Chapter Text
“The first semester in Japan always begins in April, carrying with it the fragrance of cherry blossoms and the hum of fresh starts.
Hinata Shouyou arrived at Teikō with wide eyes and uncontainable energy. Unlike the polished prodigies around him, Hinata was raw talent—explosive jumps, relentless stamina, but no polish, no pedigree. He stood out not because of dominance but because of stubborn persistence, a boy too small to belong on a court filled with near-prodigal athletes.
Meanwhile, Akashi Seijūrō was already a figure spoken about in whispers. His reputation reached beyond the school itself; he was not just a player but a tactician, someone who bent the flow of games to his will. To teammates, he was the perfect captain—sharp, disciplined, always in control. But beneath that immaculate exterior rested something darker: an unyielding pressure to never lose, never falter, never deviate from the “purpose” carved into his very being.”
The continuous fall of cherry blossom petals painted the school grounds in soft pink, each drifting leaf whispering the start of another chapter in life. First-year students and transferees trickled in one by one, some clinging to their friends, others wide-eyed as they passed the front gate. Tables lined the pathway to the building, crowded with upperclassmen persuading, shouting, or enticing new students to join their clubs.
Teikō Middle School.
One of the most prestigious institutions in Tokyo — excelling in both academics and sports. Its name had become synonymous with dominance. ‘Hyakusenhyakushō,’ the school of a hundred battles and a hundred victories, with basketball as its proudest crown.
Among the incoming students was Hinata Shouyou.
He had no grand ambitions for academics or clubs, no master plan for success. He was here simply to live out his two and a half years of middle school before moving back to his maternal parents’ home.
Yet excitement buzzed through every fiber of him as he walked, ginger hair swaying in the breeze, his grin vibrant and unshakable. His bright eyes darted around, soaking in every detail, every sound. He greeted strangers with ease, chatted like they were old friends, and carried himself with a warmth that drew attention like gravity — pulling everyone, even unknowingly, toward him.
Just like that, his presence lit up the corridors.
By the end of the first week, whispers followed him wherever he went:
“There’s a first-year who’s always smiling.”
“The sunny boy.”
“Hinata, right? You can’t miss him.”
His name spread fast — not because of grades or glory, but because warmth like his refused to stay unnoticed.
Sports Day.
The week of Sports Day arrived in a whirl of banners, chants, and thundering footsteps. The school grounds that had once been carpeted with cherry blossoms were now alive with the buzz of competition.
The highlight of Hinata’s favorite of all occasions that the school offers, with the students who are part of the sports club will be in charge of leading the whole homeroom they’re in and only able to participate in the ones that are not their club. Besides all that, Hinata excitedly listed his name in volleyball, badminton, and rally, knowing nobody will be so demanding of height this and that just to be able to join in.
After all, this is the sports week, everyone is welcome to join anything as long as you win as a team and take the trophy. What's more exciting, Hinata could really take the advantage of joining volleyball without someone judging of height this and that.
Team Rally came first. It wasn’t an official sport, more of a school-organized event where different classes competed in silly but energy-packed relays—sack races, tug-of-war, and baton passes. Hinata loved it. The rush of sprinting across the gym, the laughter from classmates, the way everyone shouted encouragement—it was like pure fuel. He was almost the fastest, but he had heart, and that made people notice him. For once, the boy who was always described as “small” felt like a spark that pulled the team forward.
Then, after the team rally slipped by in a rhythm sweats, exhaustion, and joy into the following classes, laughter, and lazy afternoons. Hinata thrived in it — greeting seniors, joking with seatmates, running errands without complaint. His brightness spilled into every corner of Class 1-C.
And then, there was Midorima.
Tall for his age, quiet, and constantly adjusting his glasses, Midorima was Hinata’s seatmate and perhaps the sharpest contrast to him. Where Hinata wore his heart on his sleeve, Midorima kept his tucked behind layers of precision and calculation.
“Hinata, today you shouldn’t run during lunch break,” Midorima said one morning as he carefully placed something round and strange-looking on his desk. “Cancer ranks last in Oha-Asa’s daily horoscope. You’re prone to accidents.”
Hinata blinked, staring at the object. “Uh… is that… a traffic cone?”
“It’s a miniature one,” Midorima corrected, as if that detail mattered. “It’s my lucky item today. Don’t look at me like that — you wouldn’t understand.”
Hinata leaned over, studying it with wide eyes before breaking into a laugh. “That’s so weird, Midorima! But kinda cool, too. Do you really carry something different every day?”
Midorima adjusted his glasses again, slightly flustered. “Of course. Ignoring Oha-Asa’s guidance would be foolish. Fortune favors the prepared.”
To most of their classmates, this would’ve been the end of the conversation. But Hinata wasn’t “most.” He was curious, endlessly curious.
“So what’s my horoscope say?” Hinata asked, propping his chin in his hand.
Midorima hesitated, eyeing him with a mix of suspicion and annoyance, before finally muttering, “…Don’t forget your umbrella. Even if the weather is clear.”
By the time lunch ended, Hinata had told half the class about “Midorima’s daily horoscope,” and though the taller boy scolded him for being a nuisance, something softened in the way he tolerated Hinata’s chatter after that.
Badminton, though, was on another day and another story. The light rackets and delicate shuttlecock felt tricky at first. Hinata’s natural reflexes let him dart around the court quickly, but he often swung too hard, sending the shuttle flying off in wild directions. His doubles partner groaned a lot, but Hinata just kept grinning, chasing every missed shot with boundless determination. He was rough around the edges, but his competitive streak made him fun to watch—and occasionally frustrating to play against.
