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Sets, sounds of spikes and squeaking shoes
Help him focus until they lose.
In sweat and tears, Jirou recalls…
Reaching the court beside the Ace,
Always second to Eagle’s grace;
But outside court he couldn’t chat
Unbothered with the Bowl-cut brat.
Glorious Eagle has might and class,
Only, his might Bowl shall surpass.
So Bowl says, or at least he’ll try,
Hard-working to get sharp and spry,
In spite of that snappy setter
Kindling in him something stronger;
In damaged pride, though, no anger.
The match’s tonight, he shakes his head,
Shirabu’s there, right on his bed;
Ushijima, spiking a set;
Their eyes all glued on TV set.
Oh he hates it, why does he feel
Misplaced as if he lacks the thrill,
Under his palm, of toss to hit?
Knees move, restless: Bowl-cut fidgets;
Eyes glance at him, down from the bed;
“Never mind him, he’s not upset,
Just as focused as is the rest.”
It’s at this moment Eagle spikes,
Recklessly deals the final strike;
Ōverjoyed, they jump to their feet.
When Tomu smiles, it’s dumb and gross;
Nothing Jirou can quite behold
Without feeling the need to toss
A ball right in that face of gold.
From bed to Bowl, they see him leap,
As fastball from a genius play;
And dive into his strong arms, deep,
To kiss that smile away.