Chapter Text
Archery competitions are mentally, physically, and spiritually taxing. At the professional, national level, most sports are. Takeda Ittetsu has never encountered one as unique as Olympic recurve archery.
A full line of shooters is quite the sight, honestly, and the sound of hundreds of arrows rhythmically thundering into the foam bales, coupled with the tip of each archer’s bow upon the release of the arrow gives the appearance of the world’s largest tinker toy.
On the line, hundreds of archers stand next to each other, flanked by telescopes and bow stands, aiming at targets seventy-meters away, at a yellow ring only twelve-point-two centimeters in diameter. A millimeter slip-up on the archer’s part can cause a foot of difference or more when the arrow reaches the target.
As a singular face in the sea of coaches and archers, Ittetsu has never felt more like an impostor. He shouldn’t be here, but somehow he’s Karasuno Men’s Coach after the current one suffered a stroke, and suddenly a transfer from the Japan Olympic Committee PR department to being a full-time coach made sense to everybody except him.
No one else wanted to do it, though. Karasuno Archery Team is considered an ancient relic in the archery world, more of a keepsake collecting dust than a professional archery club.
The large timers spaced equally throughout the field beep thrice upon reaching zero. Archers get two minutes to shoot six arrows. Hearing the timer, both the AB and CD shooting lines get up to head to the targets, ready to score their end. The jangle of the archer’s spare arrows in their hip quivers grows louder as more of them make their way downfield. Ittetsu is used to all of the sights and sounds, though it’s only his third month working.
As the announcer declares through the loudspeaker that it is the end of the second round, archers whoop, ready for lunch.
Day One of national tournaments are Qualification Rounds. Ittetsu learned this his first day on the job.
Essentially, each archer shoots two rounds, thirty-six arrows each, six arrows per end. The maximum number of points per arrow is ten, meaning a perfect round would be three-hundred-and-sixty. Scoring is what the archers are doing right now—they’re at the targets, performing mental math to count up their scores, penning down their arrow values or tapping them into tablets. At the end of the day, the rankings are posted for the qualification rounds, but live updates are available online, since the arrow scores are inputted by archers into electronic tablets by the targets.
Making his way to Karasuno’s tent, Ittetsu pulls out his phone to check the standings. Karasuno is having a decent day—today, Sugawara leads the murder at thirteenth, Daichi in fifteenth, Tanaka twentieth, and Ennoshita is twenty-fifth. In first place is Ushijima Wakatoshi from Shiratorizawa with a three-forty, followed by Ojiro Aran from Inarizaki ten points behind him, and chasing after him is Fukurodani’s Bokuto Koutarou in third with two points less than Aran. The standings are volatile and are likely to change by the end of the day with the afternoon round.
There’s a lot of talent on the field, and a lot of expertise in the way of famous, established clubs headed by coaches with much more renown than Ittetsu’s reputation.
“Coach Takeda, you’re getting more of a workout than we are! Good thing it’s lunchtime.”
Sugawara, the second-most senior member of the beat-down archery team he’s inherited, calls out to him and waves a onigiri. He’s saved it for Ittetsu, which is extremely thoughtful of Sugawara. The rest of the team, pitifully small—Daichi, Tanaka, and Ennoshita—fans out in a circle, newly spread out on lawn chairs after a draining morning in the humid heat. The team would have two more in their roster if they weren’t currently on leave.
Daichi neatly wipes at his mouth after biting from his own onigiri and says, “Rest easy, Coach. There’s still a long day ahead of us.” There’s sweat beading at the border of his cropped hairline, which Daichi fans at with his paper plate.
Daichi is right. It will be a long weekend.
It’s the last national competition of the year, and the atmosphere is not only heavy with condensation, it’s weighed down by the last-ditch efforts by all archers on the field to improve their rankings for a possible boost in overall standing for the year. The usual suspects, Aoba Johsai, Nekoma, and Shiratorizawa’s Men’s Archery Teams are all here as well, uniforms bright and attention-grabbing as opposed to Karasuno’s black.
The Karasuno Crows are the least of everybody’s problems, yet Ittetsu aims to turn that around—and since it’s too late this year, he’s hoping fate will favor the prepared. He has his own goals for this tournament, which is to speak to as many of the promising recurve archers from the Junior division to recruit them for his team.
