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When Ukai Keishin became Karasuno high school’s coach, he thought he would be expecting a chaotic team that doesn’t know how to behave with a coach in the room. Turns out, he was wrong.
Sure, the kids could be rowdy as hell and would screw around but they had drive. They put in the effort. They expected a result and in order to get that result they put in as much work they could as possible.
One thing Ukai regrets, though, is the amount of time it took him to realize why the kids are always so much of a team without his interference.
The realization comes after his first Interhigh with the team. The clue came when he was watching his team return to the sidelines after losing, getting ready to line up and thank Aoba Johsai for the game. In his head, Ukai was planning to say words of comfort and a good job. Calm them down a bet, maybe offer a few hugs.
He had to do exactly none of that.
Sawamura already had an arm around Nishinoya, his free arm raised so he could rub Tanaka’s head. He moved around so quickly from one player to the other, patting the heads of the first-years, hugging the second and third years, pulling Yachi and Shimizu into a small group hug. It’d be only a week later when Ukai would realize that even though Sawamura had dealt out comfort and kind words he hadn’t gotten any in return.
It’s not long until exam day comes. Practice continues but only every other day in the afternoon. Ukai decided to test a little theory out.
During practice after his little revelation, he gave a few commands for drills but left the rest to Sawamura. By some stroke of luck, Takeda wasn’t here to ask Ukai what he’s doing and why he’s staring at Sawamura so intently. Just like Ukai expected Sawamura easily steps into a position of command and support, telling his teammates what to do, suggestions of improvements, and words of motivation that make even Tsukishima move a bit faster.
Sawamura is always moving around. Most people don’t notice this with Hinata and Nishinoya constantly running around but even they stop. Not Sawamura. Always looking around to see if his teammates are good, briefly checking if shoelaces are tied, tracking movement, provided perfectly timed words. At times Ukai wonders if there’s something otherworldly inside of Sawamura. No, he’s just a kid who cares a lot more than most.
“Sawamura-kun!” Ukai calls at the end of practice. “Can you stay behind for a few minutes? I want to talk to you about something.”
“Okay,” Sawamura replies, a smile of agreement on his face with no hint of the annoyance or slight fear of having done something wrong that would have been on Ukai’s own face if his grandpa had asked the same of him back when he was still in school. Maybe there was once a time Ukai would have thought of Sawamura as too trusting of a kid with his response but now he knows better. In his own way that doesn’t have to do with education Sawamura is the smartest kid he knows.
Twenty minutes later the volleyballs are back in their cart and hidden in the storage room. The net has been taken down and it’s too quiet. Ukai and Sawamura are the only two left now, the boy’s jacket zipped all the way out with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“You wanted to talk to me, coach?”
This already feels weird. He’s used to having to pull Tsukishima or Tanaka aside, sometimes Asahi to remind him to be confident, and all three of them have Ukai tilting his head up just a bit. He has to move his gaze below eye level to make eye contact with Sawamura.
“Don’t think you’re in trouble, kid.” He knows that Sawamura doesn’t think that. “I just wanted to give you a tip like you give your friends.” Sawamura’s eyes widen with interest. Ukai clears his throat. He hopes this doesn’t come out awkward. “You’re an amazing captain, the best I’ve ever seen. And even though you’re captain it doesn’t mean you have to pick up everyone’s slack and carry all the responsibility.” That sounds too much like an attack, gods help him.
“ What I mean ,” he tries again, running a hand through his hair while closing his eyes “is that I’m here to help, kid. I’m not going to steal your spot or anything. Just...you work so hard and I don’t want you stressing too much. So it’s fine if you want to take a step back every once in a while, sit on the side and just take a few sips of water or something. And if-” his rambling is cut off by a wet sniffle and a shaky breath.
Oh hell no .
Suddenly he’s panicking. He never expected this, never in a million years.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sawamura’s head is bowed, a steady hand out of his pocket which struggles to stay steady as it wipes at tears. Ukai quickly moves closer, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Hey hey, shh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by that.”
“N-no, I’m fine.” The kid contradicts himself by sniffling again. His voice is wet and forced, too small. Ukai already knows that after this he’s going to open a new pack of sigs with how bad he feels. He made Sawamura cry . “It’s just that, just... thank you .”
Ukai freezes.
“I...no one’s ever tried to take some of the responsible,” Sawamura explains. His voice sounds so small, shoulders hunched forward and arms wrapped around himself like a hug. “I don’t want to complain. I don’t want to sound too lazy.”
“Kid, have you ever cried before now?” Ukai can’t help but say. Sawamura’s laugh is humorless and cuts into Ukai. The sniffles are louder and little sobs can’t be muffled anymore. Sawamura shakes his head. A burden, by definition, is something heavy. Generally too heavy to carry on one’s own. And here’s Sawamura not just carrying his own but those of others, making sure that the rest of his team doesn’t feel the pain and hurt and disappointment that can come at any moment.
Gently, Ukai unfolds Sawamura’s arms so that he can properly hug the kid, bringing him close with a hand wrapped around his back and the other on the back of his head, lightly rubbing circles along his spine. Sawamura’s hands, so small, grip the front of Ukai’s shirt, tears quickly soaking into his shoulder.
“You’re a wonderful captain,” Keishin says, choosing to do for Daichi what he does for his team. He’s going to make sure the kid hears these words, understands, and accepts that they’re facts. “You are an amazing defensive and offensive player. You’re willing to dive for the ball at any moment, to try new plays without the fear of failure. Or even if you do have that fear you don’t let it control you. From what I’ve heard from sensei you’re also a really good student.”
He doesn’t know how much time has passed. His throat is starting to feel a bit sore and his eyes had prickled with heat at some time but the words of positivity and support never stopped flowing.
“Thank you,” Daichi mutters at long last sounding utterly exhausted. Keishin ruffles his hair and pulls him back in for a tighter hug.
The next day, Daichi is one of the last people to arrive at practice, his walk leisurely. The hoops are still down from the basketball team’s morning practice. The gym isn’t chaotic at the moment, with most of the players talking to each other or bumping a ball to each other.
Keishin watches as Daichi ignores Sugawara’s greeting. This pikes his interest. He leans forward on the bench and watches as Daichi heads to the ball cart, grabs a volleyball, and walks to where the basketball court’s half-court line is. The boy draws his arm back and launches the ball at the hoop on the other side of the gym. By some miracle, it falls through the hoop.
The gym is silent.
Hinata, Kageyama, and Nishinoya openly gape.
Tsukishima and Ennoshita look like they’re about to go into shock.
Without looking away from the hoop, Daichi points at Tanaka, who is standing by the cart.
“Give me another,” he says, finally looking over his shoulder with an expression of childish glee on his face. Nishinoya beats Daichi to getting a ball and completely fails at getting the ball even close to the hoop. The rest of the team may be confused but Keishin is happy.
This is one of Daichi’s visibly happiest moments. How can he not be happy about that?