while I was waiting—" and then Tendou remembers how your name flashed on Ushijima’s phone last weekend, “Wait! Wakatoshi-kun, give me your phone.”

Tendou’s grabby hands are impatiently stretched out. Ushijima fishes it out from his duffel bag’s side pocket before handing it to him.

“So you’ll go, right? You’ll come with us if we tag her along?” Yamagata’s eyebrows shoot up. Tendou unlocks Ushijima’s phone; he doesn’t have a passcode.

“Like, us third years will finally have a chance at being complete?” Semi adds. Tendou taps on Ushijima’s address book.

“Wait,” Ohira slows the racing conversation down. “Shouldn’t you ask if the other guys are okay with it?”

Tendou stops scrolling down Ushijima’s contact list. The rest of the third years unhook their attention on the lefty before latching onto Goshiki, Kawanishi, and Shirabu. They await their incoming thoughts.

“I mean,” Shirabu’s bangs sway when he shrugs. “[LN]-senpai helped me procure notes. She’s nice.”

“If Shirabu’s okay with it, then I am too,” Kawanishi affirms.

And then everyone looks at the boy with the black bowl cut. “Ushijima-san, since you’ll only go if she goes, that obviously means that you l—“

Semi puts Goshiki into a headlock before hushing him. “Let him figure that out on his own terms!” he whispers sharply. “He’s getting there! Don’t spoil it for him!”

It’s the elephant in the room, yet everyone has beat Ushijima himself to acknowledging it.

“Anyway!” Semi interrupts yet again. “We’ll take that as a yes!”

Ohira’s eyes crinkle up when he smiles. “Satori, we’ll leave the rest to you. Let us know if you need help.”

Tendou finally finds your name on the screen. He wears a lopsided grin when he saves your number into his phone. “Will do.”

Your face is confused when you pull your phone away from your ear. Adding his number to your address book, you proceed to type out a text.

【 ＴＥＮＤＯＵ　ＳＡＴＯＲＩ】

________________________

You: what?|

You’re about to hit send until Yumi’s name pops up on your phone. Suddenly remembering that you were supposed to text her your summer schedule, you tap on the green button with haste.

“[F/N]-chan!”

“Yes, I know, my schedule this break is—“

“Hold that thought! Has it reached you yet?”

Lying down on your bed, your eyes flicker to the ceiling light. “What has?”

You hear her mouth pop open before she draws her words back.

“The, you know, the video floating around. The one with Andou in it.”

“Andou again? What’s she doing in the video?”

Yumi sighs.

“So it hasn’t?”

You’re silently waiting for her to continue.

“I really don’t know how to explain it, actually… I got it from Takeru. One of his boys-only group chats started talking about it, you see.”

You wait for her to get to the point. She continues trailing.

“I’m glad he actually dipped out of it before telling me. He’s just as grossed out.”

You roll over to the side of your bed. “Just spit it out, Yumi.”

She groans.

“Okay, fine. One sec.”

Ping!

𝙮𝙪𝙢𝙞 ❤️ 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙤.

You retract your phone from your ear. Tapping on the notification ribbon at the top of your phone screen, you’re then led to your chat log with Yumi. The video thumbnail is blurry.

You press play.

It’s a video of her sucking off her (ex) boyfriend in one of the school’s gym bathrooms.

“What the hell?”

“Right?!” Yumi’s voice pitches up. “Takeru’s friends are just handing it out like flyers. It’s sick.”

“Did her ex leak it?”

“Probably. I heard they didn’t end on good terms, so he could be getting back at her.”

You look at a bare wall, scowling at nothing in particular. As much as you’re mad at the guys making rounds out of this private content, you actually feel sorry for Andou. You wonder how she feels, getting a video like that leaked. Revenge porn. No consent.

But then it’s not like you’ve ever spoken a word to her, so dropping by her direct messages is out of the question.

“Damn,” you finally heave out. “Are you friends with her?”

Yumi scoffs. “No way. Remember back in first year when she was classmates with Takeru? And she tried getting in his pants during cleaning period?”

Oh yeah. “Okay, now I remember why I don’t talk to her.”

“Going back to the main issue,” Yumi shoves the illicit topic away. “Our summer trip. You have anything coming up?”

“Well,” you smack your lips. You circle around the idea of telling her about Tendou’s sudden call, but you dismiss it thinking that he was just pulling your leg. “My dad will be having recurring business flights to Tokyo for the next few weeks, so I’m not going anywhere soon.”

“Perfect!” you picture her cheery grin through the phone call. “Wanna go to Iwanumaya? My dad got vouchers from a client.”

“That Iwanumaya?” you ask, dipping your head down as your eyebrows rise up. “Oh, say less. Give me the date and I’ll block it off.”

【 ＴＥＮＤＯＵ　ＳＡＴＯＲＩ】

Friday, 2:16 PM

You: what?

You: i have plans this summer don’t invite me to anything

Friday, 8:02 PM

Tendou Satori: ARE YUO FREE ON MONDAY

Tendou Satori: I need to talk to you!!!

You: don’t talk me into going to the trip

You: i’m busy lol

Tendou Satori: It’s not about the trip i swera!

Tendou Satori: swear*

Seen 10:55 PM

Friday, 10:56 PM

Tendou Satori: PLSp

Tendou Satori: LS

Tendou Satori: PLS

Seen 11:24 PM

Friday, 11:28 PM

Tendou Satori: See you at flat white izumi branch monday 12 nn!

You: I DIDN’T EVEN AGREE TO SEEING YOU

Tendou Satori: I’ll be waiting ok!! don’t stand me up, or i’ll get really sad! see ya!!!

You: SATORI

𝙈𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙖𝙜𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙙.

You press the retry button.

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙩𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙨 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩.

You slam your phone down your pillow.

“Did he block me?!”

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

6-8-8 Takamori, Izumi-ku, Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture

Monday, 11:49 AM

“There has to be a limit to how much Satori-kun can drag me into things,” you mutter under your breath. You walk up to the box-build café and find refuge from the summer sun by standing underneath its overhead entrance. When your eyes cracked open this morning, you told yourself that you wouldn’t be meeting him today. When you took a shower and changed into loungewear, you told yourself that you wouldn’t be meeting him today. When you reread your chat log with Tendou, you definitely told yourself that you wouldn't be meeting him today.

Yet, a wardrobe change plus sneakers later, your feet led you to the nearest train station.

And then you thought, okay, fine. I’ll meet him today.

You clutch on the wooden door handle before swinging the entrance open.

The smell hits you before you even step inside the air-conditioned coffee shop. There’s something so relaxing about the aroma of coffee beans—

No!, you wrangle your thoughts. No. Don’t let yourself get swayed by whatever Satori-kun has up his sleeve.

You weave your way through a number of tables. Judging by how there are no free seats in the first floor, you gather that the lunch hour rush has already settled in. You don’t spot Tendou’s troll-like hair anywhere (you say this with affection— he did, after all, manage to drag you out of your house through sheer guilt). And so, you walk under the café’s exposed beams and wound yourself up on the overlooking second floor.

Ah. There he is.

But then your eyes squint at the surrounding boys circled around the table. There’s a boy with an undercut, another one with tanned skin and textured hair, and then that ash-blonde head…

“Oh, hell no.”

Tendou whips his head towards you. That sight alone is enough to give you déjà vu.

“She’s here!”

You make a mad dash towards the steps before Semi scrambles out of his seat to hook an arm around your waist, pulling you back and even lifting your feet off the ground. You should’ve known not to escape when you’re dealing with volleyball Nationals-level athletes.

“I’m sorry, [L/N]-chan, but we need to talk to you!”

Everyone on the second floor is giving your disruptive group worrying stares. You see a middle-aged lady pull her phone out to tap emergency hotline 1-1-0. She looks up and awaits your reaction, her index finger hovering over the call button.

Okay, fine. I won’t get these guys implicated for abduction.

You pry yourself out of your classmate’s grip. “Ten minutes. I’ll be here for ten minutes.”

The lady puts her phone away before returning to her steaming americano.

Ohira sighs in relief. He looks like ten years were shaved off his lifespan.

Tendou pats on an empty seat, beckoning you to sit beside him. Begrudgingly, just like how you accepted his (forceful) invite to study at Ushijima’s house, you do.

“So,” Tendou’s flowery voice breaks the ice. “How was your weekend?”

“Cut to the chase, Satori-kun.”

Ohira laughs deeply when Tendou’s bright eyes tighten into slits. “We need you to come to the summer trip.”

“You told me it wasn’t going to be about this! And I thought it was a volleyball team-only trip!”

“Well,” Tendou’s fingers interlink when he places his elbows on the table. “I lied. And you’ve been adopted. You need to come.”

You close your eyes and breathe deeply. “And why should I go?”

“Because Wakatoshi-kun won’t come unless you do.”

Your face contorts into a grimace, mouth gaping open. “Am I his babysitter or something?! Doesn’t he get sick of seeing my face?”

Semi holds back a laugh. It’s more like he can’t get enough of it, he thinks to himself. He shoots a look at the rest of the guys and they mirror his expression. Yamagata crouches inwards, trying not to spill his amusement out.

Ohira smooths his lips into a line before recollecting himself. “We’re really sorry, [L/N]-chan, but we need you to do this. Our third year memories are on the line.”

“Ohira-kun, I didn’t peg you the type to guilt-trip me too!”

Yamagata bursts into a laugh before apologizing profusely, wiping a tear away from his eye. Tendou leans over to you. “Look, I’ll even treat you to lunch right now. I’m not gonna wait for the History exam’s results anymore.”

Semi hands him the digital tablet menu. Tendou taps on the lunch section. “Here, pick anything you want. It’s on me.”

“Seriously? Bribery, too? I should’ve gotten you arrested for just kidnapping while I had the chance.”

“Please!” Tendou takes your hands into his, drawing it close to his chest. Always one for theatrics, this guy.

You withdraw your hands and glare at him. He figures you’re not going to order food yourself, so he takes it upon himself to get you a plate of pasta.

You watch him tap on a food order.

“I also want an iced caramel latte.”

He taps on that too.

“You see, Wakatoshi-kun’s been scouted for the league. He’s going to play professionally when we graduate. Who knows when’s the next time we’ll see each other?”

Semi pitches in. “He said he’d even talk his mom into letting him go. C’mon, [L/N]-chan, don’t let his effort go to waste like that.”

You purse your lips.

“I’ll think about it.”

And then they all quiet down. The boys are watching you, waiting for you. There’s a silence that hangs over your table.

“Okay, are you done?”

“Done what?”

“Done thinking?”

You glower at Tendou. The chair legs scratch the concrete floor when you stand up. “Bye, I’m lea—“

“No!”

And now even Yamagata pulls you by your arm. He almost falls off his seat when he leans over. Semi joins in, holding on your other arm before pushing you back into your chair. Another ten years off Ohira.

“Listen,” Tendou vice-grips your wrist in case you try to escape again. “Beach trip. Tsukihama. Two nights, three days.”

A beat of silence.

“Where are we lodging? How are we getting there? How much do I have to shell out?” you question like a shooting gun.

Their eyes light up at your dripping interest.

“Shirabu’s uncle is letting us borrow his beach house. Yamagata turned eighteen last February. He's the first to get his license, so he can drive us with his van. To cut down on costs, we’ll buy groceries and cook food throughout the entire stay. Just pitch in for that, pay for your own pitstop food, plus gas,” Semi fires right back.

You squint your eyes at the boys, still not fully convinced. It makes Ohira rack his brain for his own dosage of input, but their libero chips at the weighted tension.

“Look,” Yamagata intercepts your thoughts. “You know what, I’ll even waive your gas— just come. We just really want Wakatoshi onboard, okay?”

You bite your lip, teeth digging into soft flesh as you agonizingly sift through your thoughts.

The four boys await in suspense, eyebrows sloping downwards.

“When’s the trip?”

They're nearing the finish line.

“This weekend.”

“…”

“No,” you finally breathe out.

And then they trip right before the ribbon.

Tendou’s head almost slams into the wooden table. “Why not?!”

“This weekend is too soon!”

“There’s no time like the present!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose with your free hand. “In case you didn’t realize, I live under my parents’ roof. I still have to get their permission.”

The boys throw on varying degrees of confusion. “Okay? So just ask them?”

Your teeth grazes your lower lip. “Okay, sure. Let me try,” you turn towards Ohira and Semi, your fake parents for this skit. “Hi mom, hi dad. Will you let me, your only daughter go on a two nights, three days trip with a bunch of guys? By the way, no other girls will be going and I’ve only know these boys for weeks!”

Tendou inhales sharply. “Well, do you want me to ask the managers?!” he banters back.

“No way!” you answer back with red-hot defensiveness.

“Um,” Ohira interrupts. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing!” You and Tendou answer back.

“Anyway,” the redhead clears his throat. “Point taken. Just make something up!”

You put on the most expressionless face you can muster.

“Please!” They all plead in unison.

If it weren't for Tendou's share of convenience store storytime, you would've pulled back and crossed your hands in concrete rejection.

But if I don't go, the guys might never be able to do this again in the future.

Ugh, but that's exactly what Satori-kun wants me to think.

... But then again, I'd hate to be the only roadblock to their first complete summer trip.

They study your expression, waiting with bated breath.

You sigh deeply. “I can’t guarantee you guys anything, but… give me a week to sort everything out.”

“A week?!”

“Do you want me to go or not?!”

Do it for Wakatoshi, do it for Wakatoshi, do it for Wakatoshi. They all chant it in their heads, their brains now desperately running out of fuel.

They slump into their seats. “Fine. A week. We’ll push back everything else, too. Don’t let us down, okay [F/N]-chan?!”

You puff out an air of amusement through your nostrils before your throat bubbles out a light chuckle. “Okay.”

The boys roll their head back in relief.

You return home with a belly full of pasta and coffee, plus a side-quest you first need to complete before reaching the final boss (read: your parents).

You really didn’t think you’d be using up this many brain cells during your summer break. Okay, maybe you exaggerate since you still have to accomplish your summer homework, but still. This task fell right into your lap and you need to pull off the mental gymnastics to see this road trip through.

You text your trusty best friend for some assistance.

【ＹＵＭＩ❤️】

Monday, 4:23 PM

You: yumi i need your help

You put your phone down on a nightstand before walking to the closet. The door creaks open as you hear a ping! go off. You pull out some home clothes before throwing them on the bed, your knees then cushioning on the mattress. You let your body fall, stomach down, before reaching for the gadget.

Monday, 4:25 PM

yumi ❤️: wats up!

You: i was invited to another trip

yumi ❤️: if u r gonna flake on me im gonna strangle u

You: i’m NOT

You: but

You: can we postpone it though

yumi ❤️: grr

yumi ❤️: to when

You: like.. the last week of august?

yumi ❤️: ok fine ill do something about the vouchers, daddy can probably get the dates changed

You: i also need you to do another thing for me

yumi ❤️: i have a talent fee

You: I’M YOUR BEST FRIEND

yumi ❤️: what is it

You: can you cover for me

yumi ❤️: …

yumi ❤️: who invited you

Seen 4:31 PM

yumi ❤️: WHO IS IT!!!!!!!!!

You: …

You: the vbc…………

yumi ❤️: are you SERIOUS

yumi ❤️: are you REALLY not going out with ushiwaka?!!?!!

You: would i ever hide anything from you?!

yumi ❤️: U OWE ME SOOO MUCH

yumi ❤️: give me the details

yumi ❤️: and go out with me tomorrow! i wanna go shopping

yumi ❤️: ill pick u up

You: i love you so much i think i’ll name my first child after you

yumi ❤️: shut up 😎

𝐒-𝐏𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋

1-1-1 Chuo, Aoba-ku, Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture

Tuesday, 1:12 PM

And that’s how you ended up in S-Pal Mall with Yumi.

“I thought you wanted to go shopping?”

“What, did you seriously think that old one piece you wore to our last trip will be good enough for the VBC trip? You need to get yourself a new one.”

“I’m not trying to impress them, okay,” you drag out. She gives you a wry smile, to which you roll your eyes at.

She then stands across you to hold up two choices, angling her head to the side in careful comparison. On both hands she holds two bikinis, left is strapless with white frills, and right is stringed with blue-and-white stripes.

You push her hands away. “No. No bikinis,” your face warms up. “Are you crazy? I can’t be wearing that around eight other guys,” she watches your cheeks redden. “I mean, I’d be okay with that much skin if it’s with you, but not with them.”

She giggles at your embarrassment. “Well, I guess so.” Yumi’s always been the more flamboyant one between you both. She puts back her initial choices to parse through the swimsuit rack once more. You step away to do the same in another collection.

“What about this one?” you ask, pulling out a plain one-piece swimsuit. It’s black; the v-cut cleavage doesn’t plunge past your underboobs, the padding looks secure. It should be appropriate for a first-time trip with guys I haven’t known for long, you think. You turn the hanger around and see that it’s a low-back cut. Not too low though. Just, you know, appropriately low. Something your butt can comfortably move in without fear of getting wedgies. God, you hate swimsuit wedgies.

“Business up front, party at the back, huh,” she hums when she looks through the rack you retrieved it from. “How about white?” she asks, pulling out the same style. “Everyone wears black. I think you’ll pop out more with this.”

You shrug. “Yeah, okay.”

A visit to the fitting room, an approving thumbs-up, and a payment made to the cashier later, you’re finally done swimsuit shopping. You then remember that you need to collect enough photo evidence in case your parents ask for pictures from the trip, so you and Yumi take a brief walk outside.

You take your phone out and angle the camera way below your faces, just enough so that your heads pop out in front of bright blue skies and fluffy overhead clouds. Snap!

“Does it look like we’re at the beach?”

Yumi laughs at her double-chin. “Kinda?”

You take another one, Yumi holding up a peace sign this time. She quiets down and studies the photo in detail.

“I have an idea,” she blurts out. She hooks you by the nook of your shoulder and you walk back inside the mall.

“Why are we at the appliance store?”

She brings you to the television section before scanning through the vibrantly exaggerated screens. Her eyes land on the 72-inch HD Smart-TV replaying scenes of small waves crashing over a coast.

“Yumi, don’t.”

Her lips start quivering into a smile. “Yumi,” you repeat carefully. “Do. Not.”

“What?! No one’s watching us!”

You watch her bite her lip. And then you break into a nervous laugh after her. “Okay, fine!”

You exchange embarrassed glances at each other when you stand in front of the screen. “Hurry up!” you implore, “before an employee sees us!”

Yumi grabs your phone and extends her arm. She angles the phone screen so that it cuts off the television border. She expertly positions you both, making it look like you’re actually at the beach. This is as good as photoshop or green screen and CGI gets.

You sling an arm around her shoulder, head leaning towards hers before the both of you break out into equally red-faced smiles. She takes a photo. And then another pose before it snaps! once more.

Your heads bump into each other when you look at the selfies. Breaking out into unhinged laughter, a passerby shoots a concerned stare your way.

“Hey, that’s honestly not that bad!”

“And our cheeks look like we’ve been under the sun for a while, too!”

“You’re right,” you’re running out of air as you laugh harder. “I think this is good enough evidence. Thank you, Yumi-chan,” a genuine smile blossoms on your face.

“I know you love me, dummy,” she affectionately proclaims.

You return home with the joy of having such a batshit crazy friend. Yumi sends you some more old, never-before-seen solo photos of her at the beach to add to your artillery (phone gallery) of falsified evidence. Over the next few days, you fabricate a story with her, even rehearsing lines over phone calls in case your mom or dad calls her number up to verify the trip details. She’s memorized her script, you’ve memorized yours. In addition to that, you had to send Tendou daily progress reports once he unblocked your number (you’re still kinda mad about this, honestly). Your text log is a continuous repeat of did you ask yet—no, did you ask yet—no, did you ask yet—no.

The weekend rolls in and your dad’s home from Tokyo for two nights before flying off again. During dinner time, you finally ask your parents the biggest, most complex, most intricate lie that has yet to leave your lips.

“Mom, dad, can I go on a trip?”

Your dad washes his rice down with miso soup. “With who?”

“With Yumi. We’re going to the beach.”

“Another beach trip with Yumi?” your mom asks.

“Yeah. It’s just me and her family. Her parents asked me to tag along.”

I mean… if a family is a team of volleyball players and a rando committee member they picked up, then sure, I guess.

Your parents then ask for the classic WWH rhyme— when, where, and how are you getting there?

To which you answer with August 1-3— that’s a Wednesday to Friday, Tsukihama Beach, and her dad will drive us.

Your mom cuts up a piece of salmon before it disappears into her mouth. “Sure. How about you, honey?”

“That’s alright. Be safe and text us, got it?”

Well, that was quick. Kinda like ripping a band-aid off, even.

A weight lifts off your chest. You try not to breathe out too suddenly.

That means it’s finally happening. Like, it’s actually happening.

“I will. Thank you mom and dad.”

There’s a pep in your step when you retire to your room that night.

After that ambush in the form of a café lunch, you changed Tendou’s contact name into something more… apt, in ill humour.

【 Ａ　ＴＲＯＬＬ】

Saturday, 9:26 PM

You: i got the go-signal

He texts back almost immediately.

a troll: rELALY

a troll: FINALLY

a troll: THAT’S PERFECT cUZ

a troll: WAKATOSHI-KUN’S MOM IS ARRIVING HOME TOMORROW SO HE’LL ASK HER

You: stop shouting!!!!

a troll: Go grocery shopping with me and the boys!!! 

You: no

a troll: Understandable have a good night!!! 🤪 See you wednesday! We’ll pick you up!

The next day, Ushijima walks in the dining area to see his mom seated at the round breakfast table. The morning sun illuminates her brown hair, the bright rays revealing tones of natural olive. Her body is situated against the sun and it sets a shadow over the paperwork sprawled in front of her— sheets filled with circles, arrows, and clarifications in red ink.

“Okaa-san, you’re back early.”

She looks up from her phone, her razor-sharp bob cut swaying when she watches her son sit down on the chair across hers. “Good morning to you too, Wakatoshi. A friend bumped me to an earlier flight.”

Ushijima pours some black tea into her empty cup. She gives a curt thanks before returning to her phone to read through the news app. He’s about to initiate the conversation about summer plans, but she takes the words out of his mouth.

“Wakatoshi, grandma’s not coming with us this summer trip because she’s getting too old for flights. Air travel makes her legs hurt.”

He pauses for a while before recalibrating his thoughts. “Okaa-san, I’d like to go on a trip with my friends.”

She doesn’t look up from her phone. “Like the one you asked about last year? And the year before that?”

“Yes.”

“You know the answer,” she continues reading through a news article, expecting this query to resolve itself.

He doesn’t respond. Her eyes flicker up to him.

“It’s a no. Keep your schedule open and remain on standby at home— like you always do— so you can tag along my business trip once I close this deal.”

He pushes. “I’d like to go on a trip with my friends.”

Her head cranes up and she gives him a proper glance, studying his face— a painting of her own features on the canvas of her ex-husband’s. A concentrated gaze, lips drawn to a thin downwards line, identically powerful olive eyes. They’re peering into her own.

A true mirror image, yet not quite. There’s a hint of tenderness, something shy of a plead. That wasn’t there before, she thinks.

“That’s a first.”

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down the slightest.

She purses her lips before they turn up in a small, politely-trained grin.

“If I remember correctly, this is with your volleyball team, right?”

“Yes, and another friend of mine.”

An eyebrow raised high enough that it promptly alerts Ushijima. “Is it the girl your grandma said came over? What’s her name again— I can’t even remember, her last name didn’t stick out much.”

“[L/N]. Yes, she’ll be coming.”

Ushijima puts both hands on the table, body language vocalizing what he can’t through words. Asking what he can as a son, asserting what he wants as his own person.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by his mother.

“Wakatoshi, if you’re interested in a girl, she should at least be someone our family knows of. Your grandma has been spoiling you too much to let this slip by.”

His eyes twitch the slightest.

“I can always fix something up for you. You know we’re friends with the right people. There’s the Kawabata family from construction, the airlines’ Shiraishi daughters, or even Nagamine’s agribusiness heiress—”

There’s a dial in his head and he turns it all the way to the left. He blocks out whatever signals his mother sends out.

Setting me up, like a blind date?

No way.

I don’t want to meet anyone new.

“I’m not interested. I’d like to go on a trip with my friends,” he repeats slower this time.

The disruption makes his mom’s eyebrows dip in upsetting disconcertment.

“No.”

“Why not?”

A thought glosses over. Did he seriously just question me?

“Because I said so.”

“Please reconsider it,” he answers back in lightning speed. “It’s only two nights and three days in the Miyagi area.”

“I sai—“

“I’ll keep obaa-chan company when I return— and while you’re abroad.” Like you always are.

And she closes her mouth. And he saves himself by the skin of his teeth.

She lets out a sigh. She lets him have his way, but she’s resolute not to have him get used to it.

“This one time— to humour you— I will allow it. Don’t get distracted afterwards,” she takes the newly-refilled tea cup. “I’m already putting a lot on the line to let you pursue volleyball after high school, and I don’t want you disappointing me like your father did,” she takes a sip.

Her eyes give him a half-lidded glare behind the cup’s rim. A warning sign that’s enough to send shivers down anyone’s back, even if he’s the best ace in the Miyagi prefecture.

“You’re an Ushijima and not an Utsui, after all.”

Ushijima clenches his jaw. He lets the aggravation simmer away, and then he unclenches it.

“Yes, okaa-san,” he says like it’s a line that’s been programmed into his neural pathways. “Thank you for letting me go.”

Chapter Text

Your bag’s zipper crunches as you close it shut. Toiletries, towels, clothes, underwear, gadgets, chargers—

“Oh right,” you whisper to no one in particular. “The swimsuit.”

You pick up the crumpled paper bag by your desk. Digging your hand in, you retrieve the white one-piece swimsuit that Yumi picked out for you.

A ping! goes off when you add the nearly-forgotten swimsuit to your duffel bag.

【ＵＳＨＩ】

ushi: We’re nearby. 5 minutes.

You: ok! i’ll lock up and wait outside

Your mom and dad left you in charge of the house this morning. Since your dad wasn’t able to hail a taxi in time, your mom set aside her usual morning routine to drive him up the airport instead. Make sure you lock up the front door when you leave, got it?

And by the clicking of the locks in place, you do. The front gate of your house creaks open before you station yourself at the concrete sidewalk. As you wait outside, your fingers begin to abuse the fraying thread of your bag strap.

It’s actually happening.

You’ve been reduced to a bundle of nerves. As much as you’ve meticulously planned for this trip, it wasn’t enough to mentally prepare you for what’s to come— a whole two days, three nights trip to the beach with boys you’ve only met this semester. It’s not that you don’t trust them, no way, it’s just that— it still feels so odd getting roped in with the school’s powerhouse volleyball team, of all groups.

But then you remember Ushijima, the guy who told you off for complicating things too much. And Tendou who stepped in during the manager incident. And how the team eagerly finished off those affectionately-nicknamed honey lemon things. And Shirabu’s genuine appreciation for the notes, and how the third years practically begged you to join, and—

You breathe out, sigh trembling when you check your phone again. Just calm down.

Two more minutes.

And then you finally acknowledge that, yeah, okay, maybe I am really nervous— but not in the high-strung, anxiety-ridden nervous. Maybe nervous in a way that could be identical to the ticking seconds before you get pushed off a bungee-jumping cliff— you know you signed up for this, you know it’s going to be memorable, but you can’t help but look over that edge and feel your stomach plunge.

And then you think— ah, I’m kinda scared.

But Yamagata’s van pulls up, the sheer size of it making your lips tug away from trepidation and into anticipation. The stocky build is so large that it takes up the entire side road that your house opens up to. His Nissan NV boasts a glistening layer of wax, making the early morning sun reflect off the vehicle’s coat of bright red paint.

Shirabu slides the door open to reveal Tendou and Goshiki peeping their excitable selves out the now-exposed interiors. Yamagata swings an arm around the passenger seat to greet you an energetic good morning. Their excitement spills out— from the air-conditioned car, to you who stands under the hot summer skies.

And then you think— ah, but I’m kinda excited, too. So you jump off that cliff and bungee-jump yourself into this road trip, a peculiar group of large-bodied high school boys and the one girl who got dragged in adopted by them.

It’s a just a few days. I’ll enjoy it while I can.

Shirabu helps you take your bag off before he passes it down to the succeeding rows behind him. With Yamagata at the wheel, Ushijima sits shotgun, followed by you and Shirabu at the second row, Semi, Tendou, and Goshiki at third, and Ohira with Kawanishi at the fourth and last— they’re accompanied by a mountain of some more bags and ice box coolers.

You say your run-of-the-mill good mornings before Tendou overspeeds you with his usual chatterbox personality.

“Now that [F/N]-chan is here, should we draw lots now?”

You peer at him from behind your leather car seat. “What for?”

“Cooking duty,” Shirabu answers. “We’ll have four home-cooked meals throughout the stay— that’s day one’s dinner, day two’s brunch and dinner, then day three’s brunch.”

You hear Semi grumble a row away. “I hope I don’t get assigned to brunch. I don’t want to wake up early.”

Ohira fishes for a crumpled receipt in his pocket before he smooths it out and divides it into nine equal parts. He hands it then to Kawanishi, who leans over to his bag to retrieve a pen before scribbling meal designations, trying to write legibly in the moving car. The rookie middle blocker passes it to Tendou whose seat serves as the midpoint to the vehicle’s seat plan.

“Okay,” the redhead chimes, fanning the folded papers apart, “Everyone! Pick one!”

You wait for Ohira and Kawanishi, the boys seated at the back, to take theirs before you cast your luck and pick the lot of your choice. Shirabu passes the remaining two to Ushijima and Yamagata, who each take their own.

Everyone flips their respective papers over. You hear Goshiki's voice lament a prolonged nooo.

Your wrinkled paper reveals DAY 2 BRUNCH.

“What did you get, Shirabu-kun?”

Your seat mate sighs in relief. “Day two dinner. And you?”

Your answer spurs Goshiki to peek over your row. “[L/N]-senpai, don’t worry about our meal! I’d say I’m a pretty good cook,” he presumes with a smug ghosting on his features. You can tell Shirabu’s biting his tongue back from dropping some retort embarrassing enough to make the first year sit back down, but he lets it slide.

“Who’s cooking dinner tonight?” Yamagata asks, hands still on the wheels.

Ushijima and Semi raise their hands.

“It’s the OG setter-spiker duo,” Tendou comments.

“Brunch tomorrow?”

You and Goshiki raise your hands. The both of you look back to see Kawanishi do the same. Leave it to luck to pair you with the two boys you know the least.

“Dinner tomorrow?”

Ohira and Shirabu raise their hands. A collective sigh of relief is released by the boys. “We're eating good tomorrow night. Anyone paired up with Reon will for sure have it easy— that guy’s cooking is the best,” Semi tells. “Reon! Make sure you give me extra servings, got it?” Ohira gives an embarrassed chuckle, Shirabu lets a tight-lipped grin drift to his mouth.

“That leaves me with Satori for day three’s brunch then,” Yamagata deduces. Tendou asks if they could add chocolate ice cream to their meal plan, to which the libero sharply rejects.

You sit up and get on your knees to look at Goshiki in the third row and Kawanishi at the fourth. “Goshiki-kun, Kawanishi-kun, let’s talk about what to cook later, okay?”

Kawanishi nods and Goshiki words an enthusiastic yes. The rest of the road trip passes by with Tendou’s music hooked up via aux cord, some upbeat album of vintage beach pop blasting throughout the van. With that as the background noise, you sit back and bob your head to some guitar riffs as you watch the scenery pass by your window seat. Next thing you know, you’ve arrived at the expressway for a pit stop lunch.

It’s crowded when you arrive at the rest stop. It is the start of August, after all— everyone’s bound to be on the road for their own summer trips. As you walk down the long stretch of restaurants, you feel like the tall parade of boys you’re blending into (literally— they’re physically covering you) is attracting way too much attention.

“Do you guys always get this many stares?” you ask Tendou. You watch a little kid point up at Ushijima before his mom’s hand pulls his stubby finger away. Tendou laughs at your slight unease.

“We’re a big group of big boys. Wakatoshi-kun here brings the average height up to at least 185 centimetres,” he cocks his head to Ushijima. “But don’t bother computing. I just guessed.”

The nine of you enter an American-themed restaurant that, judging by their bright blue-and-red posters, specializes in burgers. “We’re used to the attention, so it’s fine,” the captain comments aside.

Well, I guess that makes sense. Their team is the mainstay volleyball topic for local news— SHIRATORIZAWA ACADEMY BOYS’ VOLLEYBALL TEAM TO REPRESENT MIYAGI IN THE UPCOMING NATIONALS, you'd remember reading that headline on your television screen.

You’re ushered to the longest table the establishment has to offer. Semi joins in on the conversation to tell you about one of the rare times Saturday practice was cancelled, and thus the team dedicated their once-in-a-blue-moon free weekend to watching a movie. Needless to say, there were some complaints about the group of boys whose heads were blocking the way.

You loop in your classic burger meal with the rest of their orders. The waitress leaves before Tendou puts his arms on the table to lean into the group. “So,” his comes out honeyed, “What do you guys think of Ryoko-chan?”

You shoot him a look. Satori-kun! What are you doing?!

“The third year manager?” Kawanishi asks.

Tendou nods at the boys before he sends you a secretive wink. Relax.

The lower years voice their cookie-cutter replies. “She’s okay”, “She can do better”, “I don’t have any problems with her”.

Yamagata cocks an eyebrow up, expecting them to say more. “That’s it? I think she’s a huge pain in the ass.”

Curiosity tickles you. You lean into the table like Tendou has, asking Yamagata why. He divulges the time she was assigned to tallying scores and she completely botched up the stats, leading the game report to reflect that it was him— their own libero— who scored sixteen points in set two.

Semi laughs unabashedly. “I remember that. Who messes up that bad? Confusing the ace’s scores with the libero’s name?”

Tendou joins in. “Right, right? There was also that time she tossed me my energy drink, the lid wasn’t secured properly and it bursted open on my lap. I smelled like Pocari that entire practice session.”

Ohira rounds the boys up. “That’s true, but she’s still our manager, so you have to be nice.”

Tendou nudges him on the shoulder. “Reon, you’re one of the vice captains, aren’t you? Why does the coach keep her on the team?

Ohira’s eyes flicker in surprise. “Eh, well… I don’t wanna make it sound like it’s a bad thing but,” his eyebrows begin to crease, “her family ‘sponsors’ our expenditures for Nationals, if you know what I mean.”

“I thought the school covered that? It’s part of our scholarships, right?” Goshiki questions.

“It is!” Ohira nods, trying to find the words, “but it’s like— how do you say this— if our school can get us three-star hotels with bed-and-breakfast, Ryoko-chan’s family can kick it up and get us the nearest four-star hotel to Sumida Gym, pay for buffet breakfast, and treat us to dinner at the nicest nearby izakaya.”

You can’t prevent a grimace from creeping up on you. So they keep her for the perks, huh.

Ohira flashes a nervous smile. “Even if she’s not the best manager, she makes up for it— well, her family, at least.”

Every institution has its own bedrock of patronage-infested connections. Be it given in kind or in cash, favourable ‘aid’ is a one-way ticket to buying preferential treatment. By the looks of this certain volleyball manager— and the coaches who eat it up— not even Shiratorizawa is exempt from this corrupt system.

Tendou mirrors your own expression before he wipes it off in record speed. “How about you, Wakatoshi-kun? What do you think of Ryoko-chan?”

Ushijima stares into some corner of the restaurant, probably racking his brain for a reply. His eyes lock back on Tendou’s when he retrieves one.

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t think of her.”

Everyone erupts into laughter. “You’re too literal, Ushi,” you tell him between giggles.

The boisterous group mellows down when three waitresses come with trays full of burger meals. One by one, they’re served on your table.

“Why do you ask, Satori?” Ohira starts unwrapping his burger. “That’s the second time you’ve brought up manager talk.”

When you hear that, you try to keep yourself occupied by striking a conversation up with Goshiki. He gladly matches your enthusiasm for the lunch.

“It’s nothing,” Tendou replies.

The rest of the lunch flies by; everyone’s too engrossed in their burgers to do anything other than chow down. The bill is divided and then Yamagata suggests a bathroom break before hitting the road. Everyone splits into subgroups: Tendou, Kawanishi, Shirabu and Ohira are off to the toilets while you tag along with Ushijima, Yamagata, Semi, and Goshiki.

“We’ll drop by 7/11 to get some snacks and last-minute essentials,” Semi informs the other half. “Hayato said to meet up at the car in twenty.”

The convenience store was empty when you entered with the four other guys. Goshiki, Yamagata, and Semi are looking through the personal care aisle to buy toothbrush kits, while you and Ushijima are on the hunt for the biggest bags of chips you can find. You’re about to pull out a bag of nori-flavoured Lays until you see a familiar car pull up at the storefront. It looks just like the metallic Toyota Prius that your mom drives.

You squint at the plate number.

And then you break into a cold sweat.

That is the metallic Toyota Prius your mom drives.

That’s her car.

You push the bag of chips back into its shelf. “U-Ushi,” you tug at his shirt sleeve, “I need to hide.”

He turns towards you. “Why?”

Your mom steps out of her car.

Shit, shit, shit. It’s really her. And she’s walking towards the store.

You don’t get to reply before the store doors slide open. You duck behind the aisle and peep an eye out to see your mom browsing through the onigiri section.

Why’s she here?! I thought she dropped—

Wait. She dropped dad off that the airport. That’s why she’s out.

You gulp as you continue watching her behind the food-stocked shelves. When she turns towards your direction, you bring your head back so rapidly that you almost bump your forehead on a metal shelf.

Ushijima takes a step towards you. His attention is then grabbed when your mom calls his name out.

“Ushijima-san, is that you?”

You tense up. Your heart rate accelerates.

You hear your mom’s kitten-heeled footsteps on the cold floor tiles, striding briskly towards the ace upon recognition of her daughter’s friend. While you’re crouched down, you whip your head to look at the other end of the shelf. You think about running off to escape from your impending doom—

but the tak-tak-tak of her shoes grows nearer, and nearer, and nearer, and you don’t think you can reach the other side, and, fuck, I don’t know, what do I do—

Until Ushijima pulls a crouching you by your arm to hide you behind his much larger, much wider-framed self. He pushes your body against his back and the sudden warmth is enough to fight against the terror of getting caught. You immediately straighten your posture, now that you're concealed, wanting nothing more to appear like a fly on the wall(-like body of Ushijima Wakatoshi). You clutch on the back of his shirt for dear life.

“Don’t move,” he whispers lowly, not breaking eye contact with your mom.

She finally approaches him, her head craning up to look at the tall boy.

“Ushijima-san, what are you doing here?” your mom asks. Her voice is so near, just so overwhelmingly there and your heart is in your throat because she’s literally at arm’s length while you’re hiding behind a six-foot-two athlete for a human barrier.

“It’s nice to see you, [L/N]-san. I’m on a trip with friends. We’re at a pit stop for lunch before resuming the trip.”

“That’s so good to hear! I assume they’re the other boys in the store,” she points a thumb over her shoulder to where Yamagata and Semi are billing out at the cashier. Goshiki’s two aisles over, completely oblivious to the compromising situation you’re currently in.

“Yes, that’s them.”

They exchange glances. Silence.

“Well!” your mom starts again, “I just wanted to buy a snack for the road. I’m thinking of getting chips,” she takes a step towards the shelf, towards you who’s hiding behind Ushijima. She attempts to walk around the athlete, but he pivots his body so as to still face your mother and remain shielding you. His sudden movement squishes you between his back and the shelf of snacks, your chest crumpling plastic upon contact.

“I think bread is easier to eat,” he suggests a bit too abruptly, hoping to distract your mom from the sound. He points to the bread shelf at the opposite end of the store.

Your mom stops in her tracks. “You know what, you’re right! I’ll pick up some melon pan instead.”

Ushijima steadily breathes out, but your mom just talks. too. much.

“It’s so funny seeing you out on a trip. [F/N] is on one too. Where are you going?”

“To the beach.”

“Wow, so is she! Which beach?”

There was no way you could have foreseen this in your masterplan for the Great Summer Escape. If you had known your mom would wound up at the same rest stop you're at, you would have prepared individual scripts for each of the boys.

A few seconds pass by before Ushijima gathers his voice.

But you didn’t prepare anything, so now you have to leave it up to the human wall. Ushi, please don’t screw this up.

You tighten your grip on his shirt.

“Shobutohama.”

You let your chest fall.

"I see! [F/N]'s off to Tsukihama."

Another bout of silence before your mom cocks her head to the side.

“Hold on, if you're going there, wouldn’t you have missed your expressway exit already?”

And then your chest rises again as you hitch a breath.

“No, [L/N]-san. It’s at the next exit.”

A pregnant pause. Oh my god, I don’t even know which exit’s which. You can only hope Ushijima’s answer can scrape you by.

Your mom gasps. “Oh yes, silly me!” she giggles at her mistake. “You’re right. Anyway, I must be going now.”

Ushijima bids your mom a farewell, bowing his head low but not low enough to reveal a much smaller you behind him. She walks off to the bread shelf, picks up her promised melon pan, and pays for it at the cashier. She waves him goodbye just before she disappears behind the sliding doors. The both of you stay perfectly still until she finally drives off. Ushijima watches her car merge with the other vehicles down the multi-laned road.

“She’s gone.”

Your knees buckle and you almost fall butt-flat on the ground if it wasn’t for your fingers that touch the jarringly cold floor, cushioning your fall. Ushijima turns around to see you squatting, trembling hands making their way to cover the triangle area of your nose and mouth.

He allows your heart rate to return to normal before he crouches down to you, his hands on his knees.

“My parents don’t know I’m on this trip,” you croak out before he can even ask. “I lied because it was the only way they’d let me go. And I just, I don’t know, I just had to because the third years said you wouldn’t go if I wasn’t going.”

You run a hand through your hair before looking up at him. “So here I am.”

Ushijima looks at you dead-straight in the eyes. He sees the tiniest of eyebags forming from the unexpected spike in your blood pressure.

“You lied to get on this trip?”

You look at him for a few seconds before a chuckle escapes your lips. You lighten up at his comically slow observation. He watches your eyes crease in delight.

“Basically, yeah. I wanted you to join the guys, so all that’s said and done has been just for you—”

Oh. That kind of makes his heart flutter.

You extend your arms out. “— help me up.”

He straightens his back and he offers you his large palms to grab hold of. You hoist yourself up, effortlessly so thanks to his pull.

The organ in Ushijima's ribcage is drumming. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the way you smiled up at him, or the way you so freely professed your reason for going on this trip, or the way your hand felt so soft against his.

You smooth out the wrinkles on your shirt. “I was hesitant first, to be honest,” you look over to Yamagata, Semi, and Goshiki who walk out the doors with a couple of plastic bags in tow, “but seeing how excited the guys are, I think it was worth it after all.”

You crane your head up, looking at him again. "Thanks for covering me. I mean, literally and figuratively."

The wide-eyed attention makes blood rush to his neck. He can’t seem to string any sentences, so he looks right back at you.

“Hey,” you put your arms akimbo, “this is the part where you tell me that you’re excited about this trip, too!”

You give another airy laugh. Ushijima blinks himself out of a trance.

“Ah, right,” he clears his throat. “Thank you for doing all this for me. I’m glad you came with us.”

You flash him full-cheeked grin, a wordless you’re welcome. You walk past him and— like a magnet— he hangs on to the sight of you.

“Let’s go, Ushi,” you say over your shoulder, not even looking at him. “We have another hour on the road.”

He makes a beeline towards you. He wonders why he’s so quick to match up to your pace.

Because of that run-in with your mom, you’re prompted to share your experience of how you got permission to go on this undercover trip. As you're recalling your self-proclaimed flawless master plan designed by you and Yumi, Tendou and Semi are having a kick out of your storytelling, Ohira’s at the edge of his seat, Yamagata’s showering you in thanks and praises, while the juniors portray a cross of surprise— for you— and mortification— for their upperclassmen.

Ushijima's eyes merely soften in congruence with the tugging of his heartstrings.

Shirabu cranes his head towards Tendou. “Tendou-san, you really held her hostage at the coffee shop like that.”

Kawanishi nods vigorously. “You sound like a tough nut to crack, [L/N]-senpai.”

“Don’t gas her up, Taichi,” Tendou contends. “Just give her some coffee and pasta and you’re good to go.”

“Hey!” you pipe up and kneel on your chair to look at him seated behind you. “That was you paying for your debt.”

“Whatever you say, [F/N]-chan!” his voice curls.

The high spirits then dissipate as the minutes go by, post-meal drowsiness settling in. Soon enough, you see the sea coming into view. You take a picture, making sure that none of the boys are reflected in the glass window, before sending it to the group chat with your mom and dad.

𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇

Miyato Island, Higashimatsushima, Miyagi Prefecture

Wednesday, 12:23 PM

Shirabu’s uncle’s beach house is, quite literally, right across the sea. With a main road being the only separation between the home’s lot and stairs leading to the sand, the house’s architecture boasts two floors— the first floor dedicated to an open garage full of kayaking gear and other miscellaneous items, and the second floor for the actual living quarters adorned by wide-windowed rooms greeting the calm sea.

Yamagata pulls up to the gravel parking lot, stones crunching under his van’s thick tires. When he finally parks, everyone steps out to take in the view. With the summer sun shining brightly over you, you make a mini-roof for your eyes with your outstretched palm resting on your eyebrows. Your eyes latch onto the clear blue sea, midday rays glistening over the body of water to make it all the more jewel-like than it already is. Beach goers are sprawled throughout the white sands in their own families and groups; their brightly-coloured umbrellas, bags, and towels dot the scenery with splashes of color.

You’re reeling over the long-awaited sight of the beach. It makes your chest bubble up with the thrilling sensation of a summer adventure that’s now a walk away. The sound of gravel crunching under feet disrupts your reverie; only then do you realize that the guys have started unloading everyone’s belongings.

You’re assigned to the plastic bags full of groceries and snacks while the other boys handle individual bags and ice box coolers. After climbing up the staircase, Shirabu finally fishes some keys out of his pocket before unlocking the front door.

The beach house is essentially a raised bungalow. When you step through the front door and into the contemporary genkan, its high ceilings are the first thing you lay your eyes on. The house is built tall enough to have a mezzanine floor that overlooks the open-concept house. The kitchen, dining, and living area are all in the same common room with a bathroom located nearby. Another one is found within the master bedroom. The interiors are bright, airy, and just so stereotypically beach-y. Walls are painted ivory, rattan accents are dominant, beige linen couches are paired with blue decorative throw pillows, indoor fern palms sit mighty in their large ceramic pots. The house's towering windows are the best of all— they allow sunlight to surge right into the house. You can see the stretching coast from the living room.

There’s a master’s bedroom with a queen-sized bed, a guest room with two twinning bunk beds, and the exposed upper floor has a comfy sitting area that can be doubled as a no-wall bedroom. Attached to it is a balcony that is arguably the best vantage point in the house.

“Who’s sleeping where?” Ushijima asks as he sets some bags down beside a driftwood coffee table, onto a short-furred rug.

Shirabu sets a cooler on a marble kitchen counter, Ohira following behind him with two more. The rest of the boys gather around.

“The guest room has four beds, so that’ll be Goshiki, Tendou-san, Yamagata-san, and Semi-san.”

Semi crinkles his nose. “Tsutomu and Satori in the same room as me? Really?”

“The mezzanine’s sitting area has a sofa bed and two mattresses. Two people can fit on the sofa bed. I’ll be staying there with Ohira-san, Ushijima-san, and Kawanishi.”

Tendou whines. “Kenjirou, did you sort us according to noise level?”

Now that you look at it, it does seem like the loud(er) boys are confined to the guest room while the quiet types get the second floor.

“Tendou-san, how else will the rest of us be able to sleep?” Shirabu rhetorically asks.

Your eyes drift to the unclaimed bedroom. “Wait, so I get the master’s?”

Goshiki’s mouth hangs open. “That big room all to herself? Why?!”

“She’s the only girl, Goshiki.”

Okay, I can definitely be onboard with this.

The dissenting boys huff in defeat. Ushijima, like the captain that he is, announces that he’ll change into swimming trunks now. The rest of the boys pick up their bags and follow suit. You haul your bag to the master’s bedroom before closing the door behind you. Your duffel is set on the bed's decorative linen runner.

You change into your white swimsuit and a pair of flip flops before slathering on a layer of coconut-scented sunscreen. You toss the tube into your smaller, waterproof beach bag that contains a towel, a wide-brimmed beach hat, a pair of sunglasses, your phone, and your wallet.

Your gaze then lands on the room’s full-body mirror, bearing the reflection of you. The swimsuit is hugging you in (thankfully) all the right places, its plunging neckline baring a slight shadow over your cleavage, the v-cut bottom presenting a pantyline that just barely hikes up your buttcheeks. Your face warms up at the thought of waltzing out this room with such a revealing, skin-tight article of clothing to a bunch of other guys.

Okay— maybe… not yet. I’ll wear something over my swimsuit first.

You put on some shorts to alleviate the burning shyness.

When you swing the door open, you’re immediately greeted with the half-naked captain of Shiratorizawa about to knock on your door. He's wearing a plain pair of thigh-level swim trunks, but you can't... really tell what color it is.

Don’t look past his neck [F/N], don’t look.

“We’re all changed, [L/N].”

And yet your eyes trail down to his equally sticky, sunscreen covered abs.

God damn it.

By the way, his trunks are a deep navy blue.

You feel your face heat up. But who can really blame you, anyway? He’s an athlete, he keeps himself in shape.

You shut your eyes and take a deep breath. Ushijima wrinkles his eyebrows at this, wondering why you have such a pained expression on your face.

Get used to seeing half-naked boys, [F/N]. There’s plenty more beyond this door frame. You're here for a few days.

You collect your zen before cracking your eyes back open. Don’t be a creep. These are your friends.

Slinging your beach bag on, you walk with Ushijima to the communal room. You see the boys helping each other out as they apply sunscreen.

There’s a huge dollop of product that’s yet to be spread out on Goshiki’s upper back.

“Goshiki-kun, you’re missing a spot.”

The rookie ace looks over his back. “Where?” he questions, patting everywhere but the area in question.

"Up there— no, not there, a little to the—"

"Help please, [L/N]-senpai."

You sigh before you walk up to your tall junior to spread the product out for him, your hands smoothing sunscreen all over his upper back and shoulders.

Now, Ushijima wouldn’t describe himself as a petty guy. The boys on the volleyball team have yet to even see him lose his cool. Actually, they don't even know if he's emotionally capable of doing that. He’s the super ace who carries an aura of self-possessed confidence. Simply put, the Ushiwaka doesn’t dabble in such insignificant situations.

But he watches you circle Goshiki’s back a bit too longer than he would have liked you to— he didn’t want your hands on the first year boy to begin with, anyway.

And then that aforementioned “insignificant” situation provides an itching discomfort that shoots right up his head.

He can’t help but break into scowl. Top that with his already gigantic stature, bare muscles unintentionally flexing, it’s a fearsome sight that would leave any stranger cowering away.

From behind you, Ushijima watches an unsuspecting Goshiki. From in front of you, Tendou watches Ushijima with a shit-eating grin.

To you, this goes by completely unnoticed.

“Well, I never thought I’d live to see the day! Wakatoshi-kun’s looking so competitive against the bowl-cut brat!”

Goshiki spins around, his chest almost bumping into your jaw. “What?! Me? Ushijima-san, I’ll beat you at beach volleyball today!”

Ushijima marches off to grab his own tube of sunscreen. “[L/N],” he calls, “I am also missing a spot.”

You pat Goshiki away now that you’re done assisting him. “Where, Ushi?” you turn towards him.

“On my back,” he says, walking up to you.

“Wakatoshi, we’ll go ahead and find a spot. Lock the door behind you and just look for us,” Ohira announces from the other side of the now-cluttered room. Goshiki’s dragged out by Tendou and they follow the rest of the boys who are beginning to file out of the beach house.

“Okay,” you take his sunscreen into your hands before popping the lid open and squeezing some product out. “Come closer.”

He takes a step forward and turns his back on you. You spread his banana-smelling sunscreen over your palms before massaging it over his skin.

Ushijima’s skin is searing under your touch. He feels like his back’s nerve endings are exposed by the way he can feel even the slightest accidental fingernail grazes that you impart. He almost shudders when your hands reach up to spread product from his nape to his shoulders, followed by the clenching of his jaw when you smooth out the thick cream onto his tight lower back. You make sure his back is clear of any white film.

He could just melt under your touch, right then and there.

You, on the other hand, are merely thinking about how crazy wide his shoulders are. This is taking a lot longer than it did for Goshiki-kun, your brain says.

“Okay, I think I covered everything,” you hand him back his sunscreen. “Can we go now?”

That steels him up again. He gives his thanks before he deposits his sunscreen back in his bag. Just like he did at the convenience store, he trails behind you after locking up the front door. He plods along the sand and you lead him to a large beach canopy where Shirabu and Tendou are lying under striped towels.

“Not swimming yet?” you ask, looking up to see the rest already in the water. The boys at sea call for Ushijima when they see his head poke out from the shorter crowd and you smile at how happy they look.

“I’ll watch our stuff. You guys go ahead,” the second year setter says.

“I burn easily. I’ll wait when the sun isn’t as harsh,” declares the middle blocker.

Now that you look at this shirtless Tendou, he is a lot paler than Ushijima and Shirabu. His striking red hair makes him all the more vampire-like.

You set your bag beside them.

You and Ushijima leave your slippers under the canopy before running off to the rest of the team. The hot sand makes you move in quick tiptoes, the heat of the summer transforming into exhilaration through the soles of your bare feet. You’re met with relief when you reach the foamy water washing over your toes.

Shirabu puts some sunglasses on before leaning back into the beach towel. You play by the seashore, shorts still worn, while Ushijima wades his way through the waves.

“[F/N]-chan!”

Tendou pulls his phone out to take a photo of the beach. It's a schmaltzy image of you looking over your back to flash him a toothy grin. The sea containing the rest of the unruly boys serves as the backdrop. Tendou managed to snap the picture just as Semi splashed Goshiki’s face with salt water.

“Can I post this? Your face is in the photo though,” Tendou shouts from the shade.

“It’s fine, just don’t tag me!”

“I won’t!”

He uploads it on Instagram.

satori10do SUMMER IS HERE!!!!!! #tsukihama #beachtrip

1 minute ago

Chapter Text

Not even the midday sun could burn out Goshiki’s endless vat of energy. You train your eyes on his jet-black hair as he races back to the canopy tent, hand reaching out for his beach towel. In drying his bowl cut, his tresses stick out in odd directions. The rest of the boys come out the sea after him.

Goshiki tosses a few towels to the rest of his seniors when they come under the shade. He approaches the captain.

“Ushijima-san, I challenge you to a game of beach volleyball.”

Shirabu pulls his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. “There’s a net further down the beach,” he sits up and straightens his back to look into the distance, “and it looks like no one’s using it right now.”

“Count me out of it,” Semi says. Kawanishi echoes the same sentiment while Ohira fishes out his own volleyball from a waterproof bag. He tosses it to Goshiki.

“We’ll watch from here. Don’t lose my ball, Tsutomu,” he tells him before reclining to sit on his own beach towel.

Yamagata wipes his sea-watered face down. “Beach volleyball is played in pairs, though,” he reminds. “Who are you pairing with?”

Goshiki scans through the group. If it’s a battle of height, then it has to be him.

“Tendou-san, partner up with me!”

The redhead pulls an earbud out. “No way! I’ll partner with Wakatoshi-kun.”

Goshiki grumbles. “That’s unfair! You’re the third tallest in the team. You’ll win in no time if you pair with Ushijima-san.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Semi quips. You laugh at his remark. Goshiki wedges in something about unfair advantages and sportsmanship before Tendou gives in.

“Fine,” he drawls, rising up, “but only if [F/N]-chan pairs with Wakatoshi-kun.”

You look up to him as you're seated on your towel. “I don’t know how to play.”

Tendou stretches his arms in warm-up position. “That’s fine. He needs a handicap because he’s too strong with anyone else from the team.”

And now it’s your turn to grumble. Tendou tries to appease you; some of the boys begin to chuckle. “Poor [L/N]-chan, you’re always getting picked on by Satori,” Semi teases.

You huff at this observation, but you pick yourself up anyway. Ushijima removes the towel that’s hanging on his head to reveal messily damp hair. “Just toss the ball to me,” he instructs you, “I’ll spike it.”

The four of you leave the canopy with bets placed on Ushijima’s team. You’re quick to tell them to take it back, I’ve never played beach volleyball in my life!— and they wave you off with bright smiles and yielding okay’s— no bets!

Ushijima gathers the three of you to one side of the sand court. “We’ll play best of three. Twenty-one points to win a set. As the rules go, dinks aren’t allowed,” his eyes drift to Tendou. The redhead purses his lips before looking away in guilt.

“If we reach a third set, it only takes fifteen points to win, right?” Goshiki verifies. Ushijima nods.

The game starts without further ado and the regulars play at their own unrelenting pace. You’re scrambling in an attempt to match their tempos. You don’t have the best hand-eye coordination, and you hate having to play sports that include throwing balls (tennis, in particular, has already mentally scarred you). Because of your deadweight self, Ushijima manages to do most of the work— from blocking Goshiki’s straight-line shots, to bumping balls high up in the air. It’s a wordless signal for you to pass it to him. You lift off when you do— that’s what “setting” is called, apparently.

Ushijima doesn’t seem to mind your level of skill, fully aware that this is your first brush with the sport. His stoic face is the same through and through, while you begin to heave from having to dive in to save the shots Ushijima physically can’t. The sand is starting to stick on your sweaty shins, most of it gathering on your knees due to your desperate saves.

Luckily, the wind wasn’t strong enough to drift ball trajectories. Unluckily, your sets for Ushijima fall in short, approximately three out of five times you get your hands on the ball. Rallies come in short, decisive bursts. In the few occasions you manage a fluke of a good set to the ace, he gets to slam the ball back into the opposite court, sand dipping from the strong contact.

Tendou serves a ball into your court and Ushijima comes in to bump it back. Tendou takes the ball once more to send a perfect set down Goshiki’s way. The rookie ace sticks his tongue out, strength gathering in his legs and arms before he lifts off— he almost freezes in mid-air and you think, for a freshman starter on a powerhouse team, he sure has amazing form— and he snaps the ball back into your court, but your vision is black before your brain registers what happens next.

Oh, he hit you in the face. That’s why you didn’t know what happened next.

You’re back-flat on the sand, one of your legs awkwardly bent in the mid-knee position you were supposedly in. The dull ringing in your ears fades out. You hear Tendou break out in a signature guffaw, and— is that Shirabu’s voice from afar? You don’t really know, but you think the way his voice chastises Goshiki could parallel the stinging sensation on your forehead and nose.

“Tsutomu, you've really done it this time! Wakatoshi-kun is going to kill you!” Tendou exclaims. Your eyes flutter open and your dull eyesight registers Ushijima running towards you. He’s brought to his knees, leaning down to where you’ve settled on the sand. You let your eyes fall shut.

You don’t see him extending a large palm towards your face, particles of sand in the crevices of his fingers, inches from skin-to-skin contact—

and because of that, you turn on your side and prop yourself up with your elbow.

Ushijima tucks his hand away. Your bleary eyes flicker open and you look in his direction.

“Are you okay?”

Your fingertips touch your nostrils to check if Goshiki’s spike popped any blood vessels.

