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“Asahi!” Suga calls. Asahi spikes the ball. The Iron Wall blocks; Noya dives; Dateko scores. Dateko takes the second set, 25 to 17.
Some ace I am, Asahi thinks. Oh well. It could be worse. She drags her feet over to the sideline to huddle up with everyone else, all dejected, all exhausted. Daichi sighs. “We all tried our best,” he says, practiced optimism in his voice. Their new captain. “Line up, let’s go.”
“Second set!” calls the ref. “Places, please!”
“What?” says Narita.
“Oh no,” says Suga.
“Fuck!” says Noya.
Asahi says nothing. She’s stuck to the spot. Surely not—not again?
Daichi is on it. “Excuse me,” he says politely to the ref, “didn’t we just finish the second set?”
The ref stares at him like he’s stupid. “Do they not teach you to count at your school? That was the first set. Get your team on court or I’ll have to call a penalty.”
The scoreboard shows that it’s set 2, tied 0-0. The clock high on the wall reads fifteen minutes earlier than it should. Asahi goes to pick up her water bottle—it’s mostly full. It shouldn’t be. Shit.
Daichi murmurs an apology and turns to the rest of them. “Looks like we have another chance to turn this one around,” he says, upbeat. “Come on, let’s make this one count!”
That’s one way to look at it. Certainly the other time this happened, they weren’t able to influence the ultimate outcome of the game; their strategy improved each loop as they learned the other team’s playstyle, but they tired out, too, and it really dragged them down. The other team wasn’t affected last time—reset just like the clock to the beginning of the set—and, staring into the unfazed eyes of the rival blockers, Asahi is sure Dateko isn’t looping either.
So it’s just Asahi’s team, stuck with her while she learns whatever lesson the universe wants to teach her this time.
And this time, the set goes a little worse. When Dateko’s got six points to Karasuno’s zero, Daichi signals to Kiyoko, who calls a time out.
“Okay everyone, pull yourselves together,” Daichi says, clapping Asahi and Suga on the back, looking out at the rest of the team, all five first years. “We’ve been through this before, we know how to handle it now, right?”
“Do we?” Tanaka asks. “What, do I need to have a sudden gender revelation on court?”
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Noya snaps, and Tanaka looks startled. They’re all on edge.
“It’s okay,” Asahi says. It doesn’t feel okay, but that’s not a helpful way to look at it.
“It’s not okay,” Noya says sulkily. “Don’t make fun of her, dude.”
“Jeez, sorry,” Tanaka says. He glances at Asahi, but she’s too stressed to try to smooth things over with him.
Daichi presses his lips into a thin line. Suga says, “It’s not forever. We know it’ll end eventually.” Last time—the first time, for any of them—had been scary for everyone. They’ve each asked around as much as they can without making anyone suspicious of concussions or illicit drug use; their advisor says he’s never heard of anything like this, and he’s really checked out, so he’s been no help. They’ve had to deduce for themselves what was even happening. Asahi feels like she’s got the best handle on it. Since it was definitely her deal. And it seems like this time it might be her deal, too. Suga sighs. “We just need to keep playing.”
A few players groan, but everyone nods, and drinks a little water, and they all get back in place to resume the game.
As Asahi tries to slam the ball past the blockers, as she waits for it to sail back to their side, as she watches the points slowly add up for Dateko over and over, as she gets blocked time and time again, Asahi tries to figure out what she’s supposed to be learning.
Her first thought is that the first revelation was a fluke somehow, that she would have it revoked by whatever power or fate is making this happen and she’ll have to go back to thinking of herself as a boy—it makes her stomach flop around, makes her feel lost to even think about, and she realizes when Daichi snaps her name that she stood completely still for an entire rally. “Oops, sorry,” she says, and tries to get her head back in the game. It’s pointless, because that is apparently not the thing, and time resets in a matter of minutes when she hits a ball off the Iron Wall and Noya doesn’t get it in time.
This time when the ref tries to get them into their places for the second set to start, Kiyoko stands up from her place on the sidelines and says, “Give us a minute, please, we might have an injury,” and walks over to join their little huddle. “Okay, catch your breath a little, and we can figure this out while you’re resting, right? What’s the strategy?”
