Chapter Text
The crowd’s cheering is too loud…
Sweat's really too salty, it's all on my tongue…
Can't hear the crowd over this pounding in my chest…
The lights are blinding…
God, are those cameras clicking?
Taking a picture of how ridiculous I must look right now. Those pictures never look good.
The announcer’s voice... That's way too cheerful…
Thoughts raced in (L/n) (M/n)’s head, unyielding and unrelenting. They threaten to distract him from this game but he shuts them out.
Focus.
Right now, he just has to focus.
Professional Volleyball Player.
Young him would be surprised at his rise to fame, gawking at how he pushed through all these years. Would his old self be proud? He hopes so. He couldn't remember how hard he dreamed to stick it to the faces of those people who used to look down on him for the sport he chose as his passion.
He patiently awaited the ball, keen (e/c) eyes stuck on following its movement as it struck the mat.
Up.
Down.
Up.
Down.
It was a rhythm that the (h/c)-haired man was well aware of. A rhythm he memorized through endless days stuck in a gym with nothing but his sweat, tears, and volleyball. A rhythm he longs to hear: every second, every day, for as long as this body let's him. A rhythm his heart knows how to beat to in every bounce, every roll, every slam.
The man on the other end of the court glared at them. His beady eyes doing nothing to deter the hawk-like intensity of (M/n)’s own stare. Monsters tend to match monsters in battle after all.
Come.
Give us the ball.
(M/n) taunted with nothing more than his eyes. He cocked his head, subconsciously licking the upper part of his lip. His stance is lowered as the male on the other end of the court raised the ball. His shoulders are tense, eyes honed in on the enemy that lays beyond the net, beyond the line of his jurisdiction, his field.
“Serving from the undefeated champions of Brazil we have Francisco Diaz! But he’s got a lot riding on his shoulders tonight because Japan is at set point! Will Japan finally bag the title or will Brazil perform a rug sweep from right under them?!”
The announcer bellowed, enthusiasm lacing his tone as he hyped the crowd to the edges of their seats, eyes peeled for this serve.
From his spot on (M/n)'s right, Yaturo Mafuyu, their number 2, middle blocker and vice-captain, huffed indignantly.
“He’s really making it known who he’s rooting for, eh?” The cyan-haired male grumbled in their mother tongue, referring to the way the announcer said their country like he couldn’t believe they were about to win. His eyes slid over to (M/n) for the briefest of moments before quickly getting back to the game position.
(M/n) figured as much from the people around them. They were battling against Undefeated Champions in their soil.
Of course, they would root for the other team out of loyalty to their country.
But that fact only strengthened (M/n)’s will and hunger to win.
Japan was going to kick these people's favoured team in the ass in their own lands, on their own terms. There was just so much audacity in proving they could do it.mAnd the fact was: Japan came today, to a different place, to battle these people at their best and show them they weren't as undefeatable as first thought.
They had to show what they were capable of.
To prove their team’s greatness.
To fight for that title, grappling with champions for the chance at defeating the strong.
They were going to win this.
There was simply no other option.
“Let’s just focus on winning the game.” (M/n) replied, eyes dark with primal hunger.
Mafuyu laughed, although it sounded dark and malicious coming from a fun-loving soul like him. “Consider it done.”
“There you go being cocky again, Fuyu. Stop that.” Their team captain, Hatokeru Benjiro, scolded with a deadpan, scowling without even turning his head to look in usual parentified disappointment. "Remember the luck you gave us last time you got this cocky?"
The cyan headed man only grinned wider, creeping out the Brazilian players in front of them with his wide eyed smile. He giggled. "Captaiiiiiin, live a little. I'm only joking!"
Fransisco stepped back and (M/n) counted the steps. He quickly threw the ball into the air, stepped forward and jumped.
“JUMP SERVE!” Genkei Umabi, their number 5 and middle blocker, yelled just as the man slammed his hand on the ball. Eyes wide and stance ready.
