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Click click click…
It’s a cold summer’s day, outside the rain pitter patters along the edges of the windows, a steady rhythm that seems to stretch on forever.
Click click click…
Sharp catlike eyes follow the curves of a monster, the percentage of a health bar, the tells of its enemy. Calculated risks and deliberate decisions are made.
Click click click...
Kenma looks down at the monster they’d just managed to make limp, it has nowhere to run but it still hangs on with every inch of its life. This is the second to last quest, one more and the game will be over.
Click click-
The victory trumpets sound, and Kenma watches the droplets begin to collect on the glass, each connecting with dozens of others before it finally gains enough strength to be freed from the clutches of the window on its own. They stretch their back, then their fingers, before turning back to the screen.
So… this is it, huh?
Kenma clicks on the last battle, and ignores the thumping in their heart.
—
Hitoka and Sugawara had been crying for nearly a week by the time everyone finally managed to get them to relax. It’s hard to believe the same idiots who flew the dean’s toupee on that first day are now both Olympic grade idiots. Hitoka sits in the little izakaya, watching said idiots and their friends and teammates, thinking about the past nine years of her life.
It started on a whim, how could she have ever said no to a pretty girl like Kiyoko? Now that pretty girl is a godlike woman, and the whim is a solid foundation of trust and knowledge. Yachi doesn’t play volleyball, she never had aside from that one stint with beach volleyball together with the first years, but its effects ripple outwards into every part of her life.
She watches Bokuto and Kuroo slur for one more beer before Akaashi and Daichi shut them down. Hinata is ruffling Kageyama’s hair as Hoshiumi shouts at him, and Tsukishima is laughing at something one of the Inarizaki alumni is saying about Atsumu. Ushijima is staring holes into a menu Sakusa is holding up, and Yukie is pointing out the best courses the izakaya has to offer.
It’s a cramped fit, so many different alumni from so many schools, each of them connected through a rivalry or a strong sense of allyship. It feels like a festival, but Hitoka supposes that’s par for the course.
She watches Tanaka and a few of the other older senpais point out how crazy it is to see their little kouhai running around celebrating being olympians, only for said olympians to look at them full of confusion.
“Of course we’d be olympians, I said I’d win multiple gold medals, right?”
“I’m beating you to it, Hinata-boke!”
“Japan didn’t even win a gold medal last Olympics, so shut yer trap Tobio-kun!”
The tables all laugh at the outburst, but Hitoka can only sit there and clench her hands around her chest.
Out there, there are monsters. Monsters with killer serves, and giant mechanic blocks. Monsters who can jump higher than any wings could allow, and who can reflexively defend against every attack that comes their way. But these monsters aren’t inhuman, they’re just as human as all the rest of us. The only difference is one fundamental desire, a hunger that overtakes them, a superpower that exists only in a monster.
Hitoka watches the quiet fire behind their eyes as Hoshiumi counts off his own personal achievements against Atsumu’s.
There’s been dozens of people who berated and hurt these people for their love of volleyball- the one thing that is their greatest strength. What might seem like the secret to success is nothing more than the equivalent of a freak quick; fallible, opposable, as full of holes as any technique.
If it wasn’t for the people who taught these monsters that their love is worthwhile, that having fun means being good, that their obsession isn’t creepy… would they be monsters at all, or just freaks of nature?
What would’ve happened if they were told they weren’t good enough? Would they have self-destructed? Lost all the passion they currently have-?
Hitoka slaps both her cheeks to snap herself out of it, and the table stills.
“Ah, I was just- y’know-! Um,” she looks at all their expecting faces, then takes a deep stabling breath, “I’m fine now, really.”
“Wow Yacchan, you got out of your slump quicker than ‘Kaashi could!”
“Bokuto-san…”
“That’s thanks to me y’know, it’s a result of my super ultra ace advice!!”
“Just hearin’ ya talk makes me feel exhausted…”
“As if you’re one to talk.”
“Nice one, Omiomi!”
The bustle returns to the izakaya and Hitoka laughs full and free. Bokuto is right, though how he could guess that that’s the case is beyond her. She looks over at the other first years as they compete to eat the most rice, and her heart swells.
Look and see how good we’ve become.
There are monsters out there, and Hitoka is lucky, so very very lucky, that she got to live out all these years watching them grow.
