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Nekoma had traveled to Tokyo to face off against Nohebi for a regular season game. The rivalry between the team captain’s and the fact that nationals were right around the corner had both teams on edge. Nekoma prepared for the sneaky and underhanded type of style Nohebi usually relied on to outplay other teams. The third and second years were well versed in the behavior they would witness. Since they were playing on Nohebi home turf, this would only exacerbate the problem. These refs were practically conditioned to Nohebi and were used heavily to the advantage of the home team.
This was never going to be an easy fight.
Nekomata knew this, but with the season still being fresh there were new techniques to try and plays to tweak. Sure, at home everything was running smoothly and the team was performing well at the local practice matches, but if they wanted to stand a chance at nationals, they would need to achieve mastery as a unit. The first years needed exposure to struggle to grow and learn, the second years needed space to dig their claws in, and the third years needed time to showcase their specialties and lead as a team.
Going head to head with a team like Nohebi was perfect for testing the foundation for cracks. They would pick up on any weakness and throw it right in Nekoma’s faces. They needed to be exposed to the panic of their defense being challenged and plans failing to come to fruition. This would help Nekomata recalibrate practices leading up to qualifiers.
It wouldn’t be pretty, but it was necessary.
Kenma hated playing in the back row. Being a second year meant he wasn’t completely held to a specialty yet, but it was clear his strength, and preference, was as a setter. Still, despite his protests, Nekomata insisted on having everyone train and try out as many positions as possible until third year. He always told the team how young they were and how they had their whole lives to specialize. When it came down to it, he would put them in whatever place would allow Nekoma to succeed, but it always began with the cost of struggling in new positions.
The first set had gone handedly to Nekoma. They were in a confident groove, and Nohebi was suspiciously demure. That all changed in the second set. It was like they woke up and decided to play.
The moment Kenma rotated into the back row, the ball seemed to come right for him. He had no choice to receive the absolute monster serves that eliminated his ability to set, but also burned his arms with red welts, and often sent the ball ricocheting out of play.
It wasn’t that Kenma was bad at receives, but they weren’t his strongest ability. He had dumped most of his stats into analyzing plays and setting the ball where it needed to go. Receiving was an extraneous skill. One that his coach made sure he practiced anyway. This worked to Nohebi’s benefit in two ways: they exploited Kenma’s weaker skills and required another player to set.
By Numai’s third serve right to Kenma, Kuroo had a trained eye on Kenma’s reactions. He knew Kenma would be feeling the burn. This serve wasn’t quite as powerful as Numai’s other ballistas, but Kenma still flinched. While he managed to keep the ball in play, the set was sent to a spot with no hitters to send it. Kuroo immediately flagged Nekomata to call a time out, at least to interrupt the flow Nohebi had built up, but also to address the effects it had on Kenma.
As the whistle blew, Kuroo went straight for Kenma before walking to the sidelines. Kuroo took him by the wrists to look over his forearms. In silence, Kenma let Kuroo do what he needed to do. He didn’t need to say anything, so he didn’t.
“We can sub you out, wait until the rotation has you back up front so you aren’t in charge of so many receives. Force them to send that serve elsewhere.” The phrase may have sounded like a question, or offer to someone else, but Kenma knew it was a declaration of his plans. He just silently nodded, running his nails over his stinging forearms, the sensation uncomfortable, like a deep itch from the repeated hits.
Nekomata let Kuroo make changes, leading his team as a captain should. He knew that giving Kuroo this kind of power would build the confidence he needed, both in Kuroo and in the team. With the substitution changed, the game continued. Kuroo kept a sharp eye on their server, watching as they immediately shifted their attention to other spots. This just confirmed in his mind that Kenma was being targeted.
This wasn’t a new tactic by any means. Kenma’s innate skill to strategize and mobilize a play was a formidable skill that was a threat to many teams. Kenma had assisted and played critical roles in many of Nekoma’s victories, so it only made sense that other teams would try to figure out a way to interrupt his abilities.
Cut off the brain; cut off the body.
When the rotation allowed for Kenma to be subbed back in, he took his place up front, refreshed from the little break and ready to play again. Kuroo’s attention snapped to a knowing smirk on Daishou’s face as he nodded to another hitter, Takachiho.
While Nekoma had the ball, they evened out the score with plays that seemed to fall right into their laps. Nohebi’s team had pulled back, letting confidence grow and suspicions wane. The peace was short lived, and all it took was a particularly nasty spike to throw Nekoma out of rhythm. Yaku managed to dig the ball before it hit the ground, but the chance ball set Nohebi’s plan in motion.
The ball was received, set, and drilled right towards Kenma. Seeing the ball flying towards him, Kenma’s body chose self-preservation instead of the practiced receive, or simply moving out of the way for someone else, so he turned around to protect his face. With Kenma’s back turned, the ball launched off his shoulder.
Kuroo’s outrage was short. The ball was still in play, but he was seeing red. Yaku managed to get the ball up so Fukunaga could slam the ball back down on Nohebi’s side of the court.
Despite Nohebi losing the point, they looked damn proud of themselves.
Kenma was shaken but not injured. Still, he couldn’t help but imagine what might have happened if he took that ball to the face.
Kuroo glared at Daishou who had that shit eating grin plastered over his stupid face. Nekoma reset and Toshiro served the ball over the net. Immediately, they took advantage of the receive to repeat the same play, resulting in the ball coming straight for Kenma again.