The multi-colored sphere of air blasted through the court at breakneck speeds, heading straight to the end of the court but they all knew that it wasn’t out. In a flash, their libero, number 6, Junichiro Gonpachiro, was there to intercept the ball, sending it high into the air but it was out of trajectory.
“Cover! It's short! Sorry!” The redhead screamed, still panting wildly from being the main receiver of those killer jump serves. He hated jumpserves as much as he loved receiving them. They were awful to receive but it was utterly ego-boosting to say you received a jump serve by Diaz.
Their number 4 and setter, Masashi Kumaroki, immediately ran under the ball. He set to Umabi, the latter spiking the sphere into a two man block with a glare, sweat beading his brow. The ball fell on their side, unfortunately getting dug by the other team's number 14.
(M/n) grit his teeth mildly annoyed as he ran to the opposite side of the court, side by side with the captain and vice-captain, ready to shut down the incoming spike that was sure to come. He suppressed the wince that would overcome his expression of he looked a little too long at his teammates' arm.
“One touch!” Benjiro yelled, confident that his team would cover.
On cue, Gonpachiro cleanly received the ball, making it fly right to the setter.
When the team’s in trouble…
(M/n)’s legs moved on their own, propelling him forward with a strength he thought he lacked. He jumped high into the air, hand ready to hit the ball.
The ace comes to save the day.
Kumaroki set a beautiful parallel toss to the net. Three ridiculously tall blockers loomed in front of (M/n) but the (h/c)nette still slammed the ball, not into their meaty arms but in a sickeningly sharp crossshot. He wasn't even smiling, just staring blank-eyed as the other team tried to receive the ball. But the only thing they would be getting was a new bruise from the impact as the ball rolled off course, unable to be saved.
“WHOA! Despite his height of only 167cm, (L/n) slams that volleyball like a true professional!” The announcer yelled.
The crowd was silent as (M/n) landed back on the ground. His eyes were zeroed in on the other player who was staring at his arms, shoulders slumped as his mind caught up to the events, processing his inability to receive causing their loss. (M/n) watched his face crumple into despair at the loss.
We did it.
The crowd cheering for Japan whooped and whistled and laughed, yelling at the tops of their lungs as the score was set.
25-23. In favor of Japan.
“YEAH! (L/N)!” Mafuyu yelled, jumping at the youngest member of their team. There were tears in his dark brown orbs as he proudly hugged the (h/c)nette. “We fucking won! We fucking won…” His voice cracked a bit as he hurriedly wiped his teary eyes.
(M/n) looked around at his teammates who were doing no better, unable to contain their happiness and tears at beating the champions. (M/n) opened his arms, beckoning the other members to join Mafuyu’s crying fest in his arms. Laughter spilled out of him, manic from how his mind couldn't process the deep happiness and complexity of his emotions. Though, it didn't quite replacing the silent tears that were also streaming down his face.
The players quickly engulfed the tiny ace, even the substitute players rushed on court, wrapping them in a burrito hug of sweat and brotherhood.
This was the result of their hard work, their blood spilled to work to the bone, their tears in every straining practice. All for this moment.
And it’s fucking worth every bruise they obtained from falling and failing and trying over and over again. Redoing every fight that threatened to break the family and connection they built together again and again upon each mistake.
Every memory was worth it. Every reminder of all that has been sacrificed and done. Each and every painful and beautiful memory was so worth it all for the satisfaction and pride that pulsed through each heart of the players.
After a while of staying in that love pile, the players separated, lining up to thank their opponents and the crowd that cheered for them. They stared into the expectant sea of proud faces that smiled at them with gratitude. Smiles that would have smiled for them even through a loss.
But they won, a glorious win.
And so these smile brighter than ever.
Smiling for the pride of their country and their players.
The players had all decided to go eat at some Japanese restaurant to celebrate the win. I mean, who the fuck would go eat some Brazilian food or something when this was Japan’s win. Of course they were getting some fucking Japanese food. And so, the group happily walked to the place, eagerly showing off their win in their own subtle way.