“There are still many more archers to speak with,” he says. Finishing Sugawara’s onigiri, Ittetsu stands up and brushes off blades of grass from his trackpants. “You sure you guys have yourselves under control?”
Tanaka grins, “You betcha. There’s some rough competition out here, but I have a good feeling about this next season Coach, especially if you get everyone on your list! Who’s next?”
Takeda stares down on his clipboard and stares at the one below the check-marked Tsukishima Kei.
“Kageyama Tobio. Anything I should know?”
Sugawara grimaces, “Ooh, he’s a bit prickly. Hard to talk to, but a childhood prodigy.” Ittetsu had set his sights on him because, well, Kageyama is famous. Or as Sugawara seems to say, notorious. Notoriously good for his age, and Ittetsu thinks it might be a fat chance he’ll join their team, but not trying is already giving up.
Continuing, Sugawara explains, “He up-competes in our Senior division even though he just turned eighteen. I heard he was kicked out of his last club, but those are rumors.”
Though Daichi isn’t one to endorse spreading rumors, he pipes up, “We’ve shot on the same bale before. That rumor is true. He and his last club did not get along, and he’s a bit of a lone wolf.”
“Look on the bright side guys,” Tanaka fiddles with his arm guard, probably to itch an unfortunate mosquito bite next to the strap, “He’s currently ranked above all three of us! It’ll help us out if we can get him.” Sugawara and Daichi look at each other, shrug, and nod.
“Worth a shot, Coach,” Daichi says. Ittetsu puffs up at the familiar title, which he’s not entirely used to yet. Ittetsu had been thrust upon the role of coach as an emergency, though he has no formal training. He’s glad the archers he works with are as forgiving and kind as they come.
“No promises. I will do my best, though!” It’s his duty. “Please text me if you need a spotter, you know I can’t help much for technique, but I am still your Coach. My phone is on ringer.”
Takeda Ittetsu has been so used to apologizing; he doesn’t know the first thing about archery form, nor can he offer anything up besides his words of wisdom—though he’s not sure if that’s exactly what archers need to hone their mental game. In any case, he will help in the way he knows best, by being persistent until he achieves his goals.
Sugawara laughs, “We got this, don’t even worry! You go get us the rest of our team, Coach! It’s been hard since Noya and Asahi have been out,” and Tanaka wilts a bit at the mention of the two archers on leave. “New faces will be nice,” Ennoshita agrees.
“Thanks,” Ittetsu puts on a brave face for all of them and beams. “See you after the third round.”
“Good luck!”
Making his way down the line of tents and chairs, Ittetsu glances down at his paper, where he’s noted what target Kageyama Tobio has been assigned to for this tournament, 78C. Walking further to the end of the field, he passes by two red-shirted archers, one of which is playing on his phone while the other talks to a gray and black-haired archer who laughs boisterously at the joke he’s just been told.
He’s at the area for target seventy-eight and notices a quiet boy with raven-black hair and no club-uniform jersey. This must be him.
He’s wearing a dark blue shirt and munches on a meat bun, with his obsidian bow next to him. It’s clear there’s an air of distrust from Kageyama Tobio. The way he guards his bow as though he thinks the sight may be sabotaged or the string cut with a pair of scissors reflects the same wariness in his darting eyes.
Ittetsu approaches him cautiously, and holds out his hand, “Kageyama Tobio, a pleasure to meet you.” At this, Kageyama Tobio almost chokes on his meat bun and Takeda Ittetsu wonders if his first conversation with Kageyama Tobio will end just like this. Instead, Kageyama awkwardly clears his throat and eyes Ittetsu suspiciously.
Without taking Ittetsu’s hand, Kageyama says, “Who are you?”
The cautiousness in Kageyama’s eyes suggests that perhaps he only looks intimidating to those around him because he’s also equally afraid of them. There’s something uneasy in his gaze. So, Ittetsu sheaths his hand in his pocket and crouches down, to meet Kageyama at eye level, since he’s sitting down.
“I’m Coach Takeda Ittetsu, from the Karasuno Crows,” Ittetsu taps at his chest, on the embroidered crow logo of his coach polo shirt. “I was wondering if you would be interested in trying out for our team next year. We’d love to have you for the next four years for a shot at the Olympics.” At the mention of the Olympics, Kageyama perks up.
He’s not sold, though.