—
For the past twenty-odd years Tobio has been doing the same things. Set, spike, receive, dive, block-
“OPPPEEEEEEN KAGEYAAMAAAAAA!”
“LEFT, LEEEEEEEFT-“
The ball feels perfect as it leaves his hand, landing squarely in the junction between Ushijima’s thumb and his pinkie. The spike is only narrowly blocked, and the opposing blocker hollers at the sensation. The point is one of maybe a hundred that they’ve done in today’s practice matches, but both the shortest players in the room still move to ruffle his hair and shout at him.
Tobio watches Hinata and Hoshiumi compete over something or another, and replays the last point in his mind.
“That’s all for today,” their coach calls out with a clap, “everyone make sure you cool down properly before we begin our next assessment. Today we’re going to be looking at the Polish national team, Ushijima-kun has experience playing in their league so we’ll be asking him to give us some pointers on players he may have already played.”
The national-level players call out an affirmative, and move to their respective partners to start cooling down.
To some, preparing for the Olympics can be a stress and nerve-filled time, but Tobio had already gone through it once before and honestly? He’s just glad he gets the chance to play such high level volleyball.
Still, there’s one main difference between that time and this one, and that’s-
“Oi Kageyama, you need to go for a poop?”
Practiced hands aim for Hinata’s head twice, once to cause him to jump and the second to try and catch him midjump. Both fail.
“You’re not getting nervous, are you?”
The question sounds like an insult coming from Hinata’s mouth, but for once his expression is actually kind of caring and genuine. Tobio leans down to stretch his legs, letting the ache of his muscles fill his senses and causing the silence to extend just a beat too long.
When he gets back up he takes a deep breath, eyes scanning the players all around them. He closes them, reliving memories from a life long gone. Memories of his first Olympics, his first V-league match, his first national semi-finals, first nationals game in highschool, and… Hinata’s first game.
“No,” Tobio finally responds, eyes clear and mouth gently quirked upwards, “not even a little.”
Hinata grins, and pats Tobio’s back as the two of them walk towards the rest of their team. Tobio’s eyes lock with Ushijima’s for a moment, and he looks pretty relaxed too. Everyone here does. They all have the strength to have fun, the strength to be free.
If you get good enough, I promise you, someone even better will come find you.
Tobio locks away the precious memories in his heart, and sits down to listen, sights set on his endless future.
—
Tenma sits still as he inks the next page of his manga. Usually he has the soft chatter of his assistants to keep him company, but today he’s at home, listening to a radio special on the monster generation and their feelings towards the Olympics.
”Hinata Shouyou, you’re one of the latest comers into the V-league, having spent two years in Brazil after highschool to train as opposed to barreling straight into the league like your teammate Kageyama Tobio,” the announcer’s muffled voice says through Tenma’s old rackity radio, “Your rankings in the Brazillian beach volleyball league were actually quite substantial, and Heitor Santana has gone ahead to give some great results in the last few year’s tournaments. Do you ever regret coming back to indoor volleyball?”
The question is familiar to Tenma, back when he’d finally finished serializing Zombie Knight Zomb’ish, he had a short interview to commemorate the end. They’d asked if he ever regretted leaving the volleyball league behind, if being a mangaka was just a flimsy plan B to not joining the V-league.
“Eh?” Hinata starts, and even through the static and what may be hundreds of kilometers, his voice sounds as clear as though he were standing right in front of Tenma. Years past stretch in front of the artist, the feeling of leather against his palm, and the view from the top of a particularly powerful block.
“Why would I? I love volleyball.”
Tenma smirks to his paper. Yeah, that was it wasn’t it? It doesn’t matter whether or not Tenma regrets leaving volleyball, because there’s something even more important to him now. The smell of ink, the comfort of hatching, the feeling of cartridge paper beneath his finger tips.
You become good at what you love.
He remembers Coach Nekomata saying these words during one of his old training camps with Nekoma, and they’d stuck with him all the way to the present.
Playing volleyball, playing beach volleyball, drawing manga, telling stories… none of these are easy occupations. Every play is a gamble, every chapter is a possibility for bankruptcy. Hinata doesn’t play volleyball because it’s a get rich quick scheme, he does it because there’s not one thing in the world he could ever possibly want to do more. Tenma looks around at the endless stacks of paper and original manuscripts and knows the feeling down to his core.