“I need to have a breakthrough,” Asahi says numbly. She isn’t going to have a breakthrough. She can’t even break through the blockers.
“What sorts of things do you think you need a breakthrough on?” Ennoshita asks encouragingly.
Asahi just stares at the floor. She has no idea. She feels useless, in every possible way.
“Last time,” Asahi says, still not looking at anyone, “it was something I knew before the game started, but I wasn’t letting myself think about. And it only ended when I let myself realize it for real.”
Ennoshita taps his chin thoughtfully. “So was there something on your mind when we started playing today?”
Asahi’s stomach sinks. Just her own misgivings about being the team’s ace. Her own doubts—is she really cut out for this?
“Excuse me,” the ref says, “if you require medical assistance for an injury you need to report it so we can get the nurse in here and continue with the game or cancel it. We don’t have all day.”
“There’s a thought,” Suga murmurs, elbowing Daichi.
Daichi catches on. “Our setter twisted his ankle bad,” he says, and Suga plays along, grimaces, staggers and lands heavily against Tanaka, who seems to have not caught on and almost drops him. Daichi continues, “We’ll have to forfeit. Please understand. We’re very sorry for any inconvenience.”
The ref blows his whistle, and the clock resets.
“Fuck,” Suga says. He never swears. “Any other ideas?”
Kiyoko turns to the ref again. “Give us a minute, please, we might have an injury,” she says again, and the ref nods again. “Okay, you don’t need to be trying your hardest out there, at least. Conserve your energy.”
Noya isn’t having it. “That’s ridiculous! We can’t half-ass it just because it might not count! One of these times will be the real time, and I’m not going to not dive for a ball if there’s even the slightest chance it could make a difference!”
Tanaka nods next to him, energized by Noya’s stubbornness. “We’re not giving up!”
Suga says, “Kiyoko’s right, there’s more at stake here than the score of one game. Someone could get hurt for real, for one thing.”
“Then why try at all!” Noya throws his hands in the air. “Let’s just sit here in timeout and forfeit over and over until something changes!”
“Because that won’t give us time to think,” Asahi says quietly, staring at her feet. “We’re stuck until we make the connection. We have a better chance of it if we move around and play the game.” It’s meditative, on some level. The motions of the sport let her mind go blank; usually, she has no thoughts in her head besides the calculations and responses that the sport requires. And the exception is, if there’s something truly important, it will emerge, over time. And last time, that had fixed it. Ended the loop.
And again today, there’s the thought she doesn’t want to think, the thing she doesn’t want to admit to herself, it’s pushing up through her subconscious.
The ref calls, “If you require medical assistance—” and Noya turns around with a stomp and yells, “Shove your medical assistance up your ass, old man,” and the ref glowers and blows his whistle, and the clock resets.
Last time, she felt like she owed them all an explanation. For dragging them all through four extra sets of a game they kept losing miserably. If it hadn’t been for the guilt, she might have kept her mouth shut, kept the closet door closed, played along with everyone wondering what the hell happened.
They’ve been—fine about it. Reactions ranged from uncomfortable (Narita) to awkward (Daichi) to embarrassingly supportive (Nishinoya). But Noya toned it down once he realized he was coming on too strong, and Narita pulled her aside and apologized for making it weird and said he’s working on it, and Daichi figured out he can treat Asahi pretty much the same as always, so really, she doesn’t regret it much. It does feel ironic that the only part of her life that knows she’s a girl is the boys’ sports team she’s on.
She’s supposed to be the ace now. She’s supposed to be reliable. She’s holding them all back, with her insecurities and the way she doesn’t fit in and now for the second time a shitty time loop and what's that even supposed to mean this time? She already figured her stupid shit out last time, is there more to it? Her heart says no. So there must be something else she’s learning. She spikes the ball; the blockers block. It hits the floor.
Asahi has been cast in a role that she can’t fill. And thinking about it like that, well, that’s so similar to last time. Maybe it’s her fate, to be constantly given expectations she can’t fulfill, to have to apologize for herself over and over, to let everyone down every time.
She spikes the ball again; the blockers block again. It hits the floor again. She’s holding everyone back. She stops calling for it.
“You’re giving up?” Noya says. “You aren’t even calling for it anymore? What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong, Asahi?”