“Is my nose bleeding? It’s not, right?” you ask, looking at him with alert eyes now.

“Uh, no?”

You get up and dust the sand off your arms. “Okay,” you wobble before finding your footing. “Let’s keep going! The game isn’t over yet!”

Ushijima studies your face before he huffs out an air of amusement through his nostrils. His eyebrows are etched in confusion, yet his expression is equally encouraged anyway.

Goshiki ducks under the volleyball net to wrap you in an apologetic hug. “[L/N]-senpai, I’m so, so, so sorry!” he profusely apologizes. You laugh and he presents his shining forehead for you to flick as a sign of repentance. You willingly take the offer.

“Let’s resume the game so [L/N] can rest,” Ushijima interrupts. Tendou asks if you’re good to go from the opposite side, to which you send him an energetic thumbs up.

The four of you return to your starting positions, your thighs squatted as Ushijima sends a spike down Goshiki’s way. It’s such a powerfully solid shot that you know could have snapped your arms off, had you been at the other side of the court. Tendou calls Ushijima’s deliberate targeting ‘petty’, but you don’t hear it when you dive in to save a ball.

The ball flies back into your opponents’ playing field. Tendou sets for Goshiki once more. Ushijima tries to block, but misses by a hair’s breadth margin. The game ends in Goshiki and Tendou’s favour.

“I won! I finally won against Ushijima-san!” Goshiki howls, hands raised up in the air. Tendou pats his back a good job, but it looks more like a slap to the untrained eye. You can hear Shirabu approaching from few feet over. “Don’t be so smug about your win, Goshiki! Ushijima-san was handicapped, so it doesn’t count!”

Your legs give out and you fall back into the hot sand. You breathe long, hard breaths as you collect yourself, your chest rising up and down. Sweat runs down your neck, making sand cling to your body all the more. You lie on the beach for a few seconds, watching white clouds drift away with the blue skies.

Ushijima walks over to you before he squats down. “Are you good?”

“Never been better,” you say, giving in to laughter. You gather your hands on your belly when you chuckle heartily. “That was fun. How’d I do, Ushi?”

A ghost of a smile appears on his mouth. “Not bad for a first-timer, surprisingly.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile. “I guess that will do.”

You shut your eyes and let the breeze touch your glossy skin. Tendou, Goshiki, and Shirabu finally walk over to you both.

“Tsutomu,” Tendou pokes him. “Look. You gave her a concussion. Even worse— what if she’s dead?”

“We’ll have you reported for homicide,” Shirabu looks over to Goshiki. “Cause of death: blunt force trauma.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to see a very gullible Goshiki on the verge of tears. Tendou laughs at him, Shirabu snickers as the victim of their teasing blinks tears away. Looking at these three, you wonder if this is what it’s like to have brothers.

“Let’s go swimming,” you tell the boys once your shared laughter dies out. “I worked up a big sweat.”

Ushijima trails behind your chaotic quartet, Ohira’s volleyball tucked under his arm.

The boys greet you with a round of applause as you approach the canopy, attracting attention from a few curious onlookers for the out-of-place praise. You’ve managed to loosen up now; the discomfort of your sweaty skin enough to finally coax you out of your shorts as you prepare to run into the sea with the beach volley crew.

Oasis comes in the form of the saltwater that washes away sand on your skin. You’ve begun wading in far enough for the sea level to rise to your chest, promoting your steps into paddles as you venture further out with Tendou, Ushijima, and Goshiki. You duck your head under an incoming wave, submerging your sun-heated hair under the water’s cooling tides.

When you come back up for air, Goshiki’s already talking to Ushijima about the rest of his summer plans. Tendou emerges from the sea not long after you have; his hair gel has been washed away with the waves. His wet, tousled hairdo is a stark difference from the usual spiky tresses that would sit solid on his head.

Goshiki assumes a breaststroke as he stays afloat. “Your birthday’s coming up soon, right Ushijima-san?”

“Right, it’s this August 13th. You have any plans, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendou asks, running a wet hand through his hair.

Oh, well that’s news to you. But then again, Ushijima isn’t the type to parade around with a countdown to his birth date.

“Not really. I usually spend it away from home, on the family trips I’m dragged to.”

Dragged to, he says. You take note of his wording. He must not have been very willing to begin with.

You continue floating on the water, its reflections now bearing a tint of yellow as the sun has started die down. “How’d you get your mom’s permission to go on this trip?” you ask.

“I talked to her,” he provides point-blank. That’s a definite understatement. As ignorance is bliss, you’re unaware of the tension that has sparked between the mother and son.

“That’s cool,” you splash about. “How about your dad?”

“What about him?”

Goshiki begins to swim away, trying to squeeze in a few laps before the day ends. Together with Ushijima and Tendou, you remain in your small triangle. “Like, does he know you’re on a trip?”

“Is he supposed to know?”

Gah, what a guy. “I mean, not really,” your underwater shoulder shrugs, “but maybe it’d be nice to let him know how you’re doing.”

He never thought of it that way.

“Sorry, you don’t have to if you don’t wanna. I’m just used to talking to my parents a lot,” you nervously laugh.

“It’s okay.”

Tendou gets into a back float, his hands outstretched on sea. As the topic progresses to tonight’s dinner, the salty waves push your triangle to tighten in. Ushijima lets the sea’s ripples float his body towards your direction.

He could have easily planted his feet into the sand as an anchor, but he didn’t. He could have pushed his back against the waves in an attempt to keep equal distance from you, but he didn’t. He could have waded through the water to stand across you instead of beside you, but he didn’t. He moves with the motion of the ocean, allowing himself to inch closer to you.

You’re too preoccupied talking to Tendou that you don’t realize Ushijima nearing. Your shoulders close in— your right with his left— almost touching under the surges of strengthening waves—

but you suddenly float elsewhere.

“Ah,” you mouth, remembering that you have yet to discuss brunch plans with your cooking crew. You make your way to the lone swimmer.

Ushijima watches you paddle away. Only then does he plant his bare feet into the seabed.

“Goshiki-kun,” you say before turning towards the shore, “and Kawanishi-kun! Let’s talk about tomorrow’s brunch!”

Kawanishi joins you and Goshiki in the water. Tendou continues floating on his back, Ushijima soon mimicking him.

The captain lets his inclinations float off into the sea.

There are very few things in life that are just meant to be together. For example, you have cookies and cream, bacon and eggs, peanut butter and jelly. Your personal favourite is sunsets at the beach.

It’s a tranquil sight that calms your nerves, yet indulges in your senses. Waves crashing on the sea, distant trees rustling in the background, brilliant hues of red and orange swirled into the sky. The six of you have sought refuge under the beach tent to watch the trip’s first sunset.

The other three come back with candy-coloured snow cones in both hands. Your spoon digs into your strawberry-flavoured ice after saying thanks.

Ushijima takes his phone out as he sits beside your towel.

“How do you do this? Texting my dad, I mean.”

Your eyes peel away from the cold treat. Ushijima lets you read his phone’s chat log.

【ＤＡＤ】

April 7, 7:04 AM

Dad: Hi, son! Today’s your last “first day” of school, right~ Make lots of memories! Good luck in practice!

You: Hi dad. Yes it is. Thank you.

Your eyes flicker to his face when you finish reading. “Not a very good texter, are you? Haha.”

He sets his free arm to tent on the sand before he leans back.

“Well,” you poke your plastic spoon into the cone of ice. “For starters, you can tell him you’re at the beach with friends.”

Ushijima is a slow typer. He turns his phone screen to your direction again.

“Like this?”

________________________

You: Hi dad. I’m at the beach with friends.|

Your lips purse in a hum. “Looks kinda empty.”

You stare into the setting horizon before you turn his way again. “What about sending him a picture?”

Without putting much thought into photographic dimensions, he snaps a photo of the beach. You tell him it’s a nice image.

He attaches it to the message before tapping send. You take four, five more scoops out of your snow cone before his phone alerts you both with a ping! that overlaps the sound of waves.

“That was quick,” you observe. “He lives in California, right? What time is it there?”

“Past midnight,” he says, to which you reply, “that’s pretty late.”

He opens his messaging app and he allows you to spectate their conversation, your heads almost touching when you lean over.

【ＤＡＤ】

April 7, 7:04 AM

Dad: Hi, son! Today’s your last “first day” of school, right~ Make lots of memories! Good luck in practice!

You: Hi dad. Yes it is. Thank you.

August 1, 5:52 PM

You: Hi dad. I’m at the beach with friends.

August 1, 5:58 PM

Dad: Wow!! Great to hear!! ^^ Your mom didn’t bring you to her trip this time? What beach are you staying at? ^^

You: I asked her if I could stay in Miyagi. We’re at Tsukihama.

(…)

Dad: I love Tsukihama! I went there too, back in my day!! hahahaha ^^

His fingers cease typing. “What are those arrows?”

You point at the ^^ characters on his screen. “Those?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a smiling emoji.”

He looks into your eyes. “How’s that a smiling emoji?”

You look into his. “That’s how eyes look when they smile. They turn up.”

He blinks slowly. “Like how your eyes crinkle when you smile?”

You think he’s referring to how Tendou’s eyes turn up into slits when he laughs, or how Ohira’s will gleefully close shut when he rips deep chuckles. In truth, he’s referring to how yours, in particular, creased the same way they did at the convenience store.

It’s too bad you couldn’t tell the difference in emphasis.

“Yeah! Something like that.”

The sound of Tendou’s mini-speakers prompt Ushijima back to texting his father. You lean over to the redhead to request something more modern this time— different from the vintage beach song playlist he’s been abusing the entire day.

Everyone’s to their own subgroups and devices. Goshiki’s been nominated as the sand mermaid, so you help Shirabu, Kawanishi, and Yamagata mold his sand-made tail. You break into laughter when you watch Tendou smooth out a mound of sand over Goshiki’s chest, an attempt to fashion him a shell bra.

The remaining boys watch from the canopy. Everyone, even Ushijima, breaks into laughter. While Ohira and Semi continue watching the sand artists pin the rookie ace down, Ushijima’s gaze travels to your face.

He watches you from afar. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes linger on you for a bit too long— long enough to etch your smiling face into the crevices of his memory. From the way you throw your head back, to the way your nose crinkles the slightest, to the way your saltwater-dried hair falls down your shoulder. He watches you as softly, as quietly as he can be.

Ushijima trains his sight back on Goshiki just as you look up to him. You see a ghost of a smile still drifting on his face.

You’re glad he’s enjoying the trip— glad that he gets to experience this with the boys. Your heart wells up in mission accomplishment.

When the horizon’s orange hues strengthen, Semi taps on Ushijima. They walk back to the house to prepare dinner while the rest stay on the beach to watch the sun’s retreat. Idle conversations with bits of banter are naturally thrown in. When you see Kawanishi post a sunset photo on his Instagram, you ask the rest of the boys to exchange social media handles with you.

“Semi’s in my following list, so just look for him there,” Tendou directs you. Your friend and follower count increases to six (seven, when Semi finishes cooking) before you realize you’re missing one more member.

“What about Ushi?”

“Nothing,” Tendou locks his phone. “He’s basically a grandpa.”

“Seriously? Not even Facebook?”

“He made one when he was like, I don’t know, twelve? He forgot his password and never did anything about it,” Tendou’s mouth curls into a one-sided grin. “Wakatoshi-kun’s not one for social media. Haha.”

“Not surprised,” you giggle. “So we can only reach him through text, right?”

“Yeah, basically.”

A few waves crash into the shore. “Satori-kun, when you posted that photo of me—”

“My profile’s private,” he cocks his head to you, a reassuring smile sent your way. His hair’s fully dry now, his red mop covering his forehead. “Your parents won’t see anything, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you lean back. “I’m so tired from today. I think I’ll pass out after dinner.”

Everyone watches the sky’s gradient of sunset. Your group packs up before heading back to the beach house.

“Are we hosting a feeding program or something? This could feed twenty people.”

You tiptoe when you look into the huge pot of curry, steam hitting your face. Semi dives a ladle in before dunking the brown sauce over a plate of rice. Ushijima adds sliced panko-breaded pork on top before positioning the plate on an empty kitchen counter. Their cooking aprons are, as expected, too small for their bodies.

Semi puts a heap of rice on another empty plate. “We’re big eaters, okay!”

Ushijima hears your stomach grumble. “You should eat a lot too, [L/N].”

“Okaaay,” you tell him. You walk back to the long dining table and take a seat beside Goshiki. The rest of the boys gather at the table once the food’s been set.

For a dinner prepared by two guys, it’s not bad. Sure, you can overlook some overly-thick carrot slices, a few potato bits undercooked. Other than that, the delightfully-flavoured curry roux was deserving of praise. Tonight’s cooking duo had also prepared a huge serving of yakisoba. This irresistibly salty-sweet dish joined the empty plate club not long after.

Everyone helps in the clean-up. With leftover rice in the cooker, you decide to make use of it for tomorrow’s brunch. Goshiki and Kawanishi agree with your edited plan to cook yakimeshi.

You retreat to the master bedroom, where you have your own personal bathroom. After showering, you change into a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt. You dry your hair before you step outside your room.

“Guys, if anyone wants to use a bathroom, mine’s free.”

A few seconds of silence signals no response. You peek into the guest room, its door wide open. The main floor’s empty, too.

You then hear the sound of boisterous laughter erupting from the exposed second floor. Your steps lead you up and you see the guys crowded about. Everyone but Yamagata, whom you assume is using the main bathroom, is here.

Your presence alerts Shirabu and Goshiki.

“If anyone wants to use a bathroom, the one in the master’s is free right now.”

The two boys race down. Shirabu almost topples Goshiki down the staircase.

Ushijima’s at one end of the L-shaped sofa, the blue light of the screen illuminating his face as he continues texting his dad. Kawanishi’s on his floor mattress, scrolling down his feed.

Semi, Tendou, and Ohira beckon you to the balcony. A cool breeze sweeps your hair when you step out.

“It’s even prettier at night, isn’t it?”

Your hands grip the steel railing as you watch the moon’s rippling reflection on the calm sea. “It is.”

I guess they don’t call it Tsukihama for nothing, you think to yourself.

You twirl around. “Can you take a picture of me? I need to send it to my parents for proof that I’m still alive,” you request.

Ohira takes his phone out and you position yourself in front of the railings. Tendou’s by his side, directing you as if it were an editorial shoot. Semi laughs at how animatedly eager his instructions are.

Tendou’s excitement prompts Ushijima to look over where you are. Your smiling face is illuminated for a split second when the flash goes off.

There it is again, Ushijima thinks to himself. That small crease in her eyes.

Yamagata, fresh from the shower, interrupts his thoughts. “Wakatoshi, bathroom’s free,” he tells him. Ushijima gets his shower bag and a change of clothes before disappearing into the main floor.

“I’ll just send this to your number,” Ohira taps away on his screen.

“Yes please! Thank you.”

In a spur of a moment decision, Ohira decides to send the same photo to Ushijima as well. You know, for the hell of it. It's a cute picture.

The libero joins the rest of the third years by the balcony. You greet Yamagata as he merges with the line.

Tendou hangs his long hands over the railings. Yamagata’s hair looks similar to his, now removed of all styling product. Ohira rests his lower back on the steel bars while Semi overlooks the beach's expanse. There’s an easy silence that surrounds you five— as natural as the sky blowing its breeze or the sea flowing its waves.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” you ask the four boys.

Ohira’s jaw touches his shoulder when he looks at you. “What is?”

“How the world works.”

Tendou looks at you, eyes expectant.

“I thought I was going to finish high school with the friends I’ve already made— the ones in my class, the ones in the committee team, Yumi—“ you shift your weight under your feet, still looking at the sea, “— but I guess life has a funny way of surprising me sometimes.”

You turn towards them four. “Becoming friends with the team is one of the best surprises so far.”

Yamagata comfortably chuckles at your sentimentality. “I get you. Who would’ve thought, right?”

You look up to the moon and the stars that litter over the pitch black sky. It’s silly how hesitant you were about this trip. But now— like the waxing and the waning of the moon— that too has now passed.

A twinkling star catches your eye. Was it written in the stars for you to meet Ushijima? And if so, did that entail befriending Miyagi’s favoured high school volleyball team?

“[F/N]-chan,” Semi begins, “I just want to say thank you for going on this trip.”

A steady breeze blows by. “We know it wasn’t easy, but I hope that you’re just as happy as we are— now that we’ve ‘adopted’ you,” Ohira supplies with a grin.

Like the constellation of stars overhead, it looks like you've strung yourself in with everyone else. Your heart pitter-patters in gratitude.

You smile back. “I’m beyond happy,” you let a sleepy yawn slip out. “I’m grateful, too.”

You look up into the sky once more. “I wouldn’t have experienced all this if it wasn’t for the committee assigning me to Ushi’s case.” You close your mouth before sending a silent thank-you to the stars.

Tendou titters at the memory.

“I sure am lucky to have befriended Ushi, don’t you think so?” you whisper.

Ohira picks the conversation up again. “I hate to break it to you, [F/N]-chan, but it’s just the other way around.”

Because it’s Wakatoshi who wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t for you. That, and a whole lot more subtle changes. Yamagata sends a smug look down Ohira’s way. Tendou and Semi catch this and they do the same.

You shrug, still looking at the twinkling balls of gas. “Either way, I can thank the stars for that.”

Ushijima realizes he spent an hour overtime by ruminating in the shower. He turns the water off, pats himself dry, puts his clothes on, and starts brushing his teeth.

He thinks about how he wants to be even closer to you. It ripples on the surface of his chest to the tips of his outstretched hands. He blames it on the way your bubbling energy transmits like waves to his core.

The sound of his bristling toothbrush echoes throughout the bathroom. He watches his face in the steamy mirror.

He blames you for the way he’s being pulled in, like how the coast hauls tides to its shores.

He blames you for the way his chest fizzes, like how water splashes over the sand before bubbling into foam.

And, like the sea, he can’t seem to stay still.

He spits out and rinses his mouth before packing his things up. Ushijima walks out of the bathroom to march up the sitting area, where he’s meant to retire for the night—

but you’ve fallen asleep on one end of the L-shaped sofa bed.

Oh no— what to do?

He can stay by the longer end, but what about Shirabu? He was meant to take the area where you’ve fallen asleep on.

Ushijima looks to Kawanishi and Ohira for help, but they’ve fallen asleep on their own mattresses. Everyone else must be in the guest room, that much he can deduce from the sound of their toned-down voices engaged in casual conversation.

He puts his things away in his duffel bag. He makes slow, steady strides to where you are before sitting in the corner that intersects the two sides of the couch.

A wordless Ushijima studies the way moonlight bounces off your sleeping face. A sea breeze slips through the open balcony door, whiffing some stray hairs to your face. It tickles you despite your heavy slumber. Ushijima sees your nose twitch.

He reaches out. The sound of waves surging towards the seashore can be heard. His fingers, millimetres away from your soft skin, are laced with the intention to smooth those hairs away from your face.

In your slumber, you bring a hand up and push the strands away yourself.

The same waves retreat into the sea. He pulls his hand back.

The resurgence and retreat of waves. The resurgence and retreat of Ushijima Wakatoshi. Feelings that have pooled in his chest seem to push and pull the same way that waves do.

The sound of Shirabu’s footsteps walking up the staircase draws his attention away.

“[L/N] fell asleep,” he informs the setter.

Shirabu tucks his shower bag away. “She must’ve been tired from the game earlier. Should we wake her up, Ushijima-san?”

He looks down on your face. You emit slow and steady breaths, bone-tired but spirit-happy. You’re definitely knocked out.

“She looks like she's sleeping well enough.”

Shirabu walks towards the couch. “Do you want to carry her back to her room?”

Logistically, you were meant to sleep in the master’s after all. He turns back to you.

Ah, but that feels wrong— his hands wrapped around your body without your permission. It makes his ears go red.

“No, I don’t think I should.”

Shirabu looks at Kawanishi, who’s so comfortably wrapped up in a layer of blankets. Ohira’s soft snores are drowned out by the sounds of sea. The setter gathers that the only bed space left is the longer end of the L-shaped couch.

“I’d be glad to sleep in the master’s, then. You can take up the other side of the couch.”

Ushijima doesn’t reject this. It is Shirabu’s uncle’s beach house, and he was the one who offered the lodging, completely free of charge. The setter walks over to a cabinet and retrieves two blankets— one for his captain, another for you. Shirabu unravels yours and drapes it over your body.

“I was at the guest room with some of the third years. They were talking about [L/N]-senpai,” he confesses with a soft smile. “She’s funny, going on about thanking the stars for this trip. She says she’s very lucky to be included in the group.”

Ushijima begs to differ. If it wasn’t for you— you, who so willingly put yourself through the complicated knots behind the workings of this trip— he wouldn’t have gathered the courage to talk to his mom. Your own ingenuity sparked his own willingness to defy the tides of his matriarchal household.

He's having the time of his life, living out one of his best high school memories yet. It's nothing like the thrill of winning another volleyball game. All this pales in comparison to his deepening friendship with the team— and the one that’s budding between you two.

He’s the one that's fortunate to have you. He'll willingly assert that.

Shirabu turns on his heel and starts walking down the stairs. The boys bid their soft good night’s and see you tomorrow’s.

The door to the master’s closes shut. The guest room’s occupants seem to have fallen asleep now, too. Ushijima pulls your blanket higher up your shoulder.

He watches you one more time, as if to burn this peaceful memory into his brain. He leans over to whisper something in your ear, his hair drooping over his face.

“You can thank your stars all you want but, I’ll always be the lucky one.”

He retracts with a soft smile on his face.

Ushijima unfolds his blanket before retiring to his side of the couch. He lets his consciousness drift to sleep, along with thoughts of you.

Chapter Text

“…-senpai.”

The murmuring waves rouse you out of your slumber.

“[L/N]-senpai.”

A tap-tap-tap on your shoulder. Your eyes flutter open. Kawanishi’s bedhead tuft greets you.

You wake up with the sensation of a sunbeam toasting your cheek. You erect yourself on the couch, your blanket cascading off your torso, a hand shielding the warmer side of your face. “Ah— oh no,” you graze your hands through the linen couch. “I fell asleep…”

“It’s okay. Shirabu slept in the master’s.”

You scan the room before catching the said setter hunched over his bag. He looks at you over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, [L/N]-senpai. Yesterday’s volleyball game was tiring. We didn’t want to wake you,” he turns back to fold some used clothes before stuffing it in his bag. Your eyes flit to Kawanishi, rubbing the back of your hand on your heavy eyes.

“Let’s prepare brunch,” he reminds you.

After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you walk out the master’s bathroom to tread your way to the open kitchen. Goshiki clangs a wok on the stove top. He greets you a spirited good morning, his energy tunnelling to you like a ray of light. Your mouth curls up when you greet him back.

The ingredients for yakimeshi are laid out on the countertop. You give him a roll call of directions— the ratio of soy sauce, the instructions to unclump balls of short-grained rice. The way Goshiki’s eyes rapidly blink implies he’s struggling to keep up with the overload of information— Kawanishi gets the feeling that his junior has never cooked fried rice in his life, but he lets his comments simmer off the back of his throat. You leave Goshiki be, trusting in his self-proclaimed title of a ‘pretty good cook’.

You assist Kawanishi with the karaage— he’s cutting the meat, you’re preparing the marinade. Not long after, the oil is ready to receive the katakuriko-coated chicken.

The crackling sound of deep-frying lures Yamagata and Semi out of the guest room. You greet the libero a good morning before landing sight on Semi’s extreme bedhead. You send him an unhinged laugh, making your classmate roll his eyes at you. He’s still half-asleep.

“Hayato, wake Satori up,” Semi tells him, voice thick with drowsiness.

Yamagata refuses. He reasons that Tendou’s morning crank is nefarious. ”You do it.”

Semi huffs when he disappears into the room, ruffling his already messy head. Yamagata deposits himself at the main floor’s couch, plopping down before hugging a pillow to his chest as he dozes off once again.

The front door clicks open. You hear Ohira and Ushijima’s footsteps walking into the communal room before you see them.

“Jogging? On a summer trip?” You ask, incredulity embedded in your voice. Your mouth quirks into a confused grin. Ohira nods, amused with your disbelief.

The two guys hover by the island counters, watching the brunch group bustling about like an episode of MasterChef. Ushijima watches you assist the boys with their respective carbs and protein assignments. Ohira takes it upon himself to set the table, passing the responsibility of rounding up the rest of the boys to his idle companion. Ushijima removes himself from the area and walks towards the guest room.

The hallway’s an empty tunnel— that is, before Semi’s fretful voice reaches Ushijima’s ears.

“Satori, you should’ve told us the day it happened! If Ryoko-chan never left that comment on your post, I would’ve never asked you!”

The conversation’s volume increases as Ushijima ventures further down. He hears your name leave Tendou’s irritable lips.

“I told you. [F/N]-chan is fine and nobody else needs to know,” Tendou asserts, voice prickling. “Look, I’ll delete it. Watch,” the room is silent for a while before Tendou begins talking again. “Don’t worry about [F/N]-chan. She even said she expected all this— with how popular Wakatoshi-kun is and all, she’s not exactly surprised with Ryoko-chan cornering her at Lawson—“

“What?”

Ushijima looms by the doorway. Semi and Tendou’s heads turn to him like whiplashes. The captain catches his redhead teammate stuff his phone back in his shorts pocket.

Semi scuttles to the doorframe, approaching Ushijima. “H-hey, food’s ready, right?”

Ushijima darts his gaze to Semi, to Tendou, then to Semi again. “Yeah.”

Semi’s head turns back to lock eyes with Tendou. “Satori, c’mon. Let’s eat,” he speaks with complete normalcy— as if the two hadn’t been squabbling seconds ago.

Tendou and Semi file out of the guest room, heads hanging low and gazes avoidant. They know Ushijima overheard their conversation— it’s just a matter of how much. Out of earshot, Tendou urges Semi not to tell anyone. The latter replies with a curt nod.

Ryoko... Higuchi? Higuchi Ryoko knows [L/N]?

Ushijima watches them vanish out of the hallway.

And she cornered her?

Everyone gathers at the table before digging into the brunch feast. Goshiki’s mood soured when he realized his yakimeshi assignment had bits and pieces of burnt rice at the bottom of the wok, but you assure him that everything else tastes well and good. Shirabu doesn’t hold back from mocking him across the table— “I’d say I’m a pretty good cook,” he parrots to the rookie ace. A handful of boys laugh at this, defusing the situation.

“The karaage’s really good though,” Yamagata says between chews. It’s popular, by all means— Tendou and Semi fight over the last piece of chicken. The former however, is victorious. He pulled out the “Semisemi” card, distracting his opponent as he snatched the remaining karaage away.

Ushijima keeps to himself throughout the brunch’s duration. Although the silence is nothing unusual, his disposition nags at Tendou's trickling guilt.

Cleaning duty is assigned to everyone else who didn’t cook. There’s an hour of downtime for everyone to digest and prepare for today’s outing. Granted that today would be your only full day at the beach, you took it upon yourself to prepare a batch of wanpaku sandwiches. Kawanishi assisted in your snack creation— his knife skills are top gun compared to your traumatizing honeyed lemons. Goshiki helps carry the cooler box when your group walks out the house.

It’s high noon. You’ve no idea why majority of the boys would play beach volleyball under the blazing heat. You watch them dash around the net area that’s some twenty metres from your tent base. Tendou and Ushijima are the only ones at sea, their figures shrinking as they swim further off the deep end.

As you’re holding the fort down, you’re keeping your parents (and Yumi, in another chat bubble) updated. You send your mom and dad one of the fabricated beach photos.

Ushijima watches you tap away, your beach hat obscuring your face. Tendou’s isolation with Ushijima makes him hope that the sloshing of the sea would be enough to wash away this morning’s hallway encounter.

“Tendou.”

The middle blocker jolts his back straight. “Hmm?”

Ushijima decides to pry. “What were you talking about with Semi?”

A wave overcomes the two, making their bodies bob up one after the other. “Nothing,” Tendou finally gives voice to.

Ushijima peels his strong gaze away from Tendou. He withdraws from asking any more.

“Okay,” Ushijima simply concludes. They continue swimming off. Tendou tries to extract him out of his brooding mood by discussing next year’s volleyball captain prospects. Ushijima goes along with it, giving his unembellished thoughts on each of the second years.

Yet, with each paddle that Ushijima propels himself with, thoughts continue badgering at the back of his head.

What’s he keeping from me that concerns [L/N]?

The beach volleyball players come back after a rotation of games. They’re all suffering from various degrees of reddening skin. Yamagata’s back, in particular, looks like it’s hot enough to fry an egg.

“I just know I’m gonna sleep on my stomach tonight. I just know it.”

Semi snorts. “That’s what you get for not wearing sunscreen.”

Ohira reaches into the red cooler box to retrieve a sports drink bottle. He pops the cap open and downs it in ten seconds. “[L/N]-chan, you made sandwiches too?”

Your eyebrows tilt up upon remembering. “Yeah! Do you wanna eat them now?”

Goshiki pokes his head in the cooler. “Can I? I’m starving!”

“You would be, seeing how you burnt a huge chunk of the yakimeshi,” Shirabu comments, yet he’s the first to reach in and grab a sandwich. “Thanks for this, [L/N]-senpai.”

Goshiki snags one after him. You pass the remaining ones to the rest of the team before unwrapping yours open. The cross-section is a colourful layer of red tomatoes, green and purple cabbage, yellow cheese, and pink ham. The shokupan bread is slathered with a generous serving of Japanese mayonnaise and Dijon mustard. Taking a crunch! of a bite, your cheeks plump in delight. Everyone perks up as well.

“It’s so good, right? Kawanishi-kun cut the vegetable slices really well!” you announce. It makes the second year blush in embarrassment, although you couldn’t really tell because of the sunburn mask across his nose.

“It’s nothing,” he dismisses, biting into the sandwich once more. You rise from your beach mat and call Ushijima and Tendou to the canopy. When they return, they wipe themselves off before caping the towels over their shoulders.

Ushijima’s scowling a bit more than usual. Be it because of the summer sun that was beating down his face or for some other reason unknown to you, you hand him a sandwich anyway. Tendou asks for the other half of yours. You pass it to him; you’re still full from brunch. Plus, your lanky friend is not a very big eater to begin with.

Tendou, the mood-maker that he is, draws everyone’s attention in by divulging what he spotted while swimming— there’s a far-off cove nearby, a smaller and more isolated one at the east end of the beach. It’s within walking distance.

“Wanna explore it later?”

“Tired,” Semi lies down on a beach towel. “Later. After dinner, maybe,” his eyes shoot to Ohira. “What’s on the menu for tonight, boss?”

“Hamburger steak and potato korokke.”

Your mouth dips in a woah. “That’s really labor-intensive, Ohira-kun. I’m really looking forward to it, though!”

“Ohira-san has the muscles for potato mashing. It’ll be done in no time,” Shirabu says. His cooking partner chuckles.

Ushijima can’t read the room. Maybe that’s why he suddenly inserted himself into a conversation about dinner.

“[L/N], has anyone been bothering you?”

You turn to him. “What do you mean?”

Tendou’s beady eyes widen by a fraction. Semi has stopped chewing on his sandwich.

Ushijima uses the same words he eavesdropped on earlier this morning. “Cornering you, and the like.”

You feel something in your chest drop. You watch Tendou in your peripheral vision, but his face is unreadable. You decide to feign ignorance.

“How can anyone? I look like I have eight bodyguards with me right now,” a giggle escapes your lips. “No one’s given me grief on this trip.”

“That’s not what I meant—“

“[L/N]-chan!” Semi intrudes, saving the group belle. “I’ll get a soft drink from the house. Wanna come with?”

“Sure!” you answer almost immediately, quick to catch his drift. “Let’s go.”

The two of you get a move on. When your backs are turned to the canopy, Semi whispers that he found out through Tendou. You dismiss his worries, telling him it's not a big deal.

"The last thing captain Ushi should be worrying about is his rabid following," you mutter under your breath. Semi chuckles agreeably.

“Oh, get one for me too! Pineapple ramune!” Goshiki says to your backs. Shirabu and Kawanishi add to the request, asking for coconut and grape respectively.

“Get your own!” Semi barks back. You playfully hit his shoulder as you walk up the beach. “You’re a terrible senpai, you know that?!”

He snickers back, but three boys follow anyway. Ushijima, Yamagata, Ohira, and Tendou remain under the shade of the beach tent.

There’s an awkward stillness that has dampened the mood.

Ohira dusts sandwich crumbs off his lap. “Satori, you should just spit it out.”

Yamagata scoots nearer. “What, what?”

“What are you talking about?” Tendou questions.

“Back in the coffee shop, you and [L/N]-chan got defensive over the managers. And then when we had lunch at the pit stop, you brought Ryoko-chan’s name up but [L/N]-chan gave you a weird look for it,” he recounts. “Something happened between them, right?”

Tendou clenches his jaw before he finally heaves out a defeated sigh. “Okay, you got me," his shoulder slump.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Ushijima clarifies, “but Semi seemed irritated about it this morning. I, too, wanted to know.”

“Oy,” Yamagata interjects. “Explain this to me. I’m out of the loop here.”

Tendou takes in a sharp breath. “I hung out with [F/N]-chan on the last day of finals,” he starts. “We were at Lawson. I wanted to thank her for tutoring me in History, so I thought about buying ice cream.”

“That’s when you camped out and waited for our exams to finish, right? The day we planned the summer trip?” Yamagata refines. Tendou nods his head.

“I went in to get some popsicles. When I went out, our managers were circled around [F/N]-chan. Ryoko-chan was the one who swooped in.”

“What happened?” Ushijima asks.

Tendou hesitates for a second. “Ryoko-chan hates [F/N]-chan’s guts, to put it plainly. Ganged up on her, called her bitch and all. She’s pressed that [F/N]-chan’s been hanging out with us— with you, Wakatoshi-kun, most especially.”

The redhead watches Ushijima’s face contort into a deepening frown. “What about the comment? Semi said she ‘commented’ something.”

“He’s talking about my Instagram post.”

“What did she say?”

“You don’t need to know because I deleted it already. It’s just some stupid, mean comment.”

“Tell me,” Ushijima growls back. Ohira and Yamagata’s eyes flit to their captain’s growing irritation. “What did she comment?”

Ushijima’s usual equanimity is second to none. His composed temperament is unflappable compared to the boys his age. But for him to get this riled up over things not concerning volleyball? That spells trouble.

Tendou gives in, his voice dipping low in hesitation. “She said, ‘Wow! What a cute photo! I hope [L/N] brought birth control with her, though!’”

Yamagata cocks his head back in bewilderment. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” his canine teeth begin to flash, “is she saying she’s fucking the team, is that it?”

Ohira’s about to give his two cents worth of thoughts, but a sound notification on Tendou’s phone alerts the team. He unlocks his phone.

“Speak of the devil,” Tendou’s irises swoop left to right before narrowing his eyes. “She just doesn’t stop.”

Yamagata, Ushijima, and Ohira crouch in to look at his screen. Tendou leans back to allow the boys to read his Instagram's direct message log with Ryoko.

ryoko ♚

◦ Active now

2:14 PM

> really, Satori? deleting my comment?

Seen <

> doesn’t matter~ I’m sure a bunch of people saw it before you took it down :)

(…)

> btw, the next time you lie about her relationship with you guys, you should at least clean your evidence. ‘just friends’ my ass lol

> you really think I’m gonna fall for that? she’s the team whore and you can’t change my mind. trash like that shouldn't be hanging around the vbc to begin with

Seen <

Ohira clicks his tongue. Yamagata reaches out for Tendou’s phone. “Give that to me, I’ll reply to this bitch.”

Tendou’s arm shoots up, away from Yamagata’s nearing grip. “Dude, no! You’re just gonna say some shit and everything will escalate!”

Yamagata huffs, his heart rate accelerating due to anger. “Then you reply to her. Tell her off.”

Tendou locks his phone. “No, I’m not going to do that.”

“And why not?” Ushijima raises.

Ohira’s just as confused. “Satori, I’m surprised you’re stepping back.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Coming from me, the guy who loves to rile people up. But seriously, I don’t want to add any more fuel,” Tendou voices. “After Ryoko-chan left with the other two managers, I asked [F/N]-chan if she wanted me to tell Wakatoshi-kun. She said that there’s ‘no need’, and that she ‘knew what she was getting into’ when she started hanging out with us.”

Beats of silence. Ohira straightens his back. “So I take it that it doesn’t bother her that much…?”

“Basically, yeah. And why would it? What's some jealous manager to our 'adopted' member," Tendou snickers. "Ryoko-chan just wants what [L/N]-chan has. She's bitter."

"You have a point," Yamagata and Ohira slump back on their beach towels. “You really think our [L/N]-chan will be okay?"

"If you saw how she handled that confrontation, you wouldn't be doubting her right now."

Yamagata and Ohira hum in approval, but their acquiescence does not agree with Ushijima. That same nagging feeling at the back of his head has grown into a full-blown headache.

“I want Higuchi Ryoko out of the team,” he says it so seriously gruff that it makes the boys jerk their heads in his direction.

Yamagata darts a look to Ohira, one of the team’s vice captains, prodding him to respond to the ace’s demand.

“Hey now, Wakatoshi, I know you’re upset but,” Ohira settles beside him, “we can’t just do that.”

A wave washes over the shore. “If it’s about her sponsorships, then I’ll have my family shoulder it instead,” the ace asserts.

Ohira sighs. “It’s not just about the perks. We literally can’t do anything about it— Ryoko-chan’s the one person we can’t put our hands on.”

Tendou’s eyebrows wrinkle. “And why’s that?”

Ohira gulps. “Her dad... goes way back with Coach Washijo. He was an ace back in his day, and you know how much the coach cares for his aces. They’re really good friends.”

To witness nepotism is unpleasant, to do nothing about it is suffocatingly cruel. The sea’s waves continue engulfing the sand.

“Even if you can fill in the financial gap she’ll leave, you can’t get past Coach Washijo. It’s just how it is... especially in a team as high-profile as ours.”

Foam bubbles out. Saltwater remains within the thick, damp sand— heavily burdened with secrets only the sea will hold in its depths.

Ushjima grits his teeth. For the first time in his life, he is forced to deal with consequences outside of his control.

Tendou slings an arm over him. “Hey now, Wakatoshi-kun! Don’t look so grim. [F/N]-chan’s a tough cookie.” He brings another arm up to flex the same way you did outside Lawson, mimicking your corny smile. “I’m tougher than I look, she said,” he laughs it out.

Yamagata and Ohira’s moods brighten. Thanks to Tendou’s reassuring mimicry, the tension has dissipated and they loosen up.

In his peripheral vision, the redhead spots the other half of the group walking back to the canopy. “Anyway, let’s wash away our worries at the sea! C’mon!”

Ushijima watches you approach, engaged in lively conversation, before picking himself up to follow the other third years. They jump right into the water while he stops right at the shoreline.

Waves wash over his bare feet. As he stands immobile, the sand engulfs him ankle-deep.

He doesn’t move on.

Ohira needs to seriously consider opening his own restaurant.

“This is crazy, you guys.”

Ohira flashes you a worried look. “I-is it bad?!”

“I might cry, honestly. It’s so good.”

You think the demi-glace is divine until you bite into the hamburger steak itself, the meat literally melting in your mouth. The patty comes undone to ooze its rich juice. You have to bring your hand up in front of your mouth as you chew; with the size of your cheeks, you might as well be a chipmunk.

“How’d you make it so soft, Ohira-san?” Kawanishi asks. “It’s like wagyu.”

“He put a small amount of soft tofu,” Shirabu answers for him. Ohira’s mouth is full of potato korokke, so he nods to confirm.

The korokke, on the other hand, is so undeniably indulgent. You’re full-on carbo-loading at this point, but oh my God, I don’t care. It’s too good. The crrrisp! sound that reaches your ears when you bite in just beckons for more and more. The mozzarella cheese that strings past Ushijima’s mouth almost makes you choke on your own. You’re quick to dish out praise for Shirabu’s korokkes, too.

Dinner was devoured in record time. Plates were swiped clean from every grain of rice to breaded coating of korokke, making dishwashing a swift process.

You emerge from the bathroom after showering. The beach is cold at night, so you equip the sweatpants that you were supposed to wear for tomorrow’s egress back to the city.

You wait for the rest of the boys to finish washing off today’s sticky sand and sea, plus an additional five minutes for Yamagata and Tendou to finish applying aloe vera cream for their sunburns. Satori-kun’s face is almost as red as his hair…

Shirabu locks the door behind him. You shove your hands inside your grey bottoms as you walk across the empty street, your group huddled together like a flock of birds. Ushijima’s t-shirt is so thin, you wonder if he’s immune to the unrelenting nighttime wind.

You approach nearer to the coast. You slow down, the beautiful view of the full moon’s reflections rippling on Tsukihama Beach.

The distraction had you lagging behind the rest of the boys. They widen the gap as you take in the view. When you're aware of the growing distance, you brisk walk to reach them, resuming to your normal pace when you trail behind Ushijima. He seems to be at the tail-end of the group. He probably waited for you.

The both of you walk down the concrete staircase that leads to the beach. Your gaze lands on the bodily curve that connects the nook of his neck to his broad shoulders.

“Ushi, you have a really wide back.”

The sound of sand crunches under your sandals, steps overlapping steps. You hop in the foot indents that he leaves in his wake.

“I’ve yet to see you play a real match, but when I look at you from this angle, I think— ah, this guy really is an ace. He looks so dependable.”

“Is that so?” he asks, indulging in your musings. You crane your head up and nod at him even if he doesn't see you do it.

“I swear by it,” you answer him. Your eyes focus on the tapered haircut on the nape of his neck.

Ushijima ceases in his steps. You almost bump your nose into his back.

“Then depend on me more.”

“Huh?”

Waves crash on the seashore. The sea thrashes about.

“If someone’s bothering you, then tell me.”

A silence hangs in the air. You sense a hairline fracture has cracked the surface.

You swallow thickly. “You found out, huh?” you let the words slip out your mouth.

It seems like tonight’s sea is restless, isn't it?

“I understand what you meant by it now. You not belonging in my orbit, like you said last time.”

“I’m okay, really,” you’re quick to answer him back. It’s like turning the stove off before the pot boils over.

“But just because I understand, doesn’t necessarily mean I agree.”

Ah, but the water has already spilled.

Ushijima turns around and sits down on a stone-cold staircase step. He deposits himself before looking up at you. You take it as a signal to sit beside him.

Your gazes are finally level with each other. There’s a fervour in his eyes; you see it in the speckles of gold that sit like treasures underneath his thick brows. There’s a certain depth in the way he looks at you. It almost makes you feel like he’s staring into your soul.

“You have a place with us. Remember that.”

His face is stern but gentle. Hardened by today’s revelations, but soothing with the intention to comfort you.

Ushijima Wakatoshi does not shower with anyone with praises. No fuss, no frills. Words like these come in scarce— and that’s what makes his statement so sweeping to you.

He says it to you like it’s the gospel truth. You now call yourself a firm believer.

“I know I do. I realized that last night. Why would I lose sleep over some manager when I’ve been ‘adopted’ by the best team in Miyagi, right?” you quote Tendou. The thought makes you revel in feather-light amusement. “So don’t worry about me, okay?”

A sea breeze gusts past you both.

“I can’t promise you that,” he tells you point-blank. It’s a caveat that swells into the conversation; you feel a hanging pressure in the atmosphere. “I can’t just sit back knowing you’ve had to deal with how our manager treated you.”

He turns to you, his olive-brown tresses riffling with the wind.

“I can’t let things pass if it’s with you— especially if it’s you.”

Your enthusiasm floats back down. You’re quiet. The sea spills over the silence. Ushijima watches the rest of the team’s silhouettes scatter into the night.

He picks up on your sobering mood. His voice is softer now.

“Do you remember what you asked me when I ate dinner at your house?”

You knit your brows at the out-of-place inquiry.

“I asked you what you did outside volleyball, right?”

“Yes, and you also asked me if I ever got lonely.”

Ushijima looks at your pensive face, illuminated by moonlight.

“I don’t think I do. Not recently, not anymore. I’m on this trip because of the effort you put in.”

He digs a sandal’s heel into the sand. “At the convenience store, you mentioned that all that’s been said and done has been just for me. I can’t forget that.”

Ushijima’s head hangs low, watching sand particles sweep away. There’s a tenderness that starts to drip in the space you share. His gratitude makes your heart soften into mush. Everything you’ve done last week has paid off ten times over.

The sea beckons for your appreciation to spill out.

“I’m glad,” you lean on his shoulder. He tenses up, heart violently beating. You bring your head back up after one, two sea waves.

“And you’re happy, right? You’re happy you’re finally on a team trip,” your mouth imparts a teasing smile. You know that he is. You only ask in hopes that his mood could match with yours.

He nods, eyes still trained on the beige sand.

Yet there’s a loose end that you’ve yet to tie up. Friends don’t keep secrets from each other, you ought to remember like a rule. And so you’re prepped to apologize.

“I’m sorry for hiding this from you. Please don’t be mad at Satori-kun. I won’t do it again.”

You peek at his stern face. Despite your hesitation— guilt pulling your stomach down after being found out— you offer a closed fist to him. It’s like a kitten’s paw tapping on a sleeping lion’s.

“Friends, right?”

He looks at the knuckles that have nudged at his knee. Ushijima bumps your fist back.

“Friends.”

You let out a sigh and resume watching the sea. You cross your arms on your knees, chin rested on your limbs.

Beats of silence turn into comfortable quietude. You’re the first to start the conversation once more.

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

His eyes flutter to your contemplative face, the one that beholds the waves that continuously crash into shore.

“I always do.”

And then you peel away to meet his eyes. You hold a steady glance, an appreciative look that words can’t capture.

There’s a cacophony in his chest. He wonders if you hear it too.

Your energy starts bubbling up again.

“And I’ll keep looking out for you too, okay?” you tell him, eyes shining bright with a resolute promise.

“I know you will,” he says with trademark intensity, yet you know it’s a gentle affirmation.

You smile at his typical, restrained façade. That’s your relationship dynamic— the rock and the kite— and you rise up, just as kites do, before dusting yourself off.

He watches you twirl around to look at him. Moonlight on your face. A picture-perfect scene he’d gladly allow to take up in his brain.

Again and again, your vivacity ripples like waves to his core. Once more he’s pulled in, once more his chest fizzes.

“Geez, lighten up, will you?” you put your arms akimbo. You laugh in a way that dissolves any and all weight in the air.

You offer him a hand. He takes it. Currents jolt from his fingertips, jumpstarting the beating in his chest. You begin pulling him up with a theatrical exaggeration that would’ve made Tendou proud.

“Come on, let’s go. We’re lagging behind.”

The sensation of your small hand, squeezing all your might into his, makes his heart snap and crackle.

Ushijima watches you run off into the wider coast, your flip flops digging into blankets of sand. The gritty grains fly off its soles in hurrying huffs. You wedge in a good few meters of distance as you separate yourself from him. Your pace then slows, a heavy foot is plunged into the sand, and you pivot yourself to face the ace. Your hands create a tunnel around your mouth to shout a loudened I dare you to catch me! before widening the gap.

And Ushijima starts to walk, watching you peer your head over your shoulder, a beaming grin sending another wave of discrepant pulses to his ribcage.

He catches a glint in your eyes— that same glint that got him looking back at the disciplinary office on his way to practice, the same glint that jerked his attention span out of focus and sent his spike out of control, that same goddamn glint that busted the backboard and led him back to you.

Oh, how much he’d hope to keep you smiling the same way you already do— crinkle in your eyes, and all.

And then his footsteps slow down. And he stops in his tracks. And his breath hitches. And he thinks time has stopped, waves have paused mid-crash, the earth has halted in its revolution.

And he feels it. He feels it magnified, emboldened, sharpened to its pointiest tip and then—

pop!

Oh. He finally gets it.

“There's a feeling I can't shake off when I'm with you, and I intend to find out why. That is my business with you.”

He has his answer now.

He feels it in the thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat when he picks up his pace,

in the intoxicating sound of your blithe laughter when you see him running,

and in the moonlight halo around your head, a glow only visible to him. Only this time, it’s stronger than it was before.

You’re so bright. And like a moth to a flame, drawn to your light and all the warmth that it carries, he chases you.

“I will catch you,” he declares, low voice rumbling like an announcement to the world, hoping to speak words into existence.

You laugh in blissful ignorance. There’s a massive weight in his words that you have yet to understand.

“I’d like to see you try!”

He doesn’t believe in trying. He believes in either seeing things to its utmost fruition, or doing nothing about it at all. And, like we’ve established before, Ushijima Wakatoshi never does anything half-assed.

In the same way that he knows you both weren’t cut from the same cloth,

or in the way you stood at the opposite end of the color wheel,

or in the way that you stick out like a sore thumb,

he knows that despite all that, it’s you— you, who introduced variety to his routine life, you who got him roped into this trip, and you who dashes off into the coast like it’s no big deal.

Your existence has been sewn into the threads of his happiness.

What would it take for you to look my way?

He said he’d catch you, he professed to it under the star-speckled summer sky. It’s a promise he makes to the universe, a vow that he, in his own, quiet way, will eventually fulfill— in due time. There’s no need to rush. You have him and he has you.

You slow down and he narrows the gap, only for you to run off again.

He watches you with the wind behind your back.

Like tidal waves— no, like a tsunami— an epiphany finally washes in: it is translated through the churning in his stomach, the prickly feeling in his fingertips, the skipped heartbeats upon landing sight on you.

I like you.

I want to be with you.

And I want to protect you from anyone who tries to hurt you.

He smiles the softest of smiles.

“Come on, Ushi!” you pull his attention like you’ve always been doing.

Your laughter roars over the crashing waves when he begins sprinting towards you. He finally shortens the gap, hooking an arm around your waist when he’s within arm’s length.

You pry yourself away, laughing once more when he lets go. The contact infects him with glee, a smile blooming on his face when he watches you escape.

In due time, in due time.

He chases you again.

Chapter Text

Shirabu surveys the spread of food on the long dining table. He tilts his head to the side, bangs swaying to the right.

“Tendou-san, I don’t think this is what American breakfasts look like.”

Yamagata shakes his head. “That’s exactly what I told him,” he jerks his head to the sugar-crazed middle blocker stationed behind the kitchen counter. “Satori! Stop whipping those egg whites and just cook the damn pancakes already!”

“It hasn’t peaked yet!” he fires back. “And they’re not just any damn pancakes, Hayato! They’re soufflé pancakes,” he corrects him with an accent so obviously practiced from Google translate.

“You’ve made enough!” their libero says, voice gruff from the strain of ‘cooperating’ with his cooking partner. “Just sit down so we can eat already.”

Tendou huffs as he plops a creamy blob onto a non-stick pan. He puts the lid on before replying to Yamagata. “Go ahead and start, I’ll follow with a second batch.”

The pained expression on your face is a mix of mild amusement from Tendou and pity for Yamagata. Everyone at the table imparts a chorus of itadakimasu, your higher voice disappearing amidst their lower tones.

You grab a slice of shokupan toast before slathering some softened butter on it.

Kawanishi swallows a forkful of scrambled eggs. “What’s on today’s schedule, Ohira-san?”

Ohira’s knife slices through a thick portion of honeyed ham. Geez, even the ham wasn’t exempt from Tendou’s sweet tooth. Nevertheless, you appreciate the salty-sweet sensation that dances on your tastebuds when you take a bite for yourself.

“One last game of beach volleyball to settle yesterday’s score before heading to the cove—“

“Tendou Satori’s private cove,” the redhead echoes, his back turned as he delicately flips pancakes over.

“— before heading to Tendou Satori’s private cove,” Ohira plasters on his usual sunny smile. You ask what time the group will shoot off.

“We’ll leave mid-afternoon,” Semi answers. “Why’re you asking?”

You tap on your phone screen and the fingertip touch lights it up. “My parents texted. They want me home before dinnertime.”

“We’ll get you home by then,” Yamagata peers at you from behind his glass of orange juice. “Have you seen that movie? Fast & Furious?”

Goshiki’s interest is piqued. This eggs Yamagata to continue. “That will be me behind the wheel. We’ll go Sendai Drifting if we have to.”

“What the hell,” Semi chokes on a piece of bacon.

The shining resolution in Yamagata’s eyes makes Shirabu look to Ohira for help. His senior can’t offer any as even he himself is stifling laughter behind his chewing mouth.

“Will they get upset if you’re late, [L/N]?” Ushijima asks, providing the only sense of order to this brunch conversation.

“Probably, but it’s okay. I can always send a text to appease them.”

Tendou finally joins the banquet with a teal ceramic plate bearing several fluffy pancakes. Confectioner’s sugar is sprinkled all over like snowfall. Shirabu tells him off for using the decorative plates without permission. Tendou tells him it’s for the ‘gram.

Snap! He uploads the flat-lay photo in one swift motion. “Hashtag-home-cook.”

You suppress a laugh before wolfing down on your own share of delectably airy pancakes.

Today’s beach day is sweltering hot. You’ve resigned to remain seated under a shady tree, using the large cooler box as a makeshift chair.

Another of one Ushijima’s infamous southpaw spikes has curved its way out of the marked sand court. “My bad.”

You stand up and swing the sweat-dampened tresses off your neck. “I’ll get it.”

The ball rolls and rolls, you toddle and toddle— bump!

It halts in front of a pair of bare feet. Your eyes travel from the yellow-blue beach ball to the mop of an overgrown pixie cut that frames the face of a captivating young girl around your age.

You crane your head up when you say your thanks. Her swimsuit is less of a bikini top and more of a sports bra. She’s toned and definitely model-tall. You wonder if she’s been on any teen magazines.

She picks the volleyball up for you. “No biggie,” she smiles, pearly whites as bright as the clouds above. “Do you play volleyball, too?”

Tendou’s sing-song voice cuts through meters away. “[F/N]-chan!”

She angles her head to the group of boys scattered around the volleyball net. She squints her eyes before you hear her visibly gasp.

“No way! You’re with the Shiratorizawa boys team?!”

You’re about to reply a meek 'yeah', but she cuts the syllables off when she swivels around. “Kanoka-chaaan! Call captain for me!”

She whips her head back to you. “Ah! Sorry, I’m Takenaka Shiori by the way,” she sheepishly scratches the back of her ear. She has the cutest cheek dimples you've ever seen.

You catch a glimpse of the aforementioned captain rising from her beach towel. It takes a second or two before you recognize just who these women are.

You look back at Takenaka, your eyes wide.

“Niiyama! The Queens!” your voice trumpets, a blush of excitement blanketing on your cheeks.

“Yes!” she trumpets back. Both of you giggle at the absurdity of understanding that conversation without much context.

The captain walks like the beach is her runway, head held high and all. You’re starstruck the moment you land eyes on her; she’s just as pretty as the sports magazines make her out to be.

Takenaka rings your attention back to her. “What’s your name? Are you a team manager?”

She towers over you. You tilt your head up as you keep the conversation. “I’m [L/N] [F/N], and no, I’m just a friend of theirs.”

You catch a flash of surprise that glosses over her eyes. It leaves as quick as it arrives— you wonder if it was tact that caused her face to recollect. “Really? Cool!”

The statuesque female captain slows as she approaches. Both of you watch her create an open palm’s shade over her eyes. “Ushiwaka, Semi-kun— is that you!?”

She zooms past you both, her near-blonde hair bouncing as she runs towards the sand court.

Takenaka takes it as a sign to grab your hand and pull you forward. Her eagerness almost makes you stumble over, but you hurry to match her pace.

You watch Semi turn beet red the moment the captain flings herself on him. He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to put his hands. Takenaka giggles at the exchange, the other girl’s lack of restraint providing comedic relief. The beach volleyball game is halted while Semi, Ushijima, and the two girls gather into a circle at one end of the court.

You tuck yourself away under the shadows of some trees. Shirabu approaches you.

“I didn’t know Ushijima-san had other girl friends.”

You laugh at his underhanded comment. “Yeah, me too. And here I thought he was awkward with girls.”

“I think he is, though,” Shirabu points at Ushijima whose lips have visibly thinned into a line. “Actually, I don’t even know if they’re friends. He looks out of place.”

You watch his stumped expression; it strengthens more and more as the conversation is carried exclusively by Semi. “Two hundred yen to say he’s racking his brain trying to remember the captain's name right now.”

Shirabu scoffs. “You don’t even have to bet. It’s evident on his face.”

The boys have decided to play a two-versus-two match with Ushijima and Semi subbed out. Ohira, Goshiki, Tendou, and Kawanishi resume with the ball back in court. You lift your butt off the cooler and crouch to fish out a drink for Yamagata. You toss him some ice-cold soda.

Ushijima finally removes himself from the chirpy conversation. His social battery looks as if it’s been sucked dry. “It’s Niiyama,” he says unceremoniously. “They’re on a trip too. They want to play a few coed games with the boys.”

Yamagata shoots up. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? Let’s go!”

He darts towards the sun-exposed court. Shirabu follows after him, the thought of setting for some of the best female players in Miyagi tickling his interest.

“Wakatoshi, not joining us?”

Ushijima plops himself on the sand, beside the cooler box you’ve positioned yourself on. “No,” he stretches his legs out. “I don’t want to.”

“Really? Volleyball-crazy Wakatoshi saying no?”

“I’m not saying no to volleyball.”

Yamagata shrugs at his garbled reply. Takenaka has been sent to collect the rest of the members and she comes back with more equally fit, Amazonian young women. Short, tomboyish hair but long, toned limbs: this is what comprises of the quintessential Niiyama volleyball girl.

“Not interested?” you wonder if the sweltering heat has gotten the best of the ace.

“You could say that,” he answers in a different line of thought. He just doesn’t want to play with other girls.

Talking to Ushijima is funny like that. You think you mean one thing, he answers with another, yet it fits into your question all the same.

Both of you watch the ball bump in and out and in again. You murmur your amazement when you watch the captain herself snap a spike so razor-sharp straight that it makes Goshiki’s skin crawl.

“She’s so cool.”

Ushijima doesn’t share in your awe. He looks off to the far end of the coast, the promised cove calling his name. The game, however, extends in tests of true skill and tenacity. These are Nationals-level athletes, after all. Soon enough, the sky’s blue hues have begun receding.

“Good games,” booms the Niiyama captain, “it was nice seeing you guys! Can we take a picture before you leave?”

She gathers her girls in a line, Ushijima doing the same to his boys. Takenaka Shiori approaches you with her phone in her hand to ask if you can photograph the historic volleyball moment.

Your eyes perk up. “Ah, yeah! Sure,” you scuttle in front of their athletic crowd.

Volleyball royalty beside volleyball royalty. The one-two-three countdown is interrupted by Ushijima’s firm, resounding ‘hold on’.

“What’s up, Ushiwaka?” the female captain asks.

“[L/N] should be part.”

You’re flustered, waving your hand in front of your face. “N-no, it’s okay! I don't play!”

Tendou beckons for you to come over. “Hey now, we’re not just gonna exclude you like that,” he chuckles. The rest of the boys express their overlapping agreements. “Get over here!”

Goshiki pipes in. “Senpai, I’ll help you look for someone who can take the photo!”

Shirabu side-eyes that Takenaka Shiori girl. He wonders if the favor she asked of you was intentional. He feels like it was an erasure of sorts.

“She didn’t go on this trip to be reduced to some photographer,” he mutters under his breath.

“What?” Kawanishi asks.

“Nothing.”