From now until forever, the one thing either of them could ever think about, is this all encompassing feeling of true love.
—
“Hey, Kenma! How’d you like the opening ceremony? I even saw a huuuge Goku balloon round back, it’s crazy! The Olympics sure are something else huh?!”
Kenma smiles at the screen in their hand, “hmm I’ve seen crazier.”
“What! No way, you’re just messing with me”
Shouyou’s tinny voice through the headphones makes Kenma laugh a little. It wasn’t even that funny, but it’s the very fact that it’s Shouyou that lights up Kenma’s soul. Messing with him had always been fun, but it only got funner when Hinata became a pro indoor volleyball athlete. Now the people who irritate him have the pleasure of saying that they’re one of the people who’ve not only beaten the Ninja Shouyou in a battle of wits, but even a battle of volleyball.
Kenma pops another sweet into their mouth without looking, and grimaces when it comes out mint-flavoured.
“When I first met you,” Kenma starts, working through the minty-freshness in their mouth, “I had the thought that you were different. You were always interesting to me Shouyou.”
“Really?!” Shouyou preans in the compliment, before he furrows his brows, “wait, but what about that match..? You had ‘ah, I’m bored of you now’ written all over your face!”
Kenma laughs, it’s full bodied and disgusting, but it feels so good.
“Yeah, you’re right, that’s exactly how I felt. I thought I’d finally broken you, like you were just another videogame I could beat to completion only to wallow in disappointment over it ending.”
“I’m not sure if that’s meant to be a diss or what.”
“Take it however you want to take it.”
“Kenmaaaaa-!”
Kenma giggles this time, eyes scrunched up at edges. After a few more minutes of back and forth bickering they sigh, and the weight of the past nine years finally sets heavy on them.
“During that match at nationals, I almost thought I was going to collapse with exhaustion-“
“Hey now,” Shouyou interjects with a mock serious face, “no talking about collapsing out of exhaustion at nationals.”
“Not everyone is stupid enough to actually collapse Shouyou,” Kenma rolls their eyes, easy smile on their face as Shouyou squacks, “but honestly I think I almost was that stupid. It really hurt, it was really painful. I remember clear as day thinking ‘I never want this to end.’”
Shouyou looks awestruck. Kenma isn’t entirely sure why, considering the fact that they’re sure every person both on and off that court was thinking the same thing, but maybe hearing it is different for Shouyou. Maybe. Kenma gets a few more minutes to deliberate it before Shouyou looks up and away from the camera.
“Hey, Kenma…” he mumbles as he looks out at what might be the endless night sky. His tone of voice isn’t new, but it is nostalgic, “tomorrow is my first Olympic game, but I don’t feel nervous at all. There’s still the pressure to do well or get benched yeah but… losing doesn’t mean I never get to play anymore. From here on out, I’ll get to play with the best of the best in the world.”
He looks down, and even though his eyes aren’t perfectly centered with Kenma’s they can feel holes being bored into them with the strength of endless passion.
“I’ve waited and worked for this all my life, but it doesn’t feel like I’m approaching an end goal. Some of my teammates act like this is going to be their last ever tournament, and I guess for some of the geezers it might be but…”
Let’s do it, let’s play a game where there’s no do over!
Shouyou smiles, deadly, monstrous, genuine, and Kenma shivers.
“This is still only the beginning for me.”
—
Click click click…
It’s a warm summer's day, outside the cicadas are humming playfully, an unsteady melody filled to the brim with nostalgia.
Click click click...
Sharp catlike eyes follow the curves of a monster, the percentage of a health bar, the tells of it’s enemy. Calculated risks and deliberate decisions are made.
Click click click...
Kenma looks down at the monster they’d just managed to make limp, it has nowhere to run but it still hangs on with every inch of its life. This is the last quest, one more hit and the game will be over.
Click click-
“Hey, Kenma- wait, haven’t you already finished this game before?”
The victory trumpets sound, and Kenma watches the final cutscene play out one more time. The dark clouds dissipate, and their guildmates jump for joy. Little cat-like creatures run around bringing food for all to eat. The world is saved.
Kuro walks in to sit beside Kenma, watching as the credits roll by only to place the character back in the hub.