“Honestly, (N/n)-chan, your last spike. Chills~” Kumaroki gasped, shivering to prove his point.
The team chuckled at the ravenette who proceeded to wrap an arm around their father figure.
Ah yes, father figure, when (M/n) is the youngest and shortest member of their team. Truly ironic.
Even after so long of being in a team together, (M/n) doesn't know if he hates the sentiment or not. But that wasn't important at the moment, he let the nickname slide, as always. He even had a gentle smile on his face, already used to Kumaroki’s antics.
“You made an amazing toss, Masashi-san.” (M/n) replied calmly.
“Ah, you think? And didn’t I ask you to call me Roki-senpai?” The ravenette cheekily prodded, wanting to see how much praise he was going to get from his adorable ace.
“Stop being an attention-seeker, Sashimi.” Gonpachiro deadpanned, slapping away the ravenette’s arm.
“It’s Masashi Kumaroki, Chiro-chan!” Kumaroki whined, poking the male’s biceps repeatedly. “I mispronounced my name ONE TIME all these years and you never let me forget it!”
Gonpachiro rolled his eyes at the childish male but they could already see the growing comical irk marks on the redhead’s forehead as he tried not to let his temper blow as the male kept poking and annoying him.
But either Kumaroki was an idiot or he never learns. And he’s had plenty of time to learn of Gonpachiro’s anger issues. They’ve been together since they were kids. Literally.
“Would you freaking quit it?!” Gonpachiro hissed, lunging for the ravenette’s throat. Kumaroki expertly jumped away just in time, a cheeky smirk already on his face.
Their All Rounder, Hibiki Haru, sighed in annoyance. He pulled back the seething redhead by the collar before swiftly delivering a karate chop to both of their heads. “That’s enough.”
“Ha?!” “Haru-chan!”
Haru ignored them, pushing their youngest member away from the duo with a deadpan. “Let’s get you away from these bad influences (L/n)-kun.”
Kumaroki scoffed. “I’m not a bad influence!” He yelled in indiginance, pouting childishly when the rest of the members chuckled at his statement without any amount of defense.
(M/n) hid the small smile forming on his face as he let himself be pushed forward, not rejecting the gentle touch. Like he was an elderly dad of theirs getting told to sit out from a fight of his children. He almost chuckled at the ridiculous thought. Luckily, he bit his tongue before it could slip.
As he listened halfheartedly to the conversation happening behind him, he found his gaze straying as he thought of the food they would be enjoying. Eventually, his gaze wandered to the other side of the street they would be crossing, watching the roads, surprised that it was less packed than he had thought it would be.
It was only then that his eyes widened in concern when he saw a woman walking down the intersection opposite them with a child wailing in her arms and a stroller being pushed by her other arm.
She was struggling to pull out the stroller from a pit in the road, frowning with one foot on the roadside.
The woman flickered in his vision, replaced by a young boy with bleach-tipped hair holding a volleyball.
He was sitting on the ground, eyes filled with tears as he cupped his knee, crying at the injury on his knee. It was just a scrape so why was there so much blood?
(M/n) could hear the sound of a truck.
He could hear a truck.
It's coming.
The truck is coming!
Please! You have to get out of the way this time!
The sound of a truck rang in his ears as he felt his legs move from under him.
“(M/n)?” He heard the captain call out his name in confusion when he suddenly broke away.
“Miss, move!” (M/n) yelled at the woman but she looked up at him in question, stiffening when she saw his serious face. Did he look like a mad man when he suddenly yelled? Probably. She looked to the side, then back to (M/n), mouth opening. But (M/n) couldn't hear it with the blood pumping and pounding in his ears.
He She
was screaming.
His Her face fell into horror as he she saw the speeding truck.
It wasn’t slowing down at all.
A scream ripped through the air as (M/n) reached out, wanting—needing—to push them out of the way. To put himself directly in the way of the truck instead. To do what he'd been so scared to that day.
BAM!