A young adult steps in to take the photo. You nestle yourself between Tendou and Ushijima.

“Okay, ready? One-two-three— smile!”

Snap! Snap!

Takenaka sends the photos to everyone else’s phones. Ushijima was the first to bid farewells on behalf of the team.

“See you guys at Nationals!” Semi says, chest puffed out. They echo the same sentiment.

The schedule has been delayed. There’s a disappointed pout that doesn’t leave Tendou’s face. “No cove.”

“Yup,” you zip your bag. “No cove.”

Shirabu bangs on the bathroom door. “Kawanishi, hurry up! You take the longest showers!”

The middle blocker swings the door open, his hair flat and head damp. “I’m done!”

A van's engine starts. You look out of the window to see Yamagata's car open up and ready to receive luggage. The sun is beginning to fall into the horizon; it ushers a gradient hue of blue and orange.

You make two trips to bring cooler boxes out while the rest of the boys carry everyone’s bags. Shirabu double-checks every room, shelf, nook and cranny of the house before entering the van.

“Did we leave anything?”

“Nope,” he puts his seatbelt on. “We’re good.”

Tendou sticks his face to the window. “Goodbye, cove! Goodbye, Tsukihama!”

Yamagata looks at him from the rearview mirror. “Satori, you better wipe that window clean!”

“Tendou-senpai,” Goshiki taps on his shoulder. “One of the Niiyama girls said that there’s a nearby trail that leads up to a vantage point overlooking Matsushima. It’s five minutes away from the beach and she says it’s worth seeing.”

“It will create another delay,” Ushijima reminds them from the passenger’s seat. “[L/N] has to be home before dinnertime.”

You peer through the seat gap and see Goshiki slump into his seat. Tendou, his row mate, huffs as he crosses his arms.

You turn to Ushijima and Yamagata upfront. “I think it’ll be fine. How long does it take to trek up?” you poke back into the gap.

“You don’t have to trek up. There’s a parking lot at one of the peaks and you just have to climb up the stairs. Fifteen minutes tops.”

“That’s perfect,” you lean towards Yamagata and Ushijima. “C’mon. We didn’t get to swim at the cove anyway.”

Yamagata bites his inner cheek. Ushijima looks at you, face unchanging.

“We can watch the sunset there,” you plead, head tilting down to brandish the best puppy dog eyes you can muster. “Please?”

Now, that’s not fair. He’s weak to you doing this.

“Fine. We’ll make it quick.”

Not even a minute later, Goshiki passes his phone to Shirabu, then to Ushijima. The location is pinned to Mt. Otakamori.

You recede into your chair and you slip a hand between the seat gap. Tendou and Goshiki high five you, snickers spreading throughout the van.

𝐌𝐓. 𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈

Miyato Higashimatsushima, Miyagi Prefecture

Friday, 5:47 PM

Yamagata was lucky to have secured a vacant parking spot. The nine of you walk up the wide staircase that leads to the viewing deck.

You finally reach the top and the view knocks the wind out of your breath. And no, it’s not the thinning oxygen. You’re taken by the sight.

It’s maddening how much you’ve been spoiled rotten on this trip. You almost feel like you don’t deserve it.

A singing breeze whiffs past your group. You huddle between Tendou and Goshiki, linking your arms with the taller boys.

“You did it again, [F/N]-chan.”

“What can I say,” you flick your hair. “I got him wrapped around my finger,” you grin wryly.

Goshiki peeps at your face. “Wait, so you know?”

“Know what?”

Tendou studies you face. “No, I don’t think she does.”

You knit your brows. “Whatever. Guess we’re not close enough for inside jokes yet.”

“That’s a joke you have to find out for yourself,” Tendou chuckles at your sarcasm. “We’re close enough for group photos though,” he turns to the other end of the viewing deck to call the rest of the team.

“Hey! Let’s take a selfie!”

It’s some kind of a jigsaw puzzle, trying to fit in some abnormally tall high school boys into a smartphone’s front camera frame, while keeping the shining waters and dotted islands as a backdrop.

There’s a valley of a gap between Tendou and Kawanishi’s heads. Your height difference with the rest of the team creates a dip between the two boys. Ushijima decides to close that gap, standing behind you, filling in that slot like a tetris block.

“Move closer! Background can't be seen,” Tendou demands. “More, more," everyone snuggles in. "Hurry! My arm is tired.”

Everyone’s leaning on each other. Ushijima puts his hands on your head.

“Hey, what are you—“

The backside of his palms serves as a cushion for his chin to drop down on. He puts his head on top of yours.

Snap!

“Do an ugly face!”

Snap! Snap!

You crouch down, releasing yourself, and you lock eyes with him from over your shoulder. “You’re so heavy, Ushi!” you titter.

The side of his lip tugs up. “Sorry.”

Everyone watches the sun recede and it leaves a blazing orange in its wake. The walk down endows everyone with a newfound appreciation, a love rekindled for the beauty of Miyagi.

You loosen your mouth to thank Yamagata for driving up the detour, but your unstable footing decides to override that. A mossy step makes you slip.

“Senpai!”

Kawanishi reaches for your arm and he hooks a large hand around the crook of your elbow. He clutches on a handrail, squatting low to prevent himself from falling over. He holds you from slipping any further— but you’ve already landed on your butt.

You’re lucky you didn’t hit your head. Or sprain your ankle. Or hit your spinal cord.

You did, however, skin your elbow.

Everyone races towards you. Ushijima reaches out, no hesitation this time. Blood has started to trickle down your elbow.

He clicks his tongue. “How bad does it hurt?”

You stretch your arm out and survey the damage. “Oh, that’s not very pretty, is it?”

“Hey. How bad does it hurt?”

“Like a two. Maybe a three.”

Shirabu bends over. “She’ll be okay. Elbow epidermis is thick and it has a low nerve ending density.”

“Speak Japanese, Kenjirou,” Tendou says, worry etched on his face.

“Elbows have fewer pain detectors. Let’s wrap her elbow up to stop the bleeding.”

Ushijima stands up and offers a hand to you. Other boys hurry back to the car. “Can you walk?”

You push yourself off the stone step and hoist yourself up with Ushijima’s pull. Ohira’s hand gently pulls you up from your forearm, careful not to touch the bleeding area.

“I’m good.”

“Hold on to me anyway.”

Ushijima leads you back to the van, your hand still enclosed in his. In those twenty steps back to the vehicle, he looks like he could prevent even a landslide with how close he hovers over you.

Shirabu is ready to receive you with a bottle of water and some disinfectant spray in both hands. He cleans your wound, Ushijima watching from the sidelines, before wrapping it up in a clean handkerchief that Ohira has offered.

Ushijima makes sure your seatbelt is on before he returns to his post at the passenger’s seat.

“You guys treat me like I’m glass,” you chuckle. “I’m fine!”

Another detour to the nearest drug store has your schedule pushed back by two entire hours now. Nevertheless, you’re properly bandaged at least.

However, your face drains color when you fish your phone out of your pocket.

Eight missed calls from mom. Your phone was on silent.

The dial tone rings twice before she picks it up.

“Where are you?”

You can feel her vexation through the static. “We’re on the way home. I’ll text you when we’re nearby.”

The boys are still with silence.

“Yes… yup. Uh-huh. I know, I'm sorry. Okay. Bye.”

Semi peeks his head out. “Is she mad you're running late?”

“She’s madder that I missed her calls. It’s fine,” you sigh when you lean back into the leather car seat.

Goshiki and Tendou’s heads fight for the gapped space between your and Shirabu’s chairs. “[F/N]-chan/senpai,” they say at the same time. “We’re sorry.”

Your chest erupts into laughter. “Haha, don’t worry about it!”

Yamagata peeks at you through the mirror. You cut him off before he says anything. “Don’t go Sendai Drifting on me. Drive safe and not fast, got it?!”

His lips tie in a dry smile. “Whatever, dirt-butt.”

You check your rump. There’s a small streak of dried mud right across your buttcheeks. It greatly contrasts against your grey sweats. “What the hell! Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“Yeah, as if we could totally ignore the bleeding on your right arm,” Semi teases from a row behind. You scowl. Ohira gives in to laughter. And we’re back to our regularly scheduled programming.

It’s a quarter past seven now.

Aside from the songs blasting on the stereo, the tak-tak-tak of your phone indicates how much you’ve been texting your mom. Her growing displeasure at the schedule delay just makes you shrivel up at how much angrier your dad might be.

To add to the symphony of the car ride, ambient noise has been added to the mix: it’s the pitter-patter of raindrops.

You look out the window. Based on the bokeh effect of neon-colored traffic lights and establishment signs, you’ve finally reached Sendai city. The problem, though, is that you’re caught in the middle of rush hour. And the rain has created some more delay on the road.

You gulp when you send another text to your mom. Traffic is almost bumper-to-bumper.

Yamagata’s road rage is growing by the minute— but you know he means well, he just wants you home as soon as possible. On the car dashboard, his phone’s navigation app says that your house is around a hundred meters away. The travel there, though? Fifteen minutes.

Ushijima angles his head out to look at the rows behind him. “Who has an umbrella?”

“I do,” Ohira says from the back. “Why?”

“[L/N], let’s walk. It’s faster.”

The signal light blinks as Yamagata turns into a corner. “That might be better. Eita’s house is nearby so I’ll drop him off before picking you up, Wakatoshi,” his eyes meet yours through the mirror. “Is that okay with you, [L/N]-chan?”

You nod. While Ushijima’s gone to pick your bag up, you’re settling trip payments with Shirabu.

“This is more than what you owe,” he counts the bills.

“Plus all the gas we burned in traffic and the drug store stop we made,” you say as you wave your goodbye’s at everyone else in the car. Shirabu calls you out with a 'you don't have to' but you cut him off, jumping out of the vehicle.

“Thanks for everything, guys! See you after the summer break!”

The umbrella shelters you from the rain. Despite that, it’s too small for the both of you.

Ushijima asks you to hold onto your bag for a moment before taking his windbreaker off. He unzips it, hangs the hoodie over your head, and capes the rest over your body. You look like a lost child, sweatpants half wet, comically oversized jacket and all. At least it covers the stain on your butt.

“It’ll be troublesome if your bandage got rained on,” he takes the bag back. “Let’s keep walking.”

He’s holding the umbrella handle. The slight tilt tells you he’s angled it towards your body. You bring a free hand up to straighten his fist, your smaller palm encompassing his own.

His chest races.

“Your shoulder is wet,” you don’t have to check the other half of his body. You just know. “I’m already wearing your windbreaker, anyway.”

He hums and straightens his hold on the umbrella. A few blocks later, it starts to tilt towards you again. You don’t see it though; you anchor your focus on your house instead.

Both of you halt in front of your gate. You take your bag from Ushijima.

“I’ll walk away for a bit so your mom won't see me. Wait before you ring the doorbell,” he hands you the umbrella. You reject it, pushing it back to him.

“You’re only wearing a shirt. You’ll get a cold. Keep it until Yamagata-kun picks you up.”

“No,” he says, but then you scowl at him. He thinks your eyelashes are pretty from this angle even with the sour expression on your face. Then he sighs. “Fine.”

His free hand pulls the hoodie closer to your face before zipping the windbreaker up, your bag secured underneath. You look like a walking sleeping bag.

“Don't let the rain touch your gauze.”

“Says you,” you smile up at him. His shirt sleeve is dripping wet. “Thank you for walking me home, Ushi.”

“Always,” a warm look in his eyes. “Thank you again for coming to this trip. See you.”

You wait for him to walk down the street before ringing the doorbell. Your mom picks you up with her own umbrella, rushing you indoors.

You see your dad seated at the dining table.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“I’m sorry. There was a delay.”

“Don’t pull the traffic card on me. You told us you’d leave by mid-afternoon. The roads should have been clear by then.”

Drip, drip, drip says the windbreaker on your body.

You put your bag down on the wooden floorboards. You take the jacket off and some droplets get the floor wet. You reveal an elbow wrapped in white gauze.

“I slipped down a staircase. It's just a skin abrasion. Yumi’s dad took us to the nearest pharmacy and her stepmom dressed the wound for me.”

Your gaze is unwavering as white lies drip from your mouth. “I’m sorry," you say again, sweeter, covering the truth like honey.

Your dad sighs. “Be careful next time. Go and bathe while the water’s still hot.”

Your mom approaches you. “I’ll take this jacket from you, sweetie,” you hand it to her as you brush past. But then you freeze in your steps the moment the fabric leaves your fingertips.

“I haven't seen this before. This isn't yours.”

You jerk your head to her. Your dad watches you both from his chair.

“It’s not. It’s Yumi’s.”

She fumbles through the waterproof jacket. She reads the tag. “Yumi-chan wears a men’s size large?”

You blink in rapid succession. “Her boyfriend gave it to her. She owns it now.”

Your chest is racing. The silence is deafening.

"Takeru-kun, remember? That guy you saw when you picked me up from her birthday party?"

"..."

"The one she celebrated at The Westin?”

Your mom shrugs upon remembering. "Oh right," she recollects the face of a young boy with a nice, tall nose. She walks down the hallway and into the laundry room, “I’ll have this washed. Go bathe and I’ll dress your elbow after.”

You walk upstairs. The weariness you feel is more tiring than the two sets of beach volleyball you played with some athletes from Shiratorizawa.

The sky is dark and the night is heavily overcast with rain clouds. Ushijima rings the doorbell to his estate. He's sopping wet now; he's given Ohira his umbrella back. Yamagata and Tendou are the only ones left in the van. Ushijima waves them farewell before they drive off.

A maid has come out bearing two umbrellas— one for her, another for her master. She takes his duffel bag. “Wakatoshi-sama, welcome home. There is a hot bath prepared for you upstairs and your grandmother will await your presence at dinner.”

He cocks an eyebrow up. It’s an otetsudai. He hasn’t seen a housekeeper walk the estate grounds since he graduated middle school. Since he moved to the dorms, nannies were no longer needed in the Ushijima household.

Ushijima does as he's told. His hair is damp when he walks down the ancestral staircase. Another otetsudai slides the door open for him when he walks into the dining room, a wide array of dishes splayed out.

His grandmother is already seated on a floor cushion. He sits across her. “I’m home, obaa-chan.”

“Welcome back, Waka-chan.”

A gentle clap. Itadakimasu.

“Did okaa-san employ them?”

An amused smile drifts to her face. He’s always one for direct assumptions.

“Yes. I was against it at first. Your mother must think I'm getting too old,” she picks up a helping of gomae, “but she won me over. Grocery shopping went swimmingly today.”

“I thought the chauffeur did that for you.”

“Yes, but you know how much I dislike being cooped up in the estate. I left the household in charge of the property while the driver brought me to the market.”

He shrugs. “Okay, as long as you’re safe,” he picks up a slice of unagi. “Dinner is big tonight. Did something happen?”

“Nothing. I simply left cooking duty to the maids. It’s amazing how much time you have on your hands when someone else is doing housework,” she laughs behind her hand. “I've almost forgotten what that felt like. It's been a while since the house has started bustling again. Anyway— how was the trip?”

“It was a lot of fun,” Ushijima hides a smile behind sips of miso soup. “I enjoyed it.”

“That [L/N] girl is strange, tagging along on an all-boys trip," there's a wrinkle of disgust delicately forming on the bridge of her nose. "Never in my days would I imagine that.”

“She’s a good friend of ours.”

“I hope it’s nothing more.”

Ushijima returns his bowl of miso soup. He clears his throat, a closed fist brought to his mouth. His grandmother catches this.

She tries to lock on his gaze, but his eyes are downcast on a pillow of rice.

“Wakatoshi, don’t tell me…?”

He sets his chopsticks aside. “I have come to realize that I like her, obaa-chan.”

The rain is pouring hard outside.

He brings his head up. He watches her face contort, slowly but surely, until it’s a full-blown scowl. A blatant look of disapproval.

“We don’t do that in our circles, Wakatoshi. She’s not someone we know. You understand, don’t you?”

“Neither was dad, but you permitted the marriage.”

She puts both hands on the table. “He made a name for himself, but even that wasn’t enough to support you and keep the family together,” the words slip out like red-hot magma.

The grandson clenches his jaw. It's a searing burn from one family member to another.

A thunderclap. She gathers herself.

And then her face flashes a pained look. She cranes her head down. “I’m sorry, Waka-chan,” a slow hand trails up her lips. “That was not kind of me.”

It’s too late, the damage has been done. That’s the trouble with words— you can’t take them back.

He pretends he didn’t hear it. He pretends it doesn’t hurt. Ushijima resumes eating and he counts the days until summer camp starts; he can’t wait to return to the dorms. It’s warmer there than it is here.

“Waka-chan,” his name is barely a whisper now. She tries to get her grandson’s attention back. “Perhaps you like her because she’s just there; she’s the next most available girl in your circle.”

That’s not true. It’s precisely because he likes her that she’s there. Their budding relationship is a product of their shared work.

“I don’t like her because she’s conveniently there. I like her because of whom she has come to be.”

His grandmother’s eyes tighten— confused, befuddled. Her chin tilts up. Her nose is high in the air. It’s as if a thought as distasteful as her prized grandson settling for some nobody is too putrid for her senses.

"And who is she, then? What's to her name?"

He can't answer.

“Listen to yourself. It’s the same old scene your mother knows all too well. It’s replaying for me to trouble over.”

She clicks her tongue. Ushijima watches her face assume an expression devoid of compassion.

“Can’t you see, Wakatoshi? This is what happens when you step out of our inner circle— you lose your sense of self.”

He can’t help his eyebrows from furrowing, eyes from sparking. “How can that be if I’m the most alive I’ve ever felt? There are emotions inside me I didn’t think I was capable of experiencing. I feel a thrill different from what volleyball provides me.”

“You’re infatuated, Wakatoshi. There is a difference. It will pass.”

His resolve is unshakeable. He holds her equally powerful stare.

She sighs. “Your mother, of all people, will be the most dissatisfied. Heaven knows how much of a burden she's had to carry after the divorce. She won't be happy about this."

“It’s always about her happiness. I am beginning to wonder when I’d be able to create my own happiness, too.”

The knot in her eyebrows comes undone. Her eyes soften.

“Can’t I have that too, obaa-chan?”

She doesn’t respond. The hanging pressure alleviates when she returns to eating. It’s an open-ended question that not even the wisdom of her years can answer.

The dinner is quiet. There is nothing but the sound of muffled crunches on vegetable slices, the swigging of warm tea, and the thrumming of rain outside.

“It won’t be easy, Waka-chan. Your mother chose the same road. It didn’t end well.”

“I’m not my mother, obaa-chan. I am my own person.”

“But you are her son. The blood in your veins proves it. The mirror image I see across me is all the more so.”

She sets her chopsticks beside an empty bowl. “I’d like to retire to my bedroom now. Call otetsudai-san.”

He arises and helps her up. “No need. I’ll walk you to your room.”

Ushijima slides her bedroom's shoji door open. His grandmother steps into the doorframe. He's about to slide it shut but she stops him. A face’s width gap remains.

“Your mother has been in contact with a matchmaker.”

“A what?” his voice comes out fraught. “I told her I wasn’t interested.”

“You know how she is. When she sets her mind to something, she will by no means stop.”

She was right. Wakatoshi and his mother truly are each other’s carbon copies.

“I’m not going,” he slides the door ajar. “I’m not going.”

“She’s already arranged a meeting— it’s a casual lunch, do not fret.”

“Still—“

"No," her eyes pierce into his, matriarchal will overpowering his growing rebellion. "You will show yourself. Do not embarrass the family name. More than a prospect, the family is also a business partner of ours."

She slides the door— slowly, gently, a stark difference from the force of her glare. “Good night, Waka-chan.”

It shuts it in his face.

Rainwater rushes down his roof. The sky is tempestuous; summer rain is characterized more like pelts of liquid daggers than showers of light kisses.

From how it sounds inside his home, he thinks the pressure might be like waterfalls— cold, heavy, unrelenting.

When it rains, it pours.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning greets Ushijima with a sheet of mist. There’s a fog that surrounds Miyagi; precipitation sits on plants that scatter all over the family estate. The sun should be rising up by now but it’s hidden behind a veil of haze.

Ushijima is staring into the expanse of the enclosed yard. It rained hard last night. Fat, heavy drops of torrential rain blanketed all over the city of Sendai.

He’s sitting on the wooden porch, the one outside the study room his team frequents during finals week. He inhales the bittersweet scent of petrichor. On most days, he’d find the smell pleasant to his nose— fresh and strong, like how young saplings break out of the ground. Instead, the scent comes across heavy and disconcerting— like an omen impending.

And he doesn’t like that. He misses the smell Tsukihama’s hot sand and flowing sea, not his old home’s cold rock and stiff wood.

His eyes flit to the enclosed yard’s weeping-type sakura tree. Its flowers are drooping, as if burdened by last night’s skyfall. Ushijima can’t take his eyes off the curtain of pale pink. He feels as though he shares in that drooping melancholy. 

A drop of condensation rolls down a green leaf before it plummets to the wet ground. Ushijima blinks out of his reverie. He rubs his eyes.

He didn’t sleep well last night. It’s uncharacteristic of him; he usually sleeps like a log when the clock strikes ten in the evening. Nevertheless, his body clock had him waking up at seven o’clock on the dot— a true follower of routines. The only person who’s wedged herself in that rigidity is you.

Ushijima takes his phone out of his pocket. Two unread texts from his dad.

Ah, right. Last night's restlessness led him to a simple text bearing ‘Dad, I need your help’ before it quickly evolved into a painful retelling of the conversations he shared with his family matriarchs.

【ＤＡＤ】

August 4, 12:51 AM

Dad: And then what happened?

August 4, 1:33 AM

Dad: Wakatoshi??

August 4, 7:04 AM

You: Sorry. I fell asleep.

You: After I told obaa-chan that I like [L/N], she got upset.

You: And she told me okaa-san's been in contact with a matchmaker.

You: We’re to meet the girl when she comes back from her business trip.

He sets his phone down on the wooden floorboards. There are dark circles under his eyes. It’s not a good look on him; it’s uncharacteristic of an athlete who’s always been in tip-top shape.

His phone buzzes against the wood. His dad replies fast.

August 4, 7:05 AM

Dad: Ohhh I see..

Dad: Will you go?

You: I have no choice. I tried to reject, but obaa-chan demanded I go.

You: The girl’s family is a business partner of ours, apparently.

Dad: Well you know how the Ushijima ladies are

Dad: They’re a force to be reckoned with.. hahaha

(Wakatoshi knows that all too well. The super ace of Miyagi was raised by the iron fists of the Ushijima household, after all.)

Dad: I’m really sorry, Wakatoshi

Dad: I don’t know if I can help you

Ushijima’s mouth droops down like how the shidarezakura’s flowers have. There’s a disappointed frown on his face, but it’s not that of a towering teen with a title befitting of the prefecture’s best ace. It’s a frown of a little boy who’s desperate for his dad’s help.

You: How did you do it?

Dad: Do what?

You: How did you get with okaa-san even though your background was different from hers?

(…)

Dad: Your obaa-chan was against everything, even while Yua and I were still dating

Dad: But we were crazy for each other back then. Your mother felt as strongly for me as I did for her

Seen

(…)

Seen

“Your mother felt as strongly for me as I did for her,” his mouth slips out. He reads it again,

and again,

and again.

I like [L/N]... but does she feel the same way?

"Does she feel as strongly for me as I do for her?" Ushijima wonders aloud.

Drop.

Drop.

Drop, drop, drop.

The sound of incoming rain.

You: I see.

You: I'm not sure if I could say the same for [L/N].

The sky is heavy. Ushijima wants to go on a jog— to wear his running shoes and scurry off to wherever his feet will take him. Maybe it could take his mind off of things.

"Waka-chan, let's have breakfast," his grandmother echoes from another room.

Yeah. Maybe he could just run away.

"Waka-chan?"

"I'm coming," he echoes back.

But the weather does not permit. The rain imprisons him within the estate grounds for one day more.

Ushijima’s steps are slow and heavy when he sits down at the breakfast table next day. The weather is slightly better this time. Although clouds still enshroud the horizon, the storm had finally passed on. It instead leaves sunless skies in its wake.

The background noise of a weather report says that the skies were to clear up tonight— just in time for Sendai’s tanabata fireworks display.

Ushijima has decided to take matters into his own hands. He wants to know if his feelings are shared. Could it be seas of romantic affection, or just puddles of friendly familiarity?

He hopes it's the former. He’ll find out tonight.

【Ｌ／Ｎ　Ｆ／Ｎ】

August 5, 8:31 AM

You: Good morning, [L/N]. Are you free today?

An otetsudai comes in to serve Ushijima his breakfast. You don’t reply until much, much later.

August 5, 12:19 PM

[L/N] [F/N]: hi! sorry for the late replyy

[L/N] [F/N]: what’s up!

You: Do you want to watch the fireworks show tonight? It’s from 7:00 to 8:30.

(…)

Seen

(…)

[L/N] [F/N]: ah, umm

[L/N] [F/N]: my cousins are in town and i promised i’d bring them

Ushijima continues holding his phone, twiddling with his thumbs. Okay, maybe things won’t go as planned tonight.

But then you reply just in time.

[L/N] [F/N]: you can join us if you’d like?

[L/N] [F/N]: i won’t say no to extra hands haha

[L/N] [F/N]: i have to babysit anyway

Seen

(…)

You: Are you sure?

[L/N] [F/N]: yeah if you’re ok with my cousins around!!

You: I’m okay with it. I can pick you guys up.

[L/N] [F/N]: yay perfect!!!

[L/N] [F/N]: see you later!

You: See you.

Ushijima lets out a relieved sigh. He’ll take what he can get. He’ll make do with what he has.

The late afternoon drapes his house in a coat of orange. He puts his running gear on: a t-shirt and compression leggings underneath running shorts.

He sits himself down at the genkan platform as he ties his shoelaces. If yesterday’s mood was burnt out, today’s mood is high-strung. He thinks a long-awaited jog might be good; it could finally alleviate his growing restlessness.

He swings the front door open. He walks down the cobblestone path and towards the estate’s tall front gate. It reveals his family’s s-class sedan parked outside.

The chauffeur opens the vehicle door for his grandmother to step out.

“Waka-chan, where are you headed?”

Something in his gut tells him to go on the defensive. He knows he’s just jogging; that’s all he needs to tell her.

But he feels on edge. As if anything that could slip out of his mouth could be used against him. Since when did he feel so neurotic in front of his grandmother?

Oh, right. Since the night he arrived home from Tsukihama. He thought it’d be fine to open himself up, but he got shot down for it.

There’s a wall around his heart now.

“I’m going for a run around the neighbourhood.”

The car door closes shut. The driver opens the trunk and retrieves several paper bags, all embossed in some private seamstress name’s gold lettering. Ushijima’s eyes flicker to the haul.

“I bought a couple of yukatas. The ladies and I are going to the tanabata festival.”

A heartbeat spikes up too soon. Ushijima stiffens. “The one tonight?”

“Oh, heavens no— not the fireworks show. It’s too crowded. We’re going tomorrow to write well-wishes on tanzakus.”

Ushijima feels his shoulders fall. “Ah. I see.”

“Are you going to the fireworks show tonight, Waka-chan?”

“Um,” Ushijima’s throat tightens.

Does he lie? He doesn’t know if he should. He’s never lied to his grandmother before.

“No.”

Well, there’s a first time for everything.

“Okay,” she hums. She walks through the estate’s gates. “Be home before dinner. Your mother is coming home.”

He jerks his head to his grandmother. “I thought she wasn't returning until next week,” he replies a bit too frantically. “She’s coming back? Already?”

His grandmother stops in her tracks. The family driver walks past her, away from the now-locked gazes both grandmother and grandson share.

“Yes. She said the business convention had some unforeseen difficulties, so it was postponed. She booked the next flight home. Why?”

He turns away. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” he slips out of the gates. “See you later, obaa-chan.”

Ushijima runs jogs away.

He finds himself in another district, in the same neighborhood as you and Semi reside in.

He checks his smartwatch. It’s only five-thirty in the afternoon. Going to your house is out of the question. He doesn’t want to impose, especially when you have relatives over.

A few blocks later, he stands outside a house with a name plaque that reads 瀬見.

Semi waltzes out of his front door. Ushijima watches him approach the gated grills.

“Sorry if I made you wait, I was in the middle of guitar practice when you texted,” he opens the gate before ushering the captain in. “What’s up, man?”

“Can I stay for a while? I was just running."

Semi’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re out on a jog and you came all the way to this neighbourhood to hang out?"

“No. I mean I ran away.”

“Oh. Um, okay?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Semi sighs. “Okay, why don’t we go inside first, alright?”

Ushijima’s seated on a swivel chair in front of a partner study desk. A laptop screen shows a Youtube tutorial to some guitar cover for an anime opening that he’s never heard of.

Semi sits down on his bed, across Ushijima. “So?”

“I like [L/N].”

“Ugh, finally,” he leans his back on the wall.

“What do you mean ‘finally’? You know?”

Semi lets a smile tickle his mouth. “Way ahead of you, buddy.”

Ushijima blinks. “Anyway. I have a problem and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Semi waits for him to continue.

“I don’t know if she likes me back."

Semi's mouth imparts a sad sigh. “Us too, man. Us too."

A blanket of silence covers the two boys.

“So,” Semi fidgets with the hem of his shirt. "You came all the way here for love advice, huh,” he smirks.

Ushijima controls his embarrassed scowl. “That’s because I don’t know how all this works.”

Semi’s laughter bounces off the walls. “Well, I think you should just give it some time. She’ll get there eventually.”

“But how much time?”

Semi’s trailing laughter dies out. “Uh, I don’t know? You can’t make someone like you back. [L/N] needs to realize that on her own terms.”

Ushijima is silent. Semi watches his eyes droop, just a tad bit lower.

“You take a run and you wind up in my neighborhood. Why?”

“I’m watching the fireworks festival with [L/N] in a while. You live nearest to her so I figured I could wait here. I didn’t want to impose myself by showing up at her house earlier than the agreed time,” he monotonously explains.

“No, no— not that. You said that on our way upstairs. At the gate, you said you ran away."

“Ah, yeah. I did.”

“From what?”

Ushijima’s throat bobs as he clears his throat. “Well, from family.”

Semi watches him shift on the study chair. "Okaa-san’s coming home tonight and,” he hesitates for a while, "I don’t want to see her.”

“Are you guys fighting?”

Are we?

The thought passes through Ushijima’s head. Are we fighting?

“I think so. I don’t know.”

"Huh?" Semi lets a confused expression drift on his face. “What do you mean you don't know? Haven't you ever fought with your mom before?”

“No.”

Well, that’s just how Ushijima is. It’s not like his childhood was spent within his mother’s coddling embrace. Whenever she was home, she'd shower him with gifts for doing well in school and volleyball. It was as if material bearings could fill the gap of lost time. Although they could mirror his mother's love, they all felt cold and hard, like plastic, all the same— at least that's what Ushijima thinks.

"She’s not happy that I’ve been spending time with [L/N]. Because of that, she’s making me meet with a business partner’s daughter.”

Semi cocks his head to the side. “What's her name?”

Ushijima shrugs.

"You don't know her?"

“No. It's been arranged through a matchmaker."

His nose scrunches up. “What the— people do that? Your mom did that?” Semi scratches the back of his head. “You're not getting married off yet, right?!"

"No. I hope not."

"Then why?! [L/N]-chan’s so nice."

“That doesn’t matter to my family. What matters to them is her background.” — or her lack, thereof.

“Oh,” Semi’s eyes cast down on his lap, suddenly feeling shy. Right, right. Wakatoshi’s the school’s golden boy after all. “… I see. That’s tough."

A somber quietude fills the space. 

There’s a bloated frown on Semi’s lips. “I… well,” he tries to gathers his thoughts, but none come through. He lets out a strained breath. “I’m sorry. I really don't know if I can help you.”

It’s déjà vu. That’s exactly what his father told him, too.

Ushijima feels like the light in his eyes have grown dim. “It’s okay. I somewhat expected that answer.”

The room darkens as the night creeps in. Ushijima checks his smartwatch. It’s an hour before seven o’clock.

“I should go now. I still have to pick [L/N] up from her house,” he rises from the chair. 

Semi scoots out of his bed. He twists the bedroom door open and they walk down towards the genkan.

“Hey, Wakatoshi?”

Ushijima puts his running shoes back on.

“I’m really sorry. I mean it.”

Ushijima shakes his head. “It’s nothing to apologize for.”

“No, yeah— I know that, but it’s just…”

Semi’s chest is so, so heavy. It’s like an invisible weight is pulling him down. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. I can’t wrap my head around how tight of a spot you’re in right now. And, I don’t know, I feel bad because I can’t give you any real help."

Ushijima crouches down to tighten his shoelaces. He looks at Semi whose eyebrows are scrunched and mouth is curved down. There are speckles of restrained pity all over his face.

Poor little rich boy, indeed.

“I'm fine,” he looks up to his teammate. “Thanks for listening, Semi."

“Yeah. If it means anything, I just want you to know that the boys and I got your back,” the pinch server offers. “And with [L/N]-chan—“

Ushijima stands up and dusts himself off. “Yes?”

Semi cranes his head up. “She’s not someone your family wants, but she’s definitely someone you need,” he imparts. “You’re a lot happier now than you were before meeting her.”

Ushijima knows that; he can tell in the way the corners of his mouth tug upwards whenever you're around.

“You’re breaking out of your shell," Semi leans his shoulder on a wall. "So just stick to your gut, alright? Keep her around. I'm sure everyone else would want it that way."

“Everyone else?”

“The volleyball team, dude. We love that girl to bits. We’re rooting for you guys.”

Semi shoots him a reassuring glance. "You can’t find that with your mom or your grandma or whatever, but you can find that with us."

Ah, that’s true.

Ushijima lets a smile grow on his face. It’s the first smile he’s worn since returning from the trip.

“You’re not wrong.”

Semi grins. He opens the door for the ace. “Have fun. See ya."

It’s six-fifteen when he reaches your house. Six-seventeen when your front door opens. Six-eighteen when you unlock the gate and greet him hello.

You’re clad in a deep red, almost maroon yukata when you step out. The cotton cloth is adorned in ivory lilies, flower centres bleeding into muted shades of gold. You look so sweet. You smell even sweeter. Ushijima catches a whiff of your soft-smelling perfume and it makes butterflies break out in his belly.

You tuck a stray strand behind your hair. It’s the first time he’s seen your tresses made so elaborately in an updo.

He’s nervous. He wouldn’t call himself excited, but the sight of you in a yukata has him titillated. Your attire caught him off-guard; he completely forgot that it was a thing to dress up for tanabata festivals.

You hand him his clean windbreaker. He says t-thank you and wears it before zipping it up his body. That same perfume hits his nose. And then he realizes it's not perfume, it's your fabric softener.

Okay. This is now his favorite piece of clothing. Ushijima shoves his hands into its pockets before hugging it closer, relishing in the scent.

You look at his own ensemble. “What's that called again... athleisure, right?”

He tilts his chin down. “Oh, no. I went out for a jog.”

“You squeezed in your daily jog on the way to my place?” 

He nods. You laugh. “I hope you’re not sweaty.”

His finger scratches the back of his ear. “N-no. The weather was cool.”

You study the sky, your neck elongating upwards. “Yeah. Good thing the storm passed before the tanabata arrived."

You look back at him, relaxed.

He looks back at you, tense.

"Hold on, let me call my cousins,” you turn on your sandal and poke your head through the gate. 

Ushijima looks at the curve of your bare nape, delicately framed by the yukata cloth, as you angle yourself in.

What’s he getting so excited over some baby hairs for?

Geez, he feels like a perv. He jerks his head away, his cheeks reddening.

Two kids come out. One appears to be in middle school, another in preschool. The boy dons casual clothes while the girl is garbed in her own, tiny yukata.

“Kenta-kun, Kaori-chan, say hello.”

Kenta doesn’t seem that interested in this tanabata affair. He looks like he’d rather be at home, tapping away on a handheld gaming device. Kaori, on the other hand, is bursting at the seams. “Fiweworks, fiweworks!” she continues chanting. You gather her attention and ask her to introduce herself to big brother Ushijima-kun.

You wait for Kenta to greet Ushijima as well. You elbow him behind your yukata sleeve before he reluctantly says hello.

Kenta turns to you. “Is he your boyfriend, onee-chan?”

Ushijima’s cheeks are tinged with color.

You close the gate behind Kaori. “No, he’s a friend,” you say, not bothering to looking at the captain.

Now, Ushijima wouldn’t say that his mood plummeted with that reply alone, but he is a bit down in the mouth.

“Let’s go,” you say, voice drenched with haste. “We have to get there before the crowd does!"

You arrive at Nishikoen Park. The extra time granted you a visit to the food and game stalls that lined the brick pathway. You share an order of steaming-hot okonomiyaki with Kenta while Ushijima orders himself some yakitori from a roadside yatai stall.

“'shichima-niichan,” Kaori tugs at his shirt. “Bite pwease?”

“Kaori-chan, look— I have okonomiyaki. Don't eat Ushijima-niichan's food,” you blow on a steaming piece.

“No, ‘want yakitori.”

Ushijima takes a bite off the skewer before he cracks the pointy stick’s tip off. He crouches down, now level with Kaori's face, and blows on the next piece. “Here,” he says, nearing the grilled chicken to her mouth. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

He says that with so much gravitas that it sounds like biting on hot yakitori could be a matter of Kaori’s life or death. You hold back from chuckling.

Kaori takes a bite. You watch Ushijima’s thumb wipe some glaze off her chubby cheek.

You think it's cute how he gingerly places a finger on your cousin's pillowy skin. Actually, it’s so sickeningly adorable that it makes you want to squeeze the ace in overwhelming adoration.

And, it’s enough to make your chest bloom in tenderness.

Wait, what?

You shake your head. Kenta wonders why. And then he shrugs before returning to the okonomiyaki.

Ushijima straightens himself. Kaori, still chewing, latches her chubby hand around Ushijima’s two fingers.

The volleyball player looks down on the toddler. “Yes?"

Kaori swallows the piece of chicken. “Up.”

“Kaori, don’t be difficult,” Kenta tells her. Ushijima downs the rest of the yakitori before stuffing the bare stick in a nearby trashcan. He hoists the toddler up in his arms.

“It’s okay. She’s not heavy."

Ushijima’s the last person you think would look good with kids.

But surprisingly, he does. He really does. You blush at the way his strong arms wrap around your baby cousin.

Well, whatever. Prolonged time with the ace breeds new discoveries.

Your group settles at a nearby playground. It’s away from the throngs of people scattered all over the viewing area, yet near enough to serve as a good vantage point. Although it might be closer to the fireworks station, it's better than the possibility of losing your cousins to the crowd. Kenta and Kaori aren't jumpy kids. They'll be okay with the heightened sound.

Kenta’s seated at the base of a slide. Kaori, still in her yukata, climbs up the winding staircase. You wait until she glides down (and inadvertently kicks her big brother’s back) before you sit down on a bench, beside Ushijima. You hear Kaori's high voice break into a wave of laughter.

“Sorry. Kaori-chan’s such a handful.”

“She’s funny,” Ushijima says as he watches Kenta's back jolt upon contact.

“So you find my baby cousin’s practical jokes funny, but you can’t laugh at Yamagata-kun’s corny one-liners.”

“Oh. Were they supposed to be jokes?”

You laugh. “Anyway, I’m surprised only you invited me out. I thought the rest of the team was going to tag along when you texted me today.”

What, like a package deal?

Ushijima wonders when you’ll to look at him without having to correlate the rest of the volleyball team to his person.

He's quiet for a while before he gathers his voice.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

From a distance, the music accompaniment to the fireworks has begun.

The people handling the pyrotechnics show start a countdown.

Ushijima studies your expectant face. Your exceedingly pretty, expectant face. He thinks that the street lamps don't cast a light good enough to shine on your face. It can't capture the crinkle in your eyes— the one he's grown so fond of seeing.

The butterflies are back in his belly. Ushijima thinks they've fluttered themselves up to a tornado.

Three.

His heart begins to hammer— violently, like a drumroll beat to a song. It might burst out of his ribcage.

Two.

“What’s up?”

One.

“Ushi?"

A whistle shoots up into the sky. And then another.

Bang!— “Do you like anyone?”— B-Bang!

Crackle. The sound of fireworks goes off, one after the other. Whistle-bang!-crackle.

“And if not, I was wondering—“

The bursting, reverberating sounds drown out his low voice. Bang!

“— if you could give me a chance?”

You turn your head to the fireworks display, but only momentarily. Just in time to see a flower bloom into the night sky. When you face his direction again, your gaze remains to hang on the pyrotechnics.

One second. Two seconds before you peer away from the sparkles of light, and back to Ushijima.

He then grasps that you didn’t hear a single word of what he said.

“Sorry, what?” your voice tries to overlap the booming sounds. You lean into him. “Could you say that again?”

Ushijima waits for the next round of fireworks to whizz out into the atmosphere.

Okay, maybe one more time.

Whistle.

Bang!

Crackle.

“[F/N]-neechan!” Kenta’s voice ruptures, “Stop talking to your boyfriend and tell Kaori to stop going on the slide!”

You whip your head to your cousin. You’re vexed and it shows in your brows. “How many times do I have to tell you, he’s not my boyfriend! Stop thinking we’re together, we’re not!”

The response is like second nature to you. It's almost instinctual. You say it like it's a universal truth.

And maybe it is. Not to him, but it definitely is to you.

The words bite at Ushijima. A growing ache throbs in his chest. He casts his eyes down.

He feels weak, somewhat. He’s not fatigued the way volleyball drills run his energy low. Instead, he feels drained. Like his morale has been crumpled up and stepped on.

You turn towards him again.

He keeps his head straight-on, but there's a look of pain in his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

You tilt your head. You egg him on. You know it’s not just 'nothing'.

“C’mon, just tell me.”

His gaze drifts elsewhere. He can’t find it in himself to look at you. “Uh,” he racks his brain for some convenient lie. He pauses for a while before gathering his voice. “Is there a bathroom nearby?”

There’s some pressure in the way you look at him. He thinks you could read his mind; your gaze makes him fidget. But surely he’s imagining it, right?

He gathers the courage to look at you again. God, when was the last time he felt so hesitant around another person? It's not like him to cower. Other people usually do that before facing Miyagi's super ace.

He watches you bring a hand up before pointing to a bathroom stall. It’s a few meters away, behind a row of see-saws. “There’s one there.”

Ushijima stands up.

“You’re not watching the fireworks?”

He looks at your face— your painfully oblivious face. It makes the knot in his chest tighten, and tighten, until it leaves him with shallow breaths.

“I need a breather.”

You blink, a tad bit confused. “Um, are you okay?”

A lie leaves his heavy lips. “I’m fine.”

That’s the second time he’s said that today. Only now does it sear with a growing pain. "I’ll be back.”

You watch him disappear into a restroom shed.

Ushijima's phone is vibrating in his pocket. It must be his mother looking for him. She should be home by now.

He knows the matriarchs won't be happy with his sudden disappearance, but he doesn't pay it any mind.

He stares at himself through the bathroom mirror. His eyes look deeper, darker than they usually are. That gold, usually shining glint in his irises appears like it’s been faded out into a dull copper.

Ushijima turns the faucet on. He closes his eyes and he splashes his face. Droplets fall back into the porcelain sink.

The sonorous sound of fireworks continues to whistle, bang, crackle, as if to mock him. The phone vibration in his pocket continues to buzz, buzz, buzz, as if to monopolize him.

He lets the air dry his face. He lets the time recollect his composure.

Whistle.

Bang!

Crackle.

When he leaves the restroom, he finds Kenta and Kaori seated to your left. He sits down on your right.

The four of you watch the display. Halfway through the show, Ushijima peeks at your face.

Firework hues light your features.

"It's beautiful, Ushi," your eyes are trained to the sky. "Look."

"Yeah," he replies, but his gaze is kept on you. "Really beautiful."

I like you so much, it hurts.

The fireworks are green: the color of inexperience.

And they're yellow: the color of cowardice.

Then finally, they're blue: the color of sadness.

So, when will you look his way?

Semi's words echo in the chambers of Ushijima's head.

"You can’t make someone like you back. [L/N] needs to realize that on her own terms."

Sparks continue to fly. Up in the sky, all over the park.

Just not between you two.

Ushijima watches the fireworks again. Since he's escaped from the estate, he might as well enjoy the remaining time spent with you.

He’ll take what he can get. He’ll make do with what he has. 

In due time, after all.

Even if he doesn't have the luxury of time right now.

The walk home is quiet. You're sandwiched between Ushijima and Kenta. Kaori's being carried by the captain.

Ushijima is silent. You can read the slightest changes in his mood like the back of your hand, but something tells you the stillness in the air isn't his habitual calm.

You turn into your street.

It feels awkward. It's been that way since you left the park.

You try to start a conversation.

"Hey everyone— um— do you know why we celebrate tanabata?"

Kenta turns to you. "Yeah, it's based on the legend of Orihime and Hikoboshi. Star-crossed lovers or something. Everyone knows that."

You give him a side-eye. "Don't be such a spoilsport, Kenta."

"I donno know dat, onee-chan," Kaori's back straightens to look at you. "Tell me."

You continue walking down the street. "There was once a princess named Orihime and she wove beautiful cloth by the Milky Way everyday. Her dad loved it so much, she worked hard day in and day out."

Your cousin listens intently. "But because she's so busy, she never had the time to meet anyone and fall in love."

"Wasshe sad, onee-chan?" Kaori's eyes get big.

"She was very sad. Until one day, she met Hikoboshi. He was a cowherd and they fell deeply in love."

Kenta snickers. "Yeah, as if a sky princess could actually go for some guy who tends cattle."

You hush the older brother. "Anyway. They got married, but her father wasn't happy."

Ushijima's interest suddenly spikes. "And why is that?"

"They got lazy and they refused to work," Kenta answers for him.

"Yeah, that's one version," you cut in. "But another says that Orihime's dad got mad at her for falling in love with a mere mortal."

"Wazza mere-mortal, onee-chan?"

You don't think Kaori's old enough to understand the biological life cycle. You supply her with a watered-down response. "A regular person. Orihime was a princess, you see. She lived up in the stars, while Hikoboshi lived on earth."

Ushijima continues trudging along. You continue with the story.

"So— her dad got mad at her, right? But he was furious when he found out that his daughter promised to bring Hikoboshi to the sky."

"So dey could live together?" Kaori asks.

"Yes. And eventually, he did go up. Orihime's dad granted her promise and brought him to the sky."

"That's good, isn't it?" Ushijima asks.

You shake your head. "Well, he did bring Hikoboshi up to the heavens— but only to separate him from his daughter. They were both up there," you crane up, "but they couldn't be together. She cried day and night."

Kaori pouts at the ending tale.

"But once a year, Orihime's dad allows her to meet Hikoboshi. And that's why we celebrate tanabata— it's Orihime and Hikoboshi's yearly meeting."

You arrive at the gate of your house.

Ushijima puts Kaori down.

"That's a sad version," Ushijima rumbles an afterthought, "but I understand why Orihime would cry every day."

"Right?" you look at him. "She—"

"I know how she feels, completely."

Ushijima cranes his head down. He's looking at your face like you could solve all his problems.

"Haha, um," your lips are pulled into an awkward smile. The pressure you suddenly feel is immense.

You laugh as the tensioned air makes you squeeze out a joke. "Does it hit too close to home or something?"

He doesn't reply.

All he does is supply you with a waiting stare— a weighted glance.

"Ushi?"

There's an odd sadness to his eyes, but it's hidden so deep you wonder if it's really there.

"What do you mean?"

He opens his mouth.

"Do you think... if Orihime’s father liked Hikoboshi, he could have appointed him up in the stars with his daughter?"

He cranes his head up. "Not just in the same sky as he promised, but together as his daughter wished."

Just moments ago, your heartbeat was steady. Words flowed as rhythmically as the beats in your ribcage did.

But then, with the way Ushijima questions a tale as old as time— it doesn't feel like you were merely retelling an alternate version.

It feels like you found a piece to a puzzle. And it was one you weren't searching for to begin with.

He cranes his head back down. "Why did her father have to wreck her happiness like that?"

Ushijima's eyes are glued on to yours. Your lips are dry. You think you should begin by asking him for more details, but you can't. You don't know what to ask.

No, scratch that.

It's more like you have so much to ask. You don't know where to begin.

"It's not fair for parents to decide for their children. They think they know what's best for them, but they don't."

And then Kenta rings the doorbell, as if to pop you both out of your bubble.

He takes one last look at you. "They really don't."

You're left in a flurry of confusing feelings.

Ushijima hears your front door open. And then he turns away.

"I'll go now," he says over his shoulder. "I can't let your mom see me wearing this windbreaker, after all."

"Wait—"

"You'll get found out."

He shoves his hands into the pockets. You both hear your mom's footsteps come closer.

"Thanks for tonight, [L/N]. See you."

He quickens his pace. He doesn't wait for your exchanged farewell.

You watch his back disappear into the night. The gate clicks open.

Gingerly, you bring your hand up to your chest— your thrumming chest. You clench the yukata cloth.

You wonder if any of this feels right.

Chapter Text

Another helping of gyokuro trickles out of a Wedgwood tea set. The porcelain is just about the most English thing in the traditional, tatami-matted room— this one, Wakatoshi’s mother explained, was bought during her latest business trip. She thought the oriental-themed Paeonia Blush collection was most congruent to the elder’s taste. When she found out that peonies represented romance and prosperity, she swiped the tea set faster than the speed of light. If the maids didn’t do the trick, then perhaps the bone-china porcelain would.

The liquid ceases to stream out of the spout. The grandmother says thank you.

Ushijima Kiku was born at the height of the chrysanthemum season, and thus named after its perennial mums. As an autumn flower that symbolized longevity, the meaning of her name reflected deeply into her lifespan. At the age of eighty-nine, the older matriarch remained at the pink of health.

"You were right, Yua,” she calls her daughter. “Waka-chan’s been around that [L/N] girl for too long. He’s admitted to… harbouring feelings for her."

Yua pours tea into her own cup. “And from where did you pick that up, okaa-sama?"

"From himself, child. Waka-chan himself."

"Wakatoshi shared that to you?” the green liquid almost overflows out of the rim. She withdraws the pot just in time. “He opened up to you?"

“Hard to believe, I know— and we had something short of a squabble over dinner, too. He even brought Utsui up. He must think that if you were able to get away with it, then so could he."

Her daughter’s name, Yua, was meant to symbolize binding love to the family. Kiku, sadly, didn’t foresee how stubbornly tight of a hold she was capable of. Yua was the type to commit to affection so binding that it sometimes resulted to tunnel vision. The previous espousal to a certain Utsui Takashi proved just that.

“No need to remind me. This current rerun is troubling me enough as is."

And what she thinks is Wakatoshi’s perceived tunnel vision feels all too familiar. As a single mother, it’s borderline claustrophobic.

Yua precariously brings a teacup to her mouth. The liquid has gone lukewarm from their shared waiting for Wakatoshi’s return. She scoffs. “And to think I had to buy my way into having you consider the idea of a relationship between the two."

“Well, I happened to chance upon the girl during her visit to the estate. She did say that Waka-chan himself rejected the prospect of romantic feelings for her. Your son has never lied, Yua. He’s a quiet boy, but he tells the truth— a bit too harsh sometimes, but he does."

Yua tilts her slender wrist, checking the vintage Cartier timepiece. The heiress was fully capable of purchasing whatever obscenely gold-encrusted watch her eyes could land upon, but she was a slave to the brown leather’s practicality. Never one to flaunt, she bears her countryside riches in more subdued, timeless ways.

“Has it crossed your mind that he might be going through a phase? It’s nearly nine o’clock. He’s been on that supposed ‘jog’ for four hours."

“Oh, let him be."

Yua’s eyes flit to her mother. “Okaa-sama,” she tilts her head down, bob cut swaying. “I thought you were on my team. With how happy you’ve been with the maids I employed for you, I would have taken you as a staunch ally to my termination plan."

“Let Waka-chan blow off some steam. I had you cooped up at the height of your rebellion, and you almost tore a shoji door panel. Several, actually.“

Yua huffs in mock exasperation. Kiku hides a titter behind a sip of the highest-graded tea.

“You have all the stock knowledge you could possibly need. Besides, I’ve heard good things about the match-made family.”

Yua cocks an eyebrow up. “Have you been reading 25ans’s Society pages again?"

She nods. “They did a feature on the family’s eldest daughter. Quite the yoga studio she’s built up, don’t you think?"

“You know how it is with these banking families. They have all the capital in the world.”

“She’s exceedingly fit,” Kiku says, quite appalled at the idea of a woman having abs.

“The little sister— the one Wakatoshi’s matched with— is involved in volleyball."

“I hope they get along."

“I was told they’ve already met, although I doubt Wakatoshi knew it by then. These circles are quite small, after all."

Pause.

“What about the other girl? Didn’t you say two matches were proposed?”

“Yes, but,” Yua scrunches her nose, “the other one is new, very new money. It didn’t sit well with me, so I’m prioritizing this one,” she says with a repugnant face. 

Bang!

The two women angle their heads to the winding hallway. “Wakatoshi, is that you?"

No response. The sound of trudging footsteps thumping on a wooden staircase.

“Wakatoshi!"

Yua rises up from the table. Kiku reaches out, yukata sleeve waterfalling down her arm, and holds her back.

“Let him rest.”

The match-made parties agree to let the tanabata festivities wrap up before the meeting. Throughout the week, Wakatoshi confines himself to his quarters, only ever leaving for meals and jogs. He’s developed a considerable amount of muscle for the amount of stress-induced weightlifting he’s done in his room.

The families decide to converge on Friday, August 10th. The location they had agreed to meet at follows a strict weekday dress code: as it would be frequented by other high-profile personalities for business meetings over midday lunches, members and guests alike were expected to wear whatever ambiguous take of a ‘smart casual attire’ would be.

Ushijima’s head is on auto-pilot. He’s left-leg deep when he realizes he had slipped into a pair of overworn jeans. He worms his limb out before retrieving a pair of Uniqlo-brand kando pants. He then clothes himself in a lightweight cashmere sweater, pulling the sleeves up to his forearms.

His mother knocks on his bedroom door. He opens it and Yua is revealed wearing a hand-embroidered tea dress plus a Birkin 35 around her arm.

“A sweater? To Tower?”

“Obaa-chan said it would be a casual lunch.”

She peeks her head into his room before inviting herself in. She makes a beeline for his closet before she pulls out a short-sleeved button down.

Ushijima changes into whatever his mother had set out for him. She watches him struggle to close the second button— the one on his chest. Her boy has been growing too fast. Perhaps she should ring up that Ginza-based personal shopper again soon.

“You know what, the sweater is fine. Just make sure you wear the TAG Heuer I gifted you last Christmas.”

“But I usually wear a smartwatch.”

“I know, but details like that matter,” she loops her bag around her arm again. “You don’t go to these places without any status symbols.”

The chauffeur opens the door for them when they board the S550. Yua places her malachite-coloured bag between her and Wakatoshi, its gold hardware complementing the shining gleam in her eyes. Yua had never been one for the Hermès line’s brighter leather variants— she found fuchsia too eye-catching, orange too gaudy. Tri-color chèvre was out of the question. The most she could dare go out in was Himalaya crocodile— but even that was reserved for her trips to the west. That bag’s value is too ostentatious for Japanese standards.

“Obaa-chan isn’t coming?”

“No,” her phone tak-tak-taks, “she’s at her yearly check-up. We’ll pick her up after lunch.”

Wakatoshi shifts in his seat, making his mother turn to him. She examines her son’s pants. “Are you wearing just Uniqlo today?”

“It’s comfy.”

She sighs dismissively, returning to her phone. They reach the density of the Aoba-ku ward not long after.

The 象牙の塔, or Tour d'Ivoire, or ’Tower’ as it is fondly called, is Sendai’s most premium membership club. Occupying the 38th to 40th floors of some editorial company building, Tower is where everyone, who’s anyone, finds refuge in. Tucked away from the masses, members and their guests may either make use of the high-tech gym equipment on the 38th’s fitness floor, wine and dine the finest Western cuisine on the 39th floor, or host high-rise garden parties at the terrace on the 40th floor. The Tower’s board of trustees is comprised of some ten to fifteen senior executives and respective founding fathers to their own companies. This year’s chairman happens to be Tohoku region’s most awarded stockbroker for three years straight.

To physically enter the Tower, one needs to board a special elevator that’s only accessible from the first floor basement. To be inducted as a member, however, requires a rigorous screening of resumes and business portfolios, a submission of three recommendation letters from existing members, and a hefty fee of over a million yen— which doesn’t even cover the annual dues. Once that’s been accomplished, the prestigious club’s seven-year waiting period lies ahead of you. If and when you actually get accepted, only then can you call yourself a certified member.

The Ushijimas step into the elevator. Yua takes a card out of her bag and presses it against an infrared screen. It then lights up before she taps on Floor 39.

The carriage brings them up higher and higher, away from the common salaryman and into the obelisk flocked by only the highest-paid CEO’s, doctors, attorneys, movie stars— you get the deal.

The elevator door pings open. A familiar scent of name-brand lime basil and mandarin fills their noses. Yua hasn’t gone to the Tower in a while; the management must have switched out their usual Jo Malone scents.

“Ushijima-sama, good afternoon,” greets the veteran concierge. He angles himself in a bow. “I haven’t seen you in a month. Hoping to close another business deal, perhaps?”

Yua politely smiles. “You could call it that.”

Wakatoshi crosses his arms.

“Wakatoshi-sama’s growing up very fast,” he turns to towards the son. “Have you decided on a university yet, sir? Abroad, maybe?”

“I’m playing for the V-League after high school,” he grunts. The greying concierge flashes him a hospitable smile. He had more or less expected the volleyball wunderkind’s path to professional sports. Wakatoshi’s reputation precedes him; his name was abuzz all over prefectural media outlets upon his enlistment to the World Youth Championship’s Under-19 League— as if being the captain and ace to the high-octane Shiratorizawa VBC wasn’t already enough.

TOP DRAFT PICK: MIYAGI’S OWN USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI TO PLAY FOR JAPAN’S U-19, several newspaper headlines had circulated throughout the Tohoku region. Shiratorizawa was swarmed with the press, hopeful for one-on-one interviews with the monster athlete, on the daybreak of its announcement.

A trophy son, through and through. And the proud smile on his mother’s face all the more cemented that.

Yua signs her and Wakatoshi’s names into an electronic tablet. Had her son peeked over her shoulder, he would have spotted a certain Saji Nozomi’s father logged in two days ago— to map out political plans with his allies over brunch, as all politicians do behind these walls.

“Could you show us to our table?” his mother asks.

“Ah yes, of course. Please follow me.”

They’re ushered out of the grand marble lobby and into a short hallway with nothing but ebony French doors awaiting at the opposite end. The concierge swings it open as if to announce their arrival: it’s two of Sendai’s richest rich. A few lunch-goers tear away from their boulangerie breads to survey the tandem. At one glance, Yua recognizes two visiting diplomats, a next-in-line CEO, and the city's top neurologist. That, and a few other young bloods scattered around.

Yua purses her lips as she seats herself in a booth. “Tower’s membership committee seems to have relaxed itself.”

The concierge knowingly hums. “Interestingly, the newbies are all executives to the luxury hotel scene.”