[
The air inside the gym buzzed with the echo of birdies snapping against rackets, sneakers squeaking over polished wood, and the light chatter of classmates testing out new sports. Hinata, racket gripped tight in his right hand, bounced on the balls of his feet, his whole body humming like a coiled spring.
Across the net, his partner from their homeroom called out, “Shouyou, cover the back!”
“Got it!” Hinata chirped, his eyes already tracking the shuttlecock.
The opposing team served fast, a sharp line drive aimed deep into the court. But Hinata was faster. He burst backward with three quick steps, his light frame gliding as though the air itself was helping him along. At the last second, he leapt—high, impossibly high for someone his size—and snapped his racket downward in a clean arc.
Smash.
The shuttle rocketed across the net, so quick that the other side barely twitched before it buried itself into the polished floor. The sound of the impact made a few heads turn from nearby courts.
“Whoa, Hinata!” his partner laughed, pointing. “That’s insane, do that again!”
Hinata beamed, his face flushed with excitement. “Hehe, I will!”
They reset. This time, the rally dragged longer, birdie flipping back and forth at breakneck speed. Hinata didn’t just run—he darted, covering the court with an agility that stunned even his classmates. He chased drop shots, stretched for impossible saves, and when the chance opened, he exploded upward for another soaring smash. His jumps weren’t just vertical—they had a wild energy, as if gravity gave up trying to hold him down.
The crowd of classmates watching from the side couldn’t help but murmur. “He’s like… built for this.” and also, “He should totally join our club...”
And Hinata, with that wide, irrepressible grin plastered across his face, didn’t notice the eyes on him. For him, the joy was simple: leaping higher, hitting harder, running faster. The kind of joy that couldn’t be faked.
]
And lastly, volleyball. Hinata had signed his name almost without thinking, but every time he stepped onto the court, something in his chest lit up. The thud of the ball on the hardwood, the sharp sound of a well-hit serve, even the feeling of diving across the floor to keep the rally alive—it was different from everything else. Unlike badminton or team rally, volleyball felt like his .
He wasn’t great, not yet. His spikes often got blocked, his timing was off, and setting was a nightmare with his small hands. But he didn’t care. The sheer joy of jumping, of trying to reach higher than his body should allow, made the mistakes worth it. When the ball connected just right, even once in a while, it was enough to make his whole week.
Hinata would leave the gym sweating buckets, his hair sticking up worse than usual, his knees sore from dives. But his smile was always wide, eyes shining with the certainty that somehow, someday, he’d soar higher.
Bouncing from one event to the next, seemed incapable of standing still. Whether it was rallying classmates during the relay or diving for a shuttlecock in badminton, his laughter rang above the crowd. He wasn’t the fastest runner, nor the sharpest player, but what set him apart was the way he pulled everyone in . His energy was contagious — the kind that made even the most indifferent students cheer louder, run faster, and smile wider.
He’d already become something of a mascot. Not because of grades (which, to Midorima’s quiet observation, were painfully average), nor because of pedigree or talent, but because Hinata’s very presence carried a gravitational pull.
“You don’t even try, do you?” Midorima said one afternoon, pushing his glasses higher as he regarded Hinata sprawled across his desk after volleyball practice. “And yet everyone keeps flocking around you.”
Hinata blinked, confused, then laughed. “Eh? Flocking? What am I, a bird feeder?”
Midorima sighed, but there was a twitch at the corner of his lips. “It’s troublesome. People like you attract attention without effort. Popularity is fleeting, but…” he paused, glancing out the window, “…yours seems different.”
Hinata tilted his head, not quite understanding, but grinned anyway. “Hehe, well, I’m just being me.”
And that was the truth. He hadn’t joined any clubs yet, hadn’t made a mark on the school outside of Sports Day, and still, by the first term’s end, “Hinata Shouyou” was a name nearly everyone knew. Not the ace of anything, not a prodigy — just a boy whose sincerity was impossible to ignore.
The closing ceremony of Sports Week was held in the gym, banners hanging from the rafters, the air thick with the chatter of tired but exhilarated students. Medals and ribbons were handed out, and laughter echoed as classes compared their winnings.
Hinata, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his classmates, still buzzed with restless energy. He clutched a paper cup of juice, hair damp from his last volleyball game, cheeks flushed from running around all day. His team hadn’t taken first place, but the memory of leaping higher than he thought possible clung to him like a stubborn dream.
Across the court, a group of upperclassmen stood apart from the crowd—polished, confident, their presence commanding attention without a word. Among them was Akashi Seijuro, already radiating the composure of someone destined for leadership.
He hadn’t participated much in Sports Week; basketball obligations had kept him busy. But as he scanned the gym with detached interest, his gaze paused on the boy in Class 1-B—the one laughing too loud, gesturing animatedly as he tried to reenact a failed spike for his friends.
Akashi’s eyes lingered. Not because of skill or stature—Hinata had neither—but because of the unshakable brightness in his expression. A boy whose joy seemed untouched by failure, whose presence pulled others to orbit around him without resistance.
“…Hinata Shouyou,” Akashi repeated quietly, recalling the name he’d heard whispered among classmates and even a few basketball teammates.
The sunny boy.
He said nothing more, offering no outward reaction, but in his mind, a small note was written. Not interest, not yet—but recognition.
And that, for Akashi, was the beginning.
Late July came.
Students finally escape their first sementers with the reward of 1 month of break from school, and only those who don’t belong to the sport clubs are required to take part in a two week camp, with the extracurricular camp for those who failed the finals exam. On top of that, Hinata successfully did not fail his exams as well as his activities and performances, and it might not be perfect scores at least he passes, and that's the only thing that matters.
