Chapter Text
Atsumu watches her from afar.
Average height. Semi-athletic build. Moderate speed. Mediocre technique.
The only thing about her that even remotely stood out to him were the limited edition shoes on her feet but even then Atsumu thinks she can easily be mistaken for every other high school girl who plays volleyball in the country.
(Surname) (Name) didn’t seem special at all.
“Found him.” Suna’s drawl grabs his attention away from the game. “I was right. He was ogling girls.”
Atsumu is quick to refute the malicious accusations. “No the fuck, I wasn’t.”
The middle blocker peers down from the balcony to take a good look at where said girls, all hot and sweaty in their tight uniforms, were in a clear display from Atsumu’s position. “You sure because—”
“I swear ta god—” The setter senses another figure approaching from his left. “Samu! Tell Sunarin I don’t ogle girls!”
Osamu takes a peek at the court to confirm the middle blocker’s accusations all before sighing. “Since when do ya watch girls’ volleyball?”
Crossing his arms in a defensive stance, Atsumu answers with faux nonchalance. “I was bored.”
He was .
Apart from the well-deserved ego boost, being exempted from the first round of the Interhigh is arguably the worst part of Atsumu’s whole experience thus far.
The coaches didn’t seriously expect him to sit still for three hours inside the bus now did they?
Suna easily jumps on the opportunity to egg on the setter. “Didn’t you say that girls' volleyball was a complete snorefest—”
“Out! Point for Niiyama Girls High School!”
Atsumu quirks a brow.
That was her fourth service error of the whole match.
“What’d ya think of Itachimiya’s number 6?” At the randomness of the question, the two look at him with furrowed brows all before looking for the aforementioned athlete on the court.
As if on cue, number 6 was on the move again.
Her reaction time was late, he thinks. She’s running too slow. She can’t reach the ball in time for a decent toss. She has to settle for a pass—
“What about her?” Osamu asks.
Just as he predicted, (Name) gives the opposing team a free ball.
“I mean she has a nice ass that’s for sure.” Atsumu fights the urge not to call the middle blocker a hypocrite.
He quickly returns his attention back to number 6 who all of a sudden looked even stiffer. “Her skills. What’d ya think of her skills?”
“Well, she just missed her serve...” Suna trails off. “But she got into Itachiyama... so I’d say at least decent.” He offers half-heartedly.
Atsumu agrees.
Itachiyama was a powerhouse. Everyone knew that. Simply getting in their varsity team was a feat within itself—which is why he is so confused.
Service errors were common in volleyball. He, himself, was not a stranger to the inevitable mishap.
But once is a mistake.
Twice is a coincidence.
Thrice is bad luck.
But four times— that’s just poor volleyball skills.
To Atsumu’s absolute dissatisfaction, the ball is still somehow in play. He can’t help but scrutinize both teams’ setters—Itachiyama’s more so. If she even came close to being on par with his skills, this point should’ve been put to rest two chance balls ago.
Niiyama’s opposite hitter hits a cross but to no avail when Itachiyama’s libero digs the ball with ease and sends it off to the direction of their setter.
But what she does next almost makes Atsumu go mad.
The ball hits the floor and the commentators roar into the mic earning the loud cheers of the audience. “Itachiyama wins and advances on to the next round!”
Osamu nods in acknowledgment. Suna slow claps.
All the while Atsumu’s grip on the rails tightened causing his knuckles to go white. “Didya see that?!”
The two choruses. “See what?”
Seething in frustration, Atsumu couldn’t bare to answer them right away.
From an objective standpoint, (Name)’s toss wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it was the textbook definition of an A toss. Some setters might even argue that it was good.
Tone dangerously low, he begins. “Her set just now...” He didn’t want to jump to conclusions right away after just watching her for the latter half of a set but her tosses have done nothing but irked him since the start.
Osamu indulges him. “What about it?”
Still watching her from the balcony, Atsumu doesn’t miss at all how the Itachiyama setter has not once smiled after winning the set. Instead, she had an expression that caught him off guard.
“You two didn’t see anything wrong with it?!” He raises his voice amidst the volume of the massive stadium.