Yua hides behind another fake smile. Cocky, aren’t they. She finds it funny how arrogantly they order another bottle of wine— had the Ushijima Group dealt with another hotelier giant, these young bloods wouldn’t be sitting on their newly-acquired wealth to begin with. Her corporation was the one that developed their lands, after all.

“I’ll have my usual, please,” Yua says. She slides the menu to her son. “And you, Wakatoshi?”

He settles for a beef bourguignon, which is essentially… a fancier hayashi rice. Our boy is a creature of habit.

The concierge introduces them to their private waiter. The two employees then return to their stations.

“Not once have you asked about the match,” she puts her Birkin away. “You have a lot in common, I assure you. She’s model-pretty, too. Surely more attractive than the [L/N] girl you're so fixated on.”

Wakatoshi frowns. How dare his mother say that? She’s never even met you, let alone know what you look like.

“I’m—“

“Not interested, I know, but try to rein your indifference out. Anyone good for the family— and the business,” she says as if almost forgetting that detail, “— is good for you.”

He takes a deep breath and looks away, once again turning that dial in his head all the way to the left.

A fruity voice enters the restaurant.

“Why do I have to wear this?!” some girl stomps in with her heels. “The Miu Miu flats looked just fine!”

“For the hundredth time, the dress code. And stop walking like that,” her mother cuts. “You’ll crease the suede on your mules.”

Ushijima turns his head towards the source of the noise.

She looks familiar.

He’s seen her somewhere before.

As if by instinct, the girl’s gaze lands on Wakatoshi. She releases her furrowed brows.

“Ushiwaka?”

“Take… Takehito?”

“Takenaka,” his mother corrects under her breath. “Takenaka Shiori.”

Yua scoots out of the booth and sends her son a wordless signal to follow after her. Judging by the surprise in his face, she thinks that her dear boy has fallen in love at first sight. Sadly, Yua reads too much into things— he’s just, well, genuinely surprised. Nevertheless, a satisfied smile snakes its way to her mouth when the Takenakas approach.

Very quietly, she whispers to Wakatoshi, “her pedigree is exceptional.”

Takenaka Shiori belongs to another old money-rich clan— which, unless you’re one of Niiyama’s common-folk schoolgirls, or someone as oblivious as Wakatoshi— shouldn’t be surprising. These old rich families are so painfully low-key that you’d have better luck finding pirate treasure than estimating their ballpark net worths. Her family has made a mountain of generational fortune from investment banking, and precisely because the Ushijima Group has begun venturing into commercial real estate, the Takenaka Bank has been in close contact for the past five years.

Takenaka Eiichi dons one of his usual Armani suits while Takenaka Sofia flows in with ready-to-wear Giambattista Valli.

Quite literally, Tower’s one of the few places where family names like Ushijima and Takenaka can let loose and flaunt whatever godforsaken wardrobe additions they’ve recently acquired. You know why? Because in these high-rise walls, they’re free from the hushed whispers and lingering stares of the masses. Nobody looks at you thinking you’re too flashy for the public eye, because, well, Tower is where the diamonds, alligator leather, and Swiss watches come out to shine— duly appreciated by other like-minded, similarly-bred individuals who only ever talk about brand acquisitions and collector’s items. It’s the rich man’s refuge from the humdrum of office affairs.

Shiori comes in wearing a green Stella McCartney jumpsuit that emphasizes her jade-like eyes. Being half-Japanese and half-white, she was one of those hafu children who were born looking more foreign than traditionally East Asian: in her early childhood, her silken gold-like hair echoed her mother’s features. It was only when she entered grade school when the hues eventually toned down to her current fawn-coloured tresses. She may have inherited her father’s sparse eyebrows, but her almond eyes and high-bridged nose were dead giveaways to her mixed bloodline. Despite being born and raised in Japan, she can’t help but feel alienated whenever sales clerks would talk to her in English first, and then Japanese.

Standing at five-foot-ten, she’s just about the furthest thing from what’s considered small, petite, and just plain kawaii. She’s not fit for Japanese mass media, but she is the type to walk down some haute couture fashion show at the opposite side of the world. Since becoming a starter for the Niiyama VBC, she’s learned to feel comfortable in her towering body. She takes space up like she owns it. So to answer your question— the question you asked upon first meeting her at Tsukihama— yes, she’s been scouted to model for magazines. But no, she hasn’t once accepted an editorial shoot offer. Her mother says that modelling for money, of all things, is beneath her daughter. Getting magazine-featured for her budding volleyball prowess? That’s fine, even her ‘self-made’ older sister has gotten featured for her brand new yoga studio. Getting paid for modelling when you can practically buy the startup media company? No way. Why bother?

She nearly trips over when she walks towards the Ushijimas. Despite her high-fashion features, she’s not the type to power through heels.

“Yua, so great to see you,” Shiori’s mom comes in for an overly-familiar hug, her heavily-accented Japanese somehow dipping into her American mother tongue. The lady stands tall at five-nine and she has to crouch to wrap her arms around Wakatoshi’s petite mother. Yua hasn’t gotten used to how… up-close-and-personal some Americans are, despite knowing Mrs. Takenaka for years now. It's a cultural gap of sorts.

“How have you been, my love?”

Yua retracts her body, sudden shyness creeping up her neck. “Quite well, Sofia. Business has been as busy as ever.”

Shiori’s father thunders out a rich laugh, his belly jiggling with it. Eiichi’s a huge man, even with his purely-Japanese ancestry. “It is hard up there at the top!”

Yua mirrors her own greeting of a laugh before grabbing hold of her son’s forearm, telling him to greet the opposite family. Wakatoshi's timepiece glistens under the overhead light. Eiichi takes a discreet glance and in mere seconds, he maps out the watch model, year it was released, and estimated price range.

The father's face is well-pleased. This Ushijima boy knows his stuff, he thinks. It'll only be years before he graduates from TAG Heuer and moves on to Rolex.

Wakatoshi bends over robotically. “Good to meet you, Takenaka-san,” his baritone voice comes out with, “I am Ushijima Wakatoshi, yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

“So this must be Miyagi’s prized Wakatoshi!” Eiichi’s round cheeks gleam, a stark difference from the top ace’s sharp cheekbones.

Eiichi puts a hand on Shiori’s shoulder. “Shiori-chan here told me you were over at Tsukihama, too! Team bonding trip, was it?”

Wakatoshi spares Shiori a glance— who’s looking over her shoulder as if to find a fire escape. “Yes.”

“Great, great! Who would’ve thought that you two would meet again so soon?”

“I didn’t,” Shiori grumbles under her breath. She strengthens her voice for the next sentence. “Papa, can Ushiwaka and I have our own booth? I don’t want to hear you talk about your golf tournament all over again.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes dart to his mom, as if to say okaa-san, help.

She merely sends him a vulpine smile before turning to Shiori. Denied.

“It’s lovely to see you so comfortable with each other. I’ll have another table opened up for you both.”

The match-made families are seated at adjacent booths— one has Yua, Eiichi, and Sofia, another contains Wakatoshi and Shiori. The parents’ table is buzzing with fantasies of a joint Ushijima-Takenaka venture. Wakatoshi overhears Eiichi say something along the lines of “why bother with clauses upon clauses of partnership contracts when you can have your children secure that for generations to come?" before erupting into laughter.

Ushijima’s fork clinks as he sets it on his plate. He pushes the overpriced hayashi away.

Shiori, with her elbow lazily propped on the table, looks up from her quiche lorraine. “Not hungry?”

“I don’t have the appetite.”

“Haha,” she takes a bite. “Same. Not the appetite bit though. I mean I don’t wanna be here either.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes brighten. “You don’t?”

“Yeah. Sorry Ushiwaka, you seem like a cool guy and all, but I like someone else.”

“Me too,” he feels his energy rising up. “What school?”

Shiori’s eyes return to her food. “My school.”

Wakatoshi’s eyebrows scrunch. “But you go to an all-girls school.”

“I know,” she says too quickly, continuing to play with her food as if to sweep the statement under the rug.

Silence.

“Okay. Good luck with it.”

She puts her fork down. Shiori’s surprised to see such a cold reaction from such a painfully straight guy. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why I like girls?”

Wakatoshi pauses for a while. “No. Why should I?” he says, unknowingly coming off blunt.

Shiori doesn’t seem to take offense. “Because it’s weird? Because it’s not normal out here?”

A confused tilt to Wakatoshi’s head. “If you like someone then you like someone, right?”

Shiori gives in to a defeated smile. “I wish it was that easy. To tell you the truth, I think papa couldn’t care less about this possible merger.”

“Then why did your father agree to the match?”

Shiori’s sweet voice turns cold. “He thinks an A1 guy like you— the prefecture’s top ace, Japan’s southpaw cannon in the making— could fix my preference for girls. He almost took me out of Niiyama. He thinks that because I’ve been in an all-girls school for so long, I’ve forgotten what ‘real guys’ look like.”

Wakatoshi's eyes trail back to his food. “I see.”

“What about you? What’s your tragic, poor little rich kid story?”

A sharp breath. “My family thinks anyone outside our circles is… unacceptable.”

Shiori huffs through her nostrils. “Tell me about it,” she sarcastically says, “and the worst thing is that these circles are so small, I barely have any breathing room.”

“Neither do I.”

Shiori studies his face. “[L/N] [F/N], right? The one you like?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

She laughs, a genuine one this time. “Anyone with half a brain could pick that up. At first I thought it was weird how she tagged along the Shiratorizawa VBC as a ‘friend’,” Shiori finger quotes, “because, well, how can anyone just infiltrate a group like that? Wedge themselves in powerhouse teams like ours, no connection to volleyball or anything?”

Shiori punctures her quiche once more. “But I just knew the moment you sat out during the beach volleyball game,” she imparts a knowing smile. “I just knew.”

His appetite has come back. He picks his fork and knife up again.

“It would be nice if our parents… left us alone.”

“Honestly, yeah. I don’t think we’re getting married off or anything, but I do think they want us ‘fixed’.”

“I think so, too.”

“But that’s the thing— hooow?” she slumps into the couch, “how do you fix someone that’s not broken?”

Ushijima shrugs before returning to his meal.

“So, how was the lunch?”

Since picking the grandmother up from the private clinic, Wakatoshi has been promoted to the front passenger seat. He watches a stoplight turn from red to green. Their chauffeur continues to drive off.

“Splendid. Although Takenaka's girl came in causing a ruckus, she does have quite the personality,” Yua’s mouth tugs up. “I think Wakatoshi has taken a liking to her.”

Wakatoshi tries to remain out of their conversation.

“Really, Waka-chan?” his grandmother pries.

He hums some nondescript response, hoping the two could cease gushing. Frankly, he just doesn’t care.

His mother prolongs the conversation. “If you’re not content with Takenaka Shiori, I’ll have a meeting set up for the second match.”

Wakatoshi peeks into the back row. “There’s a second match?”

“Yes. You didn’t think I’d come prepared without a back-up now, would you?”

His mouth straightens into a disgruntled line before reclining back into his leather seat.

“I’m positive you already know her. She goes to your school.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t reply.

“She’s involved in volleyball as well. Not in the school’s female team, though. I was told she’s active in yours.”

Yua awaits his reaction from the back. Wakatoshi’s profile comes into view. “Who?”

“Higuchi Ryoko.”

Chapter Text

The pressure was building up.

Now, you wouldn’t say your relationship with a certain captain was the clingy type. Factoring out the last-minute beach trip, most of your friendship was fostered throughout shared lunches and mundane walks home. Your phone’s chat log with Ushijima brings you to about a grand total of twenty-two text messages shared between contact numbers— conversations spread out between weeks, most of them being variations of “Where are you?”, “i’m at the shoe lockers”, “Where are you?”, “i’m finishing cleaning duty”, “Where are you?”, “i bought lunch”.

(Ushijima’s always the first to text, by the way.)

… Which is why this is so weird. Why do you look at your phone screen like it’s some complex mathematical equation? Why is it that any and every sentence you type out doesn’t seem right? Why are you overthinking which emojis to use when silly old Ushi didn’t even know what a ^^ is?

Backspace, backspace, backspace.

And then you type again.

You: hi ushi!! are you free tomorrow? wanna hang out? 😄 |

Does 😄 look too eager? Maybe 😊 would be better?

You: hi ushi!! are you free tomorrow? wanna hang out? 😊 |

You stare at the blinking text bar and let the screen glow on your face.

Backspace. No, it looks off.

“Arghhh!” you grumble, falling into your bed, “why is this so hard?!”

You scroll through the message history. This is bizarre. The days since the fireworks festival are tallying up to a full week and you haven’t talked to him since then— which shouldn’t be a problem to begin with, right!? If it were anyone else, like Yumi—  or even Tendou (he blows your inbox up and you bond over this and that show), then it would be bizarre.

But this is Ushi. And your friendship with the ace has always been like this. You only ever text him if necessary. And that’s perfectly fine, that’s just how things are between you two.

Despite all that, there’s an inexplicable need to reach out to him. There was something about the way his usually ramrod-straight posture slouched when he walked away from your house.

And for some reason, some goddamn reason that you can’t put a name to—

you want to check up on him.

And, I don’t know? See if he’s okay? Ask if he wants to hang out?

The message bar continues to blink.

You know what, fuck it.

You tap on send.

Whoom!

You: hi ushi!! are you free tomorrow? wanna hang out?

𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙

You let an almost-scream die out on your throat.

You throw your phone away, almost tossing it out of the bed.

It’s been a minute. A whole minute. Literally, just sixty seconds off the clock, yet the suspense is already killing you. You peek at the phone that’s precariously hanging off the side of your bed. Your hand creeps on the device once more. Maybe it’d be a good idea to put your phone on silent, so you don’t have to wait in agony for that anticipated—

Ping!

Oh. That was fast.

Your fingers are tingling when you tap on his message.

ushi: Hi. Sure.

The pressure was building up.

Now, Ushijima wouldn’t say he hates his family. His single-parent mom puts him through a good school, his grandma houses him in this extravagant property he calls his home, his maids and drivers are at his every beck and call, and his allowance is larger than what some dormitory students receive on a monthly basis. For lack of better wording, he’s extremely well-off. He can afford to stake his future on volleyball not only because he’s a downright beast at the sport, but also because he’s… well, a trust fund baby. He can play volleyball for the rest of his life, paid or not, and his life’s expenditures will barely even scratch the surface of the family’s finances. One reason is that he’s not a fussy boy unlike most rich kids, another reason is that he’s too busy with volleyball to develop some inheritance-draining hobby like collecting Swiss watches or racing Italian sports cars. Ushijima’s one of those lucky guys whose dream job is less of an actual ‘job’ and more of a passion.

(This also explains why he’s equal parts adored and feared by everyone— not only is he the perfect volleyball ace, he’s also the last person to ever be called pretentious. He puts on airs, yes, but that's only because he knows his athletic prowess is second to none— and that's something very well-deserved, if one may add.)

But that’s besides the point.

If he could just take away this entire matchmaking debacle, then perhaps he’d feel more at ease. And if they’d stop blabbering on about why Takenaka Shiori was chosen as top pick over Higuchi Ryoko, then maybe this dinner would actually taste good. Such a waste of grade-A ingredients and exclusive izakaya-level food.

“You know, Wakatoshi, I didn't think Takenaka's girl would be that tall. Although I haven't seen Higuchi in the flesh, she does look easier on the eyes. I saw her feature on this month's front page of Seventeen magazine."

“Oh, she models?” his grandmother asks.

“Quite a lot, yes. Her mother works for the entertainment industry.”

The entertainment industry? Kiku’s eyes peel away from her salmon. “Goodness, was the mother an actress? Is that how the family made money?”

Yua shakes her head. “No. She’s just a manager of sorts— I don’t know, I didn’t bother with the details. It’s her father that makes bank. He’s chief executive of the V-League.”

Wakatoshi looks up from his food. Yua sees this and proceeds after ringing his attention in.

“I was told that he looks after Shiratorizawa’s VBC quite well— must be an ode to his alma mater. He’s made windfall gains since getting scouted in V-1 for MSBY, but he’s retired as a player since then. He currently handles the association’s corporate side.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Kiku clasps her hands. “Waka-chan, wouldn’t it be great if he could fix you up with the league?”

Fix him up? As if the Ushijima Wakatoshi needs the help.

“I don’t need it. I already have an offer to play for a team,” he flatly says. Schweiden Adlers has had its eagle eyes on Ushijima since middle school. It’s somewhat of an unspoken rule that the rest of the league hopefuls have backed off from any attempt of poaching the Miyagi-born ace (not that they financially can, anyway— Adlers’ offer is the largest the volleyball division has seen in nearly a decade, and no one dares to go up and bid).

“Nonsense,” Yua scrunches her brows. “Schweiden Adlers’ legal team is still bustling over that manager’s alleged case of sexual harassment. First, the cheerleaders will stop reporting to practice. Next, the fans will stop supporting the team. They’re big, yes, but that’s why it’s all the more difficult to stand back up after they’ve already been knocked down. It’s not good to have an Ushijima connected to such names.”

Here we go again with the Ushijima name, he thinks.

Yua brings a hand up and a maid lowers herself in to refill her tea cup. “The Higuchi father put Black Jackals on the map. They’re one of the fastest-growing teams in terms of value. You know that right, Wakatoshi? I’m sure he can slip a word in and have you drafted.”

“Schweiden Adlers is the league’s reigning champions. I don’t want to play for another team,” he rumbles back. The very reason why he joined Shiratorizawa is because it’s the prefecture’s crème de la crème of high school volleyball. It’s only logical to proceed with Schweiden Adlers, the V-League’s unbeatable kings. Why should his mom decide for him? Is she going to claw her hands on the only remnant of a shared hobby he has with his estranged father?

“It’s a sinking ship, Wakatoshi. If you get on it, you’ll drown. MSBY, on the other hand, is gaining traction and raking in bigwig sponsors by the minute. Their gap is widening and I’m sure MSBY will knock Schweiden off its spot. I heard a boy from Hyogo has already signed and he’s only a year below you. I say you steer clear from that team and wait for another offer.”

Wakatoshi slams his chopsticks down, startling everyone in the room. “Must you micromanage everything in my life? From the people I spend time with, to the sport I love?”

Kiku watches her grandson’s breathing get heavy, his otherwise olive eyes sparking a golden fire.

Yua, in her usual composure, assumes a half-lidded gaze that oozes a deadly calm.

She smiles.

“Of course not. What are you talking about? I only want what’s best for you—“ she pauses, the curl in her lip flattening, “which reminds me— have you decided yet? Would you like to continue meeting Takenaka Shiori, or shall I arrange something for Higuchi Ryoko?”

There’s that dragon of a mother.

“Well?”

Wakatoshi holds his stance for a beat before slumping his shoulders. Yua and Kiku think he’s calmed down. The truth is that he’s been defeated. Another notch of a tightening collar on his neck.

Neither. The only person I want to continue seeing is [L/N].

— is what he wants to say. But knowing Ushijima Yua, she’d run straight back to the matchmaker and quadruple the bachelorette choices, trapping her only son all the more.

Wakatoshi looks at Yua, poised and collected. He then looks at Kiku, expectant and attentive.

“Takenaka,” he finally breathes out, almost as if the answer was choked out of him.

It’s the lesser evil. Choosing Higuchi would be a downright sin at this point— how can he ever forgive himself if he selected the same girl who treated you like the dirt beneath her feet? You, the person he'd brave storms for? Wait in due time for?

“Good choice, Wakatoshi,” Yua turns back to her mother. “Although the Higuchis have amassed fortunes, I thought Takenaka Shiori’s upbringing must surely mirror Wakatoshi’s own. Ryoko’s father may fast-track him into better teams, but Shiori is not alien to our circles,” she shoots a gaze to her son from the side of her eye, “unlike a certain girl you keep around.”

Wakatoshi glares at his mom. It’s always about these goddamn circles.

“Hopefully Shiori-chan can snap you out of it, hmm?” Yua says with that disgustingly sweet tone of hers. Her eyes glint when she smiles at him.

Since coming to his feelings at Tsukihama, he’s always associated eye-glints with rapid heartbeats and fluttering butterflies. He likes seeing that sparkle in your eyes, the pair of irises that reflected the overhead moon.

But under the yellow light of their dining room, it now feels panoptic— like his mother's eerie, oppressive stare.

Everyone resumes eating. Wakatoshi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He inches it out and reads a text message from you.

Under the table, he texts back a reply.

He then downs his bowl of rice with much gusto.

His mom may have won this battle, but she will not win this war.

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐎

Ichiban-cho, Aoba-ku, Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture

Saturday, 12:39 PM

“I’m sorry,” you huff out, “I had to drop by somewhere. I hope you didn’t wait for too long.”

The mid-summer weather is balmy and it gave you the perfect excuse to wear the strappy sundress you’ve been itching to take out. The material cinches at your core to bear the illusion of a slender waistline before it waterfalls around your hips and down to your thighs, flowing fabric whisking itself amidst the occasional breeze. You bear nothing but a near-empty tote bag, its faux leather seemingly weathered down by continuous use. The comfiest pair of sneakers you own— your canvas Keds— are equipped for the full day of walking ahead.

"I didn't wait long."

Ushijima is giddy— even with his chiseled features as still as a rock— as he drinks the sight up. Maybe it’s with how you styled your hair today? Maybe it’s the tint of colour on your lips? Or maybe it’s because of how nice you smell?

It’s the fabric softener, isn’t it? Yeah. It has to be how nice you smell.

You watch him take a long, winding breath. Ushijima looks like a Uniqlo model. Unlike Tendou whose wardrobe is either pitch black or eye-abusing neon (he has a thing for star patterns, apparently), Ushijima only ever dresses up in muted beiges, navy blues, or cream whites. Or deep maroons. Sometimes forest greens. Agh, you get the deal. Your friend doesn’t seem to be fond of layering, either— god forbid Ushijima Wakatoshi wears anything other than a windbreaker when it’s so as much as sunny out, lest he sweats bullets. But then again, it’s not like you blame the guy for having a furnace-like body temperature, even in the dead of winter (or so Ohira has once said).

And besides, he looks really cute in those skinny ankle pants. And that boxy shirt that exudes his boyish charm. And how his bangs have begun falling past his brow bone, indicating he's due for another haircut soon. Ushijima is the type of guy who throws on god-knows-what and he’ll still look runway-ready. It’s his height, isn’t it? And his broad shoulders? And his near-tan skin, those deep eyes paired with thick brows, that tall nose, those defined lips—

W-w-wait a minute.

You clear your throat and you look away.

“Um, how’ve you been?” you scan the vicinity, not bearing the pressure of being alone with the captain of the team. You’ve felt this feeling before. It’s the same, overwhelming pinch of a panic when he first walked you home. But it’s different now, it’s different because you sought his company out— not the other way around. What was I thinking? This is practically a date!

“I’m good,” yeah he definitely is good, he’s feeling ecstatic. It’s the first time he’s seen you since that fireworks festival, plus that stupid matchmaker episode in between, and he finally feels like his sanity is trickling back in.

Ushijima watches you smile a tiny, heart-squeezing awkward smile before wiping a bead of sweat away from your forehead. You truly are a sight for sore eyes.

You gulp. Okay, calm down. You invited him out because you wanted to check on him, right? He said something about his parents. Yeah, it’s probably his mom. Maybe he’s having trouble at home? But then again—

“Are you good?”

“Y-yeah!” you squeak, “spectacular.”

Oh my god just shut up. Stop thinking. Calm down.

Right, let’s just proceed with this like it’s a completely normal day.

“Wanna get something to drink?” you ask.

“Sure,” he answers.

Ushijima’s about to ask where are we going but you loop your arm around his and he gets pulled into the endless strip of a shopping arcade that is Sunmall Ichibancho. Now, he can’t really gather himself to question you when you're vice-gripped around him, can he?

“I’ve been thinking about it this past week— there was something really off about the way you said goodbye after the fireworks show, it gave me this nagging feeling that kept telling me to check on you,” your head jerks to his face and the close proximity almost makes him burst into a shade of red, “not that you have to tell me about it, though! I’m not gonna make you share anything you’re not comfortable with sharing,” the both of you continue walking (more of you dragging him by the arm and him keeping up— how do those short legs walk so fast?), “you just seemed so down, you know? So I thought I could cheer you up by taking you out to town!”

You stop in front of some commonplace boba chain.

“I hope you like milk tea. Although you don’t look the type of guzzle down sweets like Satori-kun, I thought something milder from the menu would suit you,” you free your arm from his and lean over the counter. A cashier taps in two orders of taro milk tea. “Have you tried this, Ushi?”

“I’ve had Hokkaido milk tea,” he recalls that one business trip he tagged along to during sixth grade, “but not taro. What is taro?”

Your eyes widen. “You’ve never had taro?!” you question, incredulity laced in your voice as if he’d committed a state crime.

“No?”

You whip your head to the cashier. “Yes, and can I add taro bits for sinkers too? Yeah, like boba pearls plus the taro bits. Both please— okay— thank you!” you say as you fish for your wallet and pull out a couple of bills. Ushijima, alarmed by the sight of a girl treating him to a drink, pulls out his own wallet in lightning speed. He snatches a couple of bills out and he overlaps you, but you’re quick to swat his southpaw hand away. What the? The poor guy is so stunned he freezes up, he’s never been swatted away like that! Not even by his mom! He’s always been treated like the Prince of Ushijima Residences!

You crane your head to Ushijima as if nothing happened. “Taro’s a root crop. Kinda like a sweet yam, only that it’s purple. A bit like you, actually.”

“Me?” he questions, his wallet sinking back to his pocket in defeat. “Are you calling me a potato?”

You snort. “No, no! Well… maybe. They’re dense, after all,” you snicker.

Really? You, of all people, calling Ushijima dense?

“And they’re different from potatoes! But anyway, yeah. If you were a root crop, you’d be a taro.”

“Why am I a taro?”

You bite a smile back. “You have to dig really deep for them. And when you do, you find out they’re pretty sweet, after all.”

Oh?

You grin. “Thanks for taking care of Kaori.”

Oh.

“Two taro bobas with extra taro bits for [F/N]!” the cashier raps into the air. You’re the first to whip your head to the employee before saying thank you.

The ice-cold drink touches your fingertips. You give yours a quick shake, jumbling the boba pearls around, and Ushijima mimics your little milk tea order routine. Straws pierce through the plastic lids and Ushijima watches you lean on the countertop as you suck the purple beverage up. He does the same, chewing on a few boba pearls.

“It’s good, right? It’s not sugary sweet like plain old milk tea. Taro has this really subtle taste that coats your entire tongue.”

Ushijima nods in agreement. “I like it.”

“I knew you would,” you beam. “Anyway, let’s go!”

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐈 𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎-𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌

4-6 Nakano Miyaginoku, Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture

Saturday, 2:24 PM

About a bus ride later, you’re waltzing through the jellyfish hall of the Umino-Mori Aquarium.

The muted purple hues are feathered on your face. You watch a school of jellyfish slow dance around the water tank.

“In my next life, I’d like to be a jellyfish,” you mutter under your breath. “No heart, no lungs, no brain— just breezing through the sea. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

No heart? No lungs? No brain? What’s the use of living if you’re just floating through water, Ushijima wonders.

You bump shoulders with him (okay, let's be real: not really shoulders, but more of your shoulder against his arm) when you follow a jellyfish around the corner.

His heartbeat quickens upon contact. Without a heart, won’t you miss the hammering sensation in your ribcage?

Your dress’s fabric brushes past him.

It leaves a trail of your clothing’s familiar scent in its wake. Without lungs, won’t you miss how smells can be so comforting?

You peer your head over your shoulder and beckon him to follow you to the next hallway.

In a nanosecond, he takes a mental photograph of your soft features against the glowing jellyfish tank. Without a brain, won’t you miss the human capacity to remember all these wonderful memories?

He trails after you anyway.

The both of you are standing in front of the ginormous ceiling-to-floor aquarium wall. It's silent except for the random awestruck child and the murmuring PA system that seems to have drowned out of your shared bubble.

Without removing your stare on the schools of fish, you gather your voice.

“Your birthday’s in two days, right,” you say. Not to ask, but just to verify. “That’s when your training camp begins too— August 13th. Shirabu-kun told me it’d be a two-week training camp in Shiratorizawa.”

Ushijima hums.

Your eyes peel away from the thick glass. You take something out of your tote. It’s a medium-sized paper bag with a ribbon tied over it.

“Happy birthday, Ushi. Sorry for the early present. It’s either now or the beginning of next term— and I didn’t wanna wait too long,” you sheepishly reason.

You register a flash of surprise on Ushijima's face. He takes it. “Can I open it?”

“Please, go ahead.”

He unravels the decorative tulle ribbon. Digging his hand in the bag, he takes out a matte black picture frame.

Under the deep-blue glow of the aquarium, he recognizes the group photo from the Tsukihama trip.

No, not the one by the beach with Niiyama.

It’s the one at the mountain top. The one everyone posed for as the sun was setting.

There's Tendou with his gangly arm stretched out, Ohira gathering everyone in for a bear hug, Goshiki and his gummy smile, Kawanishi who blinked the moment the photo was taken, Shirabu whose face is in a grimace with how heavy Yamagata's arm is around his shoulder, Semi's hand up in a peace sign, and Ushijima's head perched on top of yours like a big old puppy.

”A friend group is the family you get to pick for yourself. You said something about parents the last time we met, and I just, um, wanted to remind you that when all else fails, you can always run to us.”

(And he did that, didn’t he? He ran to Semi.)

He looks at you, a small smile tickling his lips.

“If you open the frame and take the photo out, you can see that we all wrote something down for you. I met up with most of the guys throughout the week and Satori-kun was the hardest to pin down, which is why I was late tod—“

He turns the frame around and his fingers begin unlocking the clasp.

“— no, no!” your hand hovers over his, “not yet! Look at it when it’s your actual birthday, okay?”

You look at him, mischievous glint in your eyes.

That glint, that glint, that glint. It makes his stomach burst into a hundred butterflies.

“Okay,” he utters in resignation.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

You retract your hands, allowing your limbs to fall back on your sides.

You hold each other's glances until—

he reaches out. First it's a ghost of a touch, then it materializes into a warm, fiery grasp of a palm encompassing your smaller fingers.

There's a warmth that blooms in your chest. Or is it a wave that washes over you? Or a skyrocket of a fireworks display?

You feel a reckoning of sorts.

Your eyes trail from his large, calloused hand wrapped around your own, to the softening look in his eyes.

“Thank you, [L/N].”

He squeezes your hand. It’s the tiniest, hairline-width of a squeeze but it’s strong enough to make your heartbeat go ć̶̖̂̂̍̀̚r̸̢̡͔͎̠͔͉̉͊̎̐̚͝a̴̯̤̦̼͖̮̞̔̀͛̓̾͝z̸̹̱̘̙̓̆͐̇͘͝y̵̖͉͕̝̩̺̖̞̾̇̈͝͝.

And then he lets go. And then a feeling, you don’t know what it is, or maybe you do know and you don’t want to name it, overcomes you.

You start craving for his touch as soon as it left you.

What triggered such a response from you? It’s not like you’ve never had skin-to-skin contact before, you’ve already grazed the sensation of his volleyball-worn hands, plenty of times in fact, and besides—

“I really appreciate this. I’ll put this in my dorm room.”

It feels like your ability to properly think and speak has been revoked.

You mean, like the time he was called to the disciplinary office again?

And he asked for your name?

And he confessed to seeing you around the school grounds before promptly asking if you had lunch that day?

And he offered to bring you home?

And you hesitated for a while, but you agreed anyway?

Yes, that exact time.

Has it sunk in yet?

Ushijima turns back to the ginormous water tank. “Being a jellyfish wouldn’t be fun.”

You snap out of it. “Huh?”

“I’d rather be reincarnated as a human in my next life. Jellyfish don’t get birthday presents like this.”

It has not once crossed your mind that the intimidating size of this man would ever lace that much thought into a rhetorical question about reincarnation and glowing sea creatures.

You laugh.

“What?”

“You know what, you’re right. I think I’d do the same.”

— that’s because if being reincarnated as a human meant the slightest chance of meeting you all over again,

I’d sign my soul to another lifetime in a heartbeat.

"I just hope my next life will have you in it, too," you add.

Ushijima smiles and that pale blue glow on his face defines the color of depth,

of trust,

of tranquility,

and of utmost loyalty.

He pins his gaze on you. "Me too. I'll even look for you if I have to. I won't stop until I get you."

Ushijima thinks he's still chasing you— running after your heart like how he's running away from family. He wants, so bad that it aches, to fall into your arms.

He doesn't know you're ready, finally ready, to receive him.

Yes, it finally sunk in.

Chapter Text

You’re the first to greet him a happy birthday.

Not that he was awake when his phone buzzed your message in at exactly twelve midnight— he was asleep by ten o’clock. And it was his second, proper night’s worth of sleep in an entire week. The first was when your date 'day out' concluded. After walking you back home, he entered his estate feeling lighter— like, on Cloud 9 lighter— than he left it.

【Ｌ／Ｎ　Ｆ／Ｎ】

August 13, 12:00 AM

[L/N] [F/N]: happy birthday ushi!! 🎉

August 13, 7:02 AM

You: Thank you, [L/N].

You: 😊

The matriarchs were seated at the breakfast table, sharing a pot of tea when he came in.

“Happy eighteenth birthday,” they greet him. The halcyon of the summer sun shines a curtain of light behind their backs and it illuminates the breakfast area near the open kitchen.

The food spread is more meat and carbohydrates than vegetables today. His grandmother tells him it’s to fuel him up for the first day back on court.

“It’s such a pity that the volleyball clinic falls on your birthday, Waka-chan,” his grandmother pulls out a chair for him. “We could have thrown a party.”

“It’s a training camp,” he pulls the chair inwards, “and there’s no need for one, obaa-chan.”

Kiku’s invite to throw Wakatoshi a birthday party comes every year, without a fail. And so does his rejection for any sort of grand gathering. Also without a fail.

(That doesn’t stop the team from crashing his place, though. Since entering high school, his teammates had a habit of secretly collaborating on surprise parties for the ace. It was always done with the permission of Kiku, Yua, or both.)

(And he’s never found out how the team manages to sneak in, or why his family members were so lenient about their ‘intrusion’. In the summer of his first year, Tendou had the most brilliant idea of a garden party sprawled around the mansion’s enclosed yard. He (along with Ohira, Semi, and Yamagata) spent all morning decorating the shidarezakura tree with tri-colored streamers. When Ushijima was led to the surprise event, the first thing he said was:

“Obaa-chan, is this allowed?”

Needless to say, he was surprised either way.)

Yua hands him a brown envelope with nothing but a “Happy Birthday to my Dearest Son” written on it.

Wakatoshi takes it. He pulls the flap open and reveals some several sheets of paper.

He looks at his mother’s face. “What’s this, okaa-san?”

Ushijima reads the paper headings. Deed of sale, certification of ownership…

“You bought me a condo unit?”

She imparts a fond smile.

“I figured it would be more convenient for you to live nearer to Sendai Gym than this old, ancestral house. That condominium is a new building— earthquake-proof with gym and swimming pool facilities. It includes your own parking space as well, but we’ll figure out your ride after you graduate,” she winks.

He shuffles through the paperwork. The overload of information is mind-boggling. “What floor is this?”

“The penthouse, of course.”

He cranes his head up. “Okaa-san, this is too much.”

“Don’t worry about it, Wakatoshi. Our company developed that building, so we got it at a discounted price,” she discloses.

“From what?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three hundred…?”

“Mil.”

His grandmother sits across him. “It’s not bad for a 2LDK.”

Wakatoshi can’t wrap his head around this. He shoves the papers back to her. “You didn’t have to. A smaller unit would have sufficed.”

“Wakatoshi, you’re a huge boy,” she pushes the folder back to him. “And you’re still growing. I wouldn’t dare throw you into some cramped apartment with barely any leg room. Look through the documents some more, there are pictures in there.”

He does as he’s told. He takes a photo out and he studies the empty, unfurnished space. Gleaming white marble. Sleek wood. Silver hardware fixtures. The living room’s ceilings are at least four meters tall.

“Quite pleasant, isn’t it? It connects to the private terrace, too. All corner units get one. Although the floor isn’t heated, we can always have that fixed.”

This is how it’s always been. When Wakatoshi first started playing volleyball, he was gifted with the whole package: kneepads, athletic clothes, brand new water jugs and towels, three extra balls, and everything else a budding player would possibly want.

Even if he only needed shoes.

He puts the photos back in the folder. Wakatoshi stands up and bows deeply before his family.

“Thank you very much.”

Yua arises to his bowed height and pulls him towards her. She plants a motherly kiss on his forehead.

“You’re a good son and grandson, Wakatoshi. Keep making us proud. We’ll continue providing the best for you.”

Ushijima insisted that he could just walk to school. But as things usually go when he’s living under the same roof as Kiku and Yua, he’s been whisked to the family’s luxury sedan yet again.

From the back row, he opens his training camp duffel bag. He pulls out the matte black picture frame you gifted him, now brightly exposed under the morning sun that spills past the car windows and onto the leather seats.

He flips it over and fiddles with the clasp. There are writings scribbled on the back of the developed photo.

WAKATOSHI-KUUUN HAPPY BIRTHDAY! WHEN YOU GET FAMOUS, MAKE SURE YOU TELL EVERYONE ABOUT ME, YOUR BEST FRIEND, OKAY! (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ but in all honesty, thanks for being the cornerstone to this team ~~ we love ya to bits!

- Tendou ★

WAKATOSHI! happy birthday! i may not set for you as often as i used to, but i want you to know that i'm glad i still get to play with you. good luck with the league after high school. i'll be watching your games, so don't disappoint!

- semi

Happy birthday! The team is very lucky to have you as this year's captain. You are a very admirable player and I'm sure many of our kouhais look up to you. You'll go far in V-1 once we graduate. Do your best!

- Ohira :)

did you hear about the birthday candle sale? it was a big blowout! ahahaha happy birtday birthday, big guy! also have you started on your summer homework because if not 

- yamagata

happy birthday ushijima-san thank you for your hard work i look forward to playing with you in spring high 

- kawanishi

Ushijima-san, thank you for being my inspiration for joining Shiratorizawa. Not once have I regretted making my decision. Happy birthday.

- Shirabu

USHIJIMA-SAN HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU’RE AN AMAZING ACE BUT NOT AS AMAZING AS WHEN I BEAT YOU IN BEACH VOLLEYBALL HAVE A GOOD ONE SEE YOU IN CAMP

- GOSHIKI!!!!!! *

Happy birthday, Ushi. I only met you two months ago, but it feels like I've known you for a lifetime. I never thought I'd go from getting walked home by you, to walking into another 'home' with the VBC. I'm glad we met. Here's to more years of looking out for each other.

- [L/N]

For the first time today, he breaks out into a grin. This is the one gift he feels like he actually deserves.

Ah, good thing his face is obscured from the rear-view mirror. He can let that blush on his cheeks travel far and wide, up to the tips of his ears.

“Sir Wakatoshi, we have arrived.”

Ushijima looks up and sees Shiratorizawa’s eagle monument. He collects himself, fixes his bag, and gives his thanks before departing the vehicle. He goes straight into the dorms and deposits his bag.

The matte black picture frame is the first decorative item on his study table’s shelf.

Ushijima was ambushed surprised by the first string.

The entire team nearly topples him over when he sets foot in the (what he initially thought was) empty volleyball gym. A roar of a “Happy Birthday!” thunders into his eardrums, followed by a chaotic trail of “—Wakatoshi!”, “—Wakatoshi-kun!”, and “—Ushijima-san!”.

Tendou wraps both arms around his captain’s wide shoulders. “Eighteen greetings for your eighteenth birthday!”

“Oh god,” Kawanishi takes a sharp breath.

“Happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy happy—“

“Get on with it, Satori!” Semi barks.

“— birthday, Wakatoshi-kun!” He shoots a glare at the third year setter. “I only got to ten! You didn’t even let me finish, Semisemi!”

“Don’t call me th—“

“Anyway! Wakatoshi-kun, didja like our little present?”

Ushijima softly smiles. “Yes, I did. It’s up in my dorm room now.”

The team begins to file in the double-doored entrance of the volleyball gym. “Don’t think your birthday ends at that. We have another surprise for you after day one of training camp,” Yamagata smirks.

His heartbeat quickens. Is it who he thinks it is?

“And no, don’t get your hopes up. We already tried smuggling [L/N] in. There’s no way she— or we— physically can,” Tendou passes the conversational baton to Ohira.

“Coach Washijo’s throwing us straight into the pits of training camp hell,” the vice captain says with a wry smile. “After the introductory remarks and rule-grounding, we’ll start conditioning right away. I checked the schedule. Dinner’s at 7:30PM, lights out at 9PM. Coach Saito told me he and Coach Washijo will be monitoring the halls tonight, too. Tough love, huh?”

“I bet Tanji-kun said it’s to get us nimrods back in shape. Two weeks off practice has turned your bodies into mush!” Tendou mimics the coach’s croaky, Miyagi-accented voice.

“Ushijima-san,” Goshiki butts in, “since we’re running twenty laps around the track field today, do you want to race?”

Shirabu stops fixing his bangs to scold Goshiki. “Can you give it a break? It’s literally his birthday.”

Just then, Coach Washijo enters the gym through a back entrance that connects the building to a larger compound. “Oh? At least the first string is early.”

“Coach!” Tendou leaps. “It’s Wakatoshi-kun’s birthday today!”

“What are you nimrods lounging around about? Go prepare the gym for today!”

Tendou rolls his eyes. “Yes!” they answer like trained soldiers. Everyone scatters throughout the air-conditioned gym.

“Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima peels his concentrated gaze away from the volleyball net’s knots and ties. “Yes, Coach?”

“Happy birthday. I’m counting on you like always,” Washijo’s crow's feet are deepened as he smiles.

Ushijima relaxes his face. “Thank you, sir.”

Some schools’ training camps are extensive. Other schools’ training camps are exhausting. Shiratorizawa's happens to be both, creating nothing short of an experience befitting a certain warrior society of ancient Greece.

In other words, training under Coach Washijo was just spartan. Spartan enough for heavy-duty physical training to cause exercise-induced nausea.

And that's why Goshiki has locked himself in a bathroom stall, vomiting into a toilet.

Ohira knocks on the door. “Tsutomu, make sure you drink Pocari when you get out!”

“I will! Just don’t make me eat thirds during dinner… like last training camp!” — and then another round of retching sounds that tunnel into the great white telephone.

“We won’t! Come on, it’s time for our wind-down stretches.”

Ohira hears the toilet flush. A very debilitated Goshiki then swings the door open, trudging his way to the sink.

“You alright, Tsutomu?”

Goshiki wipes a layer of sweat off his forehead, messing up his already damp bangs. “Never better, Ohira-san," he heaves.

The vice captain brings the rookie back to the volleyball gym. First and second string players are splayed out over hardwood floor, droplets of sweat covering its otherwise glossy sheen. The managers are handing out electrolyte-rich sports drinks.

Tendou sees Higuchi making a beeline for Ushijima. He intercepts her sauntering to the captain.

“Nuh-uh,” Tendou grabs the two sports drinks away from her manicured grip. “I’ll be giving this to Wakatoshi-kun.”

She glares at him before twirling on her heel, her jet-black hair purposely flicking him on the mouth.

Semi scoffs at the entire scene. “Aren’t we hella cliquish today?”

Tendou glowers at her retreating form. “I’m not going to forgive her that easily for the Lawson incident.” 

The smirk on Semi’s lip disappears and his face draws in for a glare. “I don’t think anyone can, Satori. Especially with that comment she left on your post.”

Tendou stalks over to Ushijima and hands him his sports drink before taking a swig of his own. He deposits himself beside his captain, while Semi is positioned at his opposite.

To the untrained eye, it may look like the first string is simply crowded around each other in the way a pack of wolves cover every member’s angles. From a bird’s eye view, however, you’ll immediately see that Ushijima is smack in the middle— and this is all intentional. The four corners consisting of Tendou, Semi, Ohira, and Yamagata create an intimidating wall of third year machismo that’s dovetailed by Kawanishi, Shirabu, and Goshiki at the wings.

You see, Higuchi’s been trying to snake her way past the members in an attempt to greet her beloved Wakatoshi-kun a mandatory happy birthday— this, by the way, is only Phase One of her Get Wakatoshi-kun To Notice Me plan.

The four corners, however, will not have it. Thanks to the testosterone-heavy air of the gym court, nobody bats an eye at the irascible exhaustion most boys are currently displaying (and you can thank Washijo’s spartan training for that).

Higuchi’s long nails dig into her ball-fisted palms. She’s not going to bother ratting Tendou out to either of the coaches— not anymore.

“What? Tendou is crankier than the usual? Let him be, he’s tired.”

“Semi’s nagging you more? Haha, he’s just fed up with conditioning.”

“What do you mean Ohira’s being cold? The guy’s just resting.”

“I don’t see how Yamagata sounds hostile. Maybe he’s burnt out?”

“Give it a rest, Higuchi,” Coach Saito tells her from the bench. “It’s their first day in training camp. It’s normal for them to feel both exhausted and grumpy. Anyone would be, especially after a two-week training hiatus from Washijo-sensei’s usual regimen.”

And because of that, third year manager Higuchi Ryoko has been nursing her growing indignation. And she knows this feeling, every spoiled little rich girl does: things are not going my way and I am not happy about it.

And hell hath no fury like Higuchi scorned.

From afar, she shoots her own daggers at Tendou before whipping her hair around as she stomps off. Coach Saito sighs and shakes his head.

“Higuchi-san looks like she’s in a bad mood,” Kawanishi comments when she’s out of earshot. Shirabu and Goshiki look up to survey the third year manager.

“Don’t worry, she’s always been like that,” Ohira nonchalantly says in an attempt disguise her behaviour. “She does this all the time.”

That’s another thing— the lower years have no idea of the beef between you and Higuchi.

Washijo blows on his whistle and dismisses the athletes for dinner. The first string boys arise and Ushijima, who is completely oblivious to Higuchi’s thwarted attempts, remains safeguarded by his retinue of resentful, yakuza-like third year friends.

The pack mentality is strong in these parts, and that’s already without Kawanishi, Shirabu, or Goshiki’s knowledge of the history between you and Higuchi. Can you imagine how much more tensioned things would be if your brother-like kouhais found out about the malice she harbours for you?

Higuchi, the dutiful manager that she is, cleans up after the boys with the rest of the girls. She watches Ushijima disappear into the hallway that leads to the food hall.

And then she thinks,

No way. There is no way I am leaving this training camp without progress with Wakatoshi-kun.

Just as Tendou trails after Ushijima, the middle blocker sends her a nasty side-eye before he retreats into the hallway. Ohira slings an arm around his neck to pull him away and Yamagata snickers as they lumber off. Semi looks over his shoulder to tell the rest of the guys to hurry up.

I can tell they’re trying to box me out. I always can.

She can see it in the mean glint of Tendou’s blood-red eyes. And how Ohira barely manages to keep him in check. And in that disgusting little simper Yamagata gives. And with Semi rounding up the lower years as if to strengthen their tall, impenetrable wall.

I guess I have to be more aggressive, then.

Most of the volleyball club members, coaches and managers included, have already left the food hall to bathe and prepare for bed.

The first string, however, crowds around a long table with Ushijima seated at the head.

Had he been a bit more observant, he would have noticed that everyone— except him— zipped the maroon and white track jacket up to their necks. But no, he was too busy digging through his fourth cup of rice.

“Okay, are you ready?” Ohira whispers under his breath. Ushijima’s ear twitches and he looks up from his food.

“Three… two… one… go!”

And then a wave of zippers crunching open.

“Happy birthday—“

“— Wakatoshi!”

“— Wakatoshi-kun!”

“— Ushijima-san!”

He blinks. And then he blinks again, even faster this time.

This… is shocking, he thinks.

“Where’d you get that picture of me?”

The boys are wearing plain white t-shirts with nothing but a photo of Ushijima's grade school self, adorably posed with a volleyball in his pudgy hands. Near the hem of the shirt says “8/13 USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI DAY”.

“I did some digging,” his long time volleyball friend Semi confesses. He pulls out another shirt from the pocket of his track jacket, a men’s sized large for the captain.

Ushijima’s cheeks are tinged in embarrassment. “I don’t know if I would want to wear… that.”

“Don’t say that, Wakatoshi-kun! The shirt supplier we got it from uses the comfiest cotton fabric. Here,” he pulls on the hem and invites him to feel the cloth, all the more displaying a rather baby-faced Waka-chan print on the shirt. “Feel it!”

Just as Ushijima takes the offer, the double doors of the food hall are kicked wide open. A resonant bang! echoes through the room.

“Sorry I’m late, Wakatoshi-kun!”

Everyone’s heads jerk from their captain, to that familiar snake of a woman they recognize as Higuchi Ryoko. She skips over to the table, holding a box of cake in her slender hands.

“Happy birthday! I had this flown in from Tokyo,” she deposits the box in front of them. Lifting the cover off, the team is presented to an extravagantly-designed chocolate gateau.

“I love cakes from The Mandarin. The chocolate mousse in this one is divine, and you have to try it!”

Tendou’s eyes dart to Semi. Semi elbows Yamagata under the table. Yamagata kicks Ohira’s foot.

“Ow!— I mean, oh! U-um,” Ohira clears his throat. “Ryoko-chan, we’re kind of in the middle of something here.”

Ushijima crosses his arms. “I don’t like sweets.”

(Um, yeah he does. He likes taro-level sweets.)

Higuchi pouts like she’s born to do it. Her puppy dog eyes get bigger,

and bigger,

and bigger—

“Okayokayokay!” Ohira sputters, “We’ll all have a bite before going to bed. Is that fine with you, Wakatoshi?”

Ushijima’s gaze flits to the digital clock near the doorway. 8:13PM.

“Fine.”

Tendou grits his teeth when Higuchi pulls out a chair to sit in front of him. “Looks like someone had money to burn, huh?”

She flicks her shiny, jet-black hair away from her shoulder. “Only the best for Wakatoshi-kun.”

She looks at the boy with the bowl cut. “Goshiki, could you be a sweetheart and get us some plates and utensils?”

“A-ah, sure senpai,” he scuttles out of his chair. The air surrounding the table is awkward and nobody dares to say another word until the rookie comes back.

Higuchi grabs the plates and utensils away from him, not bothering to say thanks. Shirabu, despite his strong dislike for Goshiki’s hyperactive personality, feels himself flaring up at Higuchi’s lack of manners.

She begins cutting the cake— obviously, Wakatoshi-kun gets the slice with the milk chocolate square that says The Mandarin Oriental Cake Shop. She passes everyone else’s slices like it’s charity work.

“Well, what are you guys waiting for? Dig in!”

The sound of metal forks clanking against ceramic plates. Restrained chews and fake polite appreciation. And then blanketing silence when Higuchi leans herself on the table.

“Wakatoshi-kun, who do you like?”

Ushijima sets his fork down and anchors an unnerving gaze on Higuchi.

With his whole chest, he says,

“I like [L/N].”

Tendou bites a triumphant grin back. In their seats, the rest of the boys are squirming in excitement. Holy shit, Ushijima-san finally admitted to it.

Semi looks over to Higuchi’s face, expecting her to break into a despondent frown—

but she smiles?

“Really? Then why’d you go on a date with another girl?”

An alarm goes off in Ushijima’s head.

Semi shoots her a confused glance. How does she know?

The rest of the boys are just short of clamouring. “What?” nearly half of the table choruses. Tendou grips on Ushijima’s shoulders, making the captain face him. “You just had that aquarium date with [F/N]-chan the other day! What’s she talking about?”

“They went on an aquarium date?” Goshiki pipes in.

“Not now!”

Higuchi begins twirling a lock of hair around her talon-like index finger, obviously amused to see the team's wall now disintegrating. “Oh? You guys didn’t know? Wakatoshi-kun’s mom sought out a matchmaker for him. Crazy, huh? Just what can’t rich people buy?”

“Cut the bullshit, Higuchi,” Yamagata snarls.

“It’s true!” her eyes widen innocently. “Ask your captain himself!”

Semi whips his head back to the manager. “What the hell are you doing?!” he whispers sharply.

Everyone but Semi shifts their gazes to Ushijima.

Ohira speaks up. “Is it true?”

Semi cuts in. “Guys, it’s not what you think—“

“I did,” Ushijima rumbles. “I had to.”

Semi looks from one end of the table to another. “Hey, you have to understand. His mom made him do it. S-she's not the biggest [L/N] fan, you see," his irises dart to Ushijima, "so going to that date wasn't Wakatoshi's decision."

Higuchi’s viper eyes assume doe-like features. “Um, but the decision to continue meeting Takenaka Shiori was Wakatoshi-kun’s own, though?”

Shirabu cocks his head in surprise. “What? Niiyama’s Takenaka Shiori?”

And then she breaks into a perfected smile. “Bingo!”

Ushijima's composure begins to crack. He jets his legs straight up, abruptly toppling the chair backwards and making its metal legs crash against the floor tiles. A bone-chilling sound bounces off the walls and it's as terrifying as the ace who has now assumed his full height.

“What are you doing?”

Higuchi rests her face on her hand. “Trying to change your mind.” She proceeds fully knowing she's gotten everyone hooked. “You see, transactions in matchmaking aren’t closed until both families express intentions. You’ve expressed wanting to see Takenaka again, but Takenaka hasn’t expressed the same."

“And?”

“You still have time to retract your decision and pick—“ she brings her free hand up, twirling it around for a flourish before pointing at her porcelain skin, “— me!”

Kawanishi watches her off-putting flair. "Wait, so you were almost matched with him?"

"Not almost matched, sweetie. We did match. His mom just happened to prioritize the meeting with Takenaka. The matchmaker put my family on hold because she hasn't replied yet," she purses her lips.

Shirabu interrupts by slamming a fist on the table. “Higuchi-san, with all due disrespect, don’t you feel the slightest bit of shame for how desperate you are right now?”

She then leans over to Shirabu. “And why would I? What’s Takenaka going to offer? A business merger, an acquisition maybe? Puh-lease,” she leans away and widens her conversational coverage to the rest of the boys. “The Ushijima Group has more partnerships and subsidiaries than anyone can count. Wakatoshi-kun’s family doesn’t need another business-motivated marriage, but he does need the right recruitment offer for his volleyball career.”

Higuchi shifts her gaze back to Ushijima. “Isn’t that right, Wakatoshi-kun? I don’t think Ushijima-kaasan would be very happy if you signed with Schweiden Adlers, right?”

Ushijima breaks out into a cold sweat. “And how do you know that?”

The chair screeches when Higuchi stands up to march to Ushijima. She cranes her head up, feeling content with finally getting a full view of his debonair features. “It’s not rocket science, sweetie! You’re the only son of Ushijima Yua, heiress to the Ushijima Group. You're Miyagi’s top ace, the only boy from the prefecture to get drafted into Japan’s Under-19 League. You're the captain of the powerhouse school Shira—“

“I get it!” he roars, “what the fuck! I get it already! But I’ve already decided and there’s nothing you— or anyone for that matter— can do to change my mind! I’m playing for Schweiden Adlers and that’s final.”

And then her lips curl into a crafty, close-mouthed smile.

“Schweiden Adlers, the same team whose image is falling apart?”

She inches closer.

“Schweiden Adlers, the same team whose big money sponsors are pulling out from?”

And closer.

“Schweiden Adlers, the same team whose upcoming Monster Generation members are getting poached out of, right under their noses?”

And closer. The rest of the team stands up to prevent her from moving any nearer, gathering around the two in fear she might claw their captain at any second.

Goshiki butts in. “Hey! How do you know that? Next season's lineups aren’t even out yet!”

She turns to the rookie. “Honey, I’m surprised a volleyball nerd like you doesn’t know me. I’m Higuchi Ryoko, Higuchi Souji’s daughter. The same Higuchi Souji who works as chief executive for the country’s V-League. Of course I know that. My daddy oversees everything.”

"Oh, fuck off Higuchi," Tendou dismisses. "You're just saying that." 

"Look it up, you dick."

Goshiki fishes for his phone and does a quick Google search. Kawanishi leans over and his mouth gapes open.

"She's... right."

It’s so quiet they could hear a pin drop.

Ushijima’s eyebrows scrunch. “Who? Who did MSBY poach?”

Higuchi fixes her gaze back on him. “I thought you knew! Tokyo’s Bokuto Koutaro was initially offered a spot to play for Adlers, but MSBY outbid the guy. I mean, it shouldn’t come as a surprise though, right? With how bad Adlers is falling apart?”

“That’s all irrelevant to me,” his deep voice declares. “I’m strong enough to carry Schweiden Adlers on my back.”

Ryoko tilts her head in cutesy fashion. “And I agree! You are the most powerful, most dependable ace anyone’s ever seen in this generation of volleyball— but no strong ace goes to a weakening team like Schweiden Adlers.”

Ushijima doesn't reply.

“Face it. Everyone knows all the top guys only ever join Black Jackals or Adlers— but you’re not going to flourish in some substandard, defective team that’s coming undone at the seams. Can you imagine? With the amount of luck you’re born with, with the level of skill you’ve polished up— all you’ll ever be is wasted talent?”

Ushijima’s mouth barely opens. “I—“

Ohira wedges himself in, pulling her back by the arm. “Ryoko! That’s enough!”

She pokes her head out in an attempt to keep Ushijima’s attention pinned on her. “Hey, ace! Remind me again, didn’t you join Shiratorizawa because it has the best soil? At the rate of how Schweiden Adlers is starting to decay, it looks like you’re settling for infertile soil. Sounds familiar, right? Like, I don't know, maybe Oikawa Tooru from Seijoh might ring a bell? Poor guy's so talented yet he's never gone to Nationals! Didn't you say one of his biggest mistakes was not going to Shiratorizawa? What makes this decision any different?!”

Ushijima feels his stomach drop.

“What’s with the change of heart, Wakatoshi-kun? Has that little pest [L/N] been a bad influence on you?”

And then the sound of another chair clattering on the floor.

The blood rushes straight into Ushijima’s head. The next thing he sees is a flash of red.

"Don't call her that, you fucking bitch!"

Tendou lunges at Higuchi.

"Hey!"

Semi and Kawanishi pull him back just in time, within merely an inch of touching her.

The manager stumbles, falling on her backside. Her face contorts into an expression of agonizing pain.

Kawanishi’s mouth drops in utter disbelief. “Tendou-san didn’t even touch you!”

Everyone looms around the manager. She relaxes her face.

“I know he didn’t. I was just putting up a show.”

She tilts her head up and looks at the blinking red light, conveniently perched on a ceiling behind everyone.

There’s a surveillance camera in the food hall.

Since when was that installed? Did the student council order this following the phone theft reports? Did Vice President Ogawa Kimiko talk her grandfather, the school principal, into purchasing this? Or did President Saji Nozomi take it upon herself to provide the equipment? Why does the school have this? Why here, why now of all places?

And because of how Higuchi angled her body, it did look like Tendou put his hands on her.

They’ve fallen into her spiderweb of a trap. She orchestrated this all along.

The boys’ faces pale.

“I’m going to say this one more time, Wakatoshi-kun,” she picks herself up and dusts the dirt off her manager tracksuit uniform. “Pull out and pick me before Takenaka agrees to seeing you again, or lose your window to professional volleyball success. It’s that simple.”

She tucks her curled locks behind her ears. “Let me know soon, okay? Or I’ll have Satori here reported to the higher ups for assault."

Their breaths hitch. “Assault?!” Yamagata takes a step towards her but Ohira cages him back, “bitch, are you fucking crazy?!”