“Nothing I do will make a difference,” she says. Softly. “I can’t make a difference, so why even try?”
Noya just stares at her. “You’re breaking my fucking heart,” he says, stunned. “Hell.”
Suga sends the ball to Daichi. Daichi can’t get it over; Noya dives for the rebound. “Dateko wins!” calls the ref. 25 to 15.
Asahi catches Suga staring at her with a twist to his mouth; then he ducks his head, turns away.
“Line up!” Daichi says tiredly. They all wait for the ref to announce the beginning of the second set. Instead, Dateko bows and thanks them for the game, and the Karasuno team, shocked and bewildered, follows suit, uncoordinated and hesitant.
As they clean up the gym, slow and exhausted, Tanaka breaks the dejected silence to ask, “So which one of us is a girl this time?”
Asahi shoulders a bundled-up net and tries to disappear.
“I told you to shut the fuck up, Ryuu,” Noya says, pushing a mop. He sounds actually scary in that way he gets when he’s really upset. They’re all in terrible moods.
“Hey,” their advisor says tiredly, “that’s enough. Both of you.”
“We don’t even know for sure that’s what caused it the first time,” Suga says reasonably. “Maybe it’s random.”
“Whatever it is, it sucks,” Kinoshita says. “I’m so sore I could die.”
“Shut up,” Narita moans. “I just want to go home and sleep. Shut up.”
“But someone would say if it was them, right,” Tanaka says, “because for real, it’s not me. I’m still the Tanaka you know and—”
“I told you! It doesn’t happen because of the girl thing!” Asahi snaps, wheeling around to face everyone and almost taking out Ennoshita with the net poles. “It happens when I need to learn something!” She didn’t mean to say it. She turns back away. Breathes. “Apparently I had to learn I’m just not cut out to be the ace. I’m passing it to you, Tanaka, sorry. I can’t do it. I’m leaving. For good.”
“What?” Noya demands. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”
“It’s my fault we lost,” Asahi says, still looking away. “Every time we lost it was my fault. And it’s my fault we were stuck there for so long. I didn’t want to believe it. But I just have to accept it. I’m not one of you anymore.”
“What the fuck,” Noya yells. “What the fuck! How can you say that? When I was throwing myself around all game to pick up that ball?”
They fight; it’s bad. It’s—they break a mop handle, and they also break the fragile blossoming trust that the two of them hadn’t even known they were growing until it’s torn to pieces between them, and Tanaka has to pull Noya off Asahi, and the team looks at Asahi in horror as she collects her things.
“You don’t give up,” Asahi says. “I guess I do. Don’t start relying on me. I’m not good for it.” She shoulders her bag. Walks out. Can’t even hold her head high. Just slouches out the gym, all the way home.
Asahi has never been stuck in a loop all on her own, but she thinks that it would feel something like school without volleyball. She wakes up too early now without morning practice to go to, lies in bed for an hour thinking about nothing, trudges to school, zones out through the droning lectures of teachers, avoids anyone from the team, doesn’t talk to anyone she doesn’t have to, goes home, sleep, wake, school, home, repeat, repeat, repeat.
Her mom tries to talk to her. Says she’s worried about how isolated Asahi seems. Asahi doesn’t want to talk about it. She doesn’t want to admit that she’s a quitter and a scaredy-cat and she’s just doomed to let everyone down. She thinks, probably, her mom has picked up on it, though, because her mom gets really concerned and starts talking about therapists.
Before she gets as far as actually finding someone for Asahi to talk to, though, someone else finds Asahi.
“You have to come with me,” Noya says, barging into Asahi’s classroom as soon as the bell rings for the end of second period. “We need to talk.” It’s the first words either of them have said to the other in a month.
Asahi watches him out of the corner of her eye. “Do we?”
“Yes.” Noya’s tone is unrelenting. “Come on, just for a few minutes between class periods. Let’s talk on the roof, it’s always empty this time of day.” The roof access stairwell is just across the hallway; Asahi lets herself be pulled into it and up the stairs. She’s almost looking forward to the brisk April air; but when they get to the door at the top of the staircase, Noya stops in his tracks.
“What the hell,” Noya says, shoving the door, ramming it with his shoulder, rattling the handle. “It’s never locked. I skip third period like twice a week to chill on the roof and I’ve never had a problem.”