Appraising Ittetsu with his steely stare, Kageyama asks, “Have you shot before? I don’t recognize your name.” He doesn’t mean it with any disdain, though someone less forgiving than Ittetsu might be offended. It’s a fair question, archery is a smaller athletic world than most and professional team coaches are often past medalists or accomplished archers.
Honesty is the best policy, “I am not an archer myself, but I catch on quite quick,” Kageyama visibly sighs, but Ittetsu tries one more time, “However, I have enlisted the help of Ukai Keishin. You will meet him at tryouts, which are next month.”
Kageyama takes the bait, “Ukai… The same as Ukai Ikkei?” His eyes flash, and the air of unease and distrust is gone. Just a little more, Ittetsu can pry and push now. Selling at the last minute is if anything but a sly maneuver. Upon meeting Kageyama Tobio, Ittetsu decides his more sophisticated methods of persuasion are unnecessary, but now Ittetsu can have a little bit of fun.
Nonchalantly, Ittetsu shrugs, “Yes, that’s correct. Grandson of Three-Time Gold Medalist Ukai Ikkei.” He notes the way Kageyama Tobio shivers at the mention.
Kageyama finishes the last of his meat bun and then says, “Okay, I’ll be there.”
Ittetsu has to double-take.
“You… will?”
“As long as I can shoot and there’s a bed and food, it’s good enough for me,” Kageyama states. “I can get to the Olympics myself, with or without anybody.” Ittetsu notes, we’ll have to work on the attitude.
Kageyama muses to himself out loud, “It’ll work out even better for me if Ukai Ikkei’s grandson happens to be anything like his grandfather.”
Ittetsu chooses not to remark on the way Keishin does not resemble Ikkei in the slightest, but that can be for Kageyama Tobio to decide at tryouts. For now, it’s time for the final word.
Ittetsu smiles, “We’d love to see you at tryouts, Kageyama-kun. Here is my card. I’m sure other team coaches will reach out to you as well, so there are bound to be more questions about what Karasuno in particular can offer you.” He knows he is chasing after a talented archer, so he wants to make sure Kageyama feels especially taken care of by Karasuno. Especially when there are so many other teams who could steal him away.
Except Kageyama contradicts those fears, “You’re the first to ask me.”
“O—Oh?”
“See you next month, Coach Takeda,” Kageyama says, and then he stands up and excuses himself to practice with a large silicon band, informally called a stretch-band, which archers can use to mock their form without their bow. Their conversation is over, but the buzz is still in Ittetsu’s chest.
➶
The following morning sees Ittetsu more on edge than the previous, if that’s possible. Today, he is more of a coach and less of a recruiter, because his archers are facing Elimination Rounds.
Elimination Rounds are the second part of archery tournaments. The rankings of the previous day’s Qualification Rounds determine the matchups for the one-on-one matches.
The top sixty-four archers are paired off, the first going against the sixty-fourth and the second against the sixty-third, and so on. There are plenty of chances for underdogs to knock out the first-ranked archers, but since everyone knows their standings, the mental overthrow needed to perform an upset is not insignificant. Then, the winners are paired off, and matches continue until there is a winner. A match round consists of both archers shooting three arrows each. Whichever archer scores the highest gets two points, if they tie, one point each. The first one to six points wins. Once an archer loses, they’re out.
It’s brutal.
Qualifications determine if an archer has the grit and the stamina, Eliminations get an archer to show and sharpen their teeth.
This late morning in the one-sixteenth brackets, the second round of matches, Coach Takeda is spotting for Daichi, fifteenth, currently against Iwaizumi Hajime, who ranked eighteenth yesterday. Though pure qualification rankings would suggest Daichi has a slight upper-hand, elimination matches are a different kind of shooting. Whereas Daichi thrives in the long-haul, a strong and steady archer who likes the mental consistency and repetition of the six-arrow Qualification Round ends, Iwaizumi is just as talented and has an unforgiving mental competitiveness that truly shines in elimination rounds.
Both are extremely strong archers.
This is a battle of brawn.
Particularly fitting, as it is an uncannily windy morning. Daichi’s strong fifty-two-pound bow strength has served him well in this match, but it is still extremely close. The score is 4-4, and neither side is wavering—in fact, they’re waving over a judge to call one of Iwaizumi’s arrows, which is suspiciously close to being a nine. If it is, then they keep the score tied at 5-5.