"What?" she twirls away, "I have evidence now, and it's as simple as a video review of August 13th."

Higuchi begins her escape back to the female dorms.

“Ryoko, you wouldn’t dare!” Semi bellows.

Her hand grasps on a steel handle when she hangs by the doorway. “Oh, I definitely would,” she pushes a door open. “That’s because I can afford it.”

She winks. She slips out of the food hall.

“Bye!”

The door clicks itself closed. They know it’s closed. It's just closed. But somehow, it sounds like they've been locked in— and it's a very intricate, difficult lock to unseal and break free from.

No one knows if they’re frozen in fear, or shaking in anger, or tongue-tied in confusion. Perhaps all three.

Happy 18th birthday, Wakatoshi.

Chapter Text

It’s been a week since Ushijima’s birthday.

Between the harrowing confrontation at the food hall and the looming possibility of Tendou’s removal from the team, the boys have yet to get into the groove that is Washijo Tanji’s well-oiled machine: the (supposedly) ever-unyielding Shiratorizawa VBC.

By the looks of how Higuchi has stunted their supposed training camp growth, the first string has essentially struggled to keep up with the two-week regimen. Sets have gone amiss, blocks have been sieve-like, serves have been out-of-bounds, and spikes have been misfired more times than anyone can count. In effect, the boys have been putting up with earfuls upon earfuls of the Demon Coach's explosive criticisms.

Today, it was Ushijima's turn.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Wakatoshi?! If you’re going to spike a ball, at least spike it in the goddamn court!”

Ushijima is standing in front of a seated Coach Washijo, firmly holding his ground and keeping his head held high. His taped fingers, however, are fidgeting behind his back. “Sorry, c—“

“Don’t give me any apologies! You should do better as the captain and ace of this team!”

And then it opens up again like a fresh wound. He does nothing but clench his jaw.

“Ten laps.”

His eyebrows twitch. “Sir?”

“Ten laps around campus, right now. Don’t come back until you’re done.”

He trudges off. Tendou takes his eyes away from the court and watches his friend walk out the gym.

“And you, Satori!” Washijo ruptures and it makes the middle blocker jolt his back straight, “your so-called guess blocks have been off this entire camp! Keep messing it up and I’ll make you sit out for the entire Spring High!”

Knowing Coach Washijo, that threat is by no means empty. Tendou tenses his shoulders and assumes receiving position once again. “Yes, Coach!”

With their cannon out of sorts and their main defense off to a shaky start, the rest of the members feel like the hardwood beneath their feet might snap and break— much like the now-crumbling foundation of the team.

All because of one uninvited guest to Ushijima’s birthday surprise.

The captain hears nothing but his rhythmic breaths as he jogs.

He hasn’t gone on a solo run since entering camp. Maybe getting sent out was a blessing in disguise, maybe he can find some time to clear his head.

After two circuits around Shiratorizawa, it dawns on him that the odds are painfully, truthfully against him. He doesn't want to accept it, but he has to. It glares at him, begging to be acknowledged. His mom doesn’t want him to sign with Schweiden Adlers because of their alleged scandal. And then Higuchi comes in to slap the same words Ushijima himself used to describe Oikawa Tooru, the same player he had always thought was a waste of talent. Not only that, the security camera footage has the entire team cornered like hostages held at gunpoint.

Higuchi was right. It just doesn’t make sense if he— Miyagi’s, if not Japan’s strongest— would allow his feet to root in infertile soil. In the eighteen years of his sheltered existence, all he’s ever known and been primed for is the very top.

But… since when was the top polluted with this much toxicity?

Has it always been like this?

Or is it by some stroke of sick luck that he just had to fall for you, thereby triggering these ripples of complications?

He shakes his head and picks up his pace, running faster and faster as if to punish himself for even thinking that.

No. No way. You’re not to blame for any of this. If he had to point fingers at anyone, he’d point at himself for his lack of foresight. He should've known how big of an influence you'd have— not only on his family, but also on his volleyball career.

Now this matchmaking deal and professional team offer has morphed into a monster of a problem, looming and looming closer as the training camp is to end in a few days.

He continues running, and running, and running.

But to what, exactly?

Is he running towards professional volleyball success at the expense of getting chained to a venomous Higuchi Ryoko?

Or is he running towards the downwards slope of playing for the decaying team that is Schweiden Adlers?

Why is the world so against him— or rather, since when did his blessings become curses?

Ushijima groans, his sweat dripping down the temples of his face and to his already-damp shirt.

Somewhere, a few meters away, a girl clad in sportswear is aimlessly wandering the Shiratorizawa campus grounds. She’s screaming bloody murder into her phone.

Here comes Takenaka Shiori in all her tomboyish glory, gracing the exposed pathways like a model straight out of a Nike photoshoot campaign.

“Seriously, Hideki! Why couldn’t you ask the maid to do this?!”

“Do you really think our old nan could slip in Shiratorizawa undetected? She’s at least a hundred years old! You’ll blend in fine, and it’s not like everyone’s wearing the school uniform. Sports teams should be having their summer camps by now, so you’ll look just like every other student!”

Takenaka Shiori stands in front of some nondescript building. Is this the main building? Nevermind— it's the indoor pool. Ugh, where are the classrooms?

“I can't believe you right now. You join mama, papa, and onee-chan on their yearly trip and you leave me to collect your damn summer homework sheets— which you should have brought home, and answered before leaving for America! How the hell can you tell me you memorize which stores are holding 60, 70, 80% off sales in those damn premium outlets in New Jersey but you can’t even remember to bring your frickin’ materials home!”

“Hey! Don’t take your bitterness out on me, it’s not my fault that your club’s training camp falls on the weeks of our summer trip!”

She whines. “Okay, fine! I get it already... dumbass,” she murmurs.

“In case you forgot, I’m the one buying your clothes here!”

“I know, shut up! And don’t buy me anything that’s less than 70% off. If you do, I’ll make you wear it.”

Takenaka, as obscenely wealthy as she may be, remains half-Asian by blood but a full carrier of the Asian Bargaining gene. She’s the same girl who spends thousands of dollars (never yen; she buys all her gear abroad) for six pairs of shoes in six different colourways, but wears heavily-discounted sports leggings and bras. If there’s anything more frightening than the damage of a daughter that exclusively wears haute couture (her onee-chan, in this case), it’s a daughter that’s a huge sneakerhead.

Shiori is a staunch Air Jordan collector, by the way.

Her brother scoffs. “Pssh, with how gigantic of a person you are, I might even wear your sports bras better than you. You're like, a double A or something.”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay bye, stupid!”

“Hey! Class 2-1, okay! I sit nearest the back door!”

Takenaka hangs up and takes a long, winding sigh. She ventures further into the campus, past a string of guys sporting buzzcuts— a group she assumes could be the baseball team.

She’s about to walk straight up to them but something tells her that their militaristic line of jogging should not be disturbed. And then she watches them run off, the request for directions dying on her tongue.

She pouts defeatedly. Where the hell is the classroom building?

Just then, she sees a lone wolf jogging in her peripheral vision.

Now that’s a familiar face.

Takenaka kicks off, literally sprinting towards the guy she first met at Tsukihama (and then met again at Tower). “Ushiwaka! Hey, Ushiwaka!”

Ushijima comes to a halt. He turns around and sees Takenaka Shiori, clad in athleisure wear (or whatever [L/N] called it, he thinks). She looks just like every other athlete on campus right now. He has to physically prevent himself from telling her that she should have gone to Shiratorizawa.

“Takenaka? What are you doing here?”

“Could you show me to the main building? I need to pick some stuff up for my brother.”

Although he's a bit slow to process things, it eventually hits him like a truck: this is Takenaka Shiori, the competition that Higuchi Ryoko so desperately dreads.

“Pull out and pick me before Takenaka agrees to seeing you again, or lose your window to professional volleyball success. It’s that simple.”

This is the clarity he’s been asking for, and the universe has conspired to give him an answer.

All he needs to do is get Takenaka to agree to seeing him again.

And then he can continue appeasing his family.

And then that damn Higuchi can finally get off his back.

(Okay, he may not have the answer to the entire Schweiden Adlers signing problem, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.)

If choosing Takenaka over Higuchi was the same as picking the lesser evil, then anything shackling him to Higuchi must mean signing a deal with the literal devil. And he can’t afford that, especially not when he desperately wants to keep you in his life.

“Takenaka, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Oh. Oh, wait what?” she cocks her head, surprised at his sudden request. Woah there buddy, I just got here. “Sure…? But could you show me to the classrooms first?”

“Ah. Okay," he says, slowing down the cogs in his brain. "Follow me,” he scans his surroundings in hopes that no one from the disciplinary committee would be around during summer camp period. He doesn’t want to get caught for Assisted Trespassing all over again. And besides, he's met enough pretty disciplinary committee members to last him a lifetime (read: that means you).

Ushijima ushers her to the main building. “What class?”

“My brother’s in 2-1.”

“Second floor,” he says as he leads her to the staircase. “Why are you here?”

“My brother left his summer worksheets in school. He won’t be home until a few days before second term starts, so he asked me to pick them up.”

They continue walking up. “A family trip?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s off to visit relatives in America while I have to stay here,” she scoffs. “The things I do for my love of volleyball, huh.”

"Same," he utters, thinking of his current dilemma.

Ushijima slides the door to 2-1 open. Takenaka walks towards the desk nearest to the back door and picks up an envelope— the only goddamn envelope in this entire room (seriously, how did that dumbass brother forget?).

“‘Kay, I got what I was looking for. Thanks for the help,” she seats herself on the edge of wooden table and stretches her long, three-stripped clothed legs out. “What do you need, my guy?”

“Concerning the matchmaking ordeal, I need you to express that you’d like to see me again.”

She scrunches her brows. “Ushiwaka, I like girls.”

“Yeah, me too. Not girls. I mean I like one girl. And she’s not you.”

“Then why are you asking me to do this?”

“Because Tendou Satori and I are being blackmailed by our manager.”

Takenaka’s face contorts into an expression of pure bewilderment. “What?”

“Higuchi Ryoko wants me to retract my intentions of seeing you again, and instead pick h—“

“Hol-hold up,” she swings her arms up in confusion, “could you start from the very beginning? Like, from the very top,” her butt leaves the table and assumes the comfier position of her brother’s chair. “Okay, go.”

Ushijima settles himself on the seat adjacent hers. He begins talking about everything, like everything from day one of the matchmaking debacle— from his family’s blatant disapproval for his feelings for you, to the arrangement of a matchmaker as a countermeasure, to second choice that is Higuchi Ryoko, to the confrontation during his birthday last week, to the blinding Oikawa Tooru statement, and to the implicating security footage that could kick Tendou Satori out of the team.

It takes a while for her brain to digest the information. Half of the reason is because his life sounds batshit-crazy. The other half is because she's amazed at how he managed to deadpan an entire retelling of a Korean drama-like plotline within five minutes, no stopping.

And then like a ticking time bomb, the anger spreads throughout her veins.

"Dude..." she barely whispers. "That Higuchi chick's an absolute psychopath. And she thinks she can get away with it, just because her dad is the chief executive?”

“Yes. That’s why I need you to interfere as soon as possible.”

She scratches her tousled hair. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. And there’s no telling when she’ll use the camera footage either,” she sighs. “Tendou-kun is an amazing player. I’d be furious if he got kicked out due to false allegations.”

He nods.

Takenaka purses her lips in thought. “Okay, so let’s say I do commit to seeing you again, what’s in it for me?”

Ushijima stares at her, pensive expression on his face. And then he remembers a key statement from their meeting at Tower.

“Didn’t you say our parents want us to get ‘fixed’?”

“Yeah?”

“If you agree to meeting me again, your parents will think you have interest in me. It will give them the idea that you are, what they think is, ‘fixed’.”

“What?!” she cocks her head back. “You're asking me to play right into their plans. I don’t want to lie to myself like that.”

“I’m not asking you to lie to yourself. I’m asking you to lie to your family— to my family, to Higuchi as well. We don’t have to actually be together.”

Takenaka's eyes squint at him. “Is this a shoujo manga or something?”

“What?”

“Fake dating. You’re essentially asking me to fake date you.”

“We’re not going to be dating.”

"Ushiwaka," her jade irises have now lit up, "fake dating, fake arrangement, whatever you call this— you're asking me to lie about a huge part of my identity. I know my family isn't happy with my orientation, but that doesn't mean I'd be willing to resort to that."

Ushijima shakes his head. "Listen— we’re both in our third years. Soon enough, we'll graduate and go our separate ways. Are you entering university, or are you going to the league?”

Where is he going with this?

“University, hopefully," she answers anyway. "I want to play collegiate before going professional. Just— somewhere not here in Sendai. I can’t stand this old town.”

“I’m going straight into the league after I graduate. I was gifted my own condo unit last week because my family thinks it’d be better if I lived nearer the training facilities.”

“Okay?” her voice lilts, “what’s your point?”

“We’ll be moving out of our houses soon. We’ll be away from our families, away and on our own. Just agree to the arrangement for the sake of appearances, let things die down, then we can break it off— and none of our parents will object if we say it’s because you’re moving away for university and I’m staying in Sendai.”

"But won't they just set us up with different people again?"

"How can they if we'll be living away from them? I've resided in the Shiratorizawa dorms for the past three years. When I'm away for school, I have the freedom to do whatever I want. When you're off to Tokyo and I'll be living in my own place, we'll be too preoccupied with our own lives. Our parents won't have to bother us anymore."

"Still!" Takenaka shoots back, momentarily surprising Ushijima. "It doesn't feel right! Why do I have to live a lie before I can be accepted by my own family? I don't understand!"

He curls his southpaw hand into a tense grip and his chest pangs with a familiar pain. "There are individuals who will never understand why we like the people we like. I wish your dad would support your feelings as I wish the same for my mother and grandmother. But even if they're our family members, we're still our own persons. It's not up to us to make them understand," he relaxes himself.

And he remembers Semi's words of advice:

“We’re rooting for you guys. You can’t find that with your mom or your grandma or whatever, but you can find that with us."

"We just have to surround ourselves with the people who do."

Ushijima's gaze strengthens. "You don't have to lie about your identity with me," he attests. "I already told you before. If you like someone, then you like someone. That's all there is to it, and I hope you get with her someday."

She gives in to a shy, deeply comforted smile.

This is possibly the most profound thing Takenaka has heard Ushijima come out with. Maybe initially pinning him as bit… bovine… was a mistake. With how well he takes note of details, he’s surprisingly perceptive.

She slumps over the wooden desk. “Okay,” she slaps the surface as she hauls herself up, “but on one condition. No, two conditions.”

Sigh. Takenaka Shiori and her Asian Bargaining gene.

"First condition: help me get with my crush."

He nods, not fully understanding the implications to this.

“Second condition: you cannot tell anyone about this scheme. Not a single soul.”

Ushijima watches her push her brother’s chair back in. “No one at all?”

“Um, yeah?! If anyone finds out, then our covers will be blown. You’ll have to get matched with that Higuchi whatever, I’ll have to be shipped off to another exclusive members club with a stupid dress code just to meet the next rich boy they hope to pair me up with. We’ll both be stuck in limbo for the remainder of our high school lives.”

“Even if they're my teammates?”

“Especially if they're your teammates! I’m telling you dude, you think seven other people is a small number, but sooner or later you’ll have to clean up after whoever accidentally blabbed about our fake d— fake arrangement scheme!”

Hmm. She’s right. Goshiki seems the type.

Ushijima stands up and pushes the borrowed chair back in. “Let me tell [L/N], at least. I don’t want her to think that you and I are actually interested in each other. If I keep this from her, it might… sabotage my chances of being with her.”

Takenaka’s backside leans on the table. “Are you sure about that?”

She thumbs the envelope full of worksheets. “Ushiwaka, I don’t know how to break it to you, but there are some really complicated things to this whole matchmaking ordeal. We’re already losing our heads over this, how much more if you tell her?”

“She’s not dumb. I’ll just tell her it was my mother’s decision, not mine. She’ll understand.”

“I didn’t say she was dumb! I’m talking about—“

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

【  ＴＥＮＤＯＵ　ＳＡＴＯＲＩ】

Click!

“Where are you?! Coach Washijo has been looking for you!”

“I’m in the main building.”

“What the hell are you doing there? Actually, just hurry up and get to the gym. We’re waiting for you before we head to lunch.”

“Okay.”

Click!

“Come on,” Ushijima walks out of the classroom. “Let’s go.”

The boys look at Takenaka as if she was a mirage.

Despite being clad in her homely sportswear (leggings, t-shirt, running shoes, and a stained zipper jacket— is that ramen broth?) she looks immaculate against the lunchtime sun that hangs outside the court. Now, she was by no means the cutesy idol archetype that most boys spend their high school lives pining over, but she did carry a radiant, larger-than-life beauty that was all the more appended by her gamine features. Despite the unassuming outfit that drapes over her towering physique, Takenaka Shiori looks just as grand as she did back in Tsukihama. And had Yamagata's growth spurt gifted him a few inches taller, he would have definitely asked for her number back then.

Ushijima brings her to the gym, teammates staring stupefied at the unexpected company.

“I found Takenaka,” he says as if it was as mundane as buying iced coffee from a vending machine.

Semi’s mouth gapes open. “Wakatoshi, don’t tell me you ran off and went to her house too?”

The rest of the team looks at Semi, completely perplexed. "Huh?"

“Yes, I ran off. But no, I found her in school.”

Shirabu scrunches his eyebrows. “Found her in school? Wh—“

“Basically!” Takenaka cuts, “I snuck in to pick up my brother’s summer homework,” and then Yamagata’s face grimaces at the thought of those dreaded papers piled up in his home, “but Ushiwaka passed by me and we ended up talking for a while.”

She scans everyones faces. “So,” she says, leaning by the doorway, “Higuchi Ryoko, huh?”

That wolfish grin on her face is speaking volumes right now. The boys don’t even have to ask any further.

Except maybe Goshiki.

“Ushijima-san told you about her?!”

She snickers. “Dude, he told me everything. And I mean everything. I’m going to express intentions of seeing him again.”

“But Ushijima-san likes [L/N]-senpai though…”

Takenaka turns her head to Ushijima. “I know he does, but I’m here to disengage whatever chokehold that Higuchi girl has on you guys.”

“Takenaka is correct, and—“

And then she shoots him a glare. Okay, don’t say anything more!

“Anyway!” she interrupts, “just count my intervention as a personal favour to the Shiratorizawa VBC. I’d hate it if a blocker as crazy good as Tendou-kun got kicked out, especially with how bad he snuffed me back in Tsukihama! I’m still salty about that, damn it!”

Tendou guffaws and he feels like the weight of the world leaves his body. “Alright already, we get it!”

“Well, there you have it!” Takenaka pulls her leggings up and the band snaps! against her waist. She puts her hands on her hips, tutting her chin up. “Now, why don’t I swoop in Captain Marvel style and show you guys how real girls handle fights?”

Higuchi, as peppy as she has been for the past week, took it upon herself to consolidate game stats (and eventually botch them as she always would) during the lunch break. The manager was cooped up in the volleyball quarters on the third floor of the Shiratorizawa clubroom building.

The same building where Andou and Fujimori lost their mobile phones. Which is weird… because there are no surveillance cameras in here, but there are a couple planted at the food hall, the school gates, and the main entrances to the male and female dorms.

The manager slides the door open and skips down the hallway, towards the stairwell leading down.

Only to see her beloved, held-at-gunpoint ace.

“Wakatoshi-kun! Have you finally decided?” she curls her lip up in a Cheshire cat smile.

But then, Tendou’s head comes into view. And then Ohira’s. And then Semi, and Yamagata, and Shirabu, Kawanishi, Goshiki— wait a minute. Why’s everyone here?

“Yes, I have decided.”

And then finally, Takenaka Shiori. Higuchi feels a bone marrow-chill.

Takenaka catches Higuchi’s double take on her. Because of that, the taller girl can’t help but feel excitement spiking up in her blood. “Hey! Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’ve committed to seeing Ushiwaka again.“

“Since when?!”

“Since just now! I guess that concludes the matchmaking ordeal, huh?”

Higuchi walks to the top of the staircase, essentially barring the team from walking further up. She scoffs. “I don’t buy it. There’s no way Wakatoshi-kun will say no to me. I’m his sure-fire way of making it in professional volleyball.”

Takenaka takes a step up. She’s now level with Goshiki and Kawanishi. “Really? What makes you say that?”

Higuchi crosses her arms and holds her head high, looking down on the rest of the group as if they were measly peasants. “My daddy’s the chief executive of the V-League. Aren’t you supposed to be another volleyball-brained girl from Niiyama? Why don’t you know this?”

Takenaka walks up some more, past Shirabu and now beside Yamagata. “Ohhh,” she drawls, “you’re related to that Higuchi-san!”

The manager raises a brow at her sudden grin. “Yeah, stupid. Higuchi Souji, the same guy who’s responsible for putting Black Jackals on the map! He was the MVP of the league back in his heyday!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Takenaka’s dashing up now, she makes it past Semi and Ohira. “I remember him!” she stands beside Ushijima. “He’s the same guy who made headlines for doping, right?!”

Goshiki turns to Kawanishi. “Doping?”

Takenaka turns her torso around to affirm the rookie ace. “Yeah, you heard it! Her dad used drugs while he played for the league!”

Shirabu senses where she’s going with this. He clears his throat in an attempt to mask his chuckle. “Doping is the use of performance-enhancing drugs to maximize the body’s potential. Basically, it’s a form of cheating.”

Everyone’s gazes flit to a very red-face Higuchi. Takenaka's expression is strangely excited. “Well, it was only a matter of time before people found out. His skills were kinda superhuman, anyway. Although your dad did put the Black Jackals on the map, it’s not in the way most athletes would have wanted it.”

Higuchi feels like a lump in her throat is preventing her from replying. Takenaka takes another step up and she’s now levelled with the manager at the top of the staircase.

“Hey, and your dad married that lady from the entertainment industry, right? Yikes,” she pulls a sour expression. Higuchi takes full offense for the cryptic claim, which has garnered questioning looks from the boys.

“Don’t talk about my mom like that! She makes an honest living, she’s a manager for one of Japan’s top PR companies!”

Takenaka’s green eyes begin to twinkle. She takes a step towards Higuchi. “Hey, I didn’t know that until now, but thanks for spelling it out for me!”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean, you bitch?”

“Your dad’s a really smart guy for marrying someone who can do a complete overhaul of his image— following… you know, his doping scandal— it just goes to show how proper PR can do wonders, huh? In media, anyone’s forgetful enough if you know what strings to pull!”

Takenaka begins to loom over her and Higuchi, as dumbstruck as she already is, does nothing but crane her head up to the towering volleyball player. For the past three years, Higuchi has worked with boys taller than Takenaka is— but why is it now that the manager feels like 5'10" is so mind-numbingly colossal?

“Your mom must be really good at her job. She got to sell you out to some teen magazine, too. Seriously, you look nothing like the cover you did for Seventeen. Tell me, how much did they photoshop?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Higuchi spat, “you have no idea who you’re talking to! My dad runs the professional volleyball scene, I can destroy Wakatoshi-kun’s and your chances of getting scouted!”

Takenaka’s eyes widen in feigned astonishment, jade irises flickering with green poison. “Destroy me? Sweetie, I don’t think you know who you’re up against.”

“Really?! I don’t think I recall any Takenaka Bank parading around the association as a sponsor!”

Takenaka scoffs. And then she chuckles. And then she begins full-on laughing.

And then that boyish charm switches into raging aggression.

Higuchi breaks into a cold sweat. “What are you laughing about, you deranged bitch?!”

Takenaka collects her face before breaking into a warped smile. “I’m not talking about team sponsors, you dumbass. My dad is MSBY’s biggest shareholder.”

“What?" Higuchi's eye twitches, "what’s that supposed to mean? Sports teams don’t have shareholders, they only get sponsors—“

The taller girl’s mouth straightens into an instantaneous line. “Are you dumb?” she snarls, “This isn't about the Black Jackals. I’m talking about the 'MSBY' in MSBY Black Jackals. Did you forget that the team your dad played for is corporately owned by MSBY, an automobile manufacturing company?”

Her face inches nearer to the manager, who is now too stunned to say anything. “The same team your dad found fame and fortune in is the same team that thrives on my dad’s 60% stock shares. In case your volleyball brain doesn’t know what that means— we’re the same people who paid your dad to play. You'd be nowhere without our money. You have no idea how much shit MSBY had to put up with when your dad's doping scandal broke out. He’s lucky to have ducked out of that. He's luckier that the previous executive board consisted of a bunch of saggy old men; he just had to wait until most of them kicked the bucket. That made his rise— his expertly-covered rise— to the corporate side of the association just way too easy. Do you think I respect him, that cheating, lying son of a bitch? His position in the league means nothing to me.”

Higuchi, whose eyes are now welling up with tears, pushes Takenaka away in an attempt to stumble her down the staircase—

but she’s not strong enough. She never will be strong enough— not only physically, but socio-economically too.

Takenaka reaches out and holds Higuchi by the collar, balling the fabric so tight that it makes the manager tiptoe to accommodate the height of her grip. “Now, how would you feel if I told my daddy that Higuchi-san’s daughter tried to push me off the stairs today? Can you imagine the wave of anger he’d come to? To hear the daughter of the same guy that knocked MSBY’s stock prices down now attempting to actually knock his own daughter, his flesh and blood off a staircase? It’d sure be a waste, huh? After what your dad did to cover up his scandal, his efforts of clawing up the executive board. Your dad did so many unspeakable things to get to where he is right now. Do you think he’d appreciate it if he found out that it was sabotaged by his bitchy little daughter who rides off his newfound money and fame?”

Takenaka lets go of her track jacket. Higuchi stumbles back and her face contorts into an expression of agonizing pain— only now it’s completely genuine. Fat tears begin trailing down her face.

“You talk like you’re the end-all, be-all to Ushiwaka’s volleyball career," she sneers. "Your dad’s just another chief executive in this grand scheme of things. The V-League is upheld by countless of other companies and corporations.”

She squats down and puts a thumb on Higuchi’s chin, tilting her head up. “And you know what? My dad’s connected to each. and. every. one. of them. Hell, he even went golfing with the CEO of Schweiden the other week. But it’s not like you know, right? You barely know a thing about this scene. You’re just another nouveau riche girl, hoping to climb up the social stratosphere— so don’t let this shit get to your delusional little head. There will always be bigger people who can and will put you in your place..."

Higuchi sniffles, that little snot-nosed brat trembling in front of Takenaka. "... and I am more than happy to become that very reminder.”

Takenaka raises her nose and assumes full height, now looking down on Higuchi’s sobbing form. “If you dare corner the VBC again, I will make sure that your dad will be jobless within the next twenty-four hours. Go ahead and play with the school's security footage all you want, because I'll be waiting to unearth your dad's buried scandal.”

Takenaka turns on her heel. 180 degree turn.

When she meets eyes with the VBC, she breaks into a pearly white smile. Now that's another 180 degree turn from her sadistic little speech.

“Let’s get outta here.”

“Holy shit,” Tendou hyperventilates as they run down the staircase, “my heart is racing so fast."

"I think I went overboard there, oh my god, I don't know what came over me. I just blacked out," Takenaka erupts into unhinged laughter.

"Dude, you might as well have cursed her entire bloodline!" Semi exclaims.

Their frantic steps echo throughout the stairwell. "Takenaka-san," Shirabu peers at her, "you might have to get checked for anger management."

Ushijima chuckles under his breath. After departing from the clubroom building, the blinding sun greets them with the heat of August. “You did more than enough, but I'm grateful for it. Thank you.”

“It’s no big deal!” she gleams as if she didn't verbally batter their manager just a minute ago.

The boys escort one of the Niiyama Queens back to her parked BMW X5 SUV outside campus.

“Takenaka-san, I didn’t know your family was that… powerful,” Ohira mentions.

“Don’t remind me. I don’t want to make it look like I was flaunting for the hell of it, okay! I really wasn't,” she sheepishly scratches her taupe locks, “… besides, Shirabu-kun would understand me.”

Shirabu whips his head to her. “Me?”

“Yes, Mr. Heir-To-The-Azuma-Pharmacy-Corporation!”

Shock thunders in on Shirabu’s face. He shoots Takenaka an intense glare and Kawanishi laughs at the way the setter's eyes almost bulge out of its sockets. “Takenaka-san, why’d you say that?!”

Goshiki nearly jumps out of his skin. “What?! Like the Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets, the Div-1 team?!”

“That’s them!” Takenaka smiles smugly. “Hey, if I had to reveal myself back there, then you should come clean about that too!”

Shirabu rolls his eyes. This is the thing with these old money families— they value privacy like it's more precious than gold itself. “It’s not like I ever had to bring it up, anyway…”

Tendou leans in to whisper to Semi. “So that’s why he didn’t bother getting in through scholarship…”

“Wait,” Yamagata turns to Shirabu. “Why’s it called Azuma if you’re Shirabu?”

“Mom’s side of the family,” he plainly says.

“Is that why you’re studying for med school? To take up the family business?” Kawanishi asks.

“Not really. I’d rather work in a hospital with actual patients than in an office with clients.”

Takenaka nudges Yamagata. “Yeah. On the other hand, his dad happens to be Tohoku region’s top orthopaedic surgeon. He was the one who treated my sister’s knee injury before she retired from volleyball.”

"So you're balling on both sides, basically," Yamagata's eyes widen.

Shirabu's ears flush red.

Semi leans back to whisper to Tendou. "And that's why his uncle allowed us to borrow that huge beach house at Tsukihama."

Takenaka enthusiastically nods. "Yeah! And then—"

Shirabu grumbles. “I think you’ve said enough, Takenaka-san!”

Goshiki pops in front of him. “Shirabu-san, the Green Rockets are favourite Div-1 team! Do you think,” he twiddles with his thumbs, “when I graduate, you could—“

“No.”

And then Goshiki deflates.

Upon seeing Takenaka approach, her driver scuttles out of his seat to open the passenger door for her.

“How do you know all this, Takenaka?” Ushijima questions.

Takenaka giggles. “Ushiwaka, either you’ve been spending too much time playing volleyball, or you’re just selectively oblivious to these things. We already established this before— these circles are small," she tosses her brother's envelope inside the car. "You just have to know where to look.”

The ace looks to Shirabu, who wordlessly nods.

She hops in the leather seat. “Well, good luck with the rest of training camp. See you guys at Nationals.”

"Takenaka-chan, thanks again!" Tendou buzzes. "Can I marry you?!"

Her car engine starts to rev. "Not happening!"

He pouts. "Meh, I tried."

They bid their farewells. The team squeezes in their last-minute lunch before resuming practice. Despite Coach Washijo slurring all sorts of scoldings for the captain’s sudden disappearance, he doesn’t find the need to tell him off for lagging performance anymore.

Higuchi Ryoko suddenly leaves camp later that day, telling the coaches she wasn’t feeling well.

Ushijima was relieved to hear this. And for the first time in his life, that same relief is shared for knowing he can rely on the people belonging to these ‘circles’.

Chapter Text

Your family name doesn’t carry any influential connections.

Unlike Takenaka Shiori, your dad doesn’t preside over northern Japan’s biggest private bank. Unlike Shirabu Kenjirou, you don’t have Tohoku’s most sought-after orthopaedic doctor on speed dial. Unlike Ushijima Wakatoshi, you can’t say that your family either owns or has built over 40% of modern-day Sendai city.

You can’t. It’s a circumstance that, sadly, you weren’t born into.

Despite that, you’re proud of the people that constitutes your family— with your dad’s recent promotion as non-equity partner to the Watanabe Law Offices (of the Watanabe Masahiro that you go to school with), your indoctrinated life into the prestigious Shiratorizawa Academy has brought windfalls of personal growth and opportunity. Although your mom's job resignation was submitted seventeen years ago out of her maternal dedication to raise you, your dad's paycheques have been enough to keep the family afloat— you could even say things are going swimmingly. The three-member family life that is woven into your humble abode has been nothing but peaceful.

To Mari and Atsushi,

Happy 18th anniversary! We wish you many more years together.

with love from our family,

Hitoshi, Yuka, Kenta, and Kaori

You place the greeting card on the kitchen counter and unravel the silk-like ribbon that enwraps a brown box. Lifting the cover off, a strawberry shortcake with intricate buttercream piping and honey-glazed strawberries sit on the top like a glossy crown.

You gasp. “Mom! It’s cake!” you whip your head towards her, “I mean it’s Aunt Yuka’s cake— the one from her bakery!”

Your mom pokes her head out of the pantry. “What?!”

She scampers from one end to the kitchen to another. Peeking into the box, you catch her eyes widen in astonishment.

“I can’t believe her!”

You tilt a brow. “What do you mean? Isn’t this amazing? I haven’t had any of her delicious cakes since our last trip to Hyogo!”

Mari pulls her phone out of her pajama bottoms and calls her sister-in-law. She picks up in two rings.

“Yuka! You’re crazy!”

Aunt Yuka’s boisterous laughter bellows through the phone.

“I’m glad you like the gift!”

“How much did you spend to have this delivered?!”

“Don’t worry about the cost! Have you tried it yet? I’ve refined the recipe since then and customers are flooding in left, right, and centre!”

Mari squeezes the bridge of her nose.

“We just opened the box. Come on, Yuka. Kobe to Sendai express delivery? That must’ve cost a fortune! You could've placed an order from a Sendai-based bakery, that would've been more sensible! Not to mention budget-friendly!”

“Shh, be quiet and have the cake! Have I told you yet? Kaori couldn’t stop raving about the tanabata festival and Kenta said he had ‘fun’— can you believe it? ‘Fun’ coming from Kenta! They can’t wait to visit again. Just think of it as an anniversary gift plus a thank-you gift for watching over the kids.”

Mari sighs.

“Alright, alright,” she resigns with a defeated smile. “We’ll enjoy every bite. Thank you so much, Yuka. I can’t wait to dig in.”

“Put it up on Instagram and tag me! I recently created a page for the bakery. Follow me back, will you? I need all the advertising I can get!” she requests with a giggle.

“I will! Take care and see you again soon!”

Mari ends the call and shoves her phone back in her pocket. She then delicately takes the cake out of its box casing to set it up on tiled kitchen counter.

You watch her snap away tens, twenties of photos on her phone.

“We're lucky that your dad’s side of the family takes care of us well,” your mom utters in between photo flashes. “Your cousins said they enjoyed visiting. You’re like a big sister to them, do you know that? That’s why you have to be a good role model to them. They’re the only family we have.”

Your chest warms at the memory of Kaori throwing a fit the day after the tanabata festival and Kenta departing the house with a dejected look on his face. “Yeah, of course,” you fiddle with the ribbon that came with the box.

The only family we have.

“Mom, can I ask you something?”

Snap! “Sure, honey.”

“Do you ever feel sad that I'm not able to meet your side of the family?”

Mari’s finger pauses mid-tap. She takes a calculated breath. “No, not really. It was just a matter of circumstance.”

Mari was raised by a distant family relative. When you first grasped the concept of in-laws and extended families, your mother came clean about her parentage: born as an illegitimate child, Mari's birth was kept a secret from her father’s legal wife. She was secretly mothered by your late Great-Aunt Noriko, who used to live on the other side of Sendai until her quiet death. Or so you remember it like that. All the information you've collected so far has been pieced up and stored in your brain throughout the years.

Your mom meets your gaze. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you sad about it?”

You purse your lips. You’re not quite sure what to tell her. Although Great-Aunt Noriko was the closest thing to a blood relative your mom had, you don’t know if the longing to know more about her family is a feeling you'd allow yourself to tend to. Conversations like these came few and far in between out of respect for your mother’s iniquitous past. If she was willingly given up by her own parents, then would it really be okay for you to insist on poking family wounds?

“No.”

Mari puts her phone face-down on the counter. “Okay, then neither am I. I’m not sad if you’re not sad.”

She smiles apologetically.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

She squeezes your hand. “Don’t apologize. I don’t blame you. Let’s just be happy with the family we have in our lives, okay?”

You smile. “Okay.”

Atsushi comes home for lunch not long after. Treading carefully past the genkan, he coops himself in the makeshift home office room that used to be the house’s only spare bedroom. 

You knock on the door and you hear your dad scrambling from inside.

“Dad, it’s just me.”

His voice is muffled. “Oh! Okay, come in.”

You inch the door open and creep into the the cramped study room, imposing wall-height bookshelves greeting you with layers upon layers of law textbooks.

From behind the table, he peeks his head out of the oak study. “Is your mom still upstairs?”

“Yeah, she’s folding laundry.”

He sighs as he crawls out of the underside, sinking into his swivel chair. “Phew, okay good. Come look at the arrangement I got for her.”

You pad along the wooden floor and make your way to your dad’s heavily-disordered desk. Underneath, you’re greeted by the lushest arrangement of pink hydrangeas, asiatic lilies, alstroemerias, and white carnations accented by the dreamiest baby’s breaths and other striking greens.

“No wonder you couldn’t hide it anywhere else. This bouquet is huge.”

The side of his mouth tugs up. “Right? Each year's arrangement looks bigger than the last. It's the least I could do for giving your mom those cheesy roses in the first half of our marriage.”

“Speaking of,” you lean on the wooden desk, “I did some math. It’s about the date of your anniversary and the date of my birth.”

“I know where you’re going with this,” he interrupts with a mortified glare. “Don’t ask me unless your mom is around.”

You giggle. “Okay, fine. Can we have lunch now?”

“Sure, go ahead and call your mom. I’ll wait downstairs with the bouquet.”

Mari nearly screams at the sight of her husband holding a flower arrangement that’s half his size.

You laugh as you replay the expertly-directed footage of your dad’s surprise. While you rewatch your mom almost fling herself from the staircase and into your dad's bouquet-cradling arms, your parents are digging into the folds of sashimi that sit in a blooming flower arrangement, set smack in the middle of the elaborately-designed black and red container. These expensive, high-grade sushi platters were only ever ordered during special events.

Mari begins to attack the nigiri selection.

You whip your head away from your phone. “Ah! Don’t finish the ebi!”

She knits her brows. “Stop using your phone, then!”

You pick your chopsticks up and collect two ebi nigiri pieces.

“Mom, I have a question.”

"Hmph! Another one?”

“Not about your family this time. It’s about you and dad.”

Your dad’s gaze flits from the tobiko gunkan and to the mischievous glimmer in your eyes.

“So your anniversary is on August 24, right.”

“Mhmm,” she hums as she chews, eyes scanning which sushi to pick next.

“And I was born on December 25.”

“Mhmm,” she picks the tamagoyaki.

“That’s four months after you and dad got married.”

The yellow block of nigiri sushi stops halfway into her mouth.

“Which means you were pregnant with me even before you and dad got married.”

“No,” she resumes, shoving the tamagoyaki into her mouth. “You’re adopted.”

And then stillness permeates into the air.

“Mom!” you erupt into laughter, “as if! I look like an exact replica of you—“

“You’re the counterfeit product,” she jests.

“I’m not done yet! With how I look exactly like you, there’s no way I’m adopted. So just tell me already, I was conceived out of wedlock right?”

Atsushi shakes his head. “Why are you asking this? What matters is that we love you, you go to a good school, you have a roof over your head, and you have food on the table.”

You pout. “Because the other day, Yumi sent me some photos from her dad and stepmom’s wedding.”

Mari's face pulls into a grimace. “I can’t believe her dad remarried with someone who’s young enough to look like a big sister to Yumi-chan.”

“Exactly!” your eyes widen, “which is why Yumi’s been such a b— I mean, she doesn’t exactly like her stepmom. Anyway, that’s besides the point! We started talking about wedding photos and then I had this epiphany."

"What's that?"

"I realized that I’ve never seen any of your wedding photos. So that got me thinking…“

Mari nudges Atsushi’s leg under the table. He shoots her a glance.

“… Did you marry dad because you got knocked up?”

There’s a beat of silence before Mari breaks into a guffaw. Atsushi, on the other hand, nearly chokes on sumeshi. “[F/N]!” he says, “how dare you! In front of the food, really?!”

“Okay, okay!” you throw your hands up in defeat, “I’m sorry!”

“Noooo,” Mari wipes a tear away from her eye. “Don’t get mad at her, Atsu!”

Your dad clicks his tongue, his face looking as red as the maguro on his plate.

Mari recollects her composure. “Whether or not I had you in my belly, your dad and I decided long ago that we’d get married.”

You cock an eyebrow up, not exactly buying her statement. “Really? How long ago?”

“Even before we graduated from university. Well, undergrad for me.”

Your eyes flicker in astonishment. “That early?”

Your dad nods. “Believe it or not, your mom wanted to get married a month after our graduation. She couldn’t wait. I was the one who told her I wanted to at least become a junior associate first.”

Your mom sets her chopsticks down. “That’s true. While your dad was getting his law degree and studying for the bar, I was already working.”

You dip some salmon sashimi into ponzu sauce. “Yeah okay, but what about the wedding?”

“What about it?”

“Was it like, a secret shotgun wedding? Is that why you don’t have any photos from the ceremony?”

Your mom purses her lips, a few seconds passing before she responds. “Sweetie, just because there aren’t any photos doesn’t mean it was a secret shotgun wedding. We had a civil wedding. It was quiet and intimate, followed by a nice dinner with your Great-Aunt Noriko and your dad’s side of the family— your grandma and grandpa— bless their souls— and Uncle Hitoshi. We didn’t want to shell out so much cash with a baby on the way.”

“I see,” you munch on the soft fish.

Mari and Atsushi share heavy gazes.

“[F/N],” your dad pulls his glasses down. “We don’t have much in our lives, but we have everything— and everyone— we could ever possibly need.”

Your irises flutter up and they land on your dad staring back at you.

“I know,” you give him a reassuring smile. “I have always known that. And I am proud to be your daughter, proud to have grown up with the family that surrounds me.”

Mari’s eyes soften. “It could be a lot worse, you know?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, thinking of Yumi’s family situation. Not that she's ever gone into detail, but you do know that her mom had filed for divorce upon finding out that her dad had been cheating on her with one of the show girls that worked for his many luxury car show events. You love Yumi to death, you really do, but a part of you thinks that it's completely absurd for these for these ultra-rich men to be moneyed enough to buy themselves out of long and winding divorce settlements. You liken the phenomenon of divorcing and remarrying younger, prettier wives to upgrading cars— done every several years from now as an upgrade.

Your gaze flits to your parents. “Happy eighteenth anniversary, mom and dad.”

You watch them turn their heads towards each other. A lingering glance, a shy smile. On any other day, you’d tell them off for being so openly gross towards each other, especially in front of you, their only daughter— but today is a special day. Eighteen years of marriage. Many more since falling in love. Your chest blooms with a tenderness so intoxicating that it creeps up to your pinking face, tugging your heartstrings with a force strong enough to make you smile.

You hope that one day, you’ll find a love like theirs.

And then you think about that brilliant view back at the aquarium— Ushijima Wakatoshi covered in a blanket of comforting, deep-sea blue, his usually olive eyes taking a glint so radiant it could put gold bars to shame.

He looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars. And for some reason, you felt like your wavelengths matched at that very moment in time.

Your belly breaks into butterflies at the memory.

【ＵＳＨＩ】

August 26, 2:32 PM

ushi: Hi.

ushi: Training camp is finished. We’re going to karaoke for a joint celebration since it was Goshiki’s birthday last Wednesday.

ushi: Karaoke wasn’t my idea, by the way. It was Tendou’s.

August 26, 2:43 PM

ushi: Can you come?

August 26, 3:16 PM

You: hi!!

You: yeah goshiki-kun’s bday was a week after yours!! i greeted him through textt

You: i can drop by and say hello but i can’t stay for long

You: i have to be up early tomorrow morning, i’m going on a trip with yumi

ushi: That’s okay. I just need you to come. I have to talk to you about something.

You: about what??

You: is it important?

ushi: Yes. I’ll tell you in person. I’d like you to know before you hear it from anyone else.

You: ok send me the location

While you’re confined to train carriages and away from the cloistered walls of your house, your parents are caught in an intricate conversation about family.

"... and then I told her 'no, I'm not sad if you're not sad'."

Atsushi pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You can’t keep this up, you know. You barely wormed your way out of [F/N]’s questions. The lies will continue to pile up and you'll eventually run out of space for it.”

Mari shifts her gaze from the same book sentence she's been rereading. She watches her husband, hunched over a mountain of papers and scribbling away.

“We’ve lived nearly two decades without any contact from them," she says, "and we can live decades more without it."

Atsushi sighs and he peels his gaze off the case he's working on. “But why deprive [F/N] of the opportunity of knowing them?”

The book in Mari’s hands close shut. “Please don’t talk like I actually owe it to them to introduce my daughter."

"They're still your family."

"They still disowned me. That was their deliberate decision. And if they don’t want anything to do with me, then everyone in my family shouldn’t have anything to do with them."

Atsushi shoves his fountain pen into a tin mug that's overflowing with plenty more writing materials. He leans his body over the table, elbows out as his eyes fixate on the wife that sits at the opposite end of the room.

“Your father... called the office today.”

Mari feels a chill go down her spine. She blinks for a while, wordless.

“How’d he find you?”

“I work for the top legal firm in the prefecture and I'm their first non-family partner. Everyone knows the Watanabes only ever promote their brothers, uncles, or cousins to partners. It's a big deal for someone outside their family to have the title I currently hold— my name was bound to come up in your dad's crowd; it's big news.”

A disconcerting quiet fills the home office.

“And?”

“He asked me how you are. He’d like to see you again someday.”

Mari scoffs, but she can't deny the alarming panic that jumpstarts in her chest. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him you’re doing fine. I asked him if he was calling to inquire about legal services. He laughed and said no. And then I told him I had to go, I had cases to work on. The call ended not long after.”

“Did he ask?”

“About what?”

“About our daughter, Atsushi. Did he ask?”

“He didn't.”

Mari reclines into the linen couch. She breathes a sigh of relief, letting go of the raging hostility that shot up her brain.

“You can’t keep running away. And you can't keep hiding [F/N] the way you do— the way you've always done for the past seventeen years. Eighteen now, later this year."

Atsushi angles his head towards the main hallway. "One of these days, your family will end up cornering you. Your dad has the resources to track us down and you would be lying to yourself if you deny it. It's only a matter of time.”

Mari shakes her head.

"Mari, you’ll have to open that door one day. And when you do, it will be your very face that greets them."

She returns to her book. “I’ll keep it locked, then.”

Chapter Text

Tendou is a god-awful singer next to Yamagata who has no inkling of what measured beats are. Their ear-piercing passion is all the more sustained by Goshiki’s frenetic cheering, coupled by Ohira’s courteous rounds of applause. Semi, who is the only person in the karaoke room with musical background, can’t even be bothered to join in on the uproar that they call singing. Kawanishi’s in a corner flipping through the song selection booklet while Shirabu is desperately texting his mom, asking if he could have the family driver pick him up in an hour from now on instead of two.

“Come on, Wakatoshi! You sing next!” Yamagata implores, shoving the microphone into the captain’s hands.

Three raps on the door. Ushijima whips his head towards the knock-knock-knock sound and shoves the microphone back to the libero’s hands. He swings the door open and his heart sings, no he swears it’s not Yamagata’s voice, at the view that he’s been longing to see after two whole weeks at training camp. You’re merely clad in a baby blue tunic dress, hair plainly styled, and outfit paired with no-brand block heel sandals. Is she wearing make-up? he thinks, with how radiant you look even underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, but then he’s not sure if blush is meant to be powdered to the tips of your ears— unbeknownst to him, his blood has shot up and coloured his face the same way.

And then you greet him with a grin that’s so invigorating he could probably run around school grounds and finish the supposed punishment jog that Coach Washijo gave him.

“You made it.”

You smile. His heart flutters.

“How could I miss it?”

He steps aside to allow you access to the room. After everyone has greeted your presence and yours to theirs, you run up to Goshiki with arms stretched out to envelop your big baby kouhai in a bear-hug. “Happy birthday, Goshiki-kun!”

“Thank you, [L/N]-senpai!” he squeezes you back, lifting your feet off the ground.

Ushijima scowls. Why didn’t I get that on my birthday?

“Ahem,” Ushijima interrupts.

You plop on the couch and put your phone on a side table. “How was training camp?”

Yamagata tosses the mic to Kawanishi. “The most eventful one yet.”

Tendou drops himself on the seat beside you. “You wanna know who made a special appearance? Guess.”

“No idea.”

“Just guess!”

“Oh my god,” you roll your eyes and laughter bubbles in your throat. “Just tell me!”

“Takenaka. Shiori.”

“What?!” your eyes widen. “Was it a joint training camp or something? With Niiyama?”

Your eyes flit to Ushijima. The idea of Ushijima the team spending prolonged time with those jaw-dropping beauties from Niiyama High makes your chest tighten in jealousy shock.

“No,” Semi answers. “It was just her. She kind of… helped us with a problem,” he trails off, looking intently at Ushijima.

Kawanishi inputs a series of numbers into the karaoke machine and the music begins to play again.

“Yeah?” your voice strengthens to overlap the opening notes of TWICE’s Fake & True, “about what?”

Tendou nudges Ushijima on the arm. “Wakatoshi-kun will tell you.”

“Oh right,” you speak over the blaring sound system, “you wanted to tell me something right, Ushi?”

Ushijima nods. He stands up and takes your hand.

“Woah there tiger, alone time already?" Yamagata teases, making Ohira chuckle discreetly.

“W-wait, where are we going?”

“Outside. It’s too loud.”

“I hope they come back this room as a couple,” Semi whispers to Tendou. The latter cocks his head back in agreeable laughter.

Ushijima leads you across the room and you think that the sensation of his hand wrapped around your own is something you can definitely get used to.

He brings you outside and closes the door behind you.

Click.

You lean on the wall beside the door. Although the room is supposedly soundproof, the door doesn’t provide as much noise reduction. Music remains to spill through the thin wood. Kawanishi’s muffled voice, however, is at a low enough volume to carry a conversation with Ushijima.

Your travelling gazes meet. And then the both of you look away, embarrassed.

Ah, the air feels so heavy. It’s like the first time he walked you home all over again. Your heart is thrumming. There’s so much you want to ask. How was the training camp? What’s Coach Washijo like? Do you feel stronger? And… how did Takenaka Shiori help out?

Oh dear. Do you dare step into that territory?

“So… Takenaka Shiori, huh?”

Nevermind. You walked right into it.

Ushijima nods. Your chest tightens some more.

“Before that, I need to give you some context first.”

And your chest loosens, just a bit. Just a tiny bit.

“She helped me and the team with a very big problem. We’re thankful she showed up at school during training camp.”

Ah, goddamn it. It tightens again. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump.

Your mouth is zipped shut, waiting for him to begin his story and her involvement in camp. Am I jealous that another girl has been spending time with the team? Of course not. What am I talking about, right? Ahaha. No way. I’m not jealous. Nooope.

Ushijima clears his throat. “As a result of her help, there might be rumours going around that Takenaka and I are now seeing each other.”

You visibly wince. It’s like you’ve been dunked in ice-cold water. “Huh?”

And then your face begins to flush. It feels as though your chest has begun pumping gallons and gallons of blood with every forceful heartbeat.

“But the truth is that we’re not together. I thought that I should tell you first before you hear it from anyone else. It’s a mere ‘arrangement’. My family’s business is involved in real estate, hers in private banking—“

“Private banking? Wait, she owns that Takenaka Bank?!”

“Yes. Our parents say that she and I should meet with the prospect of getting together, as with businesses-motivated,” he coughs, “marriages… usually do.“

You look at him, completely dumbstruck with his word choice. “Arranged? Business-marriage, w-what?” you stutter, “what do you mean?”

“We’ve been arranged to meet through a matchmaker. It’s normal for families like ours to do that.”

Like theirs? Like Sendai’s one percent?

“Business-motivated pairings are created with the prospect of company mergers through marriage. But don’t worry, none of this was agreed by me or Takenaka. In fact, we’re completely against it.”

You blink, not quite sure if you can comprehend the landslide of information.

“However, we’re going along with the whole… charade… to keep our families happy.”

It feels like the very air that surrounds you has thinned.

“W-wait. Let me get this straight, so your rich family matched you up with another rich family?”

“Yes.”

“With the intention to get you married off?”

Ushijima furrows his brows. “Well, that’s the norm within these circles—”

Circles?

“— but Takenaka and I believe that our parents set us up, not because they want to marry us off, but rather because they want to see us ‘fixed’.”

You tilt your head. “Fixed?”

“Yes, fixed because—“

And in that moment, Ushijima understood what Takenaka meant back in her brother’s empty classroom.

“Ushiwaka, I don’t know how to break it to you, but there are some really complicated things to this whole matchmaking ordeal. We’re already losing our heads over this, how much more if you tell her?”

He should have allowed her words to reverberate in his brain the way it did in those classroom walls.

“Because?”

He didn’t think this through.

What does he say?

‘They think any girl I show interest in should at least be backed up by an affluent background’? ‘They hate the thought of their Waka-chan liking a girl who isn’t born pedigreed enough’?

“Well?”

‘They’re not happy that I’ve been spending time with you’? ‘They don’t think you’re up to par with their standards’?

Ushijima fingers are fidgeting on his left hand.

“They…” he trails, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

’They think you’re a nobody’?

Your patient eyes are fixated on him, burning his throat dry with your curiosity.

“They… want me… to spend more time with someone from our circles.”

“What are those circles like?”

You know the answer to this. And yet, you want to hear it from Ushijima himself.

He blinks, his gaze faltering. Kawanishi’s voice gets stronger and the both of you can hear him belting out lyrics from the other side of this door.

Don't give up, reach out. Get it now, get it now, get it now.

You know already which is better. Get it now, get it now, get it now.

You wait for him to respond.

You can tell he's trying to recalibrate his words.

Two lines of a song pass before you reactivate the conversation for him.

“You mean the rich people scene, right? People whose last names are synonymous with big businesses, huge mountains of wealth, drivers and maids… You’re talking about the whole rich kid package, right?”

He nods, eyes not meeting yours.

“But none of that matters to me.”

“But to your family, it does.”

He doesn’t answer.

And it feels like a hole has ripped the earth, swallowing your body entirely and plunging you into an abysmal trench that drowns even your butterfly-induced fantasies.

"Whatever", "This is fine", "I'm not worthy"

Are those words true or fake?

Nothing but muffled lyrics are flooding into the empty hallway. Your face clouds over and Ushijima catches the change in your expression.

Something about the way your eyes mist up makes his heart crack.

“Is it because of me? Because I’ve been hanging out with you?”

Everything feels heavy and your mind tells you you’re underwater, waves engulfing you in slow motion, your vision beginning to blur.

“Did they set you up with Takenaka because they don’t like me? Me, who has only met your grandmother once and your mother not at all?”

He nods, not sure of what else he should say.

And then a riptide comes in to rupture your heart broken.

“They set you up with someone from those circles because I’m not a girl who’s from that upper crust, right? I wasn’t born into that echelon of society, so to them, it must have translated to a gold-digging girl hoping to mooch some money off of you."

"That's not true. You're not that."

"I know I'm not. But your family thinks so."

You blink and blink and blink the tears away.

“It makes sense why your grandmother asked for my last name when I first visited your house. She wasn’t doing it to know who I am, she was doing it to map me out in your rich people hierarchy.”

“You’re a new face, she wanted to know who I brought home,” he reasons.

“I don't think faces matter here. Family names do.”

You gather your feet and straighten your back, leaning away from the wall. Your chest is stinging, that sensation of hurt begging to float up from this thrashing sea of emotions so it could air itself out. “Remember that one conversation we had? The one at the courtyard?”

He furrows his brows, trying to recall that shared lunch. “You kept asking me… why I spend time with you.”

“That’s it. Because back then, I found it weird how a rando like me managed to stick around someone like you— Shiratorizawa’s golden boy. I told you I felt off; I stuck out like a sore thumb. And then you told me that I was just complicating things too much. And I thought ‘Oh, okay. Maybe you’re right.’ And for these past few months, I let myself get comfortable. Even with Higuchi being so nasty to me. But it’s so funny, I should have known by then. Her cornering me in Lawson was a warning sign. When it comes to our connection, maybe I did thank the stars too soon. Maybe I shouldn’t have strung myself around you, who— from day one, had always revolved in a different orbit.”

You back away from his blistering gaze, one step then two steps down the cold hallway. “I think I bit off more than I can chew. This is what happens when protagonists like you associate with background characters like me— it disrupts the natural order of things. My family doesn’t have the connections, perks, or financial assets that Takenaka— or any other rich girl— has. I’m no competition.”

You then begin rushing down the long, impossibly winding corridor. The floodgates open. Salty tears begin bursting out of your eyes.

And to think I was just coming to my feelings for him. Fuck.

Ushijima trails after you, his arm stretching out to hold onto your trembling hand. “No, listen—“

You jerk the caught hand away, resuming your walk down the hallway with him still chasing you. “I mean, I don’t have any of that. Everything my family has, we’ve worked hard for it,” you choke out, voice faltering, “we toiled blood, sweat, and tears just to get to where we are. Some of us weren’t born with silver spoons in our mouths.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—“

“Yeah,” and then halfway down the hall, you twirl around to look at him. He stops. There are tears flooding down your eyes, salty waves coming in to blur your vision. “I know you didn’t. It’s your family. And what can I do, right? We’re born worlds apart.”

And then Tendou swings the door open, the sound of a doorknob hitting the wall grounding you back on your feet. You hear your phone ringing.

You want to peek out from Ushijima’s body frame, but not like this. Not with your red face and the tear-stained dress you’re now wearing.

“[F/N]-chan!” he echoes, holding your buzzing phone in his palm, “it’s your mom. It looks urgent.”

Hurriedly, you tilt your head up, bare wrists wiping your damp eyes.

“Turn around,” Ushijima whispers, “I’ll get it for you.”

And so you do. You turn around, sniffling as you rub the tears away.

Ushijima marches up and retrieves the phone from Tendou. The latter’s mouth draws into a thin line when he sees his captain’s stressed face.

And then the door clicks closed.

Semi awaits Tendou at the other side of the door.

“Well?”

“I don’t think they’ll come back this room together.”

Ushijima hands you your phone. He’s at a loss for words. He fixates his gaze on your wet eyelashes, illuminated by the blue glow of your phone screen.

He’s done it. He’s really done it this time. When he promised the universe that he’d protect you from anyone who tries to hurt you, did he ever expect that he’d be the one to lay the blows?

Mom calls again. You pick up on the first ring. Your words come out garbled, the lump in your throat mixing with the overflowing tears in your eyes. “Mom? …Already? B-but I just got here… Okay. Okay, I see. Yes, I’ll leave now.”

You end the call before turning on your heel to bustle away. “Please tell the guys I have to leave early. My mom’s looking for me.”

“Wait,” Ushijima says, chasing after you— yet again. He pulls you back by your hand— yet again. “I haven’t told you everything yet.”

“Look, I really need to go.“

He takes a deep breath and begins a rapid-fire retelling of the month that came from hell.

“Higuchi Ryoko was initially set as a back-up match to Takenaka Shiori. In training camp, she cornered me, used my plan to sign with Schweiden Adlers against me, and demanded that I pull out of meeting Takenaka in hopes of choosing her and switching to MSBY Black Jackals. She staged an elaborate plan to make it look like Tendou lunged at her. She said that if I wouldn’t give her an answer soon, she’d report him to the administration for assault—”

“Ngghh,” you groan, trying to wring your hand out of his grip. Had you been of sounder mind and clearer heart, you would have reeled over the news of that bitch Higuchi’s involvement with Tendou— but your head space is too fuddled to receive any more information. Your brain is tired. Your heart even more so.