Hinata ambled through the hallways leading to the open space, but always filled with students after exams and events of any kinds involved in the school. Although this time the open space only contained few students and the open space was mostly named as the ‘ranks of servants’ or ‘ladder of peasants’.
With that said, two large size bulletin boards with 4 medium size bulletin boards trailed along the wall in accompaniment of simple designs and white papers stuck in it that indicates the ranking of students in overall first sementers than the scores of after exam. Furthermore, these students who viewed the bulletin board could only be two means, one is the considered the top students that are part of top 10 or top 20 and two is the students who want to know if they do well—which the latter were Hinata categorized in.
Going in front of the bulletin boards where finding his name is gonna be difficult with the 250 first year students in the population, in addition to where he is facing is the mid-rank lists and just from looking at it could make the two eyes cross to each other. He stood there like a lost child, blinking his tired eyes from the constant looking over and over but still hasn't found his name, and Hinata may not be the best or top student, that doesn’t mean he wants to be part of the low-rank lists.
Hinata blinked at the bulletin board until his eyes hurt. Rows of names blurred together, a sea of kanji that refused to spit out his own. His pout deepened as he shifted from one foot to the other, ready to give up.
“Hinata, you’re still here?”
He spun at the familiar voice, irritation already melting into sunshine. “Oh! Midorima-kun! Nice to see you. I’ve been looking forever, but my name’s nowhere.”
Midorima Shintaro, Hinata’s classmate who took the window seat before he could. “It’s that so. I’m also here to look at it. Don’t just look at where you were last time, you know.” Midorima expressed, with his body moved to face the bulletin board still beside in Hinata place.
Hinata whispered, “But I don’t want to see my name on the low lists.”
“May I know your name?”
An unfamiliar voice had a question for his name, and looking at the boy maybe 2 or 1 and a half inches taller than him was the one who came with Midorima. “It’s Hinata, Hinata Shouyou. Pleasure to meet you.”
“I see your name. 65. Hinata Shouyou 3.7 - A minus.”
Hinata’s eyes shot wide as he stumbled forward. “R-really?!” He gaped at the board, clapping a hand over his mouth as if the name might vanish if he looked too long.
Amused, the stranger stepped closer. “Akashi Seijuro. A pleasure to meet you.”
Hinata turned back, grin unfurling bright and grateful. “Thank you, Akashi-kun. I better go now, I see you guys around. Bye-bye Midorima-kun and Akashi-kun!”
Mid-August.
Two weeks went by with Hinata lingering in the face of his classmate friend, the boy, whose name was Akashi Seijuro who likely claimed the number one spot of ranks for the upcoming ranks in school. Although it is strange why he can’t get Akashi out of his mind when he is just be dazingly around in places he has been for the past 2 weeks.
With that being said, he had been lost again, the place where he should know better than the tourist—there’s no tourist and nobody this time for him to ask around again, just some run-out basketball and a dribbling ball.
Again, a dribbling ball.
Plus.
Nobody's around.
Inhaling, exhaling, and repeating.
The court was silent, save for the faint thump of a basketball.
Hinata’s grin spread instantly as he spotted the lone figure inside — a boy with pale blue hair, with the same height as him, dribbling quietly.
“Hello there!” Hinata waved, bouncing on his feet. “I’m Hinata Shouyou. Mind if I play with you?”
The boy paused mid-dribble, blinking at him.
“…You can see me?”
Hinata barked a laugh, confused but cheerful. “Of course I can! You’re right there, aren’t you?”
For just a moment, the boy’s eyes softened — as if he’d been waiting years for someone to answer that way.
“Kuroko Tetsuya,” he said at last, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Hinata-kun. And sure.”
“Great! Just so you know, I’m totally hopeless at this,” Hinata admitted as he grabbed the ball. He tried to dribble, lost control on the second bounce, and yelped as the ball rolled toward the corner.
Kuroko gave a soft smile. “Don’t worry, Hinata-kun. I’m also bad at this.”
After 5 rounds of playing, exhaustion starts to seep into the bones and muscle for Hinata and Kuroko, along with that sign they stop playing and laid down to the concrete floor staring at the clouds with the sky vast in the afternoon light—mixed with red, orange, and yellow. When breathing starts to calm down, Hinata is the first to say “Do you wanna have some early dinner? My treat!”
Kuroko sat up on the concrete, looking at Hinata. “No thanks, I have my wallet with me so let’s treat ourselves for today.”
“Alright then! Lead the way, Kuroko-kun!”
And so, both young boys get up from where they had been and leave the court, side by side, chattering joyfully while striding away from the afternoon colored sky.
.
The following days, both Hinata and Kuroko hangout every other day after their fateful meeting. First, they got to know that they're in the same school, with their homeroom two rooms away from the same floor, 10 houses away from each other, and their favorites.
Secondly, both improvise at each other in basketball mostly Hinata guiding Kuroko based on the material online slash from professional and experts. Lastly, enjoying each other's company outside related to basketball. In addition, Hinata and Kuroko had truly become close to each other in those days—not only as friends, they may be called each other as best friends.
School had started again for the second semester. But unlike spring, it wasn’t dreadful for students—it was electric. September at Teikō didn’t just mean new classes. It meant ceremonies, speeches, and the most anticipated event of the term: the Cultural Festival. One whole week without textbooks, where classrooms transformed into haunted houses, cafés, or stages, and students got to show who they really were outside their grades.