“Maybe it’s only on Thursdays?” Asahi offers.
Noya scoffs. “As if I don’t skip class on Thursdays.”
“Well, if it’s locked, it’s locked,” Asahi says, and goes back the way they came, to the door at the base of the stairwell, and—“It’s locked?”
“What?” Noya calls.
“Noya, the door locked behind us,” Asahi says, hearing her voice rising nervously.
Noya thunders down the stairs and crashes into the door, tugging it desperately. “Fuck!” He tries to open it every possible way, but it won’t budge. He throws himself down to sit on a stair, catches his breath. Asahi leans against the wall, looking to the side.
After a long time, Asahi caves and asks, “What did you want to talk about.” If they’re stuck together they might as well have it out.
“I’m not rejoining the team if you don’t,” Noya says, voice staccato. “You’re completely wrong about yourself and you need to get over it and come back.”
Asahi tries the door again in case it fixed itself. It hasn’t. “Noya. I’m just not meant to be there anymore. That’s what the loop ended on.”
“You’re right but you’re wrong,” Noya says. “You’re right that it was about learning something but you’re wrong about what! The loop wasn’t for you! It was for me!”
Asahi looks at him, really looks at him for the first time in a month. His face is stubborn. “It was… for you?”
“Yeah,” Noya says, and gives her a hesitant smile, tapping his feet in front of him. “I had to learn something that time.”
“You had to learn—what did you have to learn?”
Noya’s eyes go wide. His mouth forms a tiny o and he’s frozen like that for ten seconds—way longer than Asahi’s ever seen him been still. “Uh,” he finally says, “um, nothing. Not important. What’s important is, I know it was for me and not you, so you need to stop believing it’s some truth of the universe that you aren’t our ace, and get your ass back to practice. We need you.” His voice is emotional, persuasive; his eyes are soft. Asahi wishes she could believe him.
“I can’t go back,” Asahi says. Go back? After everything? It’s been a month; how could she walk back in and expect her teammates to accept her?
“You absolutely can. Everyone wants you to come back.”
“You mean you want me to come back.”
“Me and everyone else! We’ve got these first years—”
“Suga told me about the first years, and I met a couple of them,” Asahi says, heading him off. She doesn’t need to hear about the future ace and the genius setter again. “Noya, the thing you realized—I mean, for me, the first time—was it the same?”
Noya blinks at her, then shakes his head determinedly. “Nope, not a girl.”
“Oh, okay,” Asahi says, a little—well, not let down, exactly, but it would have been cool, it would have been nice to have something in common. “So then, what—”
“Uhhhhh,” Noya says, face unreadable. “Um, it’s secret.”
And he expects her to believe him. Asahi snorts a bitter laugh. “Okay then.” She sighs and stares at the ceiling for a while. Noya keeps making little tapping noises, his hands or his feet, or getting up and pacing up and down the stairs before thudding back to the floor.
The bell rings for next period, and Noya hops up, starts banging his fist on the door. Asahi watches him for a moment, then checks her phone, which has no signal. And the time reads an hour earlier than it should. “Noya,” she says, her voice tightening in panic, “what time does your phone say?”
Noya looks at his phone. “Ten… am. What’s… oh fuck.” He meets Asahi’s eyes pleadingly, as if she can fix it or explain it. “I thought it could only happen during games!”
Asahi throws her hands in the air. “I don’t control it! It’s not me!” Her heart is racing. She breathes slowly. “Surely someone will come find us eventually, right?” But they’re in a loop, repeating. Oh god. Nobody’s coming to find them. They’ll be stuck here forever.
Noya spends ten minutes trying to kick down the door while Asahi half-sits on the handrail and talks herself down from a panic attack. Then Noya lies starfished on the concrete landing and catches his breath.
“You have to believe me,” he says, flat on his back. “Come back to practice. You belong on the team.”
“I don’t,” Asahi says. Every time Noya says it she just remembers all the times she couldn’t get a ball past Dateko’s blockers. Every time it thumped to the floor on her side of the court. Every time Noya landed and bruised himself up trying to save it.
Noya jumps to his feet. “I need you to come back!” His voice echoes loudly in the stairwell. There’s stark emotion all over his face; it’s shockingly raw. Asahi recoils a little; Noya turns away quickly, pulling out his phone.