“Let go!”

“And then Takenaka dropped by a week later. We formulated the fake arrangement plan so we could appease our parents and get Higuchi off our backs. Only three people in the world know about this— me, you, and her. We can't tell anyone else. Eventually, Takenaka cornered Higuchi and scared her off. She resigned from her manager position later that week.”

“Get off, Ushijima!”

Ushijima’s chest throbs the name choice, but he keeps a persistent grip on you. “Fast forward to a few days later. My mother gets news that Takenaka expressed intentions of seeing me again, just like the plan that she and I created. We’ll have to meet each other more but it’s fine, we owe it to ourselves to keep our parents at bay. It’s a farce, a temporary fix. Next year, I’ll be moving out of my house and into my own condo. Takenaka will go to university in Tokyo. By then, we can call our fake arrangement off. I’ll be free, [L/N]. I won’t be pinned down by anyone anymore.”

Your breathing is heavy, eyes now bloodshot.

“So?!”

“Everything, everything I’ve done so far is to keep you in my life. I know it’s complicated, but I’m asking you to understand.”

You stop struggling in his grip.

“Just… just wait for a little while, okay? I’m almost there. I’m so close to finally catching you.”

You knit your brows. “Catching me? What, like this is some hunt?”

He groans. “No—“

“Am I some easy prey for you rich kids?”

“No!”

“Then why?!”

“Because I like you!”

And then your heart wells up so fast, it could burst.

“I’ve been chasing you all this time. You’ve always been two, three steps ahead of me. And that’s fine, you go at your own pace and I go at mine… but I’d be lying if I told you that I haven’t been waiting for you to look my way. And it… it pains me, because in the one time that you actually do, I can’t even keep you from running off again.”

“Ushi, I—“

“Listen, I might lose my chance to sign with one of the strongest teams in professional volleyball. I might lose my mother’s approval if she finds out that I’m only pretending to be interested in Takenaka. I might even lose my grandmother’s goodwill if she finds out I still want to be with you. I can live with the possibility of losing all that, but I can’t live with the reality of losing you in my life. My family may not want you, but I do. I need you.”

His fingers attempt to creep into the crevices of your own.

And you allow it. His fingers interlaced with yours, you mean.

But not you with Ushijima Wakatoshi— at this moment in time, your interlaced lives will bear nothing but complicated knots. It’s not going to work with this golden boy. Not right now, at least.

You try to pull your hand back. Ushijima doesn’t allow it; he grips your hand so impossibly tight, he thinks you could slip away at any moment and never return.

“You don’t have to answer my feelings yet. It’s okay. But please, I just need to know— will you stay with me? Even if you’re still sorting your emotions out, even if I have to keep up with this fake arrangement deal, and even if I have yet to solidify my path to professional volleyball. Will you stay with me?”

Your eyes trail up and your blurry vision meets his— the usually stoic expression on his face is crumbling into a look of sheer, heart-wrenching desperation. Mouth quivering downwards in a weak plead. Eyebrows knotted and eyes steadily fixed, yet struggling to hold your stare.

With your hand still in his, you take a step towards him.

And then another.

And one more before you tiptoe to hug the captain, the ace, your could-have-been lover, the friend you’ve fallen sea-deep for.

You wrap your arms around his neck. His rigid body softens into mush, tension in his muscles uncoiling from the touch. His arms envelop your torso. He nestles his head into the crook of your neck and he inhales his favourite smell on your clothes, the scent of your fabric softener.

“I'll stay.”

And then his heart calms down.

Your phone rings again.

He breathes deeply as if to engrave that clean, cotton scent into the crevices of his brain. “I’ll bring you home,” he mutters, deep voice tickling your ear.

You’re the first to pull away from the hug.

And yet, Ushijima pushes onwards— inching towards you and taking your face in his hands. He wipes tear stains away from your cheeks and fixes your hair, tucking stray tendrils behind your ears.

You stand there immobilized, trapped in a whirlpool of emotions. And still, you allow the warmth of his large hands to spread throughout your delicate skin.

And then you retract yourself. Distances kept as friends still, but with just enough space for something more— we’ll get there someday. We’ll fill in that gap.

You both walk down the hallway. Ushijima’s southpaw hand lingers beside your own, a ghost of a touch that brushes your skin for milliseconds longer than usual. You don’t pull back. You let the sensation set your skin ablaze. When you leave the building, only then do you pull your hand back to fidget with your phone.

It’s fine, he thinks. In due time, in due time.

Chapter Text

Amidst the late afternoon buzz of downtown Sendai, two men donned in sharp suits hang around a side street’s alleyway. One wears his hair slicked back, another sports a clean buzzcut.

“Why couldn’t they hire a private investigator, huh,” the buzzcut takes a drag out of his cigarette. “They’re rich enough to do it. We could be peddling drugs right now. Pimping host club ladies. Fuck, we could even be blackmailing politicians in board rooms, sealing million-yen deals and all. Why do we have to patrol this damn city looking for one lady among a million citizens?”

The one with slicked hair shoves his lighter back in his pocket. “Don’t ask me. All I know is that oyabun is helping an old friend. Orders are orders, man.”

You and Ushijima slip past the mouth of the alley entrance, there for one second then gone the next. The buzzcut, however, registers your features interesting enough to do a double-take. He nudges on slicked-back's arm. Obscured by the building shadows, the former points at you.

“How old did you say that Tomitani guy’s daughter was?” buzzcut asks, gaze still anchored on you.

“I don’t know... oyabun is still waiting for that dossier, but he did say she should be in her forties,” the other answers, still clinging to the sight of that girl walking beside that much taller boy. “That can't be her, right? She's way too young."

Buzzcut takes his phone out and scrolls through his photo gallery. Among the secret folders and files hidden within the device, there’s a photo of Mari in her early twenties. Slicked-back peers at the image.

“She’s supposed to be older than that photo.”

“But they look exactly alike…”

They peel their gazes off the phone to survey one more look at you, now walking farther and farther away.

Buzzcut enters the camera app and zooms in. He taps on the white button the moment you turn your head to the side, unknowingly giving him a clear view of your profile.

Snap!

You sink your body into the living room’s couch, olefin fabric making you slide down inch by inch. Your mom reveals herself from the laundry room.

“Oh, Ushijima-san doesn’t want to stay for dinner?”

“No, he has to go back to the karaoke party. What happened, mom?”

Mari’s gaze shifts towards you. You wonder if she can see the puffiness in your eyes. Perhaps not.

“Nothing. I just want you home early.”

“What?!” you straighten your back, “I left early for nothing?”

“It’s getting late,” her feet pad to the open kitchen. “Look. The sun is beginning to set. I don’t want you out after nightfall.”

Your brows knit at her sudden, seemingly out-of-character reasoning. What's she getting so overprotective for?

“Ushi walked me home. We live in a safe neighbourhood.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that there’s crime. Did you hear about that kidnapping a few days ago?”

You gather yourself on your feet. “Mom, that’s on the other side of Sendai!”

“Still!” she thunders, “I can’t risk you going out often. Stay at home until school starts.”

You hold her gaze. “No.”

“And why not?”

“I have that trip with Yumi, the one to Iwanumaya. I told you about this weeks ago.”

“Then tell her you can’t go,” she replies without skipping a beat. “The last time you left town with Yumi-chan, you got home hours late and injured.”

“Mom,” you begin striding towards her, “it’s just Yumi. We’ve known her for years. Plus, she went through all the trouble of changing those coupon dates from August 1-3 to 27-29. It’s such a waste if I can't go!"

Mari cocks an eyebrow up. “Why would she do that if you could have gone to Iwanumaya last August 1-3? Weren’t you together, anyway?”

“N— I mean, yeah. We were at Tsukihama though.”

“Then why have that Tsukihama trip if she originally planned the Iwanumaya trip on those same dates?”

“H-her stepmom couldn’t go,” you stutter. “So her dad had the dates switched.”

“You just that that ‘she’ went through all the trouble of—“

“She asked her dad to change it for her so her stepmom could go!” you blurt out.

Mari scrunches her brows. Something doesn’t add up. Why would Yumi-chan go out of her way to include her stepmom into the trip when [F/N] says they’re not on good terms?

Your gaze is full of steady conviction.

Mari sighs. She dismisses it.

“Still. No more overnight trips.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe.”

Your eyes widen. “Iwanumaya is so safe! It’s one of the best ryokans in Miyagi!”

“It’s still a public area!”

“Urghhh!” you groan, whipping your phone out to dial Yumi’s number. She picks up in four rings.

“Yumi! My mom won’t let me go to Iwanumaya!”

“What?! But you said she gave you permission!”

“She took it back! Here, talk to her!”

“Me? Wai—“

You shove the phone to your mom’s hands.

“Hi, Yumi. Sweetie, I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can allow [F/N] to any trips again so soon. I hope you understand… well yes, but my main concern is that it’s a public area, so who knows what sort of people you’ll run into… sorry, where?… there?… I’ll think about i—… sweetheart, it’s really okay… oh… oh, are you sure?… I mean, if you put it that way… I see. Okay.”

Your eyes light up.

“No, that’s not necessary… we can drop her off…” and then your mom sighs, “okay, okay. Here’s [F/N].”

You take the phone from her hands.

“Wow, I should be a diplomat or something.”

“Did you talk her into it?”

“Nope.”

“What?! But why?”

“No Iwanumaya, but you can sleep over at my house. And don't worry about the coupons. Anyway, your mom’s such a hard bargain, geez, you guys are exactly alike—“

“Yumi! Whyyy?”

“It’s just as she said— the entire ‘public area thing’ doesn’t sit well with her, whatever that means. So I suggested my house instead.”

“What are we going to do in your house? Binge Korean dramas? Swim in your pool? We always do that.”

“What? No, not the main house. We’re going to my vacation home outside of town.”

“You have a vacation home?”

“I mean, duh? Where else do I put my horses?”

You roll your eyes. Mari chuckles.

“It doesn’t have Iwanumaya’s kaiseki meals, but it does have farm-to-table food.”

“Am I supposed to be enticed by that?”

“Prepared by Sato-san.”

Your jaw drops in memory of the Amano residence's mouth-watering Japanese fusion cuisine. “I thought your chef retired!”

“From the main house duties, yeah, but she’s the full-time caretaker of the vacation house now.”

You purse your lips. God, what would you give for Sato-san’s signature umami-fried chicken.

“Okay. Fine.”

Yumi giggles. “I’ll have Itou-san pick you up tomorrow. See ya, you flaker!”

“Shut up!” you whine before breaking into a mirrored giggle. “Thank you so much. And I'm so sorry. I love you, bye!”

“Don't sweat it. And I love you too, mwah!”

Click.

You set your phone face-down on a kitchen counter.

“Mom, I don’t know why you’re being like this. You’d always allow me out, especially if it’s with Yumi.”

“I’m still doing that, aren’t I?”

“Not to Iwanumaya!”

Mari sighs for the umpteenth time today. “I just want you to be safe. Who knows what could happen to you if you ran into the wrong people?”

You cock your head to the side. “Wrong people? Mom, I don’t think kidnappers can afford to hang around expensive ryokans.”

Mari rolls her eyes. “Whatever, just go take a bath and help me with dinner.”

A glimmering Infiniti QX80 pulls up your humble driveway. Judging by the the fresh coat of paint and the lovely smell of brand new car, you assume that her dad has upgraded the family’s service vehicle yet again.

The driver peers his head over his shoulder to greet you with a smile. “Hello, Miss [F/N].”

“Hello to you too, Itou-san. And please stop calling me ‘miss’,” you petition, nose scrunching up, “just [F/N] is okay.”

He laughs. “No can do, Miss [F/N].”

You give in to a defeated grin. Itou-san, whom the Amano family has employed as their private chauffeur since Yumi began middle school, has a terrible habit of adhering to honorific protocol even when Yumi wasn’t around. After that rich-people-circle conversation with Ushijima, what you once brushed off as affluent sophistication now leaves a strange, borderline mocking taste in your mouth.

“Is it your first time to the Amano family’s vacation house?” he asks, snapping you out of your reverie.

“Yes. I only found out it existed last night.”

“They finished construction just a few months ago. The horses were the first occupants, though,” he chuckles. “It’s a wide, open space, unlike the main residence downtown. It’s bigger, too.”

Your eyes pop open. Yumi’s house, although built on land smaller than Ushijima’s, is a contemporary four-floor mansion with indoor and outdoor garages, plus a swimming pool in the backyard. “It’s even bigger than that?!”

“The lot, I mean!” he hastily corrects himself. “Not the house itself. The vacation home is smaller, but the rest of the lot space is used as a grazing area for Yumi-sama’s horses.”

About a thirty-minute drive later, the promised vacation house finally comes into view. Situated in the outskirts of Sendai, the villa-like residence is surrounded by a sea of rice fields that border her family’s fenced lot. The quaint home sits against the mountain of downtown’s concrete buildings, the skyline bearing the reminder of Miyagi’s semi-rural atmosphere. The driveway is approximately a kilometre or two, and you see Yumi awaiting you by the raised front porch. She greets you with a maid on her left, ready to retrieve your bag bearing three days’ worth of clothes.

After a round of due greetings to her parents plus a short afternoon snack over fresh peaches and pears bought from the local farm down the road, Yumi leads you to the back door for a short walk to the white-roofed and timber-lined stables.

“So this is your famed stallion, huh,” you crane your head up as you brush the ebony mane of her show horse.

“Yup. The same one that was almost sabotaged by those girls in the equestrian club,” she holds a grimace back.

“What’s his name?”

“Shiba,” she answers, plain as day.

You raise an eyebrow. “Shiba?”

“Yeah. Like Shiba Inu.”

Your hands freeze mid-brush. “You named your horse after a dog breed?”

“What?” she flutters her eyelashes, “my dad’s allergic to dogs!”

You erupt into peals of laughter. “And what’s your other horse’s name?”

“Tosa.”

“Like the Tosa Inu breed?!”

“You know it!”

“Yumi, you are so weird.”

She grins. “Some kids are weirder, okay. Before I quit the club, there was a horse called Daddy’s Paycheque. Another one was called Nosejob Money.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “That’s bizarre.”

“It is. As most rich people usually are.”

Yumi walks to the opposite end of the stable to pick up a mounting block. “Wanna ride with me?”

“I don’t know how.”

“It’s okay,” she positions the mounting block beside Shiba. “You take him. He’s a real sweetheart. I’ll take Tosa.”

Yumi stands beside you. “Okay, so you put your foot in the stirrup and hold on to the horn. Mount yourself diagonally, not horizontally, or you could twist the saddle— yeah! like that!”

“Oh my god,” you straighten your back like instinct. Your heart thrums at the distance from your seat to the hay-covered ground. They make riding horses look so easy in the movies, you gulp. You had no idea how much balance this requires, and you’re not even riding off yet.

“I’m so high up the ground. This is so scary.”

Yumi laughs as she mounts Tosa. “They’re sports stallions. They’re meant to be huge,” she directs Tosa towards you and takes Shiba’s bridle reins into her hands. The horses begin trotting out the stables.

The last remnants of August sunshine seeps into your skin as the horizon paints itself with growing orange hues. The sunset could have been prolonged, had it not been for the high-rises that obscure the blazing skyline.

You venture off into the open field.

“Yumi," you begin, "I met up with the VBC yesterday.”

“How was it?”

There's a period of silence before you gather the courage to break the news.

“Ushi confessed to me.”

Her mouth pops open. “Oh my god. What happened are you together now did you guys kiss—“

“No!” you speak over her, “we’re not… together. And there was definitely no kissing.”

“But I thought you liked him?”

“And I thought so too! But I don’t know, I’m all sorts of confused now.”

Yumi watches your hair get swept away in the breeze. She waits for a supplied reason. Under her keen gaze, you give in.

“I think I’m… holding myself back.”

“From what?”

“From his family. They don’t like me because I’m a nobody, apparently.”

Yumi clicks her tongue. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“I love you and you know this, but I somewhat expected that answer.”

“Why?”

Yumi slows Tosa down into a walk, thereby having Shiba follow into the gait. “Because Ushiwaka belongs to one of the prefecture's most affluent families,” she points to the horizon of buildings and high-rises. “You see that, over there? His forefathers are the same people that modernized a great deal of Miyagi's rural farmlands. The richer they are— and the longer they have been rich— the taller their mountain of prestige is. And that just makes him… all the more ‘up there’, do you get me?”

You nod.

“I’m not surprised that his family’s in the way. Ushiwaka is Sendai’s prime, most coveted, old-money-rich boy in our generation.”

You turn your head away from the setting sun and towards Yumi’s pondering face. “And what’s so special about old money people, anyway? Aren’t rich people just… rich?”

“Nope,” her mouth pops, “Rich People 101: the social playing field of the rich and powerful is never an equal one. There's a gap between old money and new money. And precisely because this is semi-rural Miyagi, it's all the more pronounced out here in the boonies; country folk just aren't as liberal as city folk. And here's the thing, right, Sendai's old money has been around since time immemorial. They're a different breed from any other well-off family because being rich is embedded into their DNA; it's the way they've been brought up in this world. Anything less than the best is unacceptable to them. Despite their opulent lifestyles, they're conservative about their generational wealth— and we're talking about money that has been around since the 1600's-1700's.”

“Like, when Date Masamune established Sendai city?”

“Yes, exactly. He was the feudal lord of feudal lords. His governance led to the expansion of trade routes, salt supplies, and grain milling throughout… pretty much the entirety of the Tohoku region, so you can just imagine how big of a posse he had, retainers and retinues both. Obviously, things have changed since the Meiji Restoration, but a number of these families and their descendants remain in their exceedingly cozy yet high-powered little bubbles. Remember in History class, when we were learning about prime ministers?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Hosokawa Morihiro was an ex-prime minister and he was a descendant of Kumamoto city’s daimyo clan. These old money families aren’t just filthy rich, they’re insanely powerful too. I mean yeah, Ushiwaka's reputation as a volleyball wunderkind precedes him, but another layer to his popularity is his actual family name. They're established the same way luxury brands are; they don't need any marketing. Because of that, it makes families like his the most cliquish of cliquish. Their ‘circles’ are so close-knit, the thought of their sons and daughters marrying into a family they ‘don’t know’ is like… treason or something.”

You scoff. “Come on. Treason?”

“I’m completely serious. Families get torn apart over it.”

You mull over a passing thought. “Okay, but let’s say I wake up one day. I win the lottery or something. I’m ten times richer than Ushi’s family is—“

“I doubt that.”

“Hypothetically! I’m rich enough to stand on equal ground with him. Now my family is established as one of the richest in Sendai. Do you think his family could give me a second glance?”

Yumi purses her lips. “You’d be a new money girl, then.”

You tilt your head. “And what’s the deal with new money?”

“Old money hate new money. Well, the uber-conservative families, at least. And Ushiwaka looks like such a plain country boy that I'm willing to bet my allowance budget into saying that he grew up in a traditional family—"

"Oh, he did. His house looks like a manor from Demon Slayer. His grandma wears yukatas, too."

"Well, there we have it. Anyway! The old-fashioned, countryside-type elite are so exclusive, some would rather go bankrupt than mingle with new money. They think the nouveau riche are below them. They're pompous like that."

“Huh?” you follow into her frown, “that doesn’t make sense. Rich people would want to stick with other rich people, right? Isn’t that why they marry their kids into other wealthy families? To increase their wealth, or at least keep it from dwindling down?"

Yumi shakes her head. “Not everything revolves around money, [F/N]. It’s also a matter of high society, social status, and downright pride. Given the right circumstances, anyone can make their first million yen in a lifetime, but it will take generations for succeeding bloodlines to be acknowledged by those damn elitists. There are signals, cultures, complexities so fine-tuned that before you could even so as much pick up on them, you’d have to at least compounded decades worth of— in chronological order— wealth, connections, and ‘proper breeding’. Climbing over those old money walls can take years. Take it from a new richie like me, I’ve been trying to do exactly that with Takeru’s family. Did you know he’s never introduced me to his parents?”

“What?! But you’ve been together for three years.”

“Exactly. Takeru’s family is another old money clan. His family’s been in the retail and services industry since the olden days. They own like, what? Six, seven shopping malls throughout Sendai. The first time he told his family we were together, they ran me a background check—“

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m not! Like, what the hell, right?! First, they found out that my dad works for the luxury automobile scene. They wormed my address out of Takeru, took one look at my house via Google maps in satellite mode, and then they saw my dad’s Lamborghini Huracáns and Audi R8s parked in our driveway. And then they thought, ‘No way. This girl’s family screams pure vulgarity and ostentation’. As if any of that was my fault! It’s my dad’s line of business, what can I do?! But then Takeru said it’s fine, don’t worry. They could still warm up to me. But then,” she sharply inhales, “that plastic surgery step-monster Miho comes in—“

“Yumi, your stepmom was so nice to us over the meal.”

“She’s a home wrecker! And she’s half my dad’s age! When news broke out that one of Japan’s top luxury automobile dealers divorced his 38-year-old wife to be with a 22-year-old car show girl, Takeru’s parents called my dad an arriviste!”

“A what?”

“An upstart! A social climber! They think of my dad as some arrogant car dealer who’s gone crazy over everything that money can buy— a new wife, apparently, takes the cake! But okay yeah, I mean he did pay my mom millions of yen for the divorce settlement, but if there’s anyone who should be labelled a social climber, it should be that bitch Miho! Urghhh!” Yumi gripes, her long fingernails digging into the leather of her saddle. Good thing she wasn’t gripping onto Tosa’s mane.

She takes a long breath before recollecting herself. “Okay. I’m done. But seriously, if she didn’t slip in and ruin my parents’ marriage, then maybe my mom would still be here… and Takeru’s family could possibly like me.”

The sound of clip-clopping fills the air.

“Yumi, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. My mom’s way happier now than she was in the marriage, anyway. She’s probably getting wine drunk in Napa Valley. Good for her,” she smiles wryly.

“I don’t see what’s not to like about you. If they could just get to know you, I’m sure his family would accept you with open arms,” you allege. How ironic this must be— you giving Yumi the very words you wanted to hear from Ushi. You clear your throat. “You’re a beautiful girl. One of the smartest in our year—”

And then you catch Yumi affix a mawkish pout to her features.

“— but not that smart; you’re still the type to trip over thin air.”

Yumi guffaws. “You’re terrible!”

“Despite all that," you speak over her, "you have a big heart. That's what matters.”

“Really?” her eyelids flutter in mock sentimentality, “bigger than my boobs?”

“Way bigger than your boobs. Double F-cup size heart.”

She huffs an air of amusement through her nostrils. “Anyway, that’s what makes this old town so intolerable. It’s too small. Word travels way too fast and the next thing you know, your boyfriend’s family thinks of you as the daughter to some jumped-up vulgarian. But that’s besides the point,” she whips her head towards you, “Ushiwaka’s family doesn’t like you because your family’s unknown, right? What if you could use that obscurity to your advantage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sorry, this might be a bit brazen of me to say—“

“No, go ahead.”

“— but you’re a stranger to these parts of high society. Like you said, you’re practically a nobody. And look, I know I said that infiltrating Sendai’s old money can take decades, but I think you've been dealt with better cards. Play it right, and you don’t have to wait for another lifetime for his old money family to reconsider you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yumi, that’s such a pie in the sky idea. There's nothing to my name.”

“Precisely!” her pitchy voice cuts through, “because there’s nothing— nothing yet— you remain a perfectly clear canvas. You haven’t been labeled as some gaudy, new money family like me. What did you say your dad does again?”

“He’s a lawyer. Non-equity partner to Watanabe Law Offices.”

“See! A completely lucrative, and more importantly, noble job. And Aunt Mari used to be a salary woman, right?”

“Yeah. She’s a housewife now, she stopped working when she gave birth to me.”

“You are the epitome of a clean slate. Your dad sounds like a brilliant man, your mother a family-oriented soul. You do well in school— academics and extracurriculars both— and you’re rich enough to be a full-paying student. Give your dad a few years, a few life-changing cases, and he’ll be promoted to an equity partner to the biggest law firm in all of Miyagi. All you need to do is immerse yourself in the workings of old money society, refine yourself further, and Ushiwaka’s family could probably acknowledge you.”

“Yeah, just acknowledge me. Not even accept me.”

“I’m being realistic here— and you know what’s another realistic thing? Miyagi high society’s most sought-after bachelor, volleyball prodigy ace, admitted to liking you. You, [F/N]-chan! You're the lucky girl!”

You cock your head back in exasperation. “Exactly, that’s the thing! Why me of all people?! We’re worlds apart!”

“No, stupid!” Yumi tells you off, “think about it! Specifically because you and Ushiwaka are from two different worlds, don’t you think him liking you is monumental in itself? The very thing that tens, if not hundreds of girls have been wishing for just fell right into your lap, and you’re trying to dull that flame! Why kill the momentum now?”

You groan. “I don’t know! I-I can’t hold a candle to him, I guess. The gap between us is enormous. Did you know his family sought out a matchmaker for him?”

“They didn’t!”

“They did!”

Yumi gawks.

“And it was to rein his attention back to those pedigreed girls in his circles! They did it to pry me off because apparently, just about any girl with no background is just bound to be a gold-digging threat to their son’s life.”

Yumi is quiet for a moment.

“But he still likes you though, right?”

“Well, yeah… but still. His family doesn’t.”

She rolls her eyes. “Family this, family that. When it comes to Ushiwaka, all your attention is fixated on the ‘Ushi’ part of his identity, and not enough attention is given to ‘Waka’. Stop emphasizing his family name and start acknowledging that he is his own person. You need to realize something: as impregnable as his old money wall is, he’s out here, walking out on his own volition, for a mere chance to be with you. Let's say you get together, right? Who will you be dating?"

"What?"

"Who will you be dating? Him, or his family?"

"Him, of course."

"Then why are you holding yourself back? His choice to confess to you was fully, entirely his own— even with the odds against him."

Your eyes trail to the acres of her enclosed yard.

Breathing deeply, you allow the smell of crisp air to fill your lungs.

“You’re right,” you finally admit.

“So? Do you like him now, for real this time?”

You huff. “Geez, Yumi. I came here to spend time with you, not to be psychoanalyzed and socially critiqued by my best friend.”

She breaks into a laugh. “Okay, fine!”

“But…” you drag along, “to be completely honest, I'm still on the fence."

She pulls on Tosa's reins, signalling him to stop. Shiba too halts.

“Stop mulling over your feelings. You and I both know the answer.”

You cast your eyes down, uncertainty pooling in your stomach. "Do we really?"

"You're invested enough to ask me about the rich people scene."

You hum some nondescript response.

“Okay, now enough talk about that. Hold on tight.”

"What?"

And then Yumi pulls on Tosa’s reins once more, sending him to a trot and eventually a canter. Shiba follows after the stallion. You're unprepared for the sudden speed, but you reflexively steady yourself and hang on to your horse for dear life.

“Yumi, stop!” you scream amidst the growing activity, “I told you, I don’t know how to ride horses! I’m new to this!”

You take a peek at Yumi’s body and mimic her undulating ride movements, your hips following her rhythm and tempo. Yumi feels your gaze on her and watches you from her peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re getting a hang of this, though?” she retaliates, sly grin playing on her features as she continues eyeing you. “Yeah, that’s it! Just keep going! The key is to stay in tune with your horse!”

“Slow down, seriously!”

“No!” she answers back, a giggle playing in her throat. “This is the thing with you— you’re so afraid of the unknown that you hold yourself back from new experiences. Here," she tosses you Shiba's reins. You barely catch it.

"What am I supposed to do with this?!"

"Take it and enjoy the ride! And don't you dare slow down on me! Life won't wait for you, and neither will I!"

“Yumi, I'm going to fall off, I swear!"

“Then just get back up and keep going!"

Yumi gallops off with Tosa, you trailing behind her as you ride Shiba. The inkling of fear for the four or five-foot drop eventually dissipates into thin air. Horseback riding is not easy, as with being thrown into any other new activity, but just as Yumi said: the key is to stay in tune— to anticipate and acclimate. It may not be at your own pace, but it's the ride you've seated yourself on, and you have to adjust.

Ring-ring-ring.

Click.

“Tatsuya-san?”

“Oh, oyabun. Hello. How is the search going?”

“I have an update.”

“That’s quick. I only sent you the dossier yesterday.”

“That's true. We weren’t able to find your daughter, but my boys did find… someone else.”

Ping!

The man called Tatsuya checks his phone screen. He taps on a message and he's revealed to a spitting image of a younger "Mariko". His eyes glaze over in disbelief.

“She looks just like Mari-chan, am I right?”

There's a few seconds of phone static before Tatsuya finally gathers his voice.

“She does.”

“We’re still looking into it. This girl looks like she’s in high school, so I might have to ask my son Ryuuji if he knows anything. We’ll keep you posted, alright?”

“Sure. Do let me know as soon as possible.”

“I will.”

Click.

Chapter Text

Mari hangs by the doorway of your room as you unpack your bag from the three-day sleepover at Yumi’s countryside estate.

“How was it?”

“It was great. Yumi’s household served us these fancy, organic, free-range-farm-to-table-whatever meals.”

Your mom’s lips quirk up in an amused smile. “Sounds like a mean diet.”

“I learned how to ride a horse, too,” you add, reaching for your phone to scroll through some photos of you and Yumi posed in front of her Thoroughbred and Selle Français sports horses. Mari finds a seat on your bed when she watches you flip through your gallery. Her eyes flicker in amazement at the sheer size of Yumi’s chestnut and bay-coloured horses, coats of fur shining immaculately under the farmland sun.

“I know enough to walk, trot, and canter.”

“That’s nice. You’re like a real country girl now.”

You scoff. “If being a country girl meant butt cramps and groin pains, I’d rather be a city girl.”

She chuckles. “By the way— you’re going home late tomorrow, right? You have that meeting going on.”

You groan at the reminder. First day back in school and it’s straight into the extracurricular fire pit yet again. “Yup. If it’s a meeting with the student council, it’s always going to end late at night.”

“Does the President talk that much?”

You purse your lips. “I mean, her dad’s a politician. It must run in her blood.”

Mari hums. “Oh well. Have Ushijima-san bring you home, then. Tell him I’m making curry for dinner.”

“Are you bribing him?”

Your mom erupts into laughter. “Just ask him! If you’re going home late, then I’d feel more comfortable if he walked you back.”

“Okay, I will,” you sigh in defeat. You don’t know if this is her way of subtly pushing you two together, or if it’s just another episode of her helicopter mom instincts acting up. What’s she getting so overprotective for? Is it menopause? She’s not even fifty yet. Actually, is becoming an overbearing shield of a mother even a symptom of menopause?

“Good. Anyway,” she flicks her locks behind her shoulder, “I’m thinking of dyeing my hair. Something drastic.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

“Strawberry blonde.”

“That is drastic.”

She bears a cheeky grin. “Do you want me to dye your hair, too? We can match. A mother-daughter look would be cute.”

You shake your head. “I can’t. It’s against the school rules, and since I’m on the disciplinary committee, it’s all the more prohibited. Watanabe-kun will go ballistic.”

She pouts. “But what about that other boy on your committee? Isn’t his hair bleached blond?”

“Yeah, but he’s had it blond since middle school. He’s essentially fooled our disciplinary chair into believing a 6-year lie. I don’t know how he actually buys that ‘I’m half-gaijin’ excuse.”

Mari chuckles once more.

“Why are you dyeing your hair all of a sudden? You’re the last person I’d expect to do that. Are you going through a mid-life crisis or something?”

She trails her eyes to a bare wall. “Maybe.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m joking.”

Throngs of high school students gather in Shiratorizawa Academy’s main auditorium hall. To signal the start of the second semester, a school-wide assembly is being held to greet the students back to school. Saji Nozomi stands at stage-right behind a pulpit, speaking into a microphone. Her booming voice reverberates throughout the walls, essentially spurring every half-asleep student awake.

“Moving on to sport club announcements, we will be calling on the captains of the basketball, baseball, football, and volleyball teams for a few words. They will be competing in upcoming Spring High tournaments and thus they will be asking for your fervent support. Please cheer them on.”

The four captains enter the stage front, each carrying their own aura of domineering gravitas. The captain of the basketball team is at least two hundred centimetres in height. The baseball captain, however, is the shortest of the crew— his near-bald head reflecting the stage light of the auditorium. Sasaki Takeru, Yumi’s boyfriend and captain of the football team, stands beside Ushijima.

A few rows away from yours, Yumi pokes her head out to steal your attention. Look at our jock boyfriends, she mouths. You roll your eyes and laugh. Not my boyfriend, Yumi.

Each captain’s message is more ardent, more winding than the last. Ushijima, however, has always been the type of man to march to his own drumbeat, and thus you're prepared for whatever taciturn statement he has up his sleeve. When his turn comes around, he taps a finger once-twice into the microphone before clearing his throat.

Waiting with bated breath, everyone anticipates the golden boy’s message. The silence is so deafening it’s as if no one was in the auditorium at all.

“Good morning,” his baritone voice begins. “I am Ushijima Wakatoshi and I am the captain of volleyball team. We will win and go to Nationals, like we always do.”

And then thunderous, almost cult-like applause.

“Thank you.”

“Good luck, Ushijima-kuuun!” a few shrill voices manage to bellow out amidst the ice pelt-sounding claps, obviously coming from his multitude of fans throughout the school. The gargantuan basketball captain has to cover his ears from the deafening response for Ushijima’s anti-climactic message.

You can’t help yourself from cackling. Semi, standing beside you as a classmate, joins in on your hooting laughter.

The morning assembly ends not long after. As the students file out of the auditorium and travel back to class, you sink into the crowd to join the rest of the VBC boys’ third year crew for a morning chat.

“Got a practice game today?” you ask the captain.

“Not today. Practice games don’t start until the second half of September.”

“Yup,” Semi appends. “Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team is seeded, so the first half of September will be spent for athletic conditioning.”

“Seeded? What does that mean?”

Ohira turns his head towards you. “We placed among the top four in the country during Inter-High, so we’re exempt from the Spring High preliminaries.”

Your jaw goes slack. “Woah. I didn’t know the team was that good. Top four…” you trail off, wondering just how many high schools there are throughout the country.

Tendou slings an arm around you, coddling you like one would with a little sister. “And that’s why you should watch our games all the more!”

“And sign up for the representative cheering team when we go to Tokyo for Nationals,” Yamagata offers, a sly grin showing on his face. “Slots run out fast, but I can pull some strings and make sure you’re part.”

“[L/N],” Ushijima calls for your attention. “You will watch us, right?”

”Yup!”

Tendou smirks. “Wakatoshi-kun’s all fired up because those Karasuno guys told him that they’d defeat Shiratorizawa this coming October.”

“Oh, the same ones he smuggled into school grounds?”

“I did not smuggle them. They followed me.”

You chuckle. “Sure, Mr. Two-Counts-of-Assisted-Tresspassing.”

His eyebrows knit. “I thought you weren’t going to report me for bringing Takenaka in.”

“I won’t. I was kidding. Besides, after Tendou told me about the entire food hall incident, there’s no way I’d get Takenaka implicated.”

Yamagata raises his brows. “He told you?”

You nod.

“I bet you put on an entire show, Satori,” Yamagata angles his head to the middle blocker. “Did you mimic how Takenaka’s eyes lit up? I swear, she was smiling one second and slaughtering the next. She switched like The Hulk or something.”

Semi sighs. “He went the whole nine yards and mimicked Higuchi’s ugly crying, too.”

Because you live in close proximity to Semi (and that the team’s morning practice starts tomorrow instead of today in lieu of preparation for the semester’s first assembly), you managed to walk with the setter on the way to school. Tendou was at the shoe lockers, slipping into his indoor shoes when you both waltzed into the main entrance. With one foot wearing a leather shoe, another wearing an uwabaki, the redhead dished out complete training camp gossip in trademark theatrics. For the unabridged version (sorry, Ushijima) to greet you first thing in the morning, your anger for Higuchi’s attempt to frame Tendou was unparalleled. When the bell rang and the conversation concluded, Semi had to remind Tendou to finish changing footwear.

You finally reach the third year corridor and bid everyone goodbye.

“Ah! I almost forgot. Ushi, can I ask you something?”

He turns on his heel. “Yes?”

“Do you wanna walk home with me today? My mom is inviting you to dinner.”

His heart leaps. Two birds with one stone— the first time you’ve ever asked him to walk home with you, plus another evening of scrumptious dinner at the [L/N] residence.

“Sure," he answers almost immediately. "I’ll pick you up after practice.”

“Okay, I’ll be at the committee office wing. See you.”

Watanabe closes the door behind him. Just for today, the student council room has been reserved for another joint meeting with the disciplinary committee’s third years. The three of you join the President and Vice President and the discussion table.

“Good afternoon, disciplinary committee," Saji greets, "I know today was supposed to be your first day on patrol, but Kimiko and I would first like to formally brief you on the implementation of security cameras throughout school.”

“Hmm yeah,” Kato hums, “I did see a couple of CCTV’s planted at the gates today.”

“These security cameras have been strategically placed in locations covering Shiratorizawa’s entry points and communal areas only.”

“Specifically,” Ogawa wedges in, “they cover the main gates, the dorm entrances, and food halls.”

Watanabe scrunches his brows. “You didn’t wire them at the clubroom building? Isn’t that where the thefts were reported to begin with?”

Your mouth pops in an ohhh. “I see why. Because if they did, it would prematurely cease the theft altogether, am I right?”

Saji nods. “Yes. Since we’re still on this cloak-and-dagger approach, we’re luring the culprit into the unrecorded areas.”

Kato rests his chin on his hands, a thumb on his lips. “And that’s where the stake-out plan comes in, right? So we can corner them?”

“Precisely,” Ogawa answers.

Watanabe hums. “I see. So the camera placement is meant to cross-check whoever’s slipping in and out of school gates and dorm entrances during club period and dismissal.”

“Obviously, we can’t frisk the students— lest it attracts unnecessary attention— but we can monitor foot traffic when students leave their classrooms."

Ogawa knits her brows apologetically. “We apologise we didn’t give you a heads up over the break. Nozomi and I thought it would be okay to go ahead and plant them since her family shouldered the security camera expenses, anyway.”

You smile wryly. Ah, what typical ojou-sama behaviour from Saji Nozomi.

“How did you get permission?” Watanabe asks.

“I talked to my grandfather,” Ogawa answers. “I merely told him it was an endeavour to strengthen security measures against trespassing— after, you know, how Ushijima Wakatoshi snuck in those two students from Karasuno High. He went with it. He has no idea of the phone theft cases to this day.”

You sigh. “That’s a relief.”

Ping!

Kato’s phone goes off. He mutters an apology, sneaking it under the table while everyone else returns to discussion.

Saji leans into her chair. “Yes, so we’re still in the clear. If you haven’t seen it yet, the monitor broadcasting the camera feeds is placed in the disciplinary committee room. We’ll leave you in charge of overseeing the footage.”

Kato’s eyes are as wide as plates, still fixated on his phone screen.

“Kato Ryuuji,” Saji calls. “If you’re not going to pay attention to the meeting, then I’m going to have to ask you to step out.”

And then almost ironically, lewd sounds begin spilling into the room. “Ahnnn, faster!”

“Kato-kun!” you grab his hoodie sleeve. “What the hell!”

“No dude!” he whips his head to you, “look! I-I mean, don’t look! But listen to me!"

Saji’s mouth drops open. “Is that porno so important that you have to watch it in the middle of a committee meeting?! Out!”

His eyes flit to the President, frantic energy becoming borderline contagious. “It’s Fujimori!”

“What?”

“She’s the girl who lost her phone after Andou! Remember how Andou’s video leaked a few weeks back? It’s Fujimori this time!”

You gasp in tune with Ogawa. “What if the theft cases are connected?”

“Are you saying someone’s stealing phones so they could leak illicit content?”

You turn to the President. “But then, wouldn’t that make Andou’s ex-boyfriend the main suspect?”

Kato shoots a look of incredulity. “What?”

“Yeah? Didn’t he leak her nudes as revenge porn when they broke up?”

He cocks his head back. “Dude, no! I’m friends with her boyfriend! It’s with baseless rumours like those that he’s been so depressed lately. Everyone’s painting him out like the bad guy when he never had those videos in the first place! He didn’t leak shit.”

“But why?” Ogawa questions, “why would the culprit do that?”

“Defamation?” you suggest.

“Actually,” Watanabe cuts in, “defamation is the oral or written communication of a false statement—“

Saji glances at him. “Watanabe, quiet.”

The feel of her ice-cold glare makes him freeze. “Yes, ma’am.”

Saji sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Kimiko, call Andou and Fujimori. We need to interview them; these are targeted thefts and we need to build a victim profile."

Ogawa arises from her chair. “Will do.”

“Wait,” Watanabe interrupts. “I mean, if you’ll allow me to speak, ma’am, but Andou is my classmate and she skipped school today.”

“Okay, I’ll look for Fujimori instead.”

The door clicks closed.

Saji stands up and tents her arms over the large table. “The three of you— what do you know about Andou and Fujimori?”

You purse your lips. “Not a lot, honestly. Andou’s in the class next to mine, but I’ve never talked to her.”

“Yeah, same here,” Kato adds.

“I don’t talk to her much,” Watanabe supplies. “She’d usually spend lunch breaks with her boyfriend. Well, not anymore since they broke up last term.”

“And Fujimori?”

“She’s in my class,” Kato says. “I only know her as Abe’s girl.”

“Wow, they’re still together?” you ask.

“Yeah," he says. Fujimori and Abe have been together since first term of first year.

And then a few moments of silence before Saji speaks up again.

“Is that it? The culprit is going for girls who are in relationships?”

Watanabe squints his eyes in deep thought. “Long-term, or so it appears. Andou and Yamazaki started going out in ninth grade, Fujimori and Abe in first year.”

“Home base type of long-term if we factor in the leaks.”

“Home base?” Watanabe asks.

“Sex. These are couples that have been together long enough to have surely gone all the way.”

“Oh.”

Saji raises a brow. “But why trample on relationships like that? It doesn't make sense to me."

“Blackmail, maybe?” Kato answers.

“How so?” you ask.

“In case you forgot, this is Shiratorizawa Academy. We go to school with the prefecture’s most high-powered and highly-paid figures: doctors, lawyers, politicians… basically everyone who’s anyone sends their kids to school here. Whoever’s targeting these students knows that releasing incriminating content like this can mean social suicide."

You register an uncomfortable look on Watanabe and Saji’s faces at the mere mention of ‘high-powered and highly-paid figures’.

“And besides,” Kato continues, “there was an interval of inactivity between the time their phones were reported missing to the time of the leaks. Maybe the gap was used as a negotiation period or something.”

You tilt your head. “A what? A negotiation period?”

“Yeah. Maybe the culprit threatened Andou and Fujimori with releasing their videos at first, telling them to pay up or else.”

"But if we're talking about rich families, wouldn't it have been easier for them to pay the culprit off while they had the chance?"

"How would you feel if your daughter asked for a few hundred thousand yen one day, no explanation attached? These kids don't have part-time jobs, [F/N]. They're sheltered like that. And it's not as if Andou and Fujimori could just tell their dads that they've lost their v-cards, sex videos threatening to be released.”

“But still! To these people, wouldn’t that be a small price to pay to save their daughters’ reputations?”

“We live out here in the boonies, remember? People aren't as progressive; shit like that is shameful. So even if those girls came clean, they’d have to deal with their parents stepping in. No teenager wants to be found out like that, not unless they’re prepared for the consequences."

That means whoever’s doing this is really trying to corner these girls… they can't even ask the adults for help.

You slump into your seat. ”Six digits worth of hush money… I can’t believe it.”

”It’s how these things usually go.”

Saji squints at him. “Kato, you talk like you’re part of the yakuza or something.”

He laughs dismissively. “Anyway, it’s possible.”

Ogawa enters the room again. “Nozomi, Fujimori is… in the clinic with a panic attack. I don’t think it’s wise to push for questioning today.”

The President sighs. “Okay. In the meantime, help us brainstorm here. What do you know about Andou and Fujimori? Aside from the fact that they’re girls in our year who are active in clubs.”

She sits back down on her chair. “Hmm… as far as I know, they’re not on the sports scholarship fund. They’re full-paying students.”

“So they are loaded!” you exclaim, a bit too enthusiastically.

Watanabe gives you a weird look. “Yes… ? I think, um, we've already established that."

“Do you think they’re old money or new money?”

You catch Saji with a scrutinizing expression on her face. Ogawa’s lips tug into an awkward, almost hesitant smile. “I’m not sure? I’m sorry, [L/N]-san.”

“… Did I say something wrong?”

Kato nudges you and the glare he sends your way makes you shut up. Stop talking, his eyes say.

Saji shakes her head. “Anyway— what else do you know about them, Kimiko? Like what do their families do?”

“I used to go to cram school with Andou… I think her dad works in the hotelier scene. She used to talk about how much she’d rather spend afternoons working out at Tower’s gym instead of studying. It bothered me to no end how she kept twisting every conversation we had back to it.”

And then for the first time in your life, you see the ever-mousy Ogawa Kimiko flash a look of disdain.

“Ugh, that’s annoying,” Saji adds fuel.

“Truly, it was. She talked to me as if I never set foot in there.”

You lean over to Kato. “What’s Tower?” you whisper.

“I’ll tell you later.”

Ogawa begins a recount of information on Fujimori. “I heard her dad owns an IT company? Or was it a BPO? I don’t remember, but I do know the Fujimori’s are in some new tech industry. I don’t understand it much.”

Saji hums. “I see.”

The President marches towards the room’s rolling whiteboard. Then, she begins listing down the working victim profile.

FUJIMORI AND ANDOU

• 3rd years
• active in clubs
• full-paying students
• are or were in long-term relationships

You take a few seconds to fully ingest the information. You then speak up.

“I feel like… the culprit is targeting Shiratorizawa’s ‘big girl’ crew, do you get me?”

“Ahhh,” Kato nods. “Yeah. I get you. You're talking about the mature ones.”

“Right? Because how else could the culprit have known that these girls had that type of private content?”

Watanabe cocks his head to you. “But why the girls?”

“Watanabe-kun, let’s be real. Nude leaks or video scandals have no real effect on guys. It’s always the girls— boys never have to clean up after these messes, regardless of whether or not they made them in the first place. The guys can get just as much screen time as the girls, but the girls always get the short end of the stick.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Then just don’t keep pornographic material in your phones, then?”

“Ugh, it’s not that! It’s the fact that someone breached their privacy and used it against them.”

“But isn’t that their fault for recording it in the first place?”

You huff. “You can’t blame girls for these faults when they’ve already been victimized!”

“Enough!” Saji ruptures. “Anyway, girls in relationships, right? Who else are the known couples in third year?”

Ogawa takes her personal journal out to jot down notes. Saji turns back to the board to list possible victims.

“Yoshida and Okamoto.”

“Ono and Ueda.”

“Matsui and Noguchi.”

You gasp. “Yumi and Takeru!"

“Who?”

“I mean, Amano and Sasaki.”

“Ah, right. Them too. You’re friends with Amano, aren’t you?”

You nod, unsettling concern pooling in your stomach.

“You should warn her while you still can.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Anyway,” Saji returns to the table. “We’ll wait for Fujimori and Andou’s input before we build this case any further. In the meantime, your patrol duty begins tomorrow. Let me know how it goes, Masahiro.”

“Will do," Watanabe answers sternly.

“If there’s nothing else, this meeting is adjourned. Thank you for seeing us today.”

“Thank you!”

You and Kato are walking down the third floor of the committee wing whilst Watanabe, Saji, and Ogawa head off for another meeting.

“[L/N], I have a question for you.”

“No, you answer mine first.”

“Oh right. What was it again?”

“Well, I have two now. First: why did the President give me that weird look when I asked whether or not Andou and Fujimori are new money or old money?”

His face scrunches up in growing embarrassment. “Dude, you don’t just say that.”

“Why not? I thought it could help build the victim profile.”

“Yeah, but not everything has to be voiced out all the time. If you’re talking to people like Saji, Ogawa, and Watanabe, then statements like that don’t have to be shoved into their faces. It makes you look so… crass.”

Your eyebrows raise up. “Ohhh, they’re old money, aren’t they? Did that make me sound unrefined? Ill-bred? Oh my god, what if they thought that was too new money of me? But then again I’m not even new money, I’m just upper middle class—“

Kato groans. “Okay, you need to stop doing that. Don’t just yap about old money this, new money that.”

"I still don't get it."

“It’s like...” he sighs, “that scene from Mean Girls.”

“Which one?”

He fidgets for a while, the thought of having to reference an American chick flick never crossing his mind until today.

“The ‘if you’re from Africa, why are you white?’ scene. Like… it’s rude. You don’t just say that. When it comes to Shiratorizawa’s ‘proper’ kids, any talk that has to do with wealth is vulgar. It’s the same with how, you know, our parents never talk about sex and birth control. Or with how you’re not supposed to ask about job salaries. It’s a matter of tact and discretion.”

You shrink. “I-I knew all that… it was a tiny faux pas.”

“You’re lucky they let it slide,” he reprimands you. “You could have seriously lost face if you talked any more.”

“Okay, I get it already.”

“Anything else?”

“What’s Tower?”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s just some exclusive members club downtown. It’s the worst place to be in during Sundays. All the annoying kids are running up and down the dining areas and hallways with their caretakers chasing after them.”

“Caretakers? Just say moms.”

“No, I’m talking about these kids’ nannies. The moms are too busy gossiping with other trophy wives over lunch, or sucking up to their monster mother-in-laws. Sometimes both. It’s just some snooty hangout where other elite families seclude themselves in.”

Huh. So there is such thing for these circles. But Kato-kun makes it sound so stuck-up, it doesn’t sound as fancy as I thought it would be.

“You know what, I’m starting to realize that you’re part of this… entire rich-people-inner-circle thing, but I get the feeling that you don’t like it.”

He scoffs. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. Who knows, I don’t really care. Anyway, I still have to ask you about my question.”

“Oh, yeah. Go shoot.”

“Is your mother’s maiden name Tomitani?”

“Yeah,” you answer, not thinking much of it. “Why?”

“It’s nothing.”

You scrunch your brows. “Why?” you ask again.

“It’s nothing,” he repeats, going ahead to disappear into the stairwell. “See you in patrol duty tomorrow,” his voice echoes.

“Kato-kun!” you trail after him, “what do you know?”

He’s on the second flight of stairs now. You lean over the railings to look at him from above. “I don’t know anything!” he answers back, the reply bouncing off the walls.

You launch your feet into a spring towards him, holding on to your school bag so it doesn’t fall down your shoulder. “Get back here and tell me what you know!”

He angles his head up and sees you racing after him like a madman. That sight alone triggers his fight or flight response.

He chooses the latter, by the way.

“What the fuck!” he cries, his indoor shoes tap-tap-tapping down the flight of stairs with growing urgency. “I told you! I don’t know anything!”

He peers over his shoulder to see you closing in on him. With three steps away from the ground floor, he decides to make a leap for it—

— but then you grab him by his hoodie, the momentum of his jump in action dragging you down the staircase with him. Kato falls and you stumble down the stairs, the contact of both your knees hitting the solid ground producing a dull thud!

That’s definitely going to leave some nasty bruises.

“Oww,” Kato groans, rubbing his tailbone as he stands up. “What the hell was that for?!"

“You ran away! Of course you looked suspicious!"

“Because you were so aggro about it! I told you, I don’t know anything!"

You stretch your limbs out to survey the damage. Thankfully, no bleeding this time. Just what is it with you and staircases, seriously?

You sigh in relief.

“Sorry. I just thought you knew something about the Tomitani's."

Kato pats the creases out of his slacks. “Does your mom not talk about her side of the family?"

“What’s there to talk about? My mom was adopted. She was raised by my Great-Aunt Noriko."

“Oh, okay.”

Heavy footsteps thump down the hallway. Kato angles his head to the sound.

“Oh look, it’s Ushiwaka."

You erect yourself from the floor, smoothing out the pleats of your purple-plaid skirt.

Turning towards Ushijima’s footsteps, you see him approaching and clad in his usual dorm-wear attire: joggers and a plain t-shirt. He’s fresh-faced with hair still damp from the shower.

“Oh, hi Ushi. My meeting just ended."

“Why were you on the floor?” he asks, side-eyeing your companion.

“I fell and tripped over."

He gives Kato a once-over.

“I know what you’re thinking. He didn’t push me, don’t worry about it."

“Who is this?"

"This is Kato Ryuuji. He’s on the disciplinary team with me."

He tilts his head up and glares Kato down (although not very much; Kato’s just a few inches shorter than Ushijima). “You don’t have the disciplinary committee band on you, though."

Kato raises a brow. “It’s underneath my hoodie, man."

"You should wear it on top, then."

Kato flashes a confused, yet challenged grin. "Ahaha. Well, nice to meet you too."

Ushijima takes one last discerning look at Kato, deciding whether or not he should greet him in return. And then he thinks, no, perhaps I will not. I have decided that I do not like you. And I do not have to say that it is nice to meet you.

He merely hums in response.

And then his gaze flits to you. “Let’s go, [L/N],” he asserts, sliding your bag strap down your shoulder and slinging it around his own.

Ushijima marches down the hallway. You scamper after him, peeking at Kato to bid him an unprepared goodbye as you depart the building.

Kato chuckles in amusement, waving you off as you approach wing entrance.

The ace pulls you by your bare wrist. “Don’t look back,” he says, a frown making itself apparent on his lips. You find this amusing, and for the first time in seemingly forever, you share another quiet walk home— shared solitude, lingering glances, and comfortable silence nestled into your cozy little bubble as if the company of each other’s presence was considered a home away from home.

Ushijima is happy. He is happy to be finally, finally walking beside you once more. Gone is the summer spent chasing after you, and here is the semester sealed with the promise of ‘I’ll stay’.

“U-um,” you stutter, “would it be okay if I started calling you by your first name? But it’s fine if you don’t want to, I mean I don’t want to overstep my b—"

“I’ve been wanting you to, for a while now."

And then a grin that creeps into your mouth, a warmth that seeps in your chest.

“You know, I’ve never heard you call anyone by their first name. So you don’t have to do the same with me."

“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it anyway."

“Am I your first?” you ask as a joke.

“And last, I would hope,” he answers seriously.

Your cheeks tinge into a shade of red. Even with one-third of the school year now gone and done, his guileless honesty still catches you off-guard.

“What?” he asks, wondering why you’re looking at him so intently.

“Wanna practice?"

“Alright."

"Wa-ka-to-shi."

And he decides that no name better than his own rolls off your tongue best.

"[F/N]."

And then you decide the same for yours.

The walk home leaves an invisible track of parallel lines— no guarantee of intersecting, yet in proximities close enough they could almost touch. His hand hangs slack on his right, yours on your left, inching-inching-inching closer, yet not close enough. Not quite, not yet.

When he returns to the dorms, he tells Tendou of the curry your mom prepared for supper.

“Do you need heartburn medicine like last time, Wakatoshi-kun?"

“There is no need,” he says, “because it is not heartburn after all."

And then a flicker of a smile.

Chapter Text

Kato Noboru, father to Ryuuji, Erina, and Takeshi, is the seventh-generation head of the Kato-gumi clan. Based in Sendai, Miyagi, his high-level yakuza group generates most of its profits from (often illegal) stock market schemes— and finding incriminating company evidence for blackmail material happens to be their go-to method. By threatening the company's public persona and working executives, they can force their way into buying stocks. This strategy allows them to buy cheap, and sell incredibly expensive. Their storefront business, however, is used as a ploy for their otherwise criminal activity. The clan owns over a third of Sendai’s hostess clubs, making these establishments their ‘legal’ profit generators.

We could talk more about how they pimp their girls to corrupt local government officials in exchange for ‘blind eyes’, but that can be discussed for another day.

The Kato estate echoes that of the Ushijima house in all its traditional Japanese exterior. The stark difference, however, is the perennial entourage of black executive cars that line the driveway— windows tinted to their darkest shades, of course… (and despite this being illegal in Japan, let’s just say some under-the-table accords have been forged between the family and the Sendai Police Station).

And what do you get when the richest yakuza clan bribes an equally immoral government and police force?

You get the single, most powerful organized crime ring in the entire prefecture.

But on any other day, Kato Ryuuji would just tell you his dad works as an entrepreneur. That could also apply to the family's (illegally) imported methamphetamine business, by the way. But once again, this is not relevant today.

The eldest son walks through the gates of his home. Two familiar men greet him— it’s buzzcut and slicked-back.

“Hey, bocchan,” buzzcut greets as he exhales a puff of grey smoke. “How was school today?”

Kato’s eyes trail to the pack of cigarettes in the hoodlum’s pocket.

“Gimme one.”

He does as he’s told and lights one up for him. “Ran out of gum? Or is the first day back in school stressing you out already?”

“Both,” Kato inhales. “I fell down the stairs today,” and then he huffs.

They both snicker. “I heard you go to school with that Tomitani girl lookalike. What’dya find? Are they related after all?”

“Yeah. She’s the daughter.”

“I told ya,” slicked-back tells his companion.

“Alright already," buzzcut rolls his eyes.

Nicotine fills Kato’s lungs. “What do you know about her? That Tomitani lady, I mean.”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you. Sorry, bocchan.”

Slicked-back nudges buzzcut on the arm. “But then oyabun specifically asked him to talk to her, though? I’m pretty sure he knows a thing or two.”

The truth is, Kato was merely summoned by his father to identify the girl in the stolen photo. When it was established that she is indeed [L/N]— as in [L/N] Atsushi and Mari’s daughter, Kato was then asked to find out the mother’s maiden name for ‘further checking’.

Kato nods vigorously. “He’s right. Just tell me, it’s fine,” he presses, lying through the gritted teeth on his cigarette.

“Well, we got instructions to look for this Tomitani Tatsuya guy’s daughter, right. Mariko’s her name. Her dossier came in a few days ago.”

“What’s a dossier?”

“A bunch of documents on her. Personal information and history.”

Kato allows his lips to slack. “Lemme see.”

He turns to his side. Smoke is puffed into the air as slicked-back takes a brown envelope out of his coat pocket. Kato flicks his cigarette onto gravel-covered ground and extinguishes it with the sole of his leather shoe. Opening the folder, Kato reveals several photos from Mariko’s youth. She looks just like [L/N], only with varying hair lengths throughout the years. There are some classic portraits from her university days, but the more interesting photographs include the ones posed in front of Parisian boulangeries, ruins of Roman columns, balconies overlooking the Swiss Alps…

… Huh. So she’s well-travelled. Must have really deep pockets, then.

Kato flips some more pages.

NAME: Tomitani Mariko

ALIAS/ES: Mari

STATUS: Estranged

CURRENT AGE: 44 years old

BIRTHPLACE: Bunkyo City, Tokyo

HIGHEST EDUCATIONAL ATTAINMENT: Undergraduate degree, Tohoku University

“So she was born in Tokyo,” Kato observes, eyes still trained on the text.

“Yup. Lived there all her life until she moved away for uni.”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes peeling away from dossier. He could question this outright, but he decides to keep his mouth shut. After all, he’s supposed to know ‘a thing or two’.

I thought she was adopted and raised up here. Does that mean she's not a Sendai native?

Is [L/N] lying?

… Or is it her mom that lied to her?

He flips through some more pages. Height, weight, hair colour, eye colour, et cetera...