Suna shrugs. “Looked good to me.”
His brother seconds him with a bored, “Same here.”
Atsumu groans. They wouldn’t get it.
“Where ya going?” Osamu’s voice hardly registers in his ear from how fast he was walking away. Stuffing both hands into his pockets, Atsumu wordlessly leaves the stadium with a scowl in his face and a bitter aftertaste in his mouth.
He’s only seen that expression once before.
It was the same look a first year had on when he tried out for the volleyball team this year; all the while his father coached him from the sidelines.
The poor kid didn’t even come close to making the first cut.
The least he expected from the girl who shared his title of Best Setter was to not play like she’s scared of the damn ball.
You watch Miya Atsumu from afar.
Observe might’ve been a better word to describe it.
Fast. Killer serves. Excellent form. Well rounded.
Of the countless times you’ve heard of Miya Atsumu before, his name was followed up with nothing but praises. So much so that it was almost underwhelming to find out that he was in fact just like how people spoke of him. If not, even better.
Of course, the renounced Best High School Setter turned out to be nothing less than his title.
It was foolish of you to expect anything less than.
“So this was the urgent thing you needed to do?”
You nearly rolled your eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a game right now?”
He eyes the match below you before answering with an unimpressed. “And we finished early.”
“And?”
He furrows his brows at you, before belatedly adding. “And we won.”
You hold back a scoff. Only Sakusa Kiyoomi could act this indifferently after winning a match at Nationals.
He gives you a look. Disgust was written all over his wrinkled forehead when he all but spat. “You reek.”
You could only shrug, making a mental note to drench yourself in perfume before you meet up with the rest of your team later.
Changing the subject, you then ask. “When’s your next game?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Against who?”
Seemingly bored out of his mind, he starts to play with a loose curl on his head. “Not sure.”
You give him a non-committal hum, your attention still on the match below you.
It was the last set, 7 - 12, in favor of Inarizaki. And if things couldn’t be any worse for the other team, Miya Atsumu was up to serve next.
“What if you went against Inarizaki?” You suddenly muse out loud.
As if on cue, Miya Atsumu sends the ball flying across the net.
You nearly flinch from the sound the ball makes when it hits the backline. Another service ace. You’d already lost count of how many service aces he’s pulled off just this match alone.
Unlike you, however, Sakusa stays unfazed, merely shrugging to answer your question.
So you prod further. “You do know that they have the Best High School Setter right?” Your eyes don't leave Miya Atsumu as he forms a huddle with his team to celebrate the point.
Sakusa's eyes dart toward you, as he curtly replies. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll beat them regardless.”
If you were anybody else, it would’ve been so easy to mistake Sakusa’s confidence for arrogance. But one thing that you've learned from all the years that you’ve known him is that his confidence is never baseless.
You could only assume it was the same for Miya Atsumu.
For people like him and Sakusa, confidence was second nature. Of course, that was just a given since talent was their first.
Miya Atsumu is up to serve again and you can’t decide whether to be amused or bemused over the way a whole section of the stadium simply stills just with a raise of his fist.
But when you turn to Sakusa to make a sly comment, he was already looking at you. “What did your father say when he called?”
The playful glint in your eyes disappears. “How’d you even know he called?”
He gives you a deadpan.
You roll your eyes before diverting your eyes back down to the match. “He wants me to go to the training hall after my game.”
Sakusa doesn’t need you to explain further. He already knows the implications of what that meant. “I see.”
Only responding with a non-committal hum, your attention is caught once again when Miya Atsumu sends the ball flying across the court. And as if on cue, the stadium roars once more.
Miya Atsumu scored another service ace.
And that’s when you decide you’ve seen enough.
Turning around, you leaned your back against the railings before sighing.
“I’m going out for a breather.” You tell Sakusa with a tight-lipped smile before you began making a beeline out of the stadium.
But before you could take another step, he says. “Smoking isn’t good for you.”
Not bothering to turn around, you respond back. “Don’t worry, I already went this morning.”
Although going for another one surely won’t hurt.