Better prepared now, Kenma at least brought his hands up. It wasn’t clean or well timed, so instead of sending the ball up into the air, Kenma sent it right into the net with a yelp in pain as his finger was jammed in an awkward angle. He fell backwards from the impact of the ball and the awkward way he moved his body to try to minimize the effect.
Yaku had positioned himself to help out with Kenma in the event of Nohebi trying the same plan again, so he threw his hand down on the ground, providing a thin barrier between the ball and the ground, but the trajectory of the ball was awkward and no one else was able to get it back over the net successfully.
The point went to Nohebi.
As the team cheered, Daishou walked back to his position and looked right at Kuroo. The whistle blew, the signal for Nohebi’s server to begin the next play. Daishou grinned wide, only fanning the flames of Kuroo’s mounting rage.
Once was an accident. Twice was a choice.
Before Kuroo could think better of it, he charged the net, reaching under it to grab Daishou by the jersey and pulling him towards him.
Multiple whistles sounded with shouts to halt the play. Even Nekomata stood up, surprised at Kuroo’s reaction. He wasn’t shocked to see Kuroo get worked up over Kenma, he knew just how important Kenma was to the Nekoma captain, but he didn’t expect him to act out on his emotions.
Daishou put his hands up and looked right to the ref, the antagonizing look on his face replaced with one of indignant shock. Kuroo’s words were lost in his anger, so he let go of his jersey and stormed away from the net. The ref raised a yellow card, an official warning against Kuroo’s behavior.
Shouts erupted from the crowd, from the bench, and from the teammates on the court who quickly moved to restrain Kuroo from taking further action. Kuroo brushed them off, going instead to check on Kenma.
Kenma put his hand on Kuroo’s chest. “I’m fine. Seriously. This is exactly what he wants. I’m fine.”
“I’ll kill him if he does it again.” Kuroo practically snarled, radiating with anger.
“No you won’t. You’ll go to jail if you do and that means we definitely won’t make it to Nationals.” Kenma’s response was dry, but exactly what Kuroo needed. He took a quick breath as the referee’s whistle beckoned them all back to the court.
Then presented Kuroo with a red card.
The crowd was mixed, some cheering on the intense rally and others booing what they saw as inappropriate retaliation. Kuroo just patted Kenma on the back as he sat on the bench beside his coach, who looked less than pleased. Inuoka took to the court in Kuroo’s place.
Kuroo didn’t watch the rest of the game. He saw what happened as it unfolded, but he couldn’t take in any more information. All that filled his brain was how he might have cost the team this victory. What good would this penalty and the impulsive action be if they lost anyway?
Everyone bowed and approached the net to shake hands. Daishou looked hesitant, but still extended a hand, which Kuroo took with both of his.
“Thank you for the game.”
Despite the words intending to show kind appreciation, the tone of Kuroo’s voice and the menacing expression on his face made the phrase feel more like a threat than gratitude.
“Thanks for the free point, it made all of the difference.” Daishou knew his comment was stoking the flame. Kuroo just gripped his hand tighter, considering if punching him square in his stupid jaw was worth the punishment. Luckily for Kuroo, Kenma decided that for him, taking him by the arm and breaking his intense stare.
Kuroo paid for his choices dearly, spending the next week of practices running conditioning drills instead of playing with the rest of the team. Nekomata didn’t even have to enforce a punishment, Kuroo took to running himself ragged as a way to repay his team for his carelessness and short sighted actions.
By the end of the week, Kuroo was exhausted, barely able to jog for the entirety of the practice, always looking longingly at the court and itching to play. Still, he continued his self-declared exile, consistent with his usual dramatic ways. Kenma approached the body of Kuroo as he lay on the cool gym floor, trying to recover.
Kuroo stared up at the gym lights until Kenma’s face intruded on his spiraling thoughts.
“Are you done?” Kenma asked, his tone dry and his face flat. “It’s boring on the court without you.”
Kuroo’s lips twitched to a grin as he closed his eyes and laughed. Kenma might as well have just professed his undying love to Kuroo with a sentence like that. The words sat on Kuroo’s tongue but he couldn’t convince his brain to add a failed confession to his best friend and love of his life to his list of ways he failed his team.
That would have to wait until after they won Nationals.
“Come on, let’s go home. You can watch me play tonight.” Kenma said, offering Kuroo a hand. He reached up and took Kenma’s hand, using him as leverage to stand up. He grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled it off, using it to wipe the sweat from his face. When he looked at Kenma again, he could tell Kenma quickly averted his gaze. The faint blush from Kenma’s cheeks could have been from practice, but Kuroo hoped it was due to something else.
“But only after you shower. You stink.” Kenma made a face as he said it and Kuroo couldn’t help but laugh. Kuroo wrapped his arm around Kenma, pulling him close as they walked to the locker room.
“Oh yeah? I stink? Well, you stink!” Kuroo laughed as he antagonized Kenma, who pushed and twisted to get away from Kuroo, but without much actual effort.
“Kuroo!!” Kenma chastised, finally ducking out of Kuroo’s grasp. His face was sour, but there was a curl to the corners of his lips and a glimmer in his eyes that seemed to ask for more.
Fukunaga and Yaku just looked at each other, awkwardly following behind the pair to the locker room.
“They just need to get together already.” Yaku murmured. Fukunaga just nodded in agreement.