AGE LAST SEEN: 26 years old
OCCUPATION LAST KNOWN: Chief Strategy Officer, Dentsu Inc.

And then Kato’s eyes stop at ‘relevant relationships’. Although he didn’t care much for sports, he could remember which student athlete his younger sister Erina had a crush on— his name was Sakusa Kiyoomi. And it just so happens his last name was shared on this page.

CURRENTLY MARRIED TO: [L/N] Atsushi
PAST RELATIONSHIP/S: Sakusa Fumihiro

Could he be that volleyball player’s dad?

“Do you know if this Sakusa guy has a son who plays volleyball?” he says, pointing at Sakusa Fumihiro’s printed name.

Buzzcut shrugs. “Dunno.”

Kato returns to the dossier. He stops at six pages-worth of the Tomitani family history.

“I can’t be bothered to read through all that. Summarize it for me, will ya?”

Slicked-back chuckles. “There’s nothing special ‘bout ‘em.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Exactly that, bocchan. No notable assets, no big properties, no company portfolios. They’re a middle class family, only at the very most.”

Kato knits his brows. “That doesn’t make sense. If they’re from Tokyo and they sent Mari to some imperial university like Tohokudai, they’d have to be at least cushy. Not every family can afford to send their daughter to study outside the capital. On top of the school's acceptance fees and tuition fees, they still have to consider living expenses, rent money, academic material budget, and cash allowance.”

“Exactly. And based on those dossier photos, the Tomitani’s should be rich enough to burn through travel money like it’s nothing. But those family occupations— construction workers, machine operators, maids and caretakers, if not housewives— it doesn't add up.”

“Was the dossier rigged or something?”

“Haha, no idea. It’s even weirder because there’s no reference of that Tatsuya guy in the family tree. You can reread it a hundred times over and not one mention of his name will come out.”

Kato’s face contorts in pure bewilderment. “That’s fucking bizarre.”

Slicked-back nods. “Whatever, it’s not worth losing sleep over. I just want to get this done and over with.”

“That’s true. Don’t mind, bocchan,” buzzcut slings an arm over the oyabun’s son. “Wanna hit the host clubs this weekend?”

They snicker.

Kato pushes the kyodai's sleeved arm away. “Where’s father? Is he in a meeting?”

“Nah, he’s in his office.”

“Thanks,” he says, freeing himself from their circle and walking towards the front door.

They watch his back shrink with the growing distance.

“Is that a no?”

Kato flips them off.

Ryuuji pads through the wooden floorboards of his antiquated home. He stops in front of a shoji door, guarded by two men.

He leans towards the screen panelling. “Oyaji, it’s me.”

“Ah, Ryuuji? Come in.”

One bodyguard slides the door open. Ryuuji steps inside and sees his father sitting behind a floor table, clad in his usual yukata attire and hunched over triple-checked financial reports.

“I talked to [L/N] today,” he says as he sits across him. Noboru catches a whiff of that nose-wrinkling smell of nicotine, but he decides to focus on the assignment at hand for now.

“What did she say?”

“She said her mom’s maiden name is Tomitani.”

Noboru’s eyes remain unchanged, yet an amused curl creeps on his lip. Wow. Tatsuya’s boys were right. She’s not using her actual maiden name.

“What else did you find out?”

“She said that her mom’s adopted and that she was raised by this Great-Aunt Noriko.”

Noboru cocks his head back in a deep laugh.

“Why?”

The father neutralizes his countenance before reaching for a phone. He doesn’t provide a reason.

Ryuuji raises a brow. “This Tomitani guy you’re in contact with, is he part of the clan?”

“Tatsuya-san? Yes and no. He’s not a shingiin* himself, so he’s not actually considered ‘part’ of the clan. What he does, though, is that he supplies us with his lawyers whenever we get into trouble. We call him up for assistance every now and then. And since his firm has helped us out plenty of times, I’m just paying him back for the service.”

Noboru unlocks his phone and dials up Tatsuya’s number.

“Go along now, Ryuuji. And thanks for the help.“

Ryuuji arises, treading his way back to the shoji door. He places a hand on the sunken handle before gathering his voice.

He turns around. “Can I just ask one thing?”

Noboru, with his phone held to his ear, nods.

“The dossier… and the info I got from [L/N] don’t match up. The dossier says that Tomitani Mari was born and raised in Tokyo, and then sent to school in Tohoku University. [L/N], though, says that she doesn't know much about the Tomitani's because her mom was adopted and raised up here in Sendai. On top of that, this Mari lady's old pictures look like they were taken at these posh, high-end travel destinations. With how this family has only ever worked blue-collar, there’s no way they could have afforded Mari's lifestyle. And that Tatsuya-san you’re talking to…”

Noboru and Ryuuji share a silent gaze.

Riiing. Riiing.

“… if he's supposed to be a Tomitani, then why wasn’t he mapped out in the family tree?”

Noboru’s eyes bear a knowing glint. “You’re a sharp boy.”

Riiing. Riiing.

“Well?”

“Let’s just say that Tatsuya isn’t a Tomitani."

Riiing. Riiing.

Ryuuji wordlessly blinks. And then he gathers his voice once more.

“Then that means Mari isn’t a Tomitani either, right?”

He smiles.

Click. “Hi,” Noboru shifts into a professional tone, “is Tatsuya-san in the office?”

Noboru lifts a hand up to wave his son away. Ryuuji stands still for a while, but he eventually acquiesces.

He's not going to excavate an answer from his father at this point.

The door slides open and he walks out, the bodyguards shutting the door behind him.

Ryuuji stands still for a while, listening in on the muffled voice that spills into the immediate hallway.

“Ah, his three boys are there too? Good, good. Tell him it’s Noboru.”

And then a bodyguard asks him to promptly leave.

Chapter Text

You were halfway out the classroom when Kato Ryuuji ambushed you at the back-end doorway. He comes at you with seriousness so etched into his face, it makes you clam up for no apparent reason.

“Did you lie to me?” he questions, face scanning yours in an attempt to detect any semblance of deceit. The gum in his mouth is stuck mid-chew, squished between molars of pressure.

You knit your brows. “About what?”

“About your mom’s side of the family?”

You step aside, away from the doorway and towards the direct hall. Kato magnets himself on you.

“Why would I lie to you?”

He takes in a sharp breath. “Because—“

And then he remembers he must abide by… a certain set of rules. It looks like his curiosity had eaten him up so bad, it has now jumbled his usual thought process. That loose, borderline careless demeanour of his has warped into nagging agitation.

He seals his lips and he pauses for a moment.

“Actually, nevermind.”

You scowl. “Come on. I might have to push you down the stairs for real this time.”

Kato scoffs.

“I’m just about as in-the-dark as you are,” you reason out, putting your arms akimbo, “so just tell me what you know.”

He squints his eyes, training his gaze on you for a while. You can almost hear the tick-tick-ticking of his brain.

"There had to be a reason why you asked me for my mom's maiden name."

He cedes. "Fine. But first, you need to tell me everything that you know. Then I'll tell you what I know."

(That's subject to certain censorship, of course.)

Just then, Ushijima intercepts with Yamagata in tow. They’ve come to pick you and Semi up for lunch, stopping at arm's-length away from you both.

Yamagata takes one look at you before scanning room 3-1 for the setter. “Where’s Eita?”

“He went ahead. Today’s menu has yakisoba pan.”

“Oh shit,” his eyes light up with the emphasis of that ssshit, “that was today?!”

And then he dashes down the hallway, leaving Ushijima with you and Kato.

The captain doesn't bother hiding the glare he sends to your committee mate.

"Are you eating with us?" he asks, turning towards you and you only. As if Kato isn't even there.

“Yeah, just give me a minute. I have to talk to Kato-kun first.”

Ushijima huffs. You barely heard it, but you could tell by the way his chest puffed out for a millisecond longer.

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

And then a beat of awkward silence.

“Here? Like… in front of us?”

“Yes.”

Ah, the immovable object.

You reach out and grab his arm. And then his match comes in the form of you: the unstoppable force.

He's pulled to the other side of the hallway, natural light illuminating the speckles of gold in his olive eyes. “Wakatoshi,” your voice assumes a hushed tone, “I don’t know if you want to… listen in on this.”

“Why not?” he questions in his regular speaking voice, completely oblivious at your attempt to converse in private.

“We’re talking about my mom.”

“I’ve met her. She is a nice lady.”

Okay. This may take a while.

“Yes, but… her origins aren’t exactly…” and then you hesitate for a second before completing the sentence in a mutter, “proper.”

He blinks, as if to refresh his information processing rate. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if I want to tell you…” you trail off, “you might think my family is scandalous or something.”

You gaze up at him, a reluctant look on your face. “It might taint your view on me.”

“So?” he answers without wasting a second of stillness, “Your mother is your mother and you are you. It doesn’t matter.”

Man, you kinda wanna reach out and hold his hand for that. But no, you are out in the open, at the hallway during lunch break.

So you send him a fond smile instead, that rose-tinted bubble encapsulating you both. “Okay. Thank you.”

He tugs one corner of his lip up.

Five steps away, Kato pops that very bubble. “Are you done?” he asks, peering over to you both.

“Yes,” and then you and Ushijima gravitate towards him once more. “Wakatoshi will just, um, listen in on us.”

Kato cocks a brow. This is heavy information. Is he prepared to hear this?

“Uh, okay. So going back— what do you know about your mom?”

You begin with apprehension. “Well… she’s an illegitimate child,” your eyes flit to Ushijima for any change in expression, but there is none. “Her birth was kept a secret from her dad’s legal wife, so my Great-Aunt Noriko was the one that took her in. Raised her, put her through school and everything.”

“So you’re saying she was adopted, right? She’s lived in Sendai all her life.”

“Basically.”

And then Kato’s eyes squint by a hairline-width. “Okay. Since your grandpa sought Noriko's help, how’s he related to her? Brother-sister? Cousins, maybe? What?”

You ponder. When you think about it, your mom… never specified.

“I… I actually don’t know. But what does it matter? If my grandpa sent my mom to my great-aunt, they’d have to be on the same team, right? They’re family.”

Kato shoots you an odd look. “You never asked your mom?”

“She never told me.”

He hums as if a checkbox has been ticked off in his brain. “Did your grandpa… never like… visit his illegitimate daughter?”

You shake your head. “No way. He basically plopped my mom into my great-aunt’s hands and dipped.”

And then a curl in his lip. “Huh. Next question: where did your mom graduate?”

You dampen your drying lips. “Where are you going with this?”

“Just answer me,” he throws back.

“Tohoku University.”

“Do you know how much it costs to send a kid to school there?”

“Duh. It’s one of the most prestigious universities in Japan. Of course I do.”

“Was your mom on scholarship?”

What a strange question, you think. But you answer anyway. “No, she wasn’t.”

“I see. If Noriko put your mom through school, what was her profession?”

You rack your brain for an answer. “She was… um…”

And then Kato waits in excruciating silence. Ushijima is… you know. Just standing there.

“She was a housewife? No, she was a spinster. She couldn’t be a housewife.”

"Are you saying you've never seen her work a day in your life? And your mom never bothered telling you what job she had, if any?"

"Yeah?"

Ding! Kato’s alarmed brain says.

“So I guess she stayed at home? She was a house… mom?”

“No steady income, basically,” he supplies.

“Y-yes? But it’s not like she never did anything for the family!” you sputter. “My memory of her is vague since she passed away when I was a child, but she took care of us really well— she cooked for us, cleaned for us, even did our laundry. She only stopped when I got a bit older and I learned how to do all that with my mom. Only then did she move out to her own place across Sendai.”

“She used to live with you guys?”

“Hmm? Yeah!"

Ding-ding-ding!

“My mom says that everything she knows about homemaking is thanks to Great-Aunt Noriko. Bless her soul.”

Kato smirks. “So this Noriko was a stay-at-home spinster with a knack for domestic work. Sounds more like a nanny than a relative to me,” he says, a sly grin imprinted on his features.

You jerk your head back in offense. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you being so mean? Just because she took care of us that way doesn’t mean she was household help!”

And then Ushijima inserts himself into the rapid-fire conversation, cooling the pace down.

“No, I know what Kato is talking about.”

Kato turns to him. “Of course you would, Richie Rich.”

Ushijima pins his gaze on you. “Your Great-Aunt Noriko did maidservant work. She appears to have functioned as an otetsudai.”

You’re silent for a second or two. “What?”

Kato sighs. “Otetsudai’s are people that rich families employ to run household affairs. They do menial work like cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry. Everything else the wealthy won’t bother to do, they do it for them.”

“I know what an otetsudai is!” you bark, “I just… I just can’t wrap my head around it. She’s my mom’s only relative."

Blinking profusely, you try to soak the absurd claim. "That can’t be.”

“But where could she have gotten the money to send your mom to school? If she’s supposed to be the one that raised her, how did she pay for nearly twenty-years worth of education?” he posits.

“I don’t know, maybe my grandpa was behind the scenes? Sponsoring his illegitimate daughter?”

“But you just said he ‘basically dipped’, [L/N]. That means your grandpa and great-aunt never talked.”

In the tiniest muscle movement, your mouth hangs loose.

Oh. Oh.

He has a point.

“Think about it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know what to think about!”

“Your mom is hiding something, stupid!”

Kato sees your snarl and he steels himself for a possible onslaught.

“Have you ever thought about how painful it might be for people to open up about their scandalous origins?! I don’t blame my mom for—“

“For what? Not telling you the full, unfiltered truth? My point is that she’s been keeping all these tiny details from you, and now they’ve snowballed into this clusterfuck of Tomitani obscurity. Things don’t add up. Why aren’t you questioning this?”

“And why are you? What’s your role in this, anyway? And why do you care?”

Kato chews on his gum, blows it up, and then it pops!

His fiery eyes cool down and they resume to its usual glacial appearance. “Because your mom isn’t a Tomitani, that much I can tell you.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“It’s true. There are so many more things I could expound on, but I’ll save it for another day.”

Skepticism and suspicion wander onto your face. “Are you saying she lied to me?”

“I mean, you have all the proof you need, right? From her failure to mention the family tree specifics, to the questionable amount of money needed to put her through school— especially despite Noriko’s clear unemployment— and all the way to the lack of communication between Ta—“

And then he catches himself.

“And all the way to the lack of communication between your grandpa and your supposed,” he air-quotes, “‘great-aunt’. I just laid it out for you. The writing’s on the wall, and it says that there is no way in hell this Noriko lady raised your mom— especially with those conditions. I’m starting to doubt if they’re even related. How can a maidservant-like figure single-handedly raise a so-called ‘illegitimate’ daughter? Everything compounded, your mom sounds more like an ojou-sama who ran off with— or to— her most trusted retainer.”

You take a deep, winding breath. This feels like it's too big of a disclosure drop to immediately dissolve.

Ushijima shoots Kato a glare when he sees your lips trembling in unease. “Why are you telling her this?”

“I’m not supposed to snitch,” he shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket, “but I want to get to the bottom of this. Her mom isn’t who she’s painted out to be.”

Your brows furrow. “Does this have something to do with your family business?”

His lip curls. “Heh. Maybe. But anyway, aren’t you curious too? Don’t you want to know why?”

“No,” was your immediate response.

But then the information starts to settle. “I mean. I don’t know. Should I? I'm not sure because… I’m happy with the circumstances I’m in right now. I have everyone I could ever possibly need.”

Kato leans in but stops mid-way when Ushijima shifts his weight the slightest.

“But let’s say your mom’s family is actually filthy rich— what if your circumstances were better, what if they could give you more?”

What if you’re not a blank canvas, after all? What if you’re a lost da Vinci painting?

Kato surmises that the look on your face has you inching towards the thought of jumping into this mystery. “Has your mom been weird lately?”

Your brows quirk up. “Yes! She’s been oddly overprotective, making me go home early for no apparent reason. She even offered to dye my hair— wait a minute. How do you know this?”

“It was a guess.”

You click your tongue. “Who are you, Tendou Satori?”

(Ushijima doesn't laugh.)

Kato shrugs. “People are looking for your mom, [L/N]. One day, they’ll be knocking on your front door. And the last thing your mom wants you to do is open it up for them. You know she’s hiding— she could be hiding herself, or she could even be hiding you.”

You gulp. “But why? Why should she do that?”

Kato continues chewing on his gum. “Dunno. But that’s exactly what I want to find out— and don’t you, too?”

You look at Ushijima. And then you look back at Kato.

As if their faces could actually provide an answer— but they can’t. This is a puzzle and the missing piece is in the shape of you.

Finally, you give in. You press the start button, you create a save file, and you start at point A.

You nod.

“Good. I have another lead, but I don’t know if I can do anything about it. I found out that your mom was previously connected to this Sakusa guy.”

Ushijima flashes a look of the mildest surprise. “Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

“You know him?”

“Yes. He is my rival.”

“Sorry,” you pipe in, “who is this?”

Ushijima fishes for his pocketed phone while Kato takes the conversational baton to explain Sakusa to you. “He’s some hotshot volleyball player. I don’t know much, but I’ve heard about him because my sister can’t stop yapping on about the guy. Actually, I’m not surprised Ushiwaka here knows Sakusa— he is the country’s top ace, after all. Or I don't know, is he?”

“He is not,” Ushijima angles his head up from his phone. “He is top two. Kiryuu is top one.”

And then he returns typing.

“Yeahokayanyway— going back, what I really need to know is whether or not he’s related to Sakusa Fumihiro.”

“Who’s that?” you ask.

“Some guy your mom used to date in high school. Bet she never told you anything about her personal life before your birth, huh?”

And then another revelation materializes in front of you. She hasn’t. She actually hasn’t. If and when she does, those stories only ever include narratives with your dad already in the photo.

You shake your head at Kato.

“So, if we could just… verify that they are related, then we might have our first lead.”

“And we could probably reach out to Sakusa, right? And ask him what his dad knows about my mom.”

“Yup,” the p pops, “but only if it actually is his dad. Everything else rides on that.”

Your interest trickles in. “Where does Sakusa go to school?”

“That’s the thing. He goes to school in Tokyo. And I don’t know anyone from Itachiyama, so we need to find a way to—“

Ushijima clears his throat. “Sakusa says his father’s name is indeed Fumihiro.”

In unison, you whip your heads towards the captain. “What?”

“I texted him. Sakusa says his father’s name is indeed Fumihiro," Ushijima repeats.

Kato’s face contorts. “Why didn’t you say you were friends with him?!”

“I did. He is my rival.”

“You know, a rival is closer to an arch-nemesis than it is to a friend.”

“Anyway!” you cut through, “we got the verification we need. Now what?”

Kato turns his attention back to you. “We ask him if he can meet us.”

“Can’t we go to him instead?”

Ushijima answers for you. “No. I don’t want to go to Tokyo.”

You tilt your head. “Why not?”

“I’m not good with directions," he plainly says, "and everything is so fast-paced.”

What an adorable country bumpkin.

“O… okay?” you reply, an amused smile creeping on your face.

Tendou enters the third year hallway with a tottering and obviously out-of-place Goshiki in tow(— you don’t blame him. He’ll puff himself up around his first year peers and familiar senpais, but the big boys and girls that roam this hallway make him feel unsteady).

Goshiki's eyes dart around and he spots you and Ushijima outside 3-1. He taps on Tendou's shoulder.

You and Ushijima take it as a sign to close the conversation and finally join them for lunch.

“Anyway, we have to go. I think we took too long so they came to pick us up."

Kato goes back to chewing his gum. “'Aight. See you at patrol duty.”

Ushijima doesn’t bother saying goodbye to Kato. He turns on his heel and marches to his other teammates. You trail after him, but you suddenly halt in your tracks.

You rotate and call Kato out.

“What?”

“I…” you bite your lip back in mild trepidation but full excitement. It's like riding horses with Yumi all over again.

“I don’t know what I’m getting into. But this light— this tiny, speckle of light against the complete obscurity of my mom’s origins— it shines so bright, okay? It’s like a beacon at this point. And I might be doing something my mom would probably kill me for, but I swear— when a complete nobody like me has a brush with Wakatoshi, the somebody of Shiratorizawa, it just… makes me want to know more.”

You steady your footing. “I’m compelled. And you got me roped in, thinking… just thinking. What if this is the overnight lottery I once joked about? What if I actually can hold a candle to Wakatoshi?”

Kato grins. A genuine grin, this time.

“We’ll find out. Just don’t get burnt, okay?”

You chuckle. “Okay.”

Patrol duty ends with Watanabe telling you and Kato that neither Andou nor Fujimori could be contacted for questioning. He reasons that ‘they seem to be avoidant of anything having to do with the phone theft’.

Kato merely scoffs. And then he says ‘of course they would be, that’s a clear sign of blackmail’.

The three of you leave it at that.

Watanabe scurries off for cram school. You and Kato are left retrieving your bags from the cubby hole shelves in your disciplinary committee office.

"My mom's going to get upset if she finds out I walked home alone today," you mutter under your breath.

He pops a fresh stick of gum into his mouth. “Ushiwaka's not bringing you?"

“No, he left school after practice to see a friend.”

“Ohhh. Takenaka Shiori, isn't it?”

You angle a brow. “How do you know?”

Chew, blow, pop.

“The inner circles keep talking about it. Apparently, it's going to be the biggest merger in Sendai business history," Kato glances at you from the side, "but I dunno why you hang around him though.”

He's dangling bait for you to answer, but you don't take it. The tension in your brow disappears. You snicker and Kato looks at you funny.

“Yeah, sure it is,” your voice teases. “Anyway, I’m heading off.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

You sling your bag around your shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

“I’m not asking to walk you home, dumbass. The store I buy my hair conditioner at is near your house.”

You mouth drops in an oh. “You mean MIWA Salon?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Okay.”

You traverse out of Shiratorizawa grounds, the mundanities of daily life backdropping your otherwise normal walk home.

“Kato-kun, what line of work is your family in?”

He scoffs. “Come on.”

You feign ignorance. “What?”

“You’re trying to squeeze the I’m-a-yakuza’s-son statement from me, aren’t you?”

You laugh defeatedly. “I mean, you did corner me and convince me into thinking my mom isn’t related to my great-aunt. Of course I would think you’re a shady guy.”

He chuckles. “Well, with the yakuza rumours… let’s just say you can’t have smoke without a fire.”

“What position does your dad have? Saiko-komon? Wakagashira?”

Kato takes a confused grin. “You sound way too fascinated in this.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Was I not supposed to ask?”

“You’re talking to a crooked man’s son, aren’t you? Isn’t that how society brands people like me?”

A glance is sent his way and you carefully consider his features. “You look the part, don’t you? Blond hair. Piercings.”

The bubblegum in his mouth pops. “If you’ve been labelled something for so long, you start to think you might as well be it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…” Kato slows his pace and you match him. “People will say ‘oh, aren't you that guy from a yakuza clan? Your family must be corrupt, right? Shady, illegal. How many pinkies has your dad gathered?* What kind of drugs have you peddled?’… stuff like that.”

“People seriously ask you that? Straight to your face?” you question, disbelief etched in your tone.

“Too many times to count.”

You hum. “To be honest, when you asked me about my mom back there… I thought someone ordered a hitman for her or something.”

He cocks his head back. “What?! We don’t kill women or children!”

“Aha!” you whip towards him, “so you are part of the yakuza! You finally claimed it!”

Kato laughs. “Okay, fine. You got me."

He inhales. "But to tell you the truth…” his voice softens to an uncharacteristic fragility, “… I wish I was born into another family.”

You remain silent, allowing him to fill the crevices of that claim.

“I didn't ask for any of this. And it sucks because I’ve been put on the spot for so long. So I thought, ‘man, I might as well make a performance out of it’. If people want to box me into that outlaw stereotype so bad, then fine, I’ll act the part. I’ll break school rules with my appearance, I’ll start smoking even if I’m a minor. It’s almost as if my very rebellion satisfies their expectation of me.”

There's a moment of silence until you finally break it.

“But you’re here, though.”

“What?”

You point at the DISCIPLINARY COMMITTEE band pinned to your sleeve— a glaring reminder of how you both serve the school institution, a call to action done out of your own volitions.

“You’re here. Of all places, you’re here. A yakuza’s kid is on the disciplinary committee. The supposed outlaw’s son is in the group that’s meant to enforce the law itself. Did you slip into some cognitive dissonance or something?”

His throat rumbles in a dry laugh.

“I guess a part of me wants to prove people otherwise. Maybe I do fill the role as a yakuza’s kid— I’m just not a very good actor.”

A few silent steps and you’re down to your street. “Is that why you came up to me today? To shed me some light?”

“Yup. And that’s exactly why I expect you to keep your mouth zipped, too. I’m not supposed to be doing this… but I am, and I’m breaking family code here.”

You smile. “You know what? Maybe you’re not as lax as I thought you were.”

He sends you a glance.

“I’ll let you in on a secret.”

“Go on.”

“My dad isn’t just any yakuza. He’s the oyabun of the clan.”

Your face is impressed. “Wow, powerful man.”

Both of you stop in front of your gate. “If you dare spill anything, I’m going to show up to your house with a knife. I’ll cut your pinky myself. I know where you live now,” his eyes take on a pesky little glint.

“Oooh,” you answer back in mock fear. “So scary.”

His face goes back to its usual, bored expression. “But I’m serious. Don’t tell. I could get into trouble.”

“We’ll both get into trouble. So I won’t.”

He hums in approval.

“You think Ushiwaka’s going to snitch?”

You purse your lips. “Nah, he’s a quiet guy. He’ll observe, but he’ll pipe in with some breakthrough every now and then.”

“Like the otetsudai thing,” he recalls.

“And the Sakusa contact,” you add.

“You know, I don’t think he likes me very much."

You roll your eyes. “He just looks grumpy. He's like that with everyone. Gosh, you’re not special.”

He chuckles. “Whatever. See ya.”

“Bye.”

And then he walks off, alone into the distance.

A light chime signals Ryuuji’s entry into MIWA Salon.

A lady with crow-black hair and bright blue eyes greets him from behind a glass counter. “Oh hey,” Kageyama Miwa greets her regular customer. “You’re back again. Is it time for a touch-up already?”

Ryuuji strolls towards the front desk. “Nah, I’m just here to buy conditioner.”

Miwa turns around and opens a shelf, plucking out some colour-protecting hair conditioner. “Here you go. Do you want me to schedule your next visit, too?”

Ryuuji’s about to nod but his head stops mid-crane.

“Actually… I think I want to go in for a haircut and full dye soon.”

Miwa’s eyes widen. “Are you bleaching it lighter?”

He shakes his head. “No. I want it back to the original color.”

And then her face relaxes. She smiles.

“It’s about time you outgrew the blond hair.”

“Yeah.”

Her computer mouse click-click’s on the calendar app. “Is the first week of October okay?”

“Sure.”

Tap-tap-ttap-ttap.

The shorter Miwa beckons a taller Ryuuji to lean in so she can inspect his hair. Doing this reminds her of how fast her own sibling shot up in height. Why do baby brothers seemingly grow overnight?

“Your natural hair colour’s so nice,” she comments after seeing those dark brown roots beginning to peep out again. “I’m glad to see you finally embrace it. Too bad the bleach has already done its damage.”

Miwa retracts her hand and Ryuuji returns to his usual slouch.

“It’s not a problem. I’m okay with it now, imperfections and all. I just want to salvage what’s left of it.”

Chapter Text

The Sendai Country Club is the exclusionary stomping ground of every Miyagi rich kid.

Ushijima hasn’t been here in a while. The last time he recalls setting foot in the golf area's driving range was when he was approximately twelve years old, bored out of wit’s end during one particular summer day. He decided to sample the experience of swinging golf clubs while his mother was confined to an al fresco café, busy in a touch-base meeting with her corporate magnate friends.

Needless to say, Wakatoshi had a mean swing for a prepubescent teen. The championship-winning Fujimori Goro (as in the father of the same Fujimori girl whose phone got stolen) was situated at the dock adjacent to him. For a while, he watched the young Ushijima lad swing a force so powerful he wondered if he competed in the junior golfers league. My god, he merely bought his dear daughter her first club the other week. What if this young boy swoops in and completely dismantles my daughter's budding interest in the sport? However is she going to stay excited about the heirloom Fujimori tradition if this wonder boy snatches all the trophies away from her?

“You’ve got a mean swing there, kiddo.”

Twelve-year-old Wakatoshi loosens his grip on the rented club. He gives the Fujimori father a glance.

“Do you play golf for school?” the older man asks, trying not to let his dread sound too apparent.

“No. I play volleyball. Golf is not my sport.”

Fujimori breathes a sigh of relief. And then he goes back to swinging. Whack!

And six years later, Ushijima finds that the driving range hasn’t changed a single bit. The same potted plants greet the entrance. The same Callaway-sponsored dock dividers line the long aisles. The same (but different) middle-aged men swing their arthritis-defying swings. Within the premises, he— along with Takenaka Shiori— bring the average age down to… a thirty-two, probably. Without them, all these guys’ ages averaged would round down to a fifty-six.

Takenaka exudes too much force and not enough form. This makes her golf balls’ trajectories veer way into the right.

“Damn it,” she hisses under her breath. She stomps back to her table and takes a sip of honeydew shake. Leaning into her picket chair, she watches the captain-ace take another powerful swing.

Whack!

The golf ball flies kilometres away.

Takenaka plays with the flaccid paper straw. “You’re a monster, Ushiwaka. Anything and everything you do, you’re good at it. You don’t even have to try. It’s like you were born to play sports.”

Maybe that’s both a blessing and a curse, Ushijima thinks. He sets his golf club aside and takes the opposite seat.

“What do you know about Sakusa?”

Takenaka likes to nibble on straws. ”Nation’s top two?”

”Yes.”

“Aren’t you friends with the guy?” she questions, an eyebrow arching up. “Why are you asking me?”

Ushijima, in his taciturn ways, doesn’t supply a reason. “What does his family do?”

Ah, the tomboy registers. Maybe he thought about what I told him last time.

“Ushiwaka, either you’ve been spending too much time playing volleyball, or you’re just selectively oblivious to these things. We already established this before— these circles are small […] You just have to know where to look.”

Her face takes a feline grin. “Trade and shipping, I think. His family owns Sakusa & Co., one of the largest sogo shosha* companies in the country, but I heard his dad handles the marine transport and chartering division. They've been in the industry for a long time, so I’m pretty sure they’ve monopolized the market somehow.”

“I see.”

“Why?”

Ushijima shrugs. He raises a hand, calling an attendant over to order a bottle of Pocari Sweat.

Takenaka simply returns to her beverage. “So anyway, I wanna talk about my crush. She sits next to me in school, and we’re really good friends, but I feel like there’s this… something between us. I don’t know if she’s just being nice to me, or if she actually swings the way I do. Either way, I can’t deny the tension between me and her.”

Ushijima flashes his membership card and the attendant takes note of his serial number.

“Perhaps you need time for things to fall into place,” he says, pocketing the card back, “or whatever it is that Tendou said to me before.”

She hums and the attendant leaves earshot. “And how can you tell if things do fall into place?”

Ushijima looks off into the distance, eyes trailing on the dips and inclines of the golf range.

He begins with a voice softer than the firm questioning he initially rallied out for her. “I am not… a slave to gut feelings," he confesses. "I, for one, devote my attention to routines that give me clear results— I work hard in practice because it makes me stronger. I take care of my body so I can stay in top condition. I don't do anything that wastes time and effort.”

And then he angles his head back to Takenaka.

“But… there are things out there, far greater than I am, that decide on situations beyond my control."

He stretches his left hand, reflective inspection imbued in his eyes. The sinews of his forearm pucker underneath the late afternoon sky of countryside Miyagi.

"Like this,” he surveys his arm. “I did not choose to be left-handed. I was born that way… and my dad fought to keep it that way. That’s what makes me so valuable in volleyball— I am lucky because of this southpaw, but I am good because I train hard with it.”

He locks his gaze on her, arm retreating back to his lap. “This gift just… fell into my lap. I do not know why my left hand decided to dominate over my right. In the same way, I did not know how big of an impact it would have on my playing style. And perhaps, it does not need any further questioning. I have it, so I make use of it. You say there's something between you and her; it's undeniably there. Why bother differentiating if it's kindness or flirtation? You're seatmates, are you not? Use it to your advantage.”

An attendant comes in with Ushijima's drink. He sets an ice-filled glass on their shared table, positioning the chilled bottle beside it. The attendant asks if he'd like to serve it to him, and Ushijima says no, there is no need. The attendant then leaves.

Takenaka bites her inner cheek in pondering thought. Ushijima registers the rippling contemplation on her face.

“So to answer your question— I cannot tell you when things 'fall into place'. It does not manifest the way strong spikes rack up points. It does, however, feel like a ball that has been perfectly set for you. It is a good feeling, and it is one that makes you think 'this is just for me, so I will make it count'."

She releases her bite, giving in to a chuckle. "So did you make it count?"

"…?"

"Your chance of being with [L/N],” she clarifies, tying his statement with his own experience of romantic love. “Did you make it count? Especially with the odds against you?"

He contemplates.

"I cannot say. I’m still working on it. I am confronted with walls, but it matters not how many times I'll be blocked out. I will break through them all the same."

Takenaka's eyes ease into a cloying glimmer. “You’re such a romantic.”

He cocks a brow. “I don’t think so," he denies, taking the statement as a personal affront. Ushijima, the very antonym of 'romanticism', does not believe in self-indulgent sentiments and mawkish emotions. "I simply say what’s on my mind. And everything I tell you, I am sure of it.”

(And in everything he sets out to do, he makes sure to follow through.)

"You like her a lot, don't you."

She doesn't say it like a question.

"As much as I like volleyball, yes. I'm crazy about both— for different, yet equally important reasons."

Yet he strengthens her affirmation all the more.

He really means it, Takenaka thinks. She sees it in the way his gaze softens, in the way his lip minutely curls, and in the way his voice comes so resolute that she wouldn’t dare contest his claim.

He talks about her like she hung the moon and stars, and that gravity is the same force that keeps him grounded— yet pulls him towards her— at the same time.

Takenaka, in a concealed thought, wishes for them to collide. To intersect. To simply be together.

The ace leans over the chair and takes his bottled drink, twisting the cap open. "Make use of what you have with your crush, Takenaka. Things will fall into place. It is a process— as all things are.”

She watches his face for a while; he is unchanging with no additive of superfluous words. And thus, the conversation dies out.

Ushijima, she thinks, is not trained in the art of rhetoric— but he seems to have mastered the logic of making conjectures.

Takenaka arises and positions herself on the dock once more. She's about to carry the club over for another swing,

but she pauses.

She modifies her grip by a minuscule inch, assumes steadier footing, and then she recoils again.

She cannons a resounding swing-then-whack!

And that change makes all the difference.

Chapter Text

Wakatoshi is not a gentle person.

He’s too strong, in the way he prefers wooden pencils over mechanical ones. He thinks the replaceable lead is too fragile, too thin, and he’s irked by how it scribble-scribble-snaps! after jotting down every other sentence or so. His desk includes a constant stockpile of Staedtlers, plus the sharpener he’s used since middle school. Wakatoshi knows his strength finds sanctum in volleyball courts and not in cramped school desks.

He’s too brusque, in the way his classmates resign to adoring him from afar instead of trying to actively befriend him. It’s all the more ironic when he’s seatmates with the class clown; not even the arm's length proximity of his humour is enough to penetrate Wakatoshi’s taciturn nature. He’s not a talker, most guys would resort to reason. The failure is evident after attempting to engage the ace in dilly-dallying conversation. It just makes him all the more intimidating, they'd say.

He’s impenetrable, in the way his posse of volleyball teammates double as a human barricade around him. The hallways open up to them, like the parting of the Red Sea, during their journey from the third year corridor to lunch at the main food hall. His pride, his pack, his guys amp up the already-standoffish debonair. When you trail behind to watch Wakatoshi's teammates flock after him, the great eagle that he is, you get a sense that these boys thrive off his very talent.

(To a great extent, they do.)

(But not you.)

To you, he’s soft. Too soft-spoken at times; he has a voice that rumbles so deep it would drown amidst the team’s lively cafeteria banter. Yamagata doesn’t hear it over his own boisterous laughter, but Wakatoshi’s baritones register on your ears if you tune in well enough. You always do. It still catches him off-guard, like when you impart an odd chuckle in appreciation for his otherwise offbeat comments.

To you, he’s considerate. Wakatoshi notices when your silence translates to the inability to relate with the rest of the boys when they talk too much about this or that volleyball team. It’s not a big deal, though— it’s not like they can help it, it’s the majority dynamic— but Wakatoshi makes the rare effort to shift conversational topics to scopes wide enough for you to word in on.

To you, he lets his guard down. There exists not a thick wall, but an apparent entrance to his heart. And you know this because in every opportunity you share lunch with the guys, he makes sure to sit beside you. He’ll let his leg brush itself beside yours, almost as if he’s testing waters, and when you don’t retract, he’ll remain stationary. It’s by no means skin-to-skin contact, but the bodily warmth that permeates to the side of your thigh sends an unequivocal message of I want to be closer to you.

Only in secret, almost like a code.

You give in. Sometimes, when Tendou cracks a joke so funny it sends you into peals of laughter, your thigh would press against his and he’d swear then and there that his heart rate would speed up by a fraction. It’s not proper— covert affections, you mean— but it’s safe because it remains hidden from the public eye. You communicate through surreptitious body language that only the both of you have the privilege of being fluent in.

Wakatoshi leaves his right hand resting on the shared bench.

He thinks that maybe someday, your left hand will creep into his. And then perhaps, it will slink back into the shadows of the table’s underside.

Not today. There are levels to learning languages, and you think this one’s too much of a risk to speak into existence.

(Zoom out for a bit.)

Amidst the brambles of mundane noise, the food hall is a safari of high school hierarchies. The table that the Shiratorizawa team happens to mark as territory is situated smack in the middle of the quarters.

You’re in the eye of the storm. It’s calm in here, yes, but this epicentre bears a cyclone that whirls violently around you.

You feel uneasy when other students stare at you for too long. The new semester has been anything but calm and peaceful, with the phone theft issue and all, but you feel a gnawing sensation that spans outside your committee work. It resides, instead, in the wandering gazes and hushed whispers of the otherwise leery school population.

Simply put, people have started taking note of your comfier-than-most position with the Shiratorizawa VBC.

It’s a reprise of sorts. You thought you were over this, but the shadow that looms over you is far too great for a mere change in perspectives. Nor can gospel truths that come in the form of “you have a place with us” be strong enough, secure enough to seal you in as a believer.

Things have changed.

Much like actual religion, you find yourself in constant doubt of whatever higher powers reside in this universe. And whether or not they intended for things to be this way. Because so as long as you, the no-named committee member remains in close contact with him, the prodigious prince, there will always be skeptics. Cynics. Onlookers waiting for your fall from grace.

You unravel into a bundle of discomposure when you spot some girls, barely even a table away, leaning in on their circle of hyper-femininity. They do this upon seeing you so cozied up beside the ace, and their hands attempt to cover the gossip that travels from whispering mouths to awaiting ears.

It makes you gulp. You retract your lingering thigh beside the captain’s, your shoulders tense, and you feel like folding up.

Wakatoshi notices, but you remove yourself from the bench before he gets to question your sudden change in disposition.

You shoot up.

“I’ll get a drink,” you announce, pointing a thumb at the vending machine by the far corner of the cafeteria.

And so you make your mitigating escape. You’re on autopilot when walk yourself to the drinks, your train of thought mimicking the mechanical whirr of the machine. Slotting a few coins in, you press the button for canned coffee.

The beverage clinks down the dispenser. When you turn around and see a familiar face lined up behind you, you snap out of your reverie.

It seems like you’ve walked yourself into a snake pit.

You merely greet the alabaster-skinned girl with a dull “Higuchi.”

There’s something about the way her stony eyes make your skin crawl. She’s the epitome of beauty— Ryoko’s hair is glossy thick, cheeks coloured with a natural blood rouge, lips popped with gloss, and eyelashes heavy and long. But there’s really, just… really something about how steely those eyes are. They’re laced with antipathy.

She takes a stride towards the vending machine, eyes still pinned on the shorter you.

“You look like shit,” she says. Her voice is so flat, your brain doubts if she had any ill intent to begin with.

You scrunch your brows. “What?”

She orders hot black coffee, peering over her shoulder as if to trace you back to the Shiratorizawa team. She eyes the rest of the boys down the hall. Everyone’s too preoccupied with Goshiki being the butt of the lunch joke yet again.

“Is the stress getting to you? Being their cum dumpster and all.”

Your chest sears. Although you’ve kept mum about the watchful stares of Shiratorizawa’s upper echelon, you’re not one to offer the other cheek. Just because you keep to yourself doesn’t mean you don’t stock up on your own artillery.

“And what about you? After that run-in with Takenaka and all.”

Higuchi’s eye twitches. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, sorry," you huff, head craning up towards her. "Let me dumb it down for you— I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this when you barely know me. I thought Takenaka already taught you a lesson or two.”

Her beverage clinks down the dispenser.

She sharpens her gaze on you, porcelain skin tinting red with anger. But the canine tooth that appears with her lopsided smile implies that she’s hardened since then.

“You shouldn’t talk if you don’t know shit,” she asserts.

You scoff. “Coming from a brat like you, of all people?”

She puts an arm akimbo, tilting her head to the side.

“You really wanna go there?”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Kenjirou. You’re pretty nerdy, aren’t you?”

Shirabu sets his chopsticks down. “I wouldn’t say nerdy is the word,” he deadbeats, pushing his meal tray aside. “I study hard.”

“What do you mean?” Tendou’s beady eyes brighten up. “Anyone with a bowl cut is a nerd. Look at Tsutomu right ‘ere.”

Goshiki harrumphs but he regrets it as soon as a fish bone lodges down his throat. Kawanishi holds a laugh back when he hears his kouhai explode a cough so loud, it might as well have sounded like one of Coach Washijo’s old-man sneezes.

Ushijima, completely unaware, continues munching on his meal while Ohira nearly vaults to the other side of the table to help the freshman out. Semi tries to assist, pork cutlet hanging out of the side of his mouth at mid-bite.

Shirabu grimaces the way embarrassed teenagers do when older relatives make ruckuses in formal Chinese restaurants. “Why are you asking, Tendou-san?” he questions, his voice overlapping Yamagata’s thunderous laughter.

Tendou props an elbow on the table. “Do you think the flapping of a butterfly’s wings can cause a tornado?”

Shirabu shoots him a perplexed look. “I’m sorry?”

“Chaos theory,” the senpai premises. “I came across this term in some manga I was reading. The butterfly effect. ‘What the hell is that’, I said to myself. So I looked it up. And it says that the smallest, most sensitive, condition-based actions can ripple into larger… and often uncontrollable effects.”

Shirabu blinks slowly. Tendou leans over his half-empty meal tray to lock eyes with the setter.

“Do you think the flapping of a butterfly’s wings can cause a tornado?” he repeats.

Shirabu breaks the awaiting silence.

“No. I doubt that’s possible.”

“But what if it is?”

Tendou assumes his cheshire smile. “Lemme give you another example,” he points at the leftover gari on Shirabu’s meal tray. “I heard gari helps reduce muscle pain and soreness.”

“Tendou-san, I don’t know if I should listen to advice from an unlicensed—“

“Let’s say you skip on the gari,” he interrupts, “and because of that, your muscles won’t regenerate as fast as they would with it. Then your body conditions, but you’re not as conditioned as you would be if you ate that gari. Now there’s a small kink in the progress you could have made as an athlete. You’re raring at 75% when you could have been at 76%. It builds up. You don’t notice it, of course. But come one day when we play a match, a match against a particularly difficult opponent at that, the fatigue gets to you. Not just physical fatigue, but mental fatigue too. Your sets for Wakatoshi-kun start fraying at the seams— all because of that 1% that could have saved the team play. We lose the set. We lose the match. And for the first time in decades, Shiratorizawa doesn’t go to Nationals.”

Shirabu, in his unbelieving confusion, scrunches his face.

Ushijima butts in. “Nonsense. Shirabu is a competent setter. And Shiratorizawa will always win.”

Tendou shakes his head, dismissing the captain for the sudden conversational speed bump. “Anyway, imagine that. It’s a domino effect, but the dominos get larger in size and each effect is heavier than the last. The smallest, tiniest action can end up having the most catastrophic consequences.”

Shirabu dismissively sighs, refusing to indulge Tendou in another of his hypothetical musings. “I would like to think that there is no way this single piece of gari would change the outcome of our eventual trip to Nationals. Besides, I think it’s best we leave chaos theory to the mathematicians, Tendou-san. My best subjects are chemistry and biology. Not math. You should try asking someone else."

Tendou chortles. “Potato, potato. Tomato, tomato. Anyway,” he pokes his head out of their table to scan the sea of students at the food hall, “[F/N]-chan’s taking so long. Did the vending machine get jammed again?”

Kawanishi turns sideways and his slanted eyes widen the slightest.

"Is that Higuchi?"

Ushijima's head turns towards the direction of Kawanishi's.

“Why is she talking to her?"

You can hear the literal blood rushing through your eardrums. Right now, it’s just you and Higuchi, eyes locked in static hostility. Possibly as electric as the vending machine behind you both.

“What, was it too below-the-belt for you? You’re the person who’s so intent on labelling me as the volleyball team’s little whore. You can’t expect me to shut up and take hits all the time— especially when you’ve cornered me like this.”

Everything else is background noise.

Higuchi takes a step forward.

“No, I’m sure I can expect that much. You don’t have the standing, especially in a school like Shiratorizawa. It’s dog eat dog out here. You’d know that, wouldn’t you?” she finishes with a cloying smile.

“That doesn’t give you a valid reason to be a huge bitch to me.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t. You’re just an easy target to me, that’s all. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You click your tongue. “So spit it out, Higuchi. What do you want? Why are you cornering me?”

She pops her canned drink open, taking a sip. “Why do you still hang around Wakatoshi-kun when his family has set him up for that bitch Takenaka? I thought I could eliminate you from the possible threats, but you still hang around the guys. It’s starting to make me think that what Takenaka said was just pure lip service.”

You defensively harden. “What does it matter to you? You’re no longer in the running to be with him, anyway.”

She eases out a caffeinated laugh. “What, and you think you are?”

Her steely gaze flutters back to yours.

“I don’t know how long you’ve had worms up there in your brain, but there’s no way you guys will end up together. Not now, not ever. You don’t have the prestige that could match an Ushijima.”

You feel the heat rising in your chest.

“And you think you do?” you snap. “At least I can sleep well at night knowing my dad never cheated his way to the top. What about you, Higuchi? How do you manage to live with that delusional head of yours?”

Her grip tightens on her coffee, the can crackling under her talons.

She raises a brow. “So that’s how you wanna play, huh?”

“I’m merely following your rules,” you answer back.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting into,” she wryly smiles.

“Actually, I do,” you dare step forward. You crane your head up to Higuchi’s height. “I’ve known, since the day Wakatoshi started asking me out for lunch, that I’d eventually have to put up with pesky little bitches like you. I saw this coming. It’s tough, you know? Seeing people talk about me so openly, worrying about what rumours are going in and out of their mouths. But when push comes to shove, do you really think I’d bend over that easily?”

You sharpen your gaze on her. “Just because I’m not as filthy rich or established as you and Takenaka are, doesn’t mean I’m any less of a person to you. Everything that Takenaka did to you, you deserved it. A hundred and ten percent. And I can’t let you think it’s okay for you to stomp on me just because I’m no Takenaka— just because I don’t rank as high up in this stupid social hierarchy that you rich bitches obsess over. Face it, Higuchi. You’re out of this… this game that you’re so fixated on winning. Wakatoshi isn’t a prize to be won. And regardless of whether or not you’ll ever understand what that means, he still won’t give you the time of day. You don’t have a chance. You never did, and you never will.”

The raven-haired girl feels an overwhelming urge to chuck her still-hot beverage at you, but she refrains the moment Ushijima and Tendou come into her peripheral vision.

“Be careful, Ryoko-chan,” Tendou mockingly calls her as they approach, “make sure you get a good angle first.”

Tendou points at the security camera by the corner of the food hall ceiling. “Do you want me to stand somewhere in particular? Maybe behind you or something, so the camera doesn’t catch you dousing [F/N]-chan in your black coffee?”

Ushijima’s thick brows lower into a scrutinizing gaze. “Is that what you wanted to do, Higuchi?”

Her voice takes a pitch higher, sickeningly saccharine now. “Of course not, Wakatoshi-kun. I was actually in the middle of a really engaging conversation with [L/N]-san until you guys came in.”

“I doubt it,” Tendou jeers.

Higuchi takes a step away from you, her hand tucking a stray tendril behind her ear. Her eyelashes flutter.

“I wouldn’t dare cause a scene in front of everyone,” she reasons, eyes trailing to the sea of students that are beginning to anchor their sights on this particular corner of the food hall. She refrains from breaking into a grimace when she spots the rest of the volleyball team.

You roll your eyes at her insincerity. Tendou catches your reaction and he chuckles before stealing you away from Higuchi.

“Anyway, we just wanted to pick [F/N]-chan up before you frame her for something, too. Unless you’ve already done that?”

Ushijima’s eyes flit to you for confirmation. You shake your head.

“Nothing happened,” you answer.

“If you say so,” Ushijima replies. “Let’s go back. Lunch ends in a few minutes.”

Higuchi watches the three of you depart.

“[L/N],” she calls out. The three of you pause and turn back towards her.

“I’ll prove you wrong,” she echoes.

“What?”

“I haven't been eliminated just yet. I’ll prove you wrong. So thanks for our conversation today, I think you really strengthened my resolve.”

Higuchi grins, eyes glinting. “Bye!”

“What’s she going on about?” Tendou whispers on the way back to the table.

“No idea,” you shrug.

Chapter Text

Ryoko hated talking about herself.

It wasn’t that she was a shy girl. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Ryoko shone with a radiance so charming it often held people captive. Being an absolute darling, she was popular among her schoolmates, her teachers— geez, even the neighborhood elders— because of how saccharine-sweet her demeanor was. 

(Right, her perfected demeanor.)

Ryoko was a porcelain doll. This was true in all aspects.

She had skin like fine china, fragile with pops of blue veins. She had perfectly almond eyes in the off-tint shade of raincloud grey. She had long, pitch-black hair that curled like a beach's nocturnal waves. 

At the same time, she was a hollow little girl. Ryoko lived in a secret fear of cracking, the way glass easily does, under pressure.

Brush aside her gifted looks and polished conduct, she thought of herself as an imposter of sorts.

At school, she was the reliable class representative,

the top girl in her grade,

the school sweetheart of the local junior high.

At home, though, she was nothing more than an unwelcome liability.

For the first decade of her life, Ryoko was raised by her lone parent— Ume, a single mom-slash-corporate slave. Everyone had dreams and Ume was not exempt from that. She had fairly mundane ambitions; they were nothing too extravagant or too extraordinary. These goals were predictably attainable—

1. Get a cozy job,
2. Save up, and
3. Start a family with her long-term boyfriend.

Ume worked towards that, she really did, but things went awry when a two-lined pregnancy test came into light.

It wasn’t her boyfriend’s child.

Ume was two weeks into her first job when she caught some senior manager's eye. She tried to downplay it at first. Maybe the light touching that bordered near her backside was friendly banter, maybe the frequent visits to her cubicle were duties mentors usually did. Maybe, on the night he decided to wait for her to finish overtime work, a friendly dinner to an izakaya were to follow.

She thought wrong.

He took advantage of her that one night. There was nothing Ume could do.

What remedies could she have availed of, anyway?

Report this to human resources?

There was no way they'd believe a newbie over a senior employee.

File a lawsuit?

She might get booted out of the company and lose her job altogether.

Get an abortion?

She couldn't live with the guilt of killing an unborn child.

Ume made her decision yet her boyfriend left her for it.

Nine months later, she gave birth to Ryoko. And only many years later, she realized she wasn't cut out for this.

Her daughter was born and raised amidst the hustle and bustle of Tokyo. Ume, drowning in the stressful noise that surrounded this fast-paced city, soon contemplated that parenting an unwanted child was a heavy burden.

She'd never say this out loud, of course. None of this was her daughter's fault. She never wanted that very poison to infect the bright-eyed innocence of her only child.

Unfortunately, Ume's good faith was all for naught when her own inaction gave her away. She didn't know how to raise a child; she never predicted she'd do this alone, after all.

Life got the better of her. The older Ryoko got, the more her mother started morphing into a distant stranger.

Sure, they ate meals together. They slept in the same, cramped little room. And when the New Year's variety shows would air, they'd watch television from their kotatsu seats.

But it was all Ume had to offer. Anything beyond that never even grazed the surface-level interpretation of maternal kinship.

There was never a "mother-daughter" relationship, there was only "Ryoko and Ume, living under the same roof".

(Maybe that’s why Ryoko hated talking about herself— anything and everything that had to do with her life beyond personas fabricated for the general public was nothing but a mere blur of apathy and indifference.)

Obviously, Ryoko never latched onto any dictionary definition of what an "emotionally-available parent” meant, let alone figure out what the hell a “father” is supposed to be. If love came in the form of prepared bentos, kisses on the forehead, and praises of a 'job well done', how come Ryoko never experienced that?

How come mama and I are different from the movies?

Ryoko's childhood was left unaided. But despite everything, she remained a good kid. So as long as people perceived her as such, she could continue sustaining that theory in practice. The pressure of keeping that perfected demeanor was suffocating, to say the least, but she knew it was all or nothing.

Either you’re perfect or you’re flawed. And god forbid anyone were to find out that Ryoko was flawed.

"Ryoko, you're such a sweet girl."

"Ryoko, you're a dependable classmate."

"Ryoko, you're a beautiful person— inside and out."

Should she take one wrong step, she'll find herself stumbling down the entire staircase. She'd crack, and all those polished pieces of her will fall apart.

But she didn't have to worry for too long.

Things changed when Higuchi Souji came into the picture. He might as well have been her safety net and saving grace.

Ryoko thought that Ume’s chance encounter with this man was the one good thing to come out of this empty shell of a mother. Souji had been a client of the company that Ume worked for. Their paths crossed at the height of his doping scandal and she was assigned to organize damage control for Souji’s corrupting image of a drug-dependent athlete.

While Ume was arranging distraction campaigns, Souji was arranging table-for-two dates.

And it was strange at first. Strange because Ume would arrive home with a smile on her face. Strange because she started asking how Ryoko's day would go. She never does that, the daughter thought. When Ryoko got over the initial hesitation, the peculiarity of it all eventually melted into a softening glue in their maternal relationship.

And Ryoko figured, from the light in her own mother's eyes, that maybe…

Higuchi-san is a nice guy.

Maybe he’s changing mama for the better.

(She thought right. It was a whirlwind romance that left Ryoko with little choice but to get swept in with the gust.)

One night, Ume sat her down in their cramped little home.

“Ryoko, Souji proposed to me.”

That, she expected.

“You'll finally live the life you deserve.”

This, she didn’t.

Ryoko didn’t understand what the second half of that statement meant until much, much later.

When Ume and Souji were finally wed, paperwork was processed to formally adopt Ryoko. Not only that, an on-going baptism of her entry into obscene wealth was well under way.

And this meant tremendous, irreconcilable changes to her formative years.

Ryoko, who was then thirteen, went through a rebirth. When her new family moved to Roppongi Hills, she soon learned that love came in the form of extravagant allowances, weekend trips abroad, closets lined in Gucci, Prada, and Dior.

When Ryoko saw how positively glowing her mom was since marrying Souji, she came to a conclusion: true happiness was defined by the cost of comfortable living.

And because of that, Souji, the main provider, became her favorite person in the entire world.

Ryoko thought of him as the blueprint for everything she ever wanted to be, everything she ever wanted to have. Part of that rebrand included renouncing whoever the fuck she was before Souji came into the picture.

What do you mean she used to eat cold bento boxes from 7-Eleven for dinner?

What do you mean she wore the same hand-me-down parka for four years?

What do you mean she used to live in a moldy studio apartment with her mom?

She doesn’t know anything about that. She only knew that she was the daughter of Higuchi Souji, the new chief executive of the V-League. Ryoko could be anyone she wanted to be because she saw Souji do it with her own eyes. And she knew that he would love her anyway, because that's what everyone did for her.

Especially now that she was now Souji's little girl.

They liked to bond through mundane conversations. Her favorite ones took place in Ginza— particularly, she liked how the twelve magic numbers on his pocket-sized plastic card played the main character— and that was because stories like these always ended the same way— with a resounding cash register ching! that validated each dopamine-inducing purchase.

To Ryoko, that was genuine love.

Unbeknownst to Souji, he brought up a monster that only ever spoke in rhymes of yen. And unfortunately for Ume, she unknowingly inculcated a very dangerous message to her impressionable daughter.

Work hard and you’ll get by. Marry rich and you’ll be set for life.

In the crux of her rebirth, Ryoko was sent to school in Shiratorizawa Academy. It was a long way from Tokyo, but her parents figured that the top-tier quality of education would be well worth it. They only wanted the best for their girl.

In the first few weeks of school, Ryoko noticed that these kids weren’t like the kids she grew up with— these kids are different. Mind you, she had been schooling in some ratty old public school up until junior high. These countryside kids, as conservative as they were, reeked a shameless privilege that she wanted, so bad, to emanate.

She liked how disgustingly ignorant they were.

Maybe, if she could bundle herself alongside them, she could remove any and all trace of her own pre-Souji upbringing.

Eventually, she did. Demeanors can be perfected time and time again. This time, her porcelain hollowness didn’t translate to a void. Instead, there existed a gaping abyss of wanting more, and more, and more.

Ryoko found a cozy spot at the top of the school food chain. By all means, she was popular— after all, she was that one city girl that ended up in the quiet of Miyagi's picturesque mountains. She was the type of ‘pretty’ that girls would starve days for; she was the type of ‘hot’ that guys would jack off to. For the cherry on top, she was revoltingly privileged. In private schools, people with those blessings negated whatever personality flaws they had. It didn't matter if you were a dick, it didn't matter if you were a bitch. For children that spoiled, it was the norm— and Ryoko fully abused that perk. It’s money that makes the world go round, not friendly hugs.

Being the hive queen that she was, she attracted a posse of equally shallow girlfriends— her very own subgroup of super rich kids with nothing but loose ends.

Of course, this wasn't complete without her waitlist of admirers. That came as no surprise since her features were on levels that could have crowned her the title of Miss Universe. She was a picky girl, though— Ryoko had no daydreams of dating guys from the countryside. Sendai was too slow, too plain, and boys out here were so unbelievably boring.

Tokyo, on the other hand, was where the action was at.

Her ten-year plan included getting admitted to some snooty metropolis-based university, finding a rich company heir who could premaritally impregnate her, drop out, get married, then eventually become one of those Birkin-wielding housewives she’d find on the society pages.

Basically, her ultimate goal in life was… to never work a day in her life.

The presence of Ushijima Wakatoshi, however, got her to recalculate those plans.

She met him in her first year of high school. He bumped into her at a blind corner of the ground floor's hallway.

“What the fuck,” she uttered while rubbing her nose. “Watch where you’re going, you titan.”

“Sorry,” he said before walking off. Wakatoshi didn't know what to make of the word 'titan', but he brushed it off some ten steps after.

Ryoko glared at him as he left off. Her companion, Andou Mikan, elbowed her in scolding.

“You’re a huge bitch, Ryoko,” she tittered. “Don’t you know who that is?”

