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The match is great, amazing, even, but he has to admit that the limits Nekoma have set around his playstyle are starting to get heavy. He has to be faster than he’s ever had to be — he thinks he is — but even then, it’s not enough. Improving his defense has lifted some weight off his teammates’ shoulders, but Kenma is careful to use it to his advantage. It’s impressive. He loves the challenge, but love doesn’t stop the pressure from crawling under his skin. As he misses yet another point. He can’t gather enough space to make an approach, can’t be the decoy his team needs by forcing all eyes on him throughout the gym, can’t—
“FOUR!”
The call hits him like a stopwatch. Time, the unforeseen wall that he’s usually the one shaping through sheer speed, breaks free from Nekoma’s careful craft and bends to Kageyama’s call.
Breathe.
Oxygen clears his brain, spreads a refreshing healing wave through his wings.
He can almost hear the sound of the cage’s bars breaking under the caring touch of Kageyama’s fingers. That high, high set.
His heart pounds into his chest.
Breathe.
He can force his own, perfect approach distance now. He’s free. No one can chain him. The walls are down, and the rest is up to him. His heart swells.
Yep. This set truly is beautiful.
Fly.
The challenge sparks through his body like a long-lost friend, as he summons the vague memory of that jump during the Inarizaki match — without forgetting to spike this time — and the glimpse of the real thing he saw from that other short player, Hoshiumi, according to Kageyama; and soars.
DUN.
Ah! This is what Kageyama meant when he said, “Awesome jumping… you can hear the sound of your feet kicking off the floor.” It does feel great. Exhilarating. He can tell he’s higher, more stable than he’s ever been before. The players below him look smaller than they usually do. This definitely feels great! Amazing!
Wait.
His whole body is higher than he normally is during an attack. Does that mean he has to spike faster? Like, yesterday?! His timing is gonna be off! Panic pulses through him, and his arm swings to spike… only to barely touch the ball with the tip of his fingers. Crap!
Thankfully, his athleticism kicks in, and he manages to convert the contact into a dip. There. Saved! Maybe not from the wrath of Kageyama, but hopefully the jump was good enough to partially please the setter.
Landing makes his head spin. The whole play was riveting. He’s yelling back at Lev, and his heart is roaring. From the set, to the jump, to the save, it hits him hard how grateful he is for his team and this opportunity. His skin is burning from feeling the wind his wings again, and as the court cools down and Kageyama goes in the back to serve, Shouyou knows he is fire again.