He’s thankful to have Sugawara beside him this end, who has run over to support Daichi after he won his round against Yaku Morisuke, 6-0. A lucky victory, Yaku’s bow was having issues, Sugawara had recounted, modestly.
Sugawara, next to Ittetsu with a scope of his own, says, “Wow, I can’t tell who has it from here,” as he squints through the lens of the telescope, trying to see if he can see any fleck of red between Iwaizumi’s arrow shaft and the black line of the nine-ring. Ittetsu can see a judge wearing a red polo shirt walk over with a magnifying glass in hand, ready to appraise the arrow’s true score. Daichi and Iwaizumi chat, words inaudible to Ittetsu and Sugawara, since they’re downrange seventy-meters away.
Watching Iwaizumi and Daichi, he can guess they’re both learning from each other this match, each of them are honorable adversaries for each other. It’s also a good match in the sense that both sides are honorable sportsmen, and no matter who wins, Ittetsu knows it will be good effort on both parts, unlike losing to someone less graceful when they win, such as Iwaizumi’s teammate, Oikawa Tooru.
“I would say this is nerve-wracking, but—it’s also really thrilling in a way…”
Laughing, Sugawara looks up from his scope at Ittetsu, “That’s a big step up from when you used to hide behind me, too scared to see the scoreboards flipped!” Ittetsu laughs too. That had only been a few months ago, and now he looks forward to these elimination matches.
There’s a tap on Ittetsu’s shoulder, and Ittetsu turns around, expecting to see Tanaka, to tell him about his match against Taketora from Nekoma. However, that doesn’t seem to happen, because there’s an unfamiliar archer staring up at him. He is obviously younger, given his size, but also, Ittetsu doesn’t recognize him from the archers he’s used to seeing on the line.
To Sugawara, Ittetsu whispers, “Let me know what the judge calls,” and excuses himself to speak with this archer, hopefully quickly so he can get back to supporting Daichi. Sugawara nods and tilts his head, because he also does not seem to recognize the archer.
They sit down on two plastic fold-out chairs nearby. Ittetsu smiles tentatively at the archer, “Um, is there something I can help you with?”
The archer next to him, who wears a white visor to keep the vibrant strands of orange out of his face, wears a huge toothy grin, which hasn’t faltered once since Ittetsu has laid eyes on him.
“I’m Hinata Shouyou,” and this time, Ittetsu is the one who receives the handshake instead of offering one up, and Shouyou’s hands are full of energy.
He asks, “Are you looking for archers? I’ve seen you walking around our part of the line even though you’re a coach for a Senior Men’s team. Karasuno, right?” Not only is Shouyou enthusiastic, he seems to be just as observant. Ittetsu hadn’t thought his own presence was very noteworthy on the field.
“Ah—well, yes,” he responds, “All coaches are on the hunt for new archers for training programs, since it’s the end of this year’s season. Are you a Junior archer?”
“Yes, I am! I’m eighteen,” Then, Hinata is the same age as Kageyama. A bit younger than he would have liked to have. Kageyama is an exception purely for his skill. But Ittetsu cannot be particularly choosy, since Karasuno is not first choice for many archers who want to become professional.
“Can I join your team?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said,” Hinata beams, “‘Can I join your team?’” He’s a mix of earnest, hopeful, and above all, serious.
Ittetsu draws a sharp intake of air, “It’s not quite as simple as that, Hinata-kun. You have to try out.” Though he is desperate for archers, Ittetsu is also trying to get the best team possible, it’s what the archers already in Karasuno deserve. He needs to test Hinata a bit more.
Hinata is unfazed, “Sounds simple to me, how do I try out?” Curious and curiouser.
Ittetsu tries, “You know, you would be trying out to train full-time. If you had plans for university, they’re going to be put on hold, and if you have a job lined up, that will have to wait, too.” Given that Hinata Shouyou is not a name he’s heard in the Japan Archery headlines, he figures archery may be a hobby for Shouyou.
“I’m no good at school,” Hinata admits, with no embarrassment, “…and Uncle sort of says that shooting is the one thing I was put on this earth to do, so that wouldn’t be a problem!”
Put on this earth to shoot, huh. Ittetsu asks, “How long have you been competing?”
“I’ve only competed for two years, but I’ve been shooting for as long as I can remember.”
“Two years?”
“I know it’s not a lot,” the first time Hinata’s smile wavers is right now. It leaves Ittetsu with a dull pang in his chest, but then Hinata brightens up again and asks plainly, “Could I have a chance?”