“(M/N)!” The team screamed in sync like an ensemble in a chorus. Haunting.
(M/n)’s ears rang as his eyes began to close. He was flung across the street, rolling on the hard concrete. Pebbles and other rubble scattered all around him, pressing into aching sides. He felt something wet slide down his face and he grimaced both in pain and disgust.
He really wished his death wasn’t as painful. But he craned his neck but he saw nothing as shadows loomed over him and black spots danced in his vision. Voices overlapped and his head hurt even more as he heard the panic and fear in their tone. Another female scream tore through the night and (M/n) hoped that was the woman he saved.
Why did it sound like him all those years ago?
If his actions were going to be the death of him, he wanted her to be safe at least.
His breathing was becoming more labored and he didn’t understand what the voices were saying. He could only assume it was the team and he tried to make a smile but the action hurt so much. They seemed to be telling him not to close his eyes but he knew that he was slipping away.
The pain was too much.
He had wished to take away the pain that day.
(M/n) started to detach himself from reality, unable to take the unbearable pain. He wanted peace from this feeling keeping him here, letting him know that he was still alive here on earth. As he let go and accepted his fate, a wave of calm washed over him, replacing the pain with a feeling of lightness.
(M/n) is not a regretful type of person. He holds no regret. He can't.
No, he refuses to let himself regret, especially now on his death bed. He did what he was supposed to. He saved him this time!
He had such an amazing life. There was so much to have been done still. Was all this enough to repent?
It’s ending quicker than he would have liked but it was wonderful. Is this really the end? Did he do it? Was it all worth it?
He had teammates who accepted his flaws and such. He never got to ask if they would still think so after what's happened.
Friends who had his back when things got rough. He could never tell them why volleyball became hus one passion.
Family that supported his dreams and aspirations wholeheartedly. They would continue to ask why he threw away his future in academics to pursue this sport they all looked down on.
He could have had it much worse but he didn’t and for that he was thankful. He couldn’t have lived his life better. He wasn't supposed to live it at all.
If he had a regret… It would be that he wishes he could have said... goodbye. He wishes that he could’ve thank them for everything. For shaping who he is. For accepting this flawed boy as one of their own. For acknowledging all he did as a means to offer his deepest apologies.
He hated leaving without closure.
Well, he’s dead now.
Nothing he could do about that.
Gotta accept it, right?
They’ll understand and they’ll move on. They could do that, right? Unlike him.
It’ll probably hurt at first but (M/n) knew that they knew he’d want them to be happy.
Well...
End of story.
Bye!
<3
.
.
.
Why are you still here? The main character’s dead!
.
.
.
Fine, fine. He survived.
But not exactly how he would have liked.
(M/n)’s eyes were closed but he could sense that he came out of something. Light flooded his closed eyelids and his whole body just felt weird. Something was all over him and it felt disgusting. All slippery and wrong. Gah, when was the last time he had a bath? He should do that when he gets back to the hotel. He internally cringed.
He also felt that someone was holding him.
In their arms?
What the heck?
He tried to move but the person shushed him, shaking his whole world, literally. (M/n) opened his mouth to yell at whoever was doing all the shaking but only a warbled wail came out of his open mouth.
Okay, this is weird…
(M/n) felt himself be passed over to someone and he squirmed uncomfortably as he felt a woman’s breast pressed against his cheek. Look, he can appreciate a lady's assets but that doesn't mean he wants it shoved in his face when he was still feeling gross and nauseated.
Miss, please move or I will kick your boob. I’m not joking.
“Welcome to the world, (F/n).” A woman, presumably his ‘mother’, said lovingly.
(M/n), wait no, apparently it's (F/n) now, stiffened, feeling the woman pull him closer into her gentle hold.
What.
The.
Fuck.
(M/n) let out the loudest scream he had ever had in his life. Someone tell him that this was not happening right now. For once in his life, (M/n) has never wanted to die a second time as much as he did now.
This was not how his death was supposed to go.
Right?
Right?
Please someone send him anywhere else.