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To Kenjirou, serving was just like any other necessary cog in the system of volleyball.
It was a regular routine that he had easily incorporated into the inner workings of his body and mind, and a simple craft honed amidst the countless drills of receiving, serving, setting and spiking. The practice of it had become old news ever since he had learned how to do it well.
Frankly, he found it to be rather lacklustre and would frown whenever he would be called up to serve. The apparent gloom he experienced would always pass quickly in the span of 10 seconds, however, as he usually had it over and done with within the first 5.
Simply put, he did not find interest in delivering a ball over the net where their rivals had free reign to it.
He never would have dreamed of a day where his heart would set aflutter by being the very witness to a serve.
One that was breathtaking, no doubt.
He's standing by the sidelines of the court and his eyes are bug-eyed wide, as he takes in the mountain peak view of his irritable senior seemingly float in the air and slam a ball onto the other side of the court with unrivalled speed. The view is nothing short of gratifying, as the realization of being astounded by the routine of serving arrives at Kenjirou's feet all too suddenly.
He inhales in sharply.
Eita is an unstoppable force. He is a stubborn yet tenacious player on the lacquered surfaces of gyms and in spite of this, he appears to be hidden away from the world.
(And in some selfish sense of the word, he desires to keep him to himself, this treasure that can never be replicated.)
At that moment, Kenjirou thinks to himself that the reverence of Eita's serves is truly something to be reckoned with. Each serve speaks of the hours of blood, sweat and tears that he had spent trying to perfect each ball spun and hoisted. It describes a teary-eyed frustration and sadness that he had grappled with, upon the knowledge that he would no longer be the first-string setter to his beloved team.
Finally, it depicts bittersweet memories that consist of promises between friends and the formidable yet everlasting bond that was the pair of them together.
From all of this, there is a gracefulness that can only be demanded from patriarchs like Eita and boasts a majestic view midair.
Kenjirou feels himself getting choked up.
How long had Eita practised to get to that stage? How much emotion had gone into that simple convention that kenjirou himself paid no time of his day to?
It was mind-boggling, as they say about the universe. he was perceiving him through the lenses of a kaleidoscope, an instrument that foretold the deep and far expanses of space itself.
He was never one to admire scenery or things unable to be understood, such as the feeling of emptiness upon looking over a horizon, but somehow, gazing upon Eita's beautiful form made him gain an ounce of insight.
The phoenix rising from the ashes in front of him was surreal and yet, had fiery eyes that he could look into and not get burnt. Any comprehensive word he could mutter would not substitute Eita's understanding of the word 'serve'. It was beyond basic understanding; it was a vulnerable side of him that he only showed his found family of Shiratorizawa and Kenjirou.
To this, he considers himself far too fortunate to be by Eita's side and spend at least every day talking, laughing and arguing (even arguing) with him.
As he is cognizant, life is fleeting, and the nature of it captures the calibre of Eita's serves very well.
After all, his ambition and want to present the array of his abilities strikes a chord within Kenjirou, and it provides boundless passion that lights the fire within Eita's soul.