“Noya….” Asahi has no idea what she’s going to say, but Noya ignores her.
“I have to learn to pick locks,” Noya says desperately, typing quickly on his phone’s fancy full keyboard.
“It’s not about learning a skill, it’s about admitting something to yourself,” Asahi says. Feeling like she’s repeating herself.
“Okay, but I still want to be physically outside of this stairwell!” Noya taps at his phone. “Jesus christ, load faster!”
“You have internet on your phone?” Asahi asks curiously. Her phone is a flip phone.
Noya groans. “Well in theory, yes… but not in this One! Specific! Stairwell! Apparently!” He thunks his phone against the wall a few times as punctuation. Asahi cringes.
“Um, I don’t think it’s the kind of lock you can pick anyway,” Asahi offers, sliding her hand over the doorknob. “There isn’t a keyhole on this side.”
Noya tries slipping a piece of paper through the doorjamb; then his student ID, trying to hit the latch, with no success. He fiddles with it more, then hits it for a while longer, then gives up.
The bell rings for the end of third period, which is also the bell for the beginning of third period again. Asahi checks her phone again and it’s 10 am again.
“Well, fuck.” Noya slides down the wall to sit on the floor once again. Asahi joins him, even though the floor is kind of gross, sits back against the wall opposite. Their toes almost touch in the small space, even sitting with their knees pulled up nearly to their chests.
“Do you get phone reception?” Asahi asks.
Noya pushes some buttons. “Nope.”
Asahi is silent for a while. Noya taps his feet and fidgets with his phone. “At least the battery seems to be resetting each loop,” he says morosely. “Hell of a lot of good that does us.”
“Isn’t this a fire hazard?” Asahi asks. “We could die in here. What if there’s a fire?” She looks around for a fire alarm pull, but there isn’t one.
“I think I’d rather fuckin die than be stuck like this any longer,” Noya says. His head thunks back against the wall. “What happens if we die, do you think?”
“Uh,” Asahi says, “I have no idea?”
“Kinda existential,” Noya sighs. “Bullshit.”
“Don’t die,” Asahi says anxiously. “Don’t say you’d rather die, please?”
Noya rolls his head to look at her. “Sorry,” he offers.
“Sorry,” Asahi agrees.
“What? For what?”
“For being stuck in here with you, I guess.”
“It’s not that I’d rather be stuck in here alone,” Noya says, and then stops.
“It’s that you wish it was anyone but me.” Asahi stares down at her knees. “It’s okay. I get it.”
“Do you?” Noya asks strangely.
“Well, we haven’t talked? Since we fought? We were friends before, I thought.” She and Noya really had been—it had felt like they had been good friends, before all this. He had been the quickest to catch on when she came out to the team; he’d been staunchly defensive of her with the rest of them; it had meant a lot to Asahi, who’s horrible at speaking up for herself. She thinks he understands, somehow, more than the others, and it hurts to think she’s lost that friendship.
“We were,” Noya says, his voice strained.
“And now it feels like we aren’t friends.” Asahi feels her mouth wobble. “Sorry,” she whispers.
“You should know,” Noya says. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry, you deserve to know.” He visibly steels himself. Takes a deep breath. “Really big crush on you,” he says, fast but clear. “Didn’t realize it til you broke my fucking heart right there on court. Dammit, Asahi, please come back.”
Asahi stares at him. And stares, and stares. Noya? With a crush, on her? “You’re making fun of me,” she realizes.
“No!” Noya’s suddenly right up in her space, on his hands and knees right up in front of her, and Asahi flinches back against the wall. Noya notices, and settles back on his heels, and then sits back against the wall. “No, Asahi, I mean it, as soon as I let myself think it the cycle ended.”
Asahi swallows hard. “Coincidence,” she croaks.
“Why is mine coincidence but yours destiny or whatever?” Noya demands. “Look, I like you, okay? I like you so much and I can’t stop thinking about you.”
His pointy chin is raised obstinately. His eyes are unblinking. His mouth sets in a little line that twitches, after a moment, towards a pout. Asahi can’t believe it—he seems—serious? He seems to believe what he’s saying? He wasn’t setting her up for ridicule—now it seems obvious, that’s not Nishinoya’s style, he isn’t a bully, he isn’t mean. The tension between the two of them comes from his unwavering insistence that Asahi is—is—is capable of things that she doesn’t feel capable of.