For the first years, though, the excitement came with extra weight. The opening week kicked off with the ceremony and speeches, but also a special focus: Teikō’s unique Student Council system. Unlike other schools, the first years had their own separate Council, designed to train young leaders from the very beginning. That meant added ceremonies, stricter schedules, and more eyes watching them than anyone else.
The following week packed on even more. Subject-based projects filled every slot on the timetable, stacked tightly against Cultural Festival planning. Classes argued over themes, sketched draft T-shirt designs on blackboards, and tested out booth layouts between math problems. Teachers encouraged the frenzy, calling it “friendly competition,” but to most students it just felt like juggling three lives at once.
And still, the hallways buzzed. The second semester was different—less about settling in, more about proving what each class could bring to the table. The air practically hummed with chalk dust, poster paint, and ambition.
[
The air was still warm from summer, but the breeze had cooled just enough that the courtyard benches weren’t scorching anymore. Students passed by in groups, arms full of festival props and rolls of poster paper.
Hinata plopped down on the stone bench with two melon breads in hand, tossing one across without warning.
“Catch!”
Kuroko caught it neatly against his chest, expression unchanging. “Thank you. You remembered I like this.”
“Of course I did! You think I’d forget?” Hinata grinned, tearing into his bread in messy bites. “Besides, the cafeteria auntie gave me a look like, ‘are you really buying two of the same thing again,’ but I told her it was important.”
Kuroko blinked at him, quiet for a moment, before murmuring, “…You talk a lot, Hinata-kun.”
“Eh? That’s your complaint?!” Hinata nearly choked on the bread, pounding his chest. “I thought you were gonna say I’m nice or something.”
“You are,” Kuroko said simply. “But you also talk a lot.”
Hinata groaned, but he was laughing too loudly for it to sting. “You’re impossible, Kuroko-kun. How do you make everything sound so flat and still win the argument?”
Kuroko looked down at the melon bread in his lap, faintly thoughtful. “…I don’t think I’m winning. I just… I like listening.”
That shut Hinata up for a second. His grin softened, shoulders loosening. “Hehe… well, I like talking to you too. So I guess we’re even. And sooner or later, you might be the one who will talk a lot.”
“Hmm, don’t think so.”
They sat like that for a while, eating in companionable silence. The world around them hummed with festival prep—paint brushes clattering, someone yelling about glue, laughter spilling down the hallways. Hinata kicked his legs lightly against the bench, eyes tilted toward the open sky.
“You know,” Hinata said suddenly, voice low but bright, “I think this semester’s gonna be fun. Even if it’s busy, even if we get yelled at. Doesn’t it feel… exciting?”
Kuroko followed his gaze, a small smile ghosting across his lips. “…Yes. It does.”
For a brief moment, in the noisy courtyard of Teikō, their little corner felt stillness.
]
Rumors floated in the middle of it all. That the first-year Council had a particularly sharp eye on them this year. Akashi Seijuro—the prodigy of Teikō, strict, unbending, flawless—was already shaping the school with his presence. His reputation reached even students who had never seen him before; just hearing his name was enough to make some sit straighter in their seats.
And yet, in the thick of committee meetings and practice drills, Hinata Shouyou could barely contain himself. Where others wilted under the workload, Hinata thrived. Haunted house? Café? Stage play? He wanted to do all of them—at once. He was pretty sure that wasn’t allowed, but that didn’t stop him from blurting out every idea that popped into his head.
Planning a booth? He was the loudest voice in the room. Shirt designs? His messy sketches filled the blackboard before anyone else had even lifted a piece of chalk. Half his ideas were too wild to be realistic—but Hinata didn’t care. He just wanted to move, to try, to throw himself at everything the semester had to offer.
.
The chatter about the elections was louder than ever once the Cultural Festival prep hit full stride. In the cafeteria, between bites of bread rolls and the clatter of trays, students gossiped in clusters.
“Did you hear? Kise Ryouta’s running for first-year representative!”
“Of course he is—he’s already in magazines, everyone’s obsessed.”
“He’s practically a celebrity. Who could even beat him?”
Hinata, unfortunately, didn’t hear most of these rumors until it was too late.
“You’ll do it, Shouyou!” his classmates declared, shoving a form into his hands.
“Eh? Me? Why me?!” Hinata flailed, orange hair nearly colliding with the ceiling fan.
“Because you’re pretty, kind, sweet, loud, and just all the good attributes people don’t have.”
“And you won’t shut up during meetings.”
“Plus, you’re honest. That counts for something!”
Hinata groaned, hugging the paper to his chest like it was a death sentence. “But I don’t want to be in the Student Council! That’s boring—meetings, paperwork, bowing to teachers—no thanks!”
“Too late,” one of his classmates grinned. “We already submitted your name.”
“Then what's the reason for this paper!?”
[
The classroom of 1-D was louder than usual—bread wrappers crinkling, desks scraped together, voices tumbling over each other in excitement. The upcoming first-year Student Council elections had turned into the hot topic of the week.
“I’m telling you, Kise-kun’s speech is gonna be unbeatable,” one boy said, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “He’s practically a celebrity already. Magazines, modeling, acads—he’s got everything.”
A girl twirled her pen thoughtfully. “True, but… don’t you think Hinata-kun is making waves too? Everyone keeps talking about him.”
“You mean the orange-haired one, I mean the ginger head? Yeah, he’s always laughing, always helping people. I heard his class café idea made half the girls swoon.”
“I’ve even heard that his hair is truly from his family genes, which is crazy for me because it’s my first time seeing that kind of hair. Totally an amazement.”
“Yeah, even some of the second-years know him already,” another chimed in. “He’s kind of… memorable. You can’t help but notice him.”