“Yeah, a few years back,” Kenma responds, putting the PSP down by the bedside. A beat of silence fills the room before Kenma speaks again, and Kuro lets it.
“Remember when I told you that finishing a game is sadder than a game over?”
Kuro raises an eyebrow, but plays along, “yeah?”
“I was thinking about it today, what counts as an ending. Is the ending whenever the credits roll? When you beat the biggest bad guy? When you finally achieve your goal?” They pick up the 3DS again, moving the character towards the quest selection area. “Does it count as an ending if right after the credits roll there’s still another big bad to beat? Does it count if, even after the very last set of credits, there’s still optional quests to complete? Does it count even after you’ve got every single achievement and honor and piece of armor?”
“Uh,” Kuro blinks a few times, “well…”
“What if,” Kenma starts again, a small smile on their face, “you finish everything that could possibly officially be done in a game, what do you do then?”
Even after all these years there’s times when even Kuro can’t keep up with Kenma’s thought process, but Kenma keeps going. They’re just on the verge of a discovery, latching onto the concepts they know better than any other.
“I think the answer is simple,” they say, turning off the console, “You make your own goals. That’s what speedrunning is, and what league matches are all about. Even if you don’t do either of those, you could always play with friends for the fun of it, or to help those at a lower level grind to a higher one.”
The two sit in silence for a beat, and Kuro reaches over to grab a piece of candy from the bag left abandoned on the hotel’s dresser.
“I think,” Kuro finally says, through a mouthful of melon flavour, “an ending doesn’t have to mean the end of the world as we know it. Sometimes an end is just… how do I say, another beginning, yeah?”
Just then, Kenma feels it, the weight of a lifetime of endings and beginnings. Not just for Kenma, but for Kuro, and Shouyou. For Tora, Fukunaga, Lev, Teshiro. Bokuto, Akaashi, Daishou, hell even Pedro, that fan that somehow ended up being friends with Kenma by proxy.
All of life is just a series of endings; never ending quests towards no real ultimate goal beyond survival and helping others survive. In a world like this, people assign their own weight to these endings, creating values like ‘productivity’ and ‘meaning’ and ‘fun’ to numerically account for that weight.
It’s stupid. It’s nonsensical. It makes us feel alive.
Sometimes we can forget that fact, that every ending is only as devastating as we make it, and every beginning is only as exciting as our understanding that it is a beginning.
Kenma thinks about Shouyou’s words from last night, eyes tracing shapes in the endless sky above.
I never want it to end.
“Yeah,” they murmur, “I get it.”
“Good,” Kuro smiles, and pats Kenma’s back, “now let's go, you’re going to miss Hinata’s first Olympic freak debut.”
“It’s still weird that you stopped calling him ‘Shrimpy’.”
Kuro laughs, wild, irritating and free, “remember, sometimes an ending is just a beginning!”
—
Nothing is over! Nothing!
Shouyou steps into the olympic arena, the smell of Air Salonpas, vinyl, and excitement fills the air.
Not one thing has ended for you today!
Thousands of eyes are on him in this stadium alone, around the world people can see his name.
Tomorrow, the day after, for the rest of your lives you can do anything you set your mind to!
The court stretches endlessly in front of him, an eighteen by nine meter universe which serves as his battle lines, his own personal heaven.
What will you become tomorrow?
Here he is more than just the ultimate decoy. Here he is Japan's short number ten, standing taller than the two meter plus giants ahead.
It’s a sight I could never see on my own.
It’ll be a close call, a difficult match, one for the ages. Thousands of people must be wondering why he is on the court, why someone like him is out on the world's greatest stage of all.
But if I wasn’t alone, I just might see it…
Kageyama is the first to line up next to him, followed by Bokuto, Ushijima, and then the rest of the team. Amongst the tens of thousands of eyes are the people who helped him. Yukigaoka’s alumni, the girls’ teams, the mothers’ teams, the elementary schoolers, alumni from Karasuno, the Fukuroudani group and Highschools all over Miyagi, their coaches and teachers, his friends from Brazil, the MSBY Jackals, his family...
The view from the top.
To some this stage is their ultimate goal, to Shouyou it’s nothing but another step of his true goal.
His smile stretches to the ends of the world.
His muscles sing in excitement.
His heart grows wings.
Now, let’s go play the best volleyball of our lives!