“No?" she cocked her head to the side. "Am I supposed to?”

“That’s Ushiwaka. He comes from a really powerful family."

"Big deal," she whipped her hair away from her shoulder. "Every other kid in this school is, to some extent, powerful. Who cares if he has uncles in the government, getting away with tax fraud is an entry-level standard."

Mikan shakes her head. "Well, Ushiwaka doesn't have that sort of family. Saji— even Ogawa, sure— but not him."

"All the more reason why I shouldn't bother."

A sigh leaves Mikan's mouth. "All the more reason why you should be nice to him. He comes from one of Tohoku's most important clans."

Ryoko's face crumples up. "Why? What do the Ushijimas do?"

“The question is, what have the Ushijimas done?"

"Huh?"

"The short answer is that they're in real estate."

"And the long answer?"

"The long answer is that he comes from a line of feudal lords. They built Sendai from ground-up. The Ushijimas sit on a mountain of generational wealth."

Ryoko blinks once. “They’re that well-off?”

“Well-off doesn’t even cover it. Old families like his are a notch below royalty.”

Ah, something tingled in Ryoko's heart.

“Is he single?”

Mikan laughs.

“Yeah, but you’d have better luck getting a city boy. I don’t think that guy’s ever dated anyone. Let alone been with another girl.”

“I can be the first,” she claimed with a plotting curl in her lip.

Maybe I don't have to land a guy in Tokyo, Ryoko thought to herself.

Being with kids of equal calibre taught Ryoko a lot. And perhaps, her favorite lesson came in the form of an unspoken rule: their dating pools were limited to their financial brackets. There were students who got in through sports scholarships and there were students who got in through entrance exams. Whatever admission ticket you had, the common denominators always stuck together— the super rich got with the super rich.

And to Ryoko, being with Wakatoshi made sense. They had that much in common. She hated chasing guys, but she was willing to put in the effort for him.

Part of that legwork entailed becoming manager for the Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club.

The concocted plan had a slow start, but Ryoko thought it would be worth it eventually. She wouldn’t dare waste this one opportunity given by her dad— provided, getting into the volleyball club was all thanks to connections with a certain Coach Washijo. Plus, that matchmaking pair-up— also arranged by her dad— was the exact push she needed.

That is, until Takenaka came along. That intervention derailed everything.

"You'd be nowhere without our money. You have no idea how much shit MSBY had to put up with when your dad's doping scandal broke out. He’s lucky to have ducked out of that. He's luckier that the previous executive board consisted of a bunch of saggy old men; he just had to wait until most of them kicked the bucket. That made his rise— his expertly-covered rise— to the corporate side of the association just way too easy. Do you think I respect him, that cheating, lying son of a bitch? His position in the league means nothing to me."

Something in Ryoko snapped. It felt like the ground beneath her feet was starting to crumble. A blaring alarm went off in her brain and it made her feel compromised; it made her feel known.

She'd rather die than be found out a phony.

This time, the stakes were higher; the implications were more drastic. Information like this can mean social suicide— phrased otherwise, her perfected demeanor could be tainted.

She'd essentially stumble down her imagined staircase. And she can't risk that at all, not when she's climbed up this far already.

That chance encounter with [F/N] at the cafeteria just proved it all the more.

“At least I can sleep well at night knowing my dad never cheated his way to the top. What about you, Higuchi? How do you manage to live with that delusional head of yours?”

That made her alabaster skin crawl.

Why and how did some rando like [L/N] get a hold of that information?

Ryoko bites on a fingernail on her way back to the classroom.

It was Takenaka, wasn't it? It has to be. She had every motive to ruin me.

She did it then, she's still doing it now.

That fucking bitch.

Her chest was beating a mile a minute, but she didn't know if it was white-hot fury or agitating anxiety.

“What’s wrong, Ryoko?” a seatmate asked. She looked up to see Sanae, some classmate she had secretly labeled as a gossip-mongering bimbo whose sixth sense only ever picked up on developing stories. She had unnaturally long, presumably press-on nails, and bleached caramel hair down to the waist. And according to the Ryoko-Rich-Person radar, Sanae was a dead spot.

She just radiated cheap.

“You look down," Sanae's pinched voice intoned.

Ryoko hummed, elbow propped on her table.

“Did something happen?”

Ryoko clicked her tongue.

God, she fucking hated how these ugly bitches would attempt to worm their way into her business. She opened her mouth to word some snarky reply, but the bimbo cut her off.

“By the way, you know Ushiwaka’s girl?”

Ryoko allowed her boiling animosity to simmer down.

“His girl?”

“Yeah? The one you were talking to at the cafeteria.”

She scoffs. "[L/N] [F/N]? Does everyone think they're together or something?"

"That's the latest scoop. Nothing's confirmed, though!"

Ugh, of course. Some middle-class bimbo like her wouldn't know what's circulating in Sendai's inner circles. I bet only a handful of kids know that it's Takenaka Bank-Ushijima Group in the making.

Wait a minute.

What if… I could use that information to my advantage?

Could this be it? My window of opportunity?

Sanae settles down on the chair beside Ryoko's. "Why, do you know that [L/N] girl?"

"Not really," Ryoko lies through gritted teeth.

"Ehh, I see. Well, they're so cozy with each other, don't you think?"

Ryoko's lip curls.

"They really are. I don't think it's a good thing, though."

Sanae raises a brow. "Why not?"

"Because she's not actually Wakatoshi-kun's girl."

Sanae's mascara-covered eyes flash in intrigue. “What?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Yeah, they're not together actually. Wakatoshi-kun’s seeing someone else."

Sanae nearly jumps out of her wooden chair. "Shut up!"

"I swear," Ryoko promises, trying to hold a grin back. "You know Takenaka Shiori?"

“Takenaka?” she leans in, “like, Niiyama’s Takenaka? No fucking way.”

Ryoko lets a smirk slip past. “Wait, so you really haven't heard?”

“Heard what?"

"That Wakatoshi-kun and Takenaka are together! Like, parent-approved and all!"

"For real?!"

"I used to be their manager, remember? I know everything about those guys."

"Since when have they been together?!"

“A few months, I’m guessing. Takenaka even dropped by Shiratorizawa to watch his practice games over summer camp. I would know, I was there. She’s such a supportive girlfriend, don’t you think?”

Sanae’s jaw drops. “Yet he’s so friendly with that other girl?”

“Yeah,” Ryoko nods. “Weird, right? You know, I really wonder why he keeps her around. I thought it was kind of iffy how she was invited to the volleyball team’s summer trip. She was the only girl in the group.”

The seatmate’s eyes widen like plates. “She did what now?”

“Oh,” Ryoko’s eyes start to glimmer. “You don’t follow Tendou Satori on Instagram? He posted about it. Here, let me show you,” she whips her phone out and taps on Tendou’s profile.

“He’s on private, huh,” was Sanae’s observation.

“Yup,” Ryoko replies.

“To hide the team’s dirty little secret, maybe?”

Ryoko locks eyes with Sanae.

“Dirty little secret?” Ryoko says, feigning ignorance.

"You know, like the team's little plaything. Remember back when we were in first year, there was a rumor that some manager from the football team was actually doing 'special duties' for the regulars?"

Ryoko assumes her starring role, her perfected demeanor.

"Special… duties?" her voice expertly lilts, "people do that?"

Sanae knits her eyebrows. "Wow, you're so innocent. Anyway, yeah— that was a thing for a while. And like, nobody could do anything about it because the entire football team was 'protecting' that manager—"

Ugh. Sounds way too familiar.

"— so I don't know about you, but I get the feel that this [L/N] girl is doing something similar."

Ryoko tilts her head to the side. "You really think so?"

Sanae points a fake-nailed finger at Ryoko's phone screen.

"It's right there, babe. An only girl to a boys' trip? That sounds off."

Ryoko hums. "I mean… I guess. I did hear it was an overnight thing."

Sanae's eyes widen.

"Or was it two nights? I'm not sure. They stayed at someone's beach house and everything. Shirabu, was it?"

"Oh my god," Sanae whispers, leaning back into her chair. "That poor Takenaka girl. I can't believe there are relationship wreckers as unassuming as [L/N]. It's really the plain ones that surprise people the most, huh…"

This is high school. When dating scandals are part of the equation, news is always bound to spread like wildfire.

Ryoko merely watches Sanae take her phone out.

The latter starts typing with a speed so swift, her fingers might as well fall off.

The former allows a sly grin to finally grace her flawless, untainted face.

And that was all it took.

This black cat was safe for another day. Shiratorizawa was a battleground survived by informational warfare— and, with moves like these— Ryoko just might be one of the best tacticians in the whole of Sendai. It's just how the world works. This world, in particular, is one that Ryoko learned to navigate very well.

Two birds with one stone, she thought to herself as sensei entered the room for afternoon classes. Takenaka Shiori and [L/N] [F/N], consider this payback.

From her peripheral vision, she sees three, five, eight classmates glue their eyes on their phones.

Ryoko hated talking about herself, but she didn’t mind talking about everyone else.

Chapter Text

There were days when Tendou’s hunches would tickle him like feather-light premonitions. They’d ghost over the wrinkle of his nose, twitching the pale slope of skin like a sneeze impending. Take last Tuesday morning, for example— this silly little feeling materialized the moment his eyes cracked open at daybreak. He couldn’t particularly provide a reason why, but something told him a surprise quiz was bound to happen today.

… In English class, maybe?

I dunno, he thought to himself when he settled down on his desk after morning volleyball practice. And because he was a slave to his inner machinations, he wrung out whatever willing brain cells were available to him. Tendou’s fingers languidly skimmed through his doodle-dominated notes, absorbing whatever sentence structure was deemed grammatically correct.

Then when sensei walked into class, some self-serving smirk coiled its way to the teacher's face. In that instant, the class just knew. Then they groaned. Luckily for Tendou, he guessed right and prepared accordingly.

(He got a perfect score, by the way. Tendou’s no genius— but he is what one might call an “all-or-nothing” guy.)

On the other hand, there were also days when those same hunches flared up like hives.

They adhered over his flesh the way cling wrap did— so desperate to swathe him in some sticky sense of unease, they’d shut out his usual air of melodrama. Tendou called it his ‘off days’. And some ‘off days’ had intensities so potent, his eyes would perk up like lighthouses, awaiting titanic results.

‘Off days’ came few and far in between. Whatever the case was, that prickling itch is making itself known again today.

He doesn’t know why.

“Satori, are you okay?”

Ohira drapes a semi-damp towel around his nape. The vice captain is quick to pick up on moods; he figured that it was borne out of an emotional necessity to fill the gaps of Ushijima’s otherwise blunt leadership style.

Tendou’s eyes are beadier than they usually are, or so Ohira notices, when they connect gazes. Ohira doesn’t know what to make of Tendou’s silence.

“Did you drink too much coffee again? You’re jumpier than the usual,” Ohira comments with an upturned lip but a downwards brow. “You good?”

There’s a pondering stare before Tendou answers.

“I feel odd,” he tilts his head. “Like, my gut is telling me that something’s up.”

Coach Saito blows on the white whistle that’s lanyard-looped around his neck. “Five minutes before the second set,” he announces. His time check echoes throughout the gym.

The middle blocker stretches his criss-crossed legs and Ohira offers an outwards palm to help him up. “Do you wanna skip the rest of practice today?” the latter asks.

Tendou shakes his head. “It’s not that I feel unwell,” his watchful eyes trail the rest of the teammates that return from the water fountains and washrooms.

“I just feel… weird.”

“Are you sure it’s not an ulcer acting up? You eat like a bird, you know,” Ohira dismissively laughs.

“I’ll have you know that I eat like a normal human being,” Tendou harrumphs. “Everyone else eats like boars. Just look at Taichi over there, sneaking in an energy bar between drills.”

Semi and Yamagata walk up to the two, the former carrying a refilled jug of whey protein. He tosses it over to Tendou— who, without skipping a beat— begins to twist the container top open.

“I got you chocolate, don’t bother checking,” the pinch server says.

Tendou snickers. “The only flavor I’ll ever drink. You love me, don’t ya Semisemi.”

Semi scrunches his nose when he mimics a wretch.

“Anyway, what’s all this I hear about your stomach acting up? Digestive problems?” Yamagata teases.

The corner of Tendou’s mouth strings its way up in mocking sarcasm. “Problems, yes. Not digestive, that much I can assure you.”

“What is it, then?”

A ruby-red gaze shifts to Ushijima, situated at the other side of the volleyball gym. The captain is talking to Coach Washijo— presumably about the upcoming schedules for scrimmages. Spring High was looming in day-by-day.

Ohira has observed Tendou enough to pick up on his little idiosyncrasies. His eyes follow the beeline of Tendou’s wary gaze.

The redhead's eyes squint. “I have a hunch that something bad is going to happen,” he ominously says.

“To the team?” Semi asks, his drink drowning the lump in his throat. The last time Tendou predicted an impending disaster was way back in first year. Semi had been positioned as setter in one of Shiratorizawa’s practice games.

“Watch your fingers today,” a shorter-haired Tendou warned in a flashback.

And that Semi did not do. The cynic subbed out of the game with a broken, bleeding nail after a block-went-wrong. Poor guy should’ve known better, seeing how strong those college students are.

“What’s your gut telling you this time? You think Coach Washijo’s gonna go into cardiac arrest today?” Yamagata ascertains, a dry laugh fading into the air.

A pregnant silence fills their little bubble.

And then Tendou finally shakes his head, eyes still trained on Ushijima.

Shiori has a problem.

Here’s the thing, right. She’s classmates with her crush— and as fate would have it, they have been for three years straight— but the title has always been at just that. Just a classmate. Just a seatmate. And longingly so, just a friend. After all this time, the relationship has always been—

“— stagnant.”

The sound of a ruler slams on the blackboard.

“Takenaka!”

Shiori jolts herself out of rumination, screeching her metal chair backwards to stand ramrod straight at her towing height. “Yes, sensei!”

“How does bacteria breed in stagnant water?”

Shiori licks her dry lips as a nervous tic. “Umm,” she scans the board to find any clue. Nothing.

The teacher clicks his tongue, disappointed. “Sit down.”

“Yes, sensei.”

Shiori sighs. The entire class watches her recline back into the wooden chair. Had she been a bit more observant, she would have spotted a few girls at the far-end of the class whispering to each other. The only thing that was on her mind, however, was how uncool she must have looked to Hana-chan.

“How are you holding up?” her seatmate whispers, an apologetic smile worming itself to her face. It alleviates the burning embarrassment that’s gathered on Shiori’s cheeks.

Hana, Shiori’s long-time crush, is an exceedingly plain girl. She has onyx-like hair that ends just below her chest area, paired with two near-black irises that sit in the pools of her eyes. She was as East Asian as anyone could ever get. Hana had a face that people wouldn’t bother giving a second glance to. Shiori, however, thought otherwise— she always has. She liked the way Hana’s laugh would squeak, or how animated she got while talking about her favorite K-pop groups, or how bright she glowed when she’d get a good score on a test she forgot to study for.

It’s all etched into the crevices of her mind. Three years worth of watching and waiting.

“Kinda wanna shrivel up and die, to be honest,” Shiori replies. “Other than that, I’m good.”

Hana’s irises twinkle when she chuckles behind her hand. And then suddenly, getting reprimanded in the middle of class felt like a distant memory to Shiori.

“Things have been hectic for the past few weeks,” Shiori reasons, a forced grin pulling the sides of her mouth. Ever since her big sister got proposed to, the Takenaka residence has been a complete whirlwind of pre-nuptial affairs— wedding plans, booking locations, cake tastings, dress fittings… just, the whole shebang of it all. On top of her usual training, the hours spent for homework had been eaten up by those arrangements. And as a student on academic probation, this didn’t translate to a good thing. Of course this required Shiori to work herself to the bone, even if it were at the expense of her beauty sleep.

Hence, the very pronounced bags under her eyes.

Her seatmate takes an apologetic look. “I completely understand. I heard about what happened, and I’m really sorry you had to go through that. You deserve way better!”

Shiori’s brow quirks up. “Wh—“

“Okay, make sure you submit your research papers next meeting,” their teacher cuts through. Hana's attention returns back to her planner, flipping it open to mark the submission day.

What’s she apologizing for? And what do I… deserve better, exactly?

"How's your paper coming along?"

"Ah— not good. I need like, eight more sources."

Shiori decides to let the statement go.

Kato walks through the door with hair done anew.

“Woah,” you let your mouth form into an exaggerated O.

"Well?" Kato says.

You study him. Kato's hair is now the deep color of chestnut brown; any and every semblance of those bleach-fried tresses are now thrown out the window. It's a good look on him. It's fresh. Save for his constant wear of earrings, he doesn't look like the type of guy to play hooky anymore. Nor does he look like some city-based mobster.

“Hi there," you greet, voice pitching to an overly accommodating tone. "I’m [L/N] [F/N]. You seem to have stumbled upon the disciplinary committee’s office. Are you lost?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny,” he mocks. “Just so you know, this is long overdue. Don't act too surprised."

You take a few strides across the room to meet Kato at the doorway. “Gimme a three-sixty.”

“What are you, my mom?”

“It’s like meeting you all over again! Just let me see your hair.”

Kato shrugs but he turns anyway.

“You had it cut, too?” you comment upon finally seeing his paper-white bare nape. He liked to keep his hair long— often longer than that of the female volleyball club's members— but now it looks like he had a change of identity.

“Yeah. Might as well,” he replies nonchalantly.

"You look brighter. More like yourself, even."

He pauses momentarily, face unreadable. Then he breaks into a fond smile. "You're right."

You hear Watanabe’s voice before the door even slides open to signal his arrival. “Sorry, I’m late! And we’re behind schedule!” he heaves as he breaks through the conversational air. “The President pulled me aside on the way to the office—“

“Watanabe-kun!” you greet him, “Look! He gave up on his bleached hair. It looks really good, don’t you think?”

"His hair was bleached?"

"Oh. Yeah, sorry. I lied about me being half-gaijin. This is my natural hair color."

Watanabe stares.

“Okay,” his eyes squint, “but your piercings are still on! Take them off!”

You sigh. “You and your scrutinizing eyes,” the mutter leaves your mouth as you watch him deposit his school bag inside the office's locker shelves. Yours sat locked beside Kato's own space.

Like routine, the three of you march out of the office one by one. Updates are given on the way out, just before the group separates for individual ground patrol.

“What did the President talk to you about, by the way?”

“Nothing substantial. More hearsay than anything else.”

“Hearsay…?” Kato grumbles, “why do you talk like an old man?”

Watanabe’s bushy brows curve downwards. “I do not talk like an old man. That is legal lexicon.”

You chuckle. “As a kid who also has a lawyer for a parent, I actually have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Kato smirks. “I keep forgetting your dad works with the rest of Miyagi’s high-rollers,” he comments. “Since, you know, most of the kids from that faction of society behave a certain way.”

You slap Kato’s arm. “Watanabe-kun’s right here!”

Watanabe’s glasses reflect the afternoon light. “They do?”

“They don’t. Don’t listen to him, you’re fine.”

At the end of the hallway, you see a shadowy figure slip past the stairwell of the clubroom building.

You blink once, twice. “Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“Someone went up.”

That sets an alarm off in the boys’ heads. No one should be in this building before dusk because all clubs adjourn practice by at least six o'clock in the evening. Only then do they head back here to pick their stuff up— anyone else who enters this area shouldn’t be here.

Your feet start brisk-walking towards the staircase. “We started patrol late, remember? No one was there to guard downstairs.”

Kato’s eyes lock with Watanabe’s. “Let’s go.”

Shirabu would never admit it, but he’s as stubborn as a bull can get.

On one hand, it manifests in iron-willed determination. Shirabu prides himself with his position as Shiratorizawa’s cornerstone setter. Without any prejudice to Semi, Shirabu knows his style is what’s best for the ace— and overall, for the rest of the team. Playing alongside Ushijima Wakatoshi, of all people, is considered an honor both on and off court.

On the other hand, it manifests in his own brand of tunnel vision. Shirabu, essentially, can and will block anything out of his headspace if it doesn’t line up with his own beliefs. And one of those core beliefs is the well-grounded conviction that Ushijima Wakatoshi never makes bad decisions.

“Shirabu-san, I still don’t get it,” Goshiki says, wiping his damp hair away from his forehead.

The second year turns the sink on, water splashing down the stone finish. “You don’t get what?”

“Ushijima-san likes [L/N]-senpai, right.”

Shirabu nods.

“But Takenaka Shiori-san said she’d continue seeing him for that matchbox—“

“Matchmaking.”

“Matchmaking thing. What’s that all about?”

“It’s not for us to speculate, Goshiki.”

Kawanishi steps outside the gym to throw his energy bar wrapper at a nearby trashcan. “Hey, you two. We’re resuming practice in a few.”

“Kawanishi-san, help me figure this out,” the kouhai says, completely disregarding Shirabu’s statement. “If [L/N]-senpai is the one that Ushijima-san likes, what’s gonna happen to his match with Takenaka Shiori-san?”

Shirabu huffs. “Goshiki, I just told you! It’s not for us to speculate. Just leave it at that.”

“No, I’ll answer,” Kawanishi interrupts.

“Taichi,” Shirabu voice warns over the sound of the running sink, "we shouldn’t poke our nose into things.”

“I know we shouldn’t, but come on Kenjiro. It’s been like, what, two months? Since the Higuchi incident and the Takenaka intervention. Yet even after that, Ushijima-san still invited [L/N]-senpai to the joint birthday party. The entire team knows how special of a person she is to him. But what I can’t reconcile is how willing he was to let Takenaka stand in. And as far as I know,” Kawanishi’s eyes flit to Shirabu’s, “all this matchmaking stuff is a big deal to families like theirs, right? He can’t just not honor that agreement while simultaneously getting chummy with [L/N]-senpai.”

Shirabu’s gaze takes a scorched expression. “Do you have something against [L/N]-senpai?”

“What? No!” Kawanishi’s eyes widen. “We all like her, that’s a fact. But what I’m trying to say that this is me assessing the situation. I’m not one to scatter my thoughts around— and you know this, Kenjiro— but if and when people ask me for my opinion, I give it to them as objectively as I can.”

Wshhhhhhhh.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this, you know,” Shirabu replies. “We have to respect the upperclassmen. And that includes not prying into their private lives.”

He turns the sink off.

“Just trust Ushijima-san. He knows what he’s doing. He always has.”

“Yeah, but…” Goshiki’s eyes cast down on the stone pavement. “This isn’t about Ushijima-san. I’m talking about [L/N]-senpai. It feels wrong, seeing everything unfold, and I’m not even equipped with the proper means to defend her. I don’t even know if I have the right to.”

Drop, drop.

“What?”

“She’s like a big sister to us, okay? I know we haven’t known her for too long, but—“

“No, what are you talking about?”

Goshiki recalibrates. He gathers Kawanishi and Shirabu’s confused stares.

“The… flack she’s been getting over the last few days? People in my class keep talking about it.”

“Oy!” Coach Washijo’s voice booms with a spine-chilling frequency. “Get your asses inside before I make the three of you do a hundred serves each!”

The boys startle, their backs as straightening upright as they shuffle back inside. “Yes, sir!”

“Nee-chan,” Takenaka Hideki knocks on a bedroom door. “Shiori-neechan. Are you there?”

“Come in,” says a muffled voice from the other side of the oakwood.

The doorknob turns and the door swings open.

“You’re home early,” he says.

“I got exempted from practice today. I need to catch up on homework.”

“Right, right. I keep forgetting you’re a probie. Guess all the hereditary brain cells went to me, huh?” Hideki titters as if to wave his Shiratorizawa admission like a shiny badge of intellect. “Katsumi-neesan never finished college either. Well, not that it matters now. Our future brother-in-law has her entire future secured, anyway.”

Shiori rolls her eyes. “Do you need something? You only ever call me nee-chan when you’re trying to butter me up.”

Hideki scowls, face reddening. “I’m trying to be nice here.”

“You just called me stupid.”

“That’s besides the point,” Hideki says, fidgeting by the doorway. “How are you? Have you been doing alright?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Are you sure? I know mama and papa have been busy with Katsumi-neesan’s wedding coming up, but you can always talk to me.”

The sister’s brows knit. “Talk to you about what…?”

The brother mirrors her expression. “About… problems, and the like.”

“What problems could I possibly have aside from this stupid math exercise?”

“…Ushiwaka?”

“What about him?”

“You know.”

“Huh? Spit it out.”

Hideki groans. “Why are you dragging it out of me?! Aren’t you supposed to burst into tears by now?”

“Hideki, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His face loosens. “What? He’s still hiding it from you?”

“Hiding what?”

“That some random chick swooped in! And she’s fucking the entire volleyball team on the side!”

“I heard about what happened, and I’m really sorry you had to go through that. You deserve way better!”

Shiori’s face paled. Now she understood why.

It was dusk when the volleyball team finally entered their clubroom premises. Wakatoshi sees his phone already lit upon opening his locker.

【ＳＩＸ　（６）　ＭＩＳＳＥＤ　ＣＡＬＬＳ

ＦＲＯＭ　ＴＡＫＥＮＡＫＡ】

And then it fades to black.

Just as he’s about to tap redial, Shiori calls again. He answers within the first ring.

“Why do you take so long to answer?!”

The rest of the boys hear Shiori’s voice explode through the static.

“I was in practice.”

“Do you know what I just heard?”

“No?”

“Ask me,” Shiori demands, voice calmer now.

“What did you just hear?”

“People think we’re dating.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes flit to everyone else’s face. The lower years’ knee-jerk reaction is to look away.

He steps out of the clubroom, closing the door behind him. Wakatoshi’s eyes study the dimming courtyard through the building window. “That was the arrangement, wasn’t it?”

“Right. And it was meant to protect the both of us from our prying families, and that snake Higuchi.”

“Yes.”

“So tell me why this entire story has details not part of our agreement?!”

“What?”

“About the sidechick, Ushiwaka! People think you have a sidechick with you. My brother— god, even Hana-chan— they’re painting me out as the supposedly heartbroken girlfriend. The girl in mourning because she got cheated on. This story was never supposed to blow out of proportion, let alone reach Niiyama ground, but it did! And for the cherry on top,” she scoffs, “it sounds like we’re the last ones to find out about this. What the hell is happening down there in Shiratorizawa?”

The disciplinary committee converges at their office, Kato opening the door to turn the fluorescent light on.

“All that effort for a false alarm,” you trail off as you sit down in front of the CCTV monitors.  “I blame Watanabe-kun for arriving late,” you joke.

“I blame you for making us panic over a gopher!” he retorts back.

Kato laughs. “Oh, shut up. You almost tackled the kid on sight.”

Watanabe harrumphs when he crosses his arms. “Either way, we can all agree on one thing: it’s better safe than sorry.”

Clicking the computer mouse, you open the CCTV footage from today to skim through the recorded content. Nothing noteworthy once again, yet better safe than sorry indeed.

“Answer me honestly, you guys,” Kato announces as he plops down into the raggedy old leather couch in the middle of the room. “At this point, do you think we’d ever catch the phone thief? We haven’t made an inkling of progress. Things just keep piling up at this point. No leads, just more possible victims.”

You sink into the chair. Sure, you’ve warned Yumi about the possibility of her name on the kill list, but what good does a preventive measure do when there’s no telling when and where the thief might strike again?

You don’t give Kato a response. As much as you want to finally catch the culprit, things are looking bleak as they are.

Watanabe, however, begs to differ. “Of course we will. With all the effort we’ve already put in, we have to.”

"Effort doesn't always get you results, you know," Kato scoffs, unsold on the idea. "Anyway, let’s get outta here. It’s getting late.”

You nod in agreement. Pulling yourself out of the chair, you trudge your way to the lockers at the other end of the room.

Only to find your locker… ajar?

“Huh?”

Your skin begins to prickle. You swing your locker open and dig your hand in your school bag.

No way.

“Can you call my phone? Guys?”

Kato’s face registers a flicker of shock. Watanabe, after hastily unlocking his own locker, retrieves his phone to dial your number.

"𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗶𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝗮𝘃𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲. 𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝘆 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿.”

It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“No way,” Kato utters as if to take the very words out of your mouth. “No fucking way.”

Chapter Text

Situated deep within the residential area of Aoyama sits a three-story home held by muted bricks and reflective glass panes. The seamless architecture camouflages with the rest of Tokyo, the concrete jungle that it is.

To the regular passerby, this residence's fort-like facade would seem like any other modern metropolitan home. Its backyard patio, however, hides the three exceptional children of a certain Sakusa Fumihiro. This is their Sunday tradition: an al fresco sibling brunch as they wait for father and mother to come home from their weekly game of golf.

First is Koshiro, the 24-year-old Investor Relations Manager-slash-heir to the multibillion-yen conglomerate Sakusa & Co. Current concern: his work phone is bombarded with personal calls about his upcoming wedding.

“Yes, I’m okay with whatever color scheme. And no, you don’t need to call me to double-check. Whatever Kat says, goes,” he says, finger hovering on his bluetooth earpiece as he hopes to end the call as soon as possible.

Next is Kana, the 23-year-old student of the prestigious Todai med, a future doctor hoping to specialize in immunology. Current concern: Koshiro’s wedding might fall smack in the middle of her finals week.

“Koshiro!” she whispers harshly as she listens in, “ask the wedding planner about the date! Has it been decided yet?”

The eldest shakes his head, his hand waving her off. Not yet, not yet. Kana clicks her tongue in response.

Finally, there’s Kiyoomi— the 17-year-old prodigy ace of Itachiyama Institute, one of the top drafts for the V-League’s Black Jackals. Current concern: the reception to his brother’s wedding has too many invitees.

“Hey. This is me already telling you in advance. I’m going home after the cathedral ceremony, okay?”

The breakfast table’s occupants shoot an alarmed glare at the family’s youngest. Koshiro chokes on a gulp of coffee.

Kana’s bread knife clinks against her brunch plate. “Omi, you have to be joking.”

Koshiro coughs up. “Sorry, I’ll talk to you later,” he says to his earpiece, finally tapping the end-call button.

“I’m completely serious,” Kiyoomi deadpans.

Kana sets her yuzu jam-slathered toast aside. “Look— I know how much of a germaphobe you are, but completely skipping Koshiro’s wedding reception is asking for way too much.”

Kiyoomi grumbles, sinking into the cushioned wicker chair. “At the length of that guest list— four hundred people— I think it’s completely reasonable.”

Koshiro and Kana exchange knowing glances. Since they were born a year apart, the older siblings cultivated some sort of mental telepathy that Kiyoomi found bizarre, if not isolating.

The youngest wasn’t stuck to the hip the way they evidently were. Due to the circumstances of his birth, Kiyoomi is what family describes as a ‘miracle baby’— or, you know, the flowery term for an unexpected but definitely not unwelcome child. He didn’t sync up the way Koshiro and Kana naturally did. In any event, the eight and seven-year age gap had the youngest accustomed to growing up at the tail-ends of his siblings' departing childhoods. So while Kiyoomi’s merely beginning the climax of his eventful youth, the other two had already embarked on the next chapter of theirs.

In short, they didn’t have much in common.

Koshiro and Kana ran in paces different from Kiyoomi. The latter couldn't be bothered to keep up with their chronologically-advanced narratives. As such, he settled for his own pace at a very young age. But it was in grade school when the maternal side of his family thought of pushing cousin Motoya towards Kiyoomi's direction in hopes of fostering a de facto bond of brotherhood. Sure, blood ran thicker than water, but the sweat produced from shared volleyball practice became the one true glue that firmly held them together.

Nevertheless, the youngest remained the apple of Koshiro and Kana’s eyes. They smothered him in a cloying affection that only big brothers and sisters had the birthright to abuse, simply because he is (and forever will be) their baby brother Omi-omi. And they knew how to spoil him rotten.

“No, okay. How about this,” Koshiro begins as his elbows lean on the frosted glass table. “We have the ceremony at the cathedral in the morning.”

“Hmm.”

“And you come with us to the Ritz-Carlton for the reception. You stay for a toast or two—“

Kiyoomi wrinkles his face, the thought of the hotel’s Grand Ballroom full of extended relatives and business partners now waltzing through his mind. God forbid some random aunt whom I haven't seen in a decade comes up to kiss me on both cheeks.

“Ah— I’m not done yet,” Koshiro apprises upon seeing Kiyoomi’s dissatisfied, cringing expression. “Stay for a toast or two, and then you can retire to a suite.”

His eyes sparkle. “You’ll book me a suite?”

“If it means you’ll stay put in the hotel, yeah. Mother will freak if she finds out we let you dip. It won’t make a good impression on everyone.”

Kiyoomi stares for a while, pondering.

“Come on, Omi-omi,” Kana pleads. “You can hide out there while the program’s dragging on. Just in case mother looks for you, you can show up in a flash.”

“… Hmm.”

Koshiro and Kana hold their breaths.

“Okay, fine.”

And then Koshiro lets out a sigh of relief. This elicits a chuckle from Kana. The two found it silly how stubborn Omi-kun was when it came to his understated aversion for crowds and the germs they carried with it.

(Well actually, they didn’t find it all that silly. Tidiness, in fact, is a family trait.

And perhaps, when observing the trio together, the Sakusa children did put a premium on all things crisp and clean. Hence the general fussiness in their upbringing. They’ve never even killed a cockroach in their entire lives; they get the maids to do it for them.

But we digress. Going back to Kiyoomi, his brand of Clean™ was just next-level. And to this day, they wonder who he got that hyperfixation from.)

Kana finally takes a meager bite out of her piece of toast. “Too bad we couldn’t do a shrine wedding.”

"We don't practice Shinto," Koshiro replies.

"But it's such a simple, intimate ceremony."

Kiyoomi agrees. “You can’t blame me for not having the social battery to keep up, nii-san. It’s a loaded cathedral wedding, plus a hotel reception right after.”

“Eh… what can I do,” Koshiro defeatedly groans as he refills his ceramic mug with black coffee. “Kat’s mom is hell-bent on having a big white wedding. Had we done it Kat’s way, we’d be celebrating by the seaside of Amalfi instead."

“Amalfi Coast? Isn’t that in Italy?”

“Yup. That’s her mom’s hometown.”

“I thought she was American.”

“They’re of Italian descent.”

“… Same thing?” Kana scrunches her brows. “Well, anyway. Kiyoomi— you haven’t met Kat’s siblings yet, right?”

He shakes his head. In the four years that Koshiro’s been with Kat, Kiyoomi has only ever met the eventual in-law a handful of times— he could probably count those instances on one (sanitized) hand. And Kana, the social butterfly that she was, was mindful not to keep Kiyoomi out of the loop. She liked to force-feed him with the random tidbit here and there.

Essentially, Kiyoomi's knowledge on Kat's family was bare minimum. He didn’t know much, aside from the fact that she was a hafū socialite who recently expanded her ‘self-made’ company into a chain of yoga studios.

“Well," Kana continues, "I met up with Kat the other day. She dropped by Akasaka to check on her third branch’s construction. We grabbed some coffee and she told me that her family hired the same matchmaker lady— the one who bridged Koshiro and Kat— for her sister.”

Kiyoomi gives some nondescript hum as he reaches for a glass of apple juice. He recalls that certain nakodo. She smelled of Chinese herbal medicine and she obsessed over her 100% match rate.

“Hmm…” Kiyoomi replies, disinterested.

“Yeah, so it turns out that they paired her up with a friend of yours! The one who plays volleyball. They’ve been seeing each other since August, or so I’ve heard.”

Kiyoomi quirks a brow. “Who?” he asks in between sips. “That could be anyone.”

“Ushijima Wakatoshi!”

Now it’s Kiyoomi’s turn to choke on his beverage. “Him?!”

“Yeah! Him and Takenaka Shiori-chan!”

Komori breathes a wistful sigh as he looks out into the quadrangle of Itachiyama Institute. “Waaah, I can’t believe Koshiro-niisan is finally getting married. But don’t you think twenty-four’s pretty young, Kiyoomi?”

Sakusa's thumb frenetically scrolls further down and down into his inbox. “Ah, yeah, I guess.”

“I wonder why,” the libero unwraps his bento. “Most people are still building up their careers at Koshiro-niisan’s age.”

“Well, part of that career-building is marrying into another family,” Sakusa states, eyes still fixated on the blue light of his screen. He takes a seat across Komori, careful to keep arm’s length distance from the other lunching students that share the same communal bench.

“Nii-san and Takenaka Katsumi were paired up with the intent of a company merger, anyway. It’s been like that since day one, and everything else just had to be legalized for the sake of asset increase. They probably decided to tie the knot within next year so they could finally proceed with a joint project for Takenaka Bank and Sakusa & Co..”

“Match made in business heaven, huh.”

“Yeah,” Sakusa mutters. “Urgh. Why can’t I find it…”

“What are you looking for?” Komori asks, craning his head over to Sakusa’s phone.

“Chat log with Wakatoshi-kun. I just need to verify something.”

Sakusa's finger finally stops scrolling.

【ＷＡＫＡＴＯＳＨＩ－ＫＵＮ】

September 12, 6:32 PM

Wakatoshi-kun: Is your father’s name Fumihiro?

You: Yeah. Why??

Wakatoshi-kun: Ok. Thanks.

You: ????

You: Why are you asking.

Wakatoshi-kun: I’m helping someone out.

You: Why?

Wakatoshi-kun: She’s someone special to me.

You: No, I mean what do you need my dad’s name for.

You: Ahah. What’s her name?

Wakatoshi-kun: Just checking something.

Wakatoshi-kun: [L/N] [F/N].

Sakusa's eyes hook on your name. He sets his phone atop the outdoor table, shoving his hands into his school blazer. 

“Do you know anyone called [L/N] [F/N]?"

Komori tilts a thick brow. "Who?"

“Guess not, then."

"Why?"

“Basically, Wakatoshi-kun’s gotten paired up by the same nakodo-baasan our family knows.”

“Woah, really? So it's that [L/N] girl?”

“That’s the thing— it’s not her. He’s gotten paired up with Takenaka Shiori instead.“

“From the Takenaka family your brother’s fiancée is from?!”

“Yeah.”

Komori’s eyes perk up. “Small world! But… what’s [L/N] [F/N] got to do with this?”

Sakusa shrugs, picking his cellphone up again to unlock it. “That’s what I’m gonna ask him. Because this doesn’t make sense. Nee-san says Wakatoshi-kun's been seeing Takenaka Shiori since August, but it says right here,” pointing at his phone screen, “that he likes this [L/N] girl. And this was merely a few weeks ago."

Komori tilts his head. “…T-two timing?"

Sakusa, as stoic as his eyes remain, conceals a stifled laugh beneath his face mask. He coughs.

"I know I’m not as close to Ushiwaka as you are," Komori continues, "but that’s not… very like him, isn’t it?”

“Of course not. Do you think a guy as one track-minded as him has the emotional capacity to double-deal?”

Komori chuckles. “No way. He’s really popular, sure, but he doesn’t strike me as a playboy.”

Sakusa’s thumbs glide through his phone screen as he composes a text message for Ushijima.

Whoom!

You know how they say reputations often precede people?

Yeah, well— you never knew what that implied. Granted, you didn’t have much of a reputation to begin with. You were a background character to the highbrow elite of Shiratorizawa Academy.

Until today.

The walk to school would’ve been fine had it not been for the gossiping students that walked a few steps behind you.

“Holy shit, that’s her.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s what she looks like?”

“Right… couldn’t they have gone for someone cuter?”

“I thought she was on the disciplinary committee. She’s not wearing their committee band, though?”

“I heard they kicked her out.”

“Oh, for real?”

“Who wouldn’t? With everything she’s done, would you still think she’s a model student after all that?”

You peer over your head and you catch a glimpse of two boys snickering.

“Dumbass, she can hear you!”

Breathe and let it go.

The developments leading up to today had been a tempest of events. After the initial shock of discovering that your phone had been stolen, Watanabe— albeit hesitantly— sat you and Kato down at the disciplinary committee’s worn leather couch.

That Friday was forever seared into your brain.

“[L/N], I have to be… honest with you. I think I know why you’ve been targeted.”

Your heart thrums. “What are you talking about?”

“On the way to the office today, President Saji pulled me aside to talk about you. She told me she was worried about the recent, er, rumors floating around. The ones about you and—“

“The volleyball team, I know. There’ve been wagging tongues here and there.”

“Yes, and… um,” Watanabe gulps, eyes darting to bare walls.

“What? There’s more?” Kato’s brow quirks.

“She said, uh— [L/N], before I continue, I want you to know that this is an invitation for you to refute me on this— she said you’re some sort of… how do you say this… third-party? To Ushijima and Takenaka?”

“Th… what? Just use the same words that Saji said, damn it,” Kato snaps.

“Sidepiece! According to her sources, people are saying that [L/N]’s an alleged sidepiece to Ushijima. And I didn’t want to believe it. You’re not like that; I’ve known you since we were first years. Thus, I completely blocked it out of my headspace.”

Kato's back straightens. “Dude, what the fuck? So you could’ve prevented this entire thing if you just warned her?”

Watanabe’s face flares into a blazing shade of red. “Why would I go up to [L/N] and ask her if she really was engaged in an illicit relationship with Ushijima Wakatoshi?! I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt! It’s legal doctrine!”

Kato buries his face into his hands. “God-dddamn it,” he whips his head up. “Everything’s always fucking Law and Order with you, isn’t it? You think this is some detective show, huh? A legal drama series? We’re in the amazon, dude. And Shiratorizawa is carnivorous.”

Your head is hazy yet you gather strength to find your voice. “H-hey. Calm down, the two of you—“

Watanabe shoots up to his feet. “Oh, so it’s my fault for respecting due process? Why would I condemn [L/N] for something that isn’t even established as fact?”

Kato follows, feet stomping towards the Chairman. “Dude! You’re so fucking fixated on all this justice bullshit that it’s completely skewed your outlook on reality! Shiratorizawa doesn’t play fair, it never has! You should’ve taken extra precaution for [L/N] precisely because your damn high society has always, always preyed on easy targets— and because she doesn’t have a thing to her name, of course she’d be easy meat! [L/N]'s a clean slate! They could portray her any way they wanted, chew her up and spit her out!”

It was a good thing that Vice President Ogawa checked in on the disciplinary committee office. Had things dragged on for any longer, Kato and Watanabe would have left school with faces bruised and bleeding. When the three of you were brought to the President’s office, the supposed 30-minute HR meeting became a 2-hour long deliberation.

The eventual conclusion to that Friday was the suspension of your duty work.

“Me? Why me? I didn’t even say anything! I even tried to stop them from fighting!"

“[L/N], look— I get it. I completely understand, but I’m talking about the bigger picture here. Questionable things have been said about you. Your phone has been stolen. And everyone knows what’s next to come.”

“I don’t even have anything to leak!”

“I know. And I believe you. None of this is your fault and I cannot blame you for anything. But you need to realize what kind of message this sends to the school body. After today’s… emergency meeting, we cannot allow your continued work for the committee. It will undermine the credibility of the student body council.”

Your head jerks to Watanabe and your voice begins to tremble. “Watanabe-kun…?"

He remains silent. Something tells you the tides have turned against you.

Once again, blood rushes to Kato's head. "Hey. Are you really letting this happen?”

Watanabe looks away. Kato snarls.

“What the fuck? After all that due process bullshit you were preaching about, you’re letting this happen?!”

The Chairman hangs his head low.

“Watanabe!” Kato barks. "Answer me!”

In this exact moment, Kato didn’t care if he openly resisted Saji Nozomi. He didn’t care if he ended up getting suspended for willful disobedience of a higher authority.

“I’m talking to you, Watanabe! Are you seriously backing off just because the President says so?!”

“Kato,” Ogawa’s voice inserts, “calm down, please—“

“Aren’t you going to fight for our committee member?!"

"…"

You crumble at his silence.

Watanabe pushes his glasses up. There’s a slight tremor to his fingers before he lays the final blow.

“I’m sorry, [L/N]. There’s nothing I can do about this. The President made valid points. And whatever Saji says, I must follow.”

It’s Monday now— the beginning of a new week. You have no idea what’s to come once you walk through the wrought iron gates of Shiratorizawa. And you try not to let it dwell— not after how terribly that meeting ended, not after how anxiety-ridden your weekend has been. Everything will be fine. Yumi promised she’d wait for you by the school entrance. And when she sees you, she’ll clasp your hand so tight that it’ll keep your feet grounded for the remaining 129 steps to your classroom.

“Hey, how long do you think before her leak?”

The companion student snickers. “Before the week ends, for sure.”

In the meantime, you try not to let your feet drag.

“Dude. I dare you to go up to her and ask for nudes.”

Your shoulders are heavy with a cross unjustly given to you. This burden does not have your name on it, but it is now yours to bear.

Just two more blocks. Just pretend they’re not there. Just two more blocks and 129 steps to go.

Beep beep!

An executive sedan pulls up beside you. The door swings open and you see Shirabu being driven by a white-gloved chauffeur.

“Good morning, senpai. Wanna hitch a ride?”

You take a hesitant glance at the two boys trailing behind.

“Isn’t that the volleyball team’s setter?”

“Shirabu-kun, I don’t know if you’ve heard,” your voice softens, “but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be seen with you.”

The second year doesn’t yield. “I said, good morning, senpai. Wanna hitch a ride?”

“Shirabu—“

“Good morning, senpai. Wanna hitch a ride?”

Your face is warm with embarrassment. “Okay, okay, fine.”

You hop in his vintage Toyota Century.

Chapter Text

Shirabu Kenjirou lives a fairly mundane life. On weekdays, he’s a student-athlete-med school hopeful who lives in Room 209 of the Shiratorizawa dorms’ male student wing. On weekends, he’s fetched by the family’s private driver for a night or two back in the Shirabu residence.

His twin siblings are the first people to greet him home. One clings to his left calf, another on his right. Kenjirou is quite strict for a teenager, but his parents know full well that he has two little soft spots for his siblings— no matter how unpredictable those two can get.

(Ah, now that we think about it... maybe that’s why he knows how to put up with Tendou Satori and Goshiki Tendou.)

Anyway.

When he successfully manages to pry the paired devils off his legs, he makes his way to a secluded room down the hallway. Very meekly, he pads his way up to the lacquered wood shrine that holds a portrait of a young boy, barely even twelve. Forever memorialized is the bowl cut in the copper shade of hair that the rest of the Shirabu children seem to share.

Kenjirou kneels in front of the butsudan and lights a stick of incense.

“I’m home, nii-chan.”

And then he proceeds to bathe before having dinner with the rest of the family. Gratefully, both mom and dad were off hospital duty this weekend. The meal circles over the usual rounds of conversation— how was school? You have any upcoming games? Oh right, those prefectural playoffs are coming up soon. How about your schoolwork, are you studying hard? Is that so. That’s good to hear. Keep it up, Kenjirou.

When he retreats to his room, he studies deep into the night for the upcoming week of school.

Overall, he lives up to the well-intended kanji of his name.

Ken-ji-ro. 賢二郎. Intelligent second son. Student-athlete-med school hopeful who wishes to become a neurosurgeon one day. It’s a goal he carries on from a childhood dream first claimed by his older brother, a man who would have been twenty-three and in med school today. He’ll wear that white coat in the near future, he knows it. Because in all areas of life, Kenjiro works with purpose. From the day he decided to resume his late brother’s ambition to become a doctor, to the day he pledged he’d set for Shiratorizawa. He may be a bit bullheaded at times, but with it comes a determination so deeply embedded in his personality. He knows his priorities and shifts focus accordingly.

Everything else is noise.

So when he saw you that Monday morning, on the way to school with an unusual gait that made you look otherwise perturbed, he rolled his windows down and offered a ride for the remaining few meters.

He didn’t really understand why— in your words— it ‘wouldn’t be a good idea for you to be seen with him’.

Yet, after a few of his willful attempts, you jump in his car anyway.

When you finally settle into the leather seat, the first thing he says is took you long enough.

There’s an awkward silence before you start the conversation. You don’t really know where to begin after last week’s clusterfuck of events.

“I thought you dormed,” you begin.

“I do. I went home during the weekend.”

“Ah, I see.”

Stillness. You digest his reply. It’s as mundane as ever; there’s no inkling of hesitation to his voice. You wonder if he’s even up to date with your branded status as The Ushiwaka’s alleged sidepiece.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say.

He simply nods.

There’s a one-sided hesitation in the air and it’s something only you seem to be breathing. You take a sharp inhale, ready to provide a rehash of events.

But Shirabu derails your train of thought.

“How are you, senpai?”

And the way Shirabu asks you a question so simple almost makes your stone-hard shame dissipate like fog.

You dampen your lips. You didn’t realize how dry they were until then. I’m okay is your automated response.

Shirabu’s brown eyes flit towards you, an unbelieving gaze probing into your irises.  “Are you really?”

He catches you off-guard. You shake your head, almost hurriedly, after a pregnant pause.

“You can cry if you’d like,” he says. “Nobody’s going to see.”

You laugh. It’s a dry laugh, but it leaves a ghost of a chuckle anyway.

“I’m not going to cry,” you say as a prickling sensation in the corners of your eyes threatens to break you.

He doesn’t say anything. Shirabu notices the gloss in your restrained gaze and he decides not to venture any further. He doesn’t want to risk opening up the floodgates when you’ve sealed yourself shut to face the upcoming week.

Soon enough, the wrought-iron gates of Shiratorizawa become identifiable from afar. You request to be dropped off at a nearby curb, a blind spot where most kids don’t pass. It won’t look good if we step out of the car together is your reasoning.

He knits his brows. “Senpai, it’s okay. It’s just a ride to school.”

“No, really. Here’s fine. Gotta play it safe.”

His car slows down to a full stop.

Your hand reaches out towards the car door. You’re about to thank Shirabu but a statement he suddenly utters makes you halt.

“It’s all noise, senpai.”

Pause.

“Sorry?”

“The issue right now. It’s all noise. Don’t let it get to you because the people who know you— who really know you— won’t fall for any of those stupid rumors. And this is me speaking on behalf of the team, too.”

Your eyes travel back to him. Shaky, glassy.

Shirabu’s voice softens. “None of us think of you any differently. So why should you, of all people?”

The side of your lip turns up. In a wisp of a conceivable voice, you reply. “Thank you for comforting me, Shirabu-kun.”

“Ah. Was I? I mean, I’m just stating the facts,” he scratches the back of his neck, seemingly embarrassed.

You chuckle— genuinely this time— at your kouhai. Shirabu’s sharp tongue is a double-edged sword. He’ll scold people like Goshiki to no end, and probably it's because of his own brotherly instinct, yet he’ll slash down whatever worries you have thorned up in your head.

You eventually leave his car feeling better than when you entered it.

Yumi was standing by the school gate when you walked up to her. And just as she promised, she held your hand so tight it might as well have turned purple at the grip. You squeak at the pressure and she apologizes profusely. Yumi knows how to make you laugh. She never has to try.

“How’s the phone situation?” she says as she opens her shoe locker. “Do your parents know?”

You take your own pair of indoor shoes out of your locker. “No. I haven’t squeaked a single breath. And I feel like if I do, I’m gonna have to explain that my phone got stolen and I got kicked out of the disciplinary committee because of it.”

Yumi sighs. “So what do you plan on doing? Surely you can’t reuse the same ‘my phone ran out of battery’ excuse over and over again.”

You shrug. “Might get a part-time job or something. I’ll earn just enough to get myself a new phone. I have all the time in the world now that I’ve been booted out of my committee work, anyway.”

Yumi’s face drops in horror.

“A job?" she exclaims like it's the most ludicrous thing in the world. "Don’t be silly. I think I have an older iPhone lying around, I’ll hand it to you.”

You deposit your leather shoes into the cubby. “What? No, it’s fine!”

“I insist! I bet you were planning to get a part-time job at the grocery near your house, weren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. It’s nearby.”

“And isn’t that the same one your mom buys her groceries at?”

“Oh. Now that I think about it…”

Yumi smirks. “Gosh, I really am your best friend. I think god knew we’d be too powerful if he made us siblings,” she chuckles at her own joke.

“But are you sure? I can still return it to you once I earn enough money to buy myself a new phone.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she dismisses with a wave of a hand. “That phone's just collecting dust, anyway. Save yourself the effort and possible embarrassment should your parents ever find out.”

“Okayyy,” you give in. “Thank you, Yumi-chan.”

Just as you slip into your other uwabaki, your right foot feels something crumple within the canvas cloth. You remove the shoe to inspect what’s nestled inside.

“What’s that?”

You take a note out. It’s a leaf ripped out of a notebook, unevenly folded. You reveal its contents.

Please see me at the rooftop during cleaning period.

Yumi takes a peek. “There’s no name?”

Upon closer inspection, you notice that the note was written with a sign pen. There’s a telling ink smudge on the left side of the crumpled paper.

“No, but I think I can tell who this is.”

Kato has cooped himself up in a bathroom stall for a midday smoke. He tried to swear off smoking, but the recent chain of events drove him back to his guilty, lung-corroding pleasures. Things have been stressful lately, or so he’d trick himself into justification. There are just some things that gum can’t substitute.

When he hears another person enter the third year’s male washrooms, he tosses his cigarette into the toilet bowl and flushes it down.

He opens the cubicle to reveal Ushijima standing in front of the communal sink. They lock glances through the mirror before the ace turns the faucet on.

Kato occupies the sink beside his. He scrubs the scent of nicotine off his fingers while Ushijima scrubs the remnants of dried ink off the side of his palm.

The smoker breaks the silence. “She got kicked out of the committee last Friday,” he says, eyes trained on the concave of the sink. “Did you know that?”

Ushijima pauses. The water continues to run.

“No,” he blinks. Then he resumes to wash the remaining suds off his hands before turning the sink off. “I heard about her phone, but not the committee, no.”

“Well, now you know.”

Kato’s eyes flit to his. “And you have all those rumors to blame, too.”

Ushijima takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and dries his hands, folding the damp side in when he returns it back.

“They’re just rumors,” he mutters as he walks away from Kato and back to class. “None of it is true. This will all pass.”

Kato scoffs. “Isn’t that a bit unfair coming from you, golden boy?”

The ace’s eyes narrow. He pauses in his tracks and pivots back to Kato, a glare now locked between them.

“Unfair?”

“Yeah. I mean, look at you— getting off scot-free while the [L/N]’s name is reverberating as the newest scandal throughout this toxic vat of an echo chamber we call Shiratorizawa Academy. To you, they’re just rumors. But to her, it cost her phone, her committee position, and most importantly, her name. Her clean slate of a name. Of course, you'd never know what that feels like. You never have to worry about all this. You’re born practically invincible. Ushiwaka can never do any wrong.”

Just before Ushijima manages to string a reply together, the school bell rings. Last period has ended and cleaning period has commenced. Kato makes his way to the door.

“I hope you figure out a way to break through this, ace. Other peoples’ images depend on how you choose to react; you should know at least that much. Your word is king, after all.”

And then the door clicks shut in Kato’s wake. Ushijima's thoughts linger as long as his pondering gaze.

The autumn breeze has started bearing its fangs. It nips at your thighs and your skirt length is not long enough to shield you from the roof deck breeze. You surmise you’ll have to start wearing longer socks for the rest of this year.

The door swings open and you see Wakatoshi approach.

“Hi,” you begin. You crane your head up when you study his face.

There’s a weakness to his gaze. One could probably say that he’s released his recurrent scowl, but this expression is… different. You can’t pinpoint why. His eyes are more hooded than they usually are, mouth heavier than it normally is. It’s reminiscent of the day of the fireworks festival, but at the same time, it’s not.

You knit your brows. “Are you alright?”

He takes your hand. “I should be asking you that.”

His grip is hesitant. Coursing with atonement, you could almost feel. A slight breeze ruffles his hair.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“Protect… me?”

Ushijima doesn’t usually hang his head low, not even when he talks to you whose height barely reaches his shoulders. But this time, he does. For the first time, he does.

“From the rumors? Are you talking about the rumors?”

He nods.

“It’s just noise, Wakatoshi.”

“And it will continue to be noise if I don’t do anything about it. It’s going to echo, and echo, and echo, and it will run you down. I have to do something to keep you from getting hurt.”

"Like what?"

He holds you tighter. Like a warning, even.

“I’m planning to address the rumors."

You hold your breath.

"I’m going to affirm that I am with Takenaka Shiori—“

And your heart drops.

“And I am just a common friend," you finish for him.

There’s a pang in his expression. He hesitates for a while.

“Yes.”

Yet he says it with so much certainty you just know there's no space for any other alternative.

"I see."

And just like that, you revert back to your place in this world: a background character to Ushijima Wakatoshi’s high school life. A breeze suddenly passes by and your eyes start to water. You want, so bad, to say that it’s dust. Just dust.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

Ushijima watches your eyes gloss up, your lips quiver. He clenches his jaw.

“I can’t,” his Adam’s apple bobs, “I can’t, in good conscience, ask you to stay with me any longer. We have to cut off all ties for now because I can't bear the thought of implicating you again. So until I officially call it off with Takenaka next year, you can't be seen with me.”

"Is," your breath hitches, "is this it? Is this really how we'll spend the rest of the school year?"

Ushijima nods, regret etched all over his face.

“N-no. I mean, yes. I agree. I'm sorry, that was selfish of me to say. There’s no way you can keep this up without dragging her reputation down, too. Not just mine. And b-besides, there’s too much at stake, right? Your families are on the lookout.”

You talk as if it'll alleviate the sinking realization of parting. But it doesn't, it really doesn't.

The cold appendages of your free hand reach out to grab Ushijima's warm palm. You encase it within your two hands and you look up to him, tears threatening to fall out.

What gives you the right to even cry? You were never together to begin with.

“I guess this is goodbye for now. Don’t break any more school rules, okay? It won’t be me on the other side of the disciplinary committee’s door anymore.”

Ushijima’s brows furrow down, the bite he has on his lip giving away the slight tremble to his face.

“I won’t cause any trouble.”

“You look so serious,” you laugh. The crease in your eyes makes a tear fall down your cheek. There’s a familiar glint in your eyes and Ushijima catches it.

“Don’t worry, I believe you,” you add.

Ah. This feels like déjà vu.

You lock eyes with Ushijima. He feels a collision of sorts. Just before you look away, he pulls you in— one last time.

He rests a warm hand on the back of your nape, another on your jaw, and he curls in to plant a kiss on your lips. A chaste, lingering kiss. But just before he inches out to pull back, you get on your tiptoes to grab him by the collar. Your lip merely opens by a millimeter but he’s quick to pick up on it; his flesh moves the same way. This is not a kiss laden with fondness, nor with tenderness. This is the type of kiss that bursts at the seams, each unfolding bringing a momentary attachment of desperation, of carelessness, of a feeling so restless that he can’t help but lap up every undertone of a taste that’s just you and you only.

He kisses as if the world is ending. And maybe, in some way of his own, it probably is.

You pull back, gasping for air.

He looks at you, really looks at you, one last time.

His forehead leans in to rest on yours, eyes drinking up the features of your face. Into his brain he carves that soft gaze he's grown so accustomed of interlocking with.

You tell him to go. You’re going to be late to practice. And he does as he’s told anyway. The roof deck’s door closes behind him and he looks over his shoulder to peek at the square window that shines a fuzzy beam of afternoon sun down the staircase.

There’s a gaping hole in his chest. This is a feeling not even he can shake off. He rushes down to resume with practice, heart as heavy as his steps.

He’s going to have to adjust back to his old schedule.

Chapter Text

Semi ambushes you just as lunch period starts.

“Hey, [F/N]-chan. Not eating with us again?”