That set off a round of chuckles.
“Memorable, huh? Pretty different from our Kuroko here,” one boy teased, earning a few giggles. “Sometimes I forget he’s in this class.”
A girl tapped her lip, then leaned closer to the group. “Actually, I’ve seen Kuroko-kun with Hinata before. During summer, in the courtyard. They seemed… close.”
The others blinked at her, curiosity sparking. “Wait, really? Kuroko-kun… close to the popular candidate?”
They all turned their heads, scanning the classroom. Desks, chatter, windows, but no sign of him.
“…Where is he, anyway?”
“Don’t tell me he slipped out again.”
And then—
“I’ll vote for Hinata-kun,” came a calm voice directly beside them.
“GYAAH!” half the group jumped in their seats as Kuroko materialized at the edge of the cluster, clutching his milk carton like he’d been there the whole time.
“When did you get here?!” one boy yelped, heart racing.
“I’ve been here,” Kuroko replied flatly, sipping his milk. “You just didn’t notice.”
Silence. Then a collective groan as they buried their faces in their hands.
“Don’t do that, Kuroko!”
“You’re gonna take years off our lives!”
Unbothered, Kuroko tilted his head slightly. “…Hinata-kun is honest. That matters more than anything else. That’s why I’ll vote for him.”
The group quieted, blinking at how matter-of-factly he’d said it. Then, one by one, they nodded.
“…Yeah. You’ve got a point.”
“…Sincerity does count for something.”
“Exactly,” Kuroko said softly, setting down his milk. “Hinata-kun won’t pretend to be something he’s not.”
For a moment, his classmates looked at him with fresh eyes—before one of them muttered, “Still doesn’t change the fact you’re terrifying when you appear out of nowhere.”
Kuroko only blinked. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
]
And so, the lecture hall buzzed with energy, desks scraped and whispers tangled into a restless hum. It wasn’t just an ordinary homeroom session—it was election day.
Kise strode to the front, sunlit blond hair catching the late-morning light like a spotlight chose him. He flashed that signature grin, equal parts charm and mischief, and leaned casually against the podium as though it had been built for him.
“Yoroshiku, minna~,” he began, voice lilting, playful. A ripple of laughter spread through the rows, the atmosphere already lighter. Even the students who had planned to sit silent found themselves drawn in by his cadence.
Unlike Akashi, whose speeches carried the gravity of inevitability, Kise’s presence was electric, improvisational, like a performance that dared you to look away. And yet—beneath the golden boy surface—there was sincerity threading his words. He didn’t just want votes; he wanted to be seen as more than a model face, more than raw talent.
As his pitch rolled on, Hinata found himself grinning despite nerves. This was Teikō, he thought, where everyone shone too brightly, where the choice wasn’t just about who led but who you believed in.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth. But it was real.
By the end, the applause was louder than he expected.
Which resulted in a week later on Wednesday afternoon in the council room where the results were announced, Hinata slumped forward, staring blankly at the paper.
“I won? … I won?! How the hell did I win?!”
“Because you spoke from your heart.”
The voice was calm, even-toned. Hinata’s head snapped up, and for the first time, his eyes met Akashi Seijuro’s across the polished table.
Akashi was watching him with the faintest curve of a smile, the kind that wasn’t mocking but unsettlingly sharp. “Popularity fades. Charm distracts. But sincerity leaves no room for doubt. Remember that, Hinata Shouyou.”
Hinata blinked. “…Oh! Hi! It’s been a while since I last saw you, Akashi-kun.”
“Indeed.” Akashi’s gaze didn’t waver. “I look forward to working with you, representative Hinata.”
Hinata felt his ears burn. He wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a threat. Maybe both. “Me as well, Akashi-san.”
.
Homeroom 1-C Afternoon
The whiteboard at the front of the room was already cluttered with marker doodles—half café sketches, half ghosts with ridiculous fangs. Their teacher had barely left them alone for ten minutes, and already the place felt like a marketplace.
“Haunted house!” one boy shouted.
“No, café—think of the girls in maid uniforms!” another countered, earning a chorus of laughter.
“Booth games would be easier, though,” someone else argued.
Hinata sat cross-legged on top of his desk instead of in the chair, hair catching the soft light from the window. He wasn’t leading the discussion—he didn’t even try to—but somehow the noise bent toward him. Every time he leaned forward, chin in hand, classmates looked his way like waiting for his spark.
Midorima, however, was dead serious. Standing with his arms crossed and glasses glinting, he declared, “A haunted house provides the most efficient use of resources. Low cost, minimal maintenance during the event. It is statistically the highest chance of success.”
“Boooring,” Hinata teased, rocking a little on his desk. “You just want an excuse to carry your lucky item and scare people with it.”
The room burst into chuckles. Midorima’s jaw ticked.
“It is not about—Hinata, will you listen to the data—!”
Hinata grinned, leaning back, palms spread. “Hey, I am listening. I just think a café sounds fun. We could actually hang out together, not just make people scream and run away.”
That line alone got a few girls nodding, and one even whispered, “He’s right. Imagine Hinata-kun as a waiter.”
Someone else muttered, “Bet he’d pull more customers than the menu.”
Midorima adjusted his glasses, exhaling heavily. “Popularity contests are irrelevant. What matters is sustainability of effort—”
“Café!” one classmate cut in, raising both hands. “If Hinata’s on board, we’ll pull it off.”
Cheers followed. A quick poll was done with hands shooting up, and before Midorima could finish his sentence, the majority had already decided.
Hinata blinked, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “Eh? I wasn’t even the one in charge…”
“Doesn’t matter,” someone said. “People just… listen to you.”