Ittetsu can’t say no to that. There’s no way he will deny a chance to someone who asks for it, so plainly and honestly as Hinata. Especially when all of Karasuno has taken a chance on him as their interim temporary coach.
“Sure. Come to Miyagi Training Center next month. Here’s my card.”
➶
“I don’t know what ya take me for, but it better not be a push-over, Takeda.”
Ittetsu almost yelps from the way Keishin yells, almost a bear-like growl. His deep, throaty voice made worse by the cigarette smoke.
In fact, the entire shop is a bit dingy and dark.
An unstrung recurve bow sits to Keishin’s left, and a compound bow with a broken cam sits to his right. Nuts, bolts, and screws sit on the table between them, as Keishin fiddles with an allen wrench to get the broken cam off. As if trying to prove he has more than enough to handle, Keishin busies himself in front of Ittetsu, who knows Keishin is more bark than bite, but the bark is still very unsettling.
As custom, Ittetsu has shown up ten minutes before closing. However, today is a bit different, since both of them are in the back office, post-discussion of who to offer first-round acceptances to after watching all the archers at tryouts. There had been a turnout of over twenty archers, which Ittetsu had been pleasantly surprised by, perhaps his efforts at competitions had not been a waste.
In Keishin’s scrawl on a paper clutched in Ittetu’s hands read three names:
Tsukishima Kei (19), Hinata Shouyou (18), Kageyama Tobio (18).
Scrambling, Ittetsu says, “I certainly do not think that you are a pushover, in fact—I thank you. From the bottom of my heart—”
Keishin sets down the compound bow to take another drag, then mumbles, “Could be outta your ass for all I care.” Ittetsu tenses at the outright classless remark.
Then Keishin remembers, “I told you, only tryouts to help you choose the archers, and that is it. That was our deal!” Originally, Ittetsu had only gotten Keishin to agree to come to tryouts because he needed help choosing the best archers, which was sort of Ittetsu’s foot-in-the-door strategy to inoculate Keishin as his assistant coach.
“It was our deal—but I saw. I saw how you looked at them,” Keishin freezes, a deer in the headlights. “You can’t tell me you’d rather be holed up in this dusty old archery gear shop I found you at!” There are more than enough employees to take over, should Keishin decide to leave, namely Keishin’s mother—who is still definitely healthy enough to run business.
“What if I like dusty old places!” Keishin huffs, “You’re pissin’ me off, the way you looked at them, this n’ that.” He waves his cigarette, clouding the air in front of Ittetsu, “Gimme a break.” Ittetsu has struck a chord, so he’ll continue playing.
Ittetsu demands, “Admit it, you don’t get archers like Kageyama every day.”
“You don’t,” Keishin concedes, then sucks in air, “You don’t even need to tell him anything, ya’know,” waving his hand to give Ittetsu what he thinks is sound advice, “Just let him shoot well like he’s been doing.” Ittetsu’s used to excuses from Keishin, and knows he needs to fight more.
Ittetsu presses, “He won’t grow. He needs to improve, and I don’t know how to get him to do that.” I don’t know is a thought Ittetsu’s been having often, and he hates it. Suddenly, before he can stop, “I don’t—I don’t know anything!”
Keishin freezes again, concern stiffening his shoulders. He stabs the cigarette into the ashtray and pats Ittetsu on the shoulder, awkward as can be.
After a second, Keishin’s brusque growl is softer, “That’s what I’m saying—why don’t you find someone else, to replace both you an’ me?!”
There’s a moment of vulnerability, that Keishin uses to say, “You obviously have no idea, and I wouldn’t either.”
Ittetsu doesn’t know why Keishin is so convinced he won’t know how to coach, when anybody would be able to help him out better than he’s been helping the team. It has to be Keishin, he can feel it, he knows Keishin can see what’s special about Karasuno.
“I can’t,” Ittetsu chokes, not sure on smoke or sadness, “I can’t replace myself.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I know very well what I lack, Keishin-san,” Ittetsu raises his voice, “It haunts me every practice I show up to.” If Karasuno Men’s Coach is his formal title, being utterly useless for the archers is the job description, at least as Ittetsu’s been fulfilling it. He can’t rely on the internet and the archaic book on National Training System technique he’s uncovered from the basement of the training center. They need a proper human, not a regurgitator.