“You like me,” Asahi says blankly. Accepting it. Wow. It upends her whole perception of Noya, to be honest. It’s disorienting. They watch each other for a while. Asahi’s brain slowly clicks through all the implications of their conversation. “Hang on, you have a crush on me.”
“That’s what I said,” Noya replies.
“And you figured it out at the end of the Dateko match.” Asahi’s trying to make sure—“But you knew before we started playing?”
“Oh definitely,” Noya says. “Shoulda known it months ago, really. I’m, uh, really not normal about you.” He taps his fingers on his crossed arms. “It just feels like, playing with you over the last year, it changed how I see my role on the team, and it changed how I see myself. You changed me. Whether you meant to or not.” His eyes dart to the side, then back to Asahi. “I like who I am around you.”
“…What?” Asahi can’t imagine a Noya who isn’t full of self-confidence. “You always like who you are.” Not like Asahi. Asahi, who second-guesses everything about herself, and then third-guesses it for good measure. Noya has always, always seemed sure about who he is and what he wants.
Noya shrugs. “I don’t dislike myself, and I’m generally pretty comfy in my skin, sure,” he allows. “But I mean, when I’m around you, when we’re not fighting, when we’re doing our thing? It feels like we make each other better, and that feels—” he lets out a huge breath. “It feels amazing. Like I’m part of something, instead of just existing. I like being around you.” His cheeks and ears are turning red, and he looks away, scuffing his shoe over the concrete floor.
Asahi realizes—she thinks he’s cute. There’s a weird, fluttery feeling in her chest, a little uncomfortable, a little panicky. She’s startled at his confession, but she finds that she believes him, and she’s—happy about it? She’s glad to find that Noya, of all people, has a crush on her? And, even more importantly than that: she believes that his realization could have been the catalyst for their loop in the Dateko game.
Which means she isn’t destined to be a failure.
Which means… she can play.
Which means she can let herself want to play.
“I believe you,” is what she tells Noya, and it comes out of her mouth heavy with emotion, but she doesn’t know what else to tell him. He just crooks the corner of his mouth at her, and nods.
And then someone bursts through the door and almost squashes Asahi like a very big bug.
“Don’t let it close!” Noya yells over Asahi’s scream. “Oh my god, Tsukishima! I never thought I’d be so happy to see your condescending face.” The tall blond teen in the doorway looks as surprised as either of them, but he holds the door half-open, and Asahi scoots out from behind it. From the hallway, another student says, “Have you two been stuck in here the whole time?”
“Yes!” Noya says, while Asahi stands and tries to get her heart rate under control for the second time that day. “Wait, were you two looping too? Weird! Do you think it affected the whole team? Oh, Asahi, you haven’t met these weirdos yet! Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are new middle blockers. You’ve both heard about our infamous runaway ace,” Noya says, gesturing to each person as he does introductions.
“What have you told them about me,” Asahi asks nervously.
The freckled one peers at her curiously and says, “Oh, so you’re the girl!” and the blond one says, “She’s the coward,” and Asahi says, “I’m really not much of anything right now.”
Noya sighs. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Come on, Asahi.”
Tsukishima’s standing in the way, though, frowning and examining the door handle from each side. “It shouldn’t have locked. That’s a massive fire hazard. What a horrible oversight. Someone should be fired for this.”
“What were you doing in here?” Yamaguchi asks, looking around as if there’ll be a gamecube or a volleyball court inside the stairwell.
“Tryna get to the roof,” Noya says casually. “That door’s locked too, though.”
“Why were you trying to get in here?” Asahi asks.
Yamaguchi, interestingly, blushes, but Tsukishima shrugs. “Gets boring, being trapped in the same class over and over.”
Yamaguchi adds, “Roof’s the best place to—”
Tsukishima elbows his friend. “Smoke cigarettes! That I stole from my brother!” He coughs fakely. “Oh, I should really quit.”
“So something more embarrassing than underage smoking,” Noya says, glancing between them. “I don’t want to know. Come on, Asahi, let’s give them some privacy. Don’t get locked in!” And he pulls Asahi out of the cursed stairwell by the hand.