Midorima muttered darkly, “Unscientific nonsense…” but he was the first to start scribbling down café supply lists on the board anyway.
“Alright, alright,” their class rep clapped her hands to get attention. “So—we’ve decided on a café. Now we need to figure out the theme.”
Instantly, voices shot up.
“Maid café!” someone shouted.
“No way, that’s embarrassing!” another groaned.
“What about retro? Like a Showa-era coffee house?”
“A cat café would be cute!”
Hinata leaned back in his chair, grin tugging on his face as he watched the chaos unfold. He wasn’t the loudest, but somehow everyone kept looping him in.
“Hinata-kun, which one sounds fun?” a girl asked.
He blinked, a little startled, then scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… well… I think a cat café would be funny. But… maybe hard? Unless we can all turn into cats,” he laughed, earning giggles from the front row.
“Your hair already counts,” someone teased.
Hinata pouted dramatically, “Oi!”
“Okay, okay,” their class rep cut in again. “So we’re between a cat café, retro café, or… maybe a maid café?”
That sparked a wave of excited chatter—especially from the girls.
Hinata whistled low. “Maid outfits, huh… wonder who’s brave enough to wear those.”
“Definitely not you,” Midorima muttered without missing a beat.
Hinata shot him a mock glare, but he was still smiling.
Eventually, after a lively debate, the vote came down to: Retro Café with slight cat elements. A safe middle ground.
“Perfect,” the rep nodded, writing it neatly on the board.
“Now we need to assign roles:
– Servers
– Kitchen staff
– Decoration team
– Materials buyers.”
Hands shot up, some volunteering, others being “volunteered.”
“Hinata-kun, you’d be great as a server,” one girl suggested.
“Eh? Why me?”
“Because you’re energetic and everyone likes talking to you.”
The class nodded, murmuring agreement.
Hinata ducked his head, cheeks faintly warm. “O-okay, I’ll do it then.”
Midorima ended up on decoration duty (because apparently “his precise sense of detail” was useful), and there was teasing about how he and Hinata would have to work together during setup.
When they got the materials, the rep asked, “Who can handle shopping?”
Hinata raised a tentative hand. “I can help carry stuff. Does one like to come with me?”
“You’ll need someone tall to help reach—Midorima, pair up with him.”
The class broke into laughter again as Hinata flashed Midorima a mischievous grin. “Guess we’re shopping buddies now.”
“…I never agreed to this.”
“Too late,” Hinata chirped.
The planning rolled on with more laughter than arguments—exactly the kind of energy a class festival should have.
The third week of September finally arrived, and with it came the long-awaited Cultural Festival . Excitement buzzed through the halls of Teiko like static, each homeroom buzzing about their booths, stages, and attractions. The day began with an opening orientation in the auditorium, students gathering in their uniforms while the principal and committee heads gave their welcoming speeches. Banners hung from the rafters, and the murmur of voices grew louder with each announcement.
“Alright! The festival is officially open—may each one of us enjoy this to the brim.” Akashi, the student council president’s voice, echoed, sparking cheers.
Hinata, sitting in his homeroom in the middle rows, was practically vibrating with energy. His class had chosen to turn their room into a café with a “retro summer” theme—something fresh and lighthearted among the usual haunted houses and maid cafés. The idea had been voted on unanimously after a week of hilarious brainstorming sessions. Hinata had insisted, “If we’re doing a café, let’s make it feel like a festival inside a festival!” And somehow, his enthusiasm had stuck.
Back in their classroom, transformation was already visible. Strips of blue and white cloth hung as makeshift curtains, paper lanterns strung across the ceiling, and chalkboard menus carefully drawn in bright pastel colors. Desks had been rearranged into cozy tables with tablecloths, and a corner was dedicated as the “kitchen station,” manned by a rotation of classmates who’d signed up.
“Costumes are ready!” one of the girls announced, lifting up a hanger with button-up white shirts and navy suspenders for the boys, and retro sailor-style dresses for the girls. Hinata took his assigned uniform eagerly, spinning the suspenders around his finger with a grin.
“You’re actually enjoying this way too much,” Midorima muttered from his desk, already adjusting his own suspenders with an expression halfway between resignation and quiet amusement.
“Eh? But don’t we look cool? Like, café staff from a drama!” Hinata laughed, striking a mock model pose. A few classmates burst into giggles, and even Midorima sighed in that long-suffering way of his—though he didn’t bother hiding the small smile tugging at his lips.
Hinata, being naturally magnetic, ended up as both server and unofficial promoter. Each time someone peeked into their classroom, his bright voice pulled them in:
“Welcome to our Hikari no Kissaten (Café of Light)! Come try our parfaits—they’re special for today only!”
The foot traffic grew steadily, laughter filling the classroom as guests sat down to order. Some of the seniors teased that Hinata’s popularity was half their marketing strategy. And they weren’t wrong—students from other grades were dropping by just to see “the orange-haired boy from the 1-C” serve them with a grin.
During a small break, Midorima leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “You’re attracting too much attention. Do you realize half of them only came because you were waving like an advertisement board?”
Hinata, already gulping down water, just grinned wider. “Hehe, then it means our café’s a success, right? Mission accomplished!”
[
The hallway outside Class 1-D was buzzing with visitors drifting in and out of their “café” setup. The door was half-open, letting the warm smell of baked sweets spill into the corridor. Hinata darted down the hall, his festival shirt half-untucked, excitement bubbling in every step. He nearly crashed straight into one of Kuroko’s classmates as he skidded to a stop at the doorway.