He slams a fist on a table, disrupting some of the hex screws, “But I have to stay, because I can’t guarantee that the next person will care as much as I do.”
Keishin is quiet as Ittetsu feels a fat tear roll down his cheek, “You didn’t meet the veterans at tryouts, but I can assure you, I’m all they have, and I can’t—I can’t leave them on their own. I would blame myself,” Sugawara, Daichi, Tanaka, and Ennoshita, they deserve so much, they deserve better.
Ittetsu begs, disliking the way his voice sounds but hoping it sounds pitiful enough, “So please, even if you don’t know what you’re doing either, it’s definitely more than I know. And I know, I know you think they’re special. We both know that.”
Keishin casts his gaze downward, at the compound bow he’s long abandoned fixing, “If you’re okay with that, me not knowin’…” and then he picks it up again and puts the new cam in, “They are one hell of a pair, those two. I guess I can’t let them embarrass themselves, and I would feel bad if you did, too.”
Ittetsu tries some more, “You wouldn’t be at this shop if you still didn’t love the sport,” as he stares around at the racks of bows behind them, which tells him that constant reminders of the sport are there for Keishin. “And you wouldn’t be talking to me, right now, if you still didn’t want some part of it.”
“Alright, alright!” Keishin stands up, clearly cornered, “I get it. Those two do make me want to be back in… everything I guess,” he sits down, staring at the tabletop, looking defeated, which means Ittetsu should feel victorious.
Keishin looks up at Ittetsu, “You seem to care. Can carin’ be everythin’ though?”
“It has to be,” Ittetsu answers confidently, though he himself doubts. “Somehow, if we care the most, it leaves no room for worrying about what happens if we fail. We will just have to care enough to find another way. We will do it. Keishin.”
“You’re scary, a lil’ bit,” Keishin lights another cigarette, “They’re not even your kids.”
“No, I guess not,” Ittetsu chuckles. “They make me feel important, though, so I have no other choice but to get the job done.” It sounds really stupid, and really trivial, so Ittetsu pinks upon reflecting on what he’s just said.
The flush reminds him that he’s had some liquid courage before going to see Keishin after they had left tryouts to have dinner, “Sorry, I tend to lose myself when a bit inebriated.” He had two shots, which is not a lot, but enough to get him to say what he feels with less inhibition than usual.
Keishin’s eyes open wide, “You’re drunk?!” and he reaches forward to feel Ittetsu’s forehead, which is already burning from all effort going into the arguing they had been doing.
Keishin shakes his head and sighs, “I’ll drive ya home. Would be even more embarrasin’ if they had one coach in the hospital when the other one coulda driven them home.”
“So—so you’ll do it,” Ittetsu laughs.
“Huh?”
Ittetsu pulls his leg, “You called yourself the other coach.”
“Do ya need to rub it in?” Keishin sulks, on the verge of tantrum again, “I thought you were smart enough to get the message. You’re always takin’ notes.”
With that, Keishin calls over his shoulder to the other clerk in the shop, telling him he’ll have to close up without him. Ittetsu and Keishin walk out from behind the counter, which has countless glass shelves in it to display releases, finger tabs, plungers, spindly arrow-rests—whatever an archer needs.
He nearly trips over a display of ragtag arrows with funny fletches and in response, backs into a foam portable target on accident. Keishin grumbles while setting everything straight, relieved that nothing is broken.
After exiting the door, Ittetsu laughs as they walk out to Keishin’s bright yellow car in the empty lot. Keishin opens the door and gets in, waiting for Ittetsu, who laughs again upon a new realization.
“What the hell are you laughing at? Maybe you’re more drunk than you let on earlier.”
“Your car is yellow, Keishin-san,” and he can’t contain the snorts he’s letting out because the whole thing is so cute, “The same yellow as the center of an archery target.”
It seems that Ukai Keishin wouldn’t be able to forget about archery even if he had tried, not that he had been particularly doing a good job of avoiding it. He’s practically driving around in a big ole’ machine that proclaims he still wants to be on the field. The man who uses his mouth to yell and deny any love for recurve is still hopelessly infatuated.
Ittetsu smiles and is only a tad surprised to see a slight smirk from Keishin right back at him.
“You noticed. Get in, will ya?”
It’s a quiet ride home, but Ittetsu doesn’t feel alone anymore, even though when he locks the door to his apartment, he’s the only one inside. He’s not alone.