They run into Tanaka in the hallway. “I fixed it!” He says, surprise and glee all over his face. “I figured out what the universe wanted me to learn! It took me three loops, but I finally understand type I and type II errors!” He holds up his Stats notebook.
Asahi gives him a weak thumbs up. Noya thumps his buddy on the back and says, “Great job, Ryuu!”
When Ryuu struts away, grinning at his own mathematical brilliance and time loop solving, Noya lowers his voice to ask, “So, you think some weird math bullshit got us out of that one?”
Asahi shakes her head. “I let myself want to go back,” she says. “I—thanks, Noya.”
Noya exhales hard and thumps his fist against her shoulder. “I better see you at practice later, ace,” he says, like a threat, but he’s smiling. Asahi smiles back a little, and shrugs at him.
So yeah, Asahi shows up to practice. Just for one practice, she tells herself. She meets all the first years again for real, and they really are impressive, she has to admit—it’s fun to play against them, and it’s exciting to think about playing with them. She meets the new coach, a cooler, younger Ukai (“He’s way less mean than old Ukai!” Suga says), and the new advisor, Takeda (“He’s way less checked out than the previous guy,” Daichi says). They’re all unexpectedly normal about her—someone, clearly, has briefed everyone on what to expect and how to treat her. Or maybe multiple someones. Everyone mostly seems exasperated at her for her reluctance to play. Irritated at her for not believing in herself enough, or something. And by the time practice is over, she’s got it. She feels it, or feels it enough, the sense that no matter how much room she has to improve, she wants to be here enough that it’s worth it, and her teammates—her friends!—will be all around her doing their parts to keep the ball in play.
When Asahi leaves the club room that evening, Noya hurries after her, tearing himself away from a raucous conversation with Tanaka to grab her arm and say, “So you’re returning for good, right? You aren’t leaving again, right?”
And Asahi slows to accommodate his shorter stride, and tells him, “I’m back.”
Noya runs ahead, a spring in his step and his arms raised in victory, and he rockets back towards her to nearly tackle her in a hug. She staggers backwards. “Good!” He grins up at her. “No takebacks! You’re stuck with us now!” It hits her hard—she really, really missed being on good terms with him. She hugs him back, as hard as she dares.
When Asahi gets home that day—late, or later than she has been for the past month—her mom asks, “How was your day?” and she just kind of grins, and—“I think it was really good,” she replies. “I think… I’m joining the club again.” And her mom hugs her and scolds her for making her worry and has her help out with making dinner while she interrogates Asahi about everything she can think of. And Asahi tells her pretty much everything, and her mom says it’s good to see her smiling so big again.
The practice match with Nekoma is on them before they know it. And Asahi suddenly realizes—she’s got a good chance of getting them all stuck in it again. And she thinks, maybe, a proactive approach, for once in her life, could be worth it.
Noya’s getting warmed up with Tanaka by the time Asahi gets to the gym.
“Noya!” Asahi whisper-yells around the doorway. He looks around wildly, then hurries over to her. She pulls him out the building, to a sheltered spot behind a vending machine.
“I had to find you before the game!” Asahi says. “I can’t handle it if we get stuck again!”
“What?” says Noya.
“I want to try something,” Asahi says. She isn’t even nervous. She’ll have to try sooner or later anyway; she doesn’t want to get trapped in a game to figure it out. “I think I like you?”
Noya glares up at her. “What do you mean you think?”
“Like,” Asahi says, “like I’m pretty sure I want to kiss you and if I go into this game without knowing for sure, it’s going to make us get stuck until I know for sure?”
“Ohhhh,” Noya says. A smile breaks across his face like daylight. “Okay, let’s figure it out then, hm?” And he stands on his tiptoes and winds his arms around her neck and kisses her like sunshine, warm and soft and still smiling. Asahi feels herself smiling, too, and she’s pretty sure that’s not perfect kissing technique, but it feels perfect to her.
Noya relaxes back onto flat feet after a long minute to say, “So, did you figure it out, or do we need to try again? We get stuck in another loop you’ll have to kiss me on court and I know you’re too shy for that.”
“You’re right, I’d really rather it doesn’t come to that.” Asahi bends down, this time. “Let me just make sure.”