“Ah—sorry! My bad!” Hinata chirped, flashing a sheepish grin before peeking past them into the room. “Uh, is Kuroko-kun inside?”
Before either classmate could reply, Hinata leaned in, eyes scanning the room. It took him two seconds before he spotted a familiar light-blue head in the corner.
“There you are!” Hinata waved, beaming. “Oi, Kuroko-kun!”
Kuroko looked up from the teacups he was quietly arranging, blinking at the sudden attention. Without changing expression, he raised his hand slightly in return.
The two classmates at the door stared at Hinata like he’d just performed a magic trick.
“…Wait. You saw him? Just like that?” one whispered.
“We didn’t even realize he was there yet…” the other added, baffled.
Hinata tilted his head, confused by their confusion. “Huh? Yeah? He’s right there.” He jabbed a finger toward Kuroko, who was now making his way over.
“That’s so weird,” one classmate muttered. “Usually people don’t notice Kuroko until he talks to them.”
“Seriously,” the other agreed, eyeing Hinata. “It’s kind of… cool you can just spot him like that.”
Hinata puffed his chest a little, grinning mischievously. “Maybe your eyes are the problem. My eyesight’s 10/10, y’know. You guys should get yours checked.”
The classmates laughed, half exasperated, half impressed, while Kuroko finally stopped at Hinata’s side.
“You didn’t have to come looking for me,” Kuroko said evenly, though the faintest trace of warmth lingered in his tone.
“Of course I did!” Hinata replied brightly. “We’ve got free time, and I wanted to explore with you. Come on, let’s go check out the haunted house before the line gets crazy!”
Kuroko gave a small nod, then turned to his classmates, who were still watching the exchange in quiet disbelief. “I’ll be back later,” he said.
As the two walked off together, Hinata’s laughter echoing down the hall, one classmate sighed, shaking their head. “Unbelievable. He really does see Kuroko like it’s nothing.”
“Yeah,” the other replied, a little awed. “Almost like Kuroko was waiting for him.”
Hinata practically bounced down the crowded hallway, tugging lightly at Kuroko’s wrist. “C’mon, c’mon! If we don’t hurry, the line’s gonna reach the stairs!”
Kuroko let himself be pulled along, his steady steps unfazed by Hinata’s impatient skipping. “Which booth are we going to first?”
“The haunted house! Obviously!” Hinata grinned, eyes shining. “I mean, look at the decorations—who wouldn’t want to try it?”
When they reached the classroom, though, the line already snaked halfway down the hall. Hinata’s grin faltered.
“…Okay, maybe not that one,” he admitted sheepishly, scratching his cheek. “What about the ring toss game instead? Bet I can win you a prize.”
Kuroko gave him a sidelong glance. “Aren’t you the one who wants the prize?”
Hinata laughed, dragging him off again. “Details, details!”
At the game stall, Hinata threw himself into it, leaning so far forward it looked like he might topple over. Every ring bounced uselessly off the bottles.
“Aghhh! Why are these so hard?!”
Kuroko watched calmly, then stepped forward, his quiet presence almost startling the booth attendant. His throws were clean, precise—three rings, three perfect landings.
Hinata’s jaw dropped. “Oiii, no fair! You didn’t even look like you were trying!”
Kuroko handed him the small stuffed rabbit prize, his expression neutral. “You wanted this, right?”
Hinata blinked, then hugged the rabbit to his chest with a beaming smile. “…Thanks, Kuroko-kun. You’re seriously the best.”
They moved on to food stalls, Hinata insisting on trying everything. He juggled a skewer of grilled squid in one hand and a cup of yakisoba in the other, while Kuroko trailed beside him with just a small cup of shaved ice.
“You’re gonna explode if you eat all that,” Kuroko pointed out quietly.
Hinata puffed his cheeks full of noodles. “Worfth it!” he mumbled before swallowing. “Besides, festivals are for stuffing yourself, right?”
Kuroko didn’t argue, though when Hinata turned back, he noticed Kuroko sliding the shaved ice closer to him.
“…Eh? You’re giving me this too?”
“You wanted to try it,” Kuroko said simply.
Hinata stared for a second, then laughed so hard he nearly spilled his yakisoba. “You spoil me too much, Kuroko-kun!”
The afternoon slipped by in a blur of booths and laughter. And though Hinata’s energy drew the eyes of almost everyone they passed, Kuroko never strayed far from his side. He was quieter than the noise around them, steady like a shadow, but Hinata noticed him every time.
By the time they reached the courtyard again, Hinata flopped onto a bench, his arms piled with prizes and snacks. “This was the best. Way better than classwork, huh?”
Kuroko sat beside him, silent for a long moment. Then, in his usual calm voice, he said, “…It was fun.”
Hinata tilted his head, grinning. “Hehe. Glad you think so too.”
The noise of the festival washed over them—the chatter, the music, the calls from booths—but in their little corner, it felt strangely peaceful.
]
By the end of the first day of the festival, their café had nearly sold out of supplies. Tables were packed, students lingered to chat, and the room hummed with warmth and satisfaction.
Exhausted but proud, Hinata looked around at his classmates—laughing, high-fiving, already planning tomorrow’s batches of sandwiches—and thought: Yeah. This is what makes school fun.
And outside, the Cultural Festival continued to glow under the September sky, lanterns lighting the campus as the evening programs began.
.
The second day of the festival began with the whole school buzzing in brighter colors. By the time the bell rang for morning assembly, the hallways already echoed with laughter, footsteps, and the shuffle of students in coordinated outfits. Their class, too, came in proudly wearing their homeroom shirts. The fabric was soft, the doodles scattered across each shirt made them feel both playful and personal—like someone had left little pieces of inside jokes stitched onto them. On the front, the quote they’d all voted for sat neatly on the chest "Step In, Sip Slow, Stay Smiling." , bold enough to catch attention. On the back, their section name stretched like a spine, uniting them as one. And when they turned to the side, the nicknames on the shoulder sleeve peeked out like secret code between friends.
“Looks good on us, huh?” one of their classmates grinned, tugging at the hem as they caught their reflection on a window.
“Better than I thought,” someone else replied, tilting their chin so the doodles looked like they were crawling up toward their collar.
They laughed, comparing whose doodle designs ended up where, pointing out which shirt carried the funniest or strangest scribble. Some wore theirs loosely tucked into jeans, others rolled the sleeves for style, and a few had already stained theirs with festival food but carried it proudly anyway.
Hinata tugged at his hem, beaming. “It’s like we’re in a band or something!” he laughed, spinning so Midorima could see the doodle of a tiny sun sketched at the base of his spine.
“Yare yare… it suits you too much,” Midorima muttered, but there was no bite in his voice.
Everywhere, their shirts made them recognizable—when they walked by, other classes waved or called out teasingly. Some even asked about their design choices, and one student from another section whispered, “Man, we should’ve done something like that too.”
Inside their café, the atmosphere felt different now, more confident. They moved with ease, slipping behind counters or leaning against doorframes between tasks. Between bursts of conversation with customers, they found themselves stealing little breaks to watch performances on the makeshift stage outside, or taste-test each other’s drinks. The homeroom shirt made them feel like they weren’t just classmates running a booth, but a small family surviving a festival together.
While their classroom had been transformed into a cozy café they named Hikari no Kissaten (Café of Light). Wooden dividers, fake potted plants, and soft curtains gave it a warm glow, and they had borrowed chairs from other classrooms to make small two-person tables. A rotation chart was taped near the door—who would serve, who would host, who would sneak out to buy more supplies when things ran out.
Hinata was slotted for the “welcoming team” in the morning, and his popularity worked like magic. Every time the door opened, he greeted customers with his bright grin and friendly energy, almost bouncing as he handed menus over. Girls from other classes giggled on their way out, whispering how “1-C’s café has the cutest waiter.”
By midmorning, the hallways outside were alive with students in different costumes: some in kimonos for a traditional tea room, some in ghost makeup from the haunted house, others balancing trays of takoyaki. The band club blasted music from the courtyard stage, and bursts of cheers carried in through the windows.
When it was Hinata’s break, he wandered with Midorima and a couple of classmates to check out the other attractions. They got dragged into the haunted house, where Hinata screamed louder than anyone when a classmate in white makeup popped out. Midorima pushed up his glasses, unimpressed. “Predictable. You should’ve seen it coming.”
“Shut up, Midorima!” Hinata pouted, though his laughter gave him away.
Afternoon hours slowed, and the class rotated tasks again. Some students slipped out to the gymnasium, where the drama club was performing a fairy tale parody. Others browsed the courtyard flea market, buying small handmade trinkets. Hinata traded his shift to join them for a bit, collecting a doodled keychain that, to his delight, matched the sun on his shirt.
As sunset drew near, the festival energy shifted. The school grounds filled with parents and locals, the lanterns flickered to life, and the night stage in the courtyard set up for the highlight—live music and performances. Students of all grades sat on picnic blankets or huddled together, still wearing their colorful class shirts.
Hinata found himself back with 1-C, their whole section gathered in a noisy huddle near the stage. They compared doodles on each other’s shirts, swapped snacks, and laughed about customers who had ordered six parfaits in a row.
“Today… feels like it’ll stick in my head forever,” Hinata said suddenly, his eyes glowing in the lantern light.
Midorima adjusted his glasses, sitting just close enough to catch his words. “…Then don’t forget it.”
[
The courtyard below buzzed with noise—students in their homeroom shirts crowded together, faculties drifting along the stalls, the hum of anticipation building as everyone waited for the fireworks. Lanterns swayed in the evening wind, painting the walkways in warm gold.
But Hinata slipped away.
His friends had begged him to stay, but the pull was stronger—the rooftop, the wide-open sky, the thought of watching the fireworks from above instead of below. It wasn’t rebellion, not really; it was just that itch in his chest, the same one that made him climb trees as a kid just to see the world from higher.
He pushed open the heavy rooftop door, breath catching at the sight of the city lights stretching far beyond the campus. The breeze tugged at his hair, carrying with it the faint chatter of the festival below.
And then—he froze.
Someone was already there.
Akashi Seijuro stood at the edge, hands clasped behind his back, posture impossibly straight even in the dim glow. The lantern light from below reached just far enough to catch the sharp lines of his face, the gleam of his crimson eyes when he turned slightly.
“…Hinata Shouyou,” Akashi said quietly, as if he had expected him all along.
Hinata blinked, panicked for a second. “A-Akashi-kun?! Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was—”
“Stay,” Akashi interrupted, his voice calm, precise, cutting through Hinata’s nervousness like silk through air. “If you climbed up here, it means you wanted to see the same thing I did.”
Hinata’s cheeks burned, but he shuffled closer until he leaned against the railing a respectful distance away. His hands gripped the cool metal, eyes wide as the first firework burst into the sky—brilliant red, exploding over the school grounds like a blooming flower.
“Waaah…!” The sound spilled out of him before he could stop it, his grin glowing in the flashes of color. “It’s so much better up here!”
Akashi’s gaze flicked to him, then back to the fireworks. His expression barely shifted, but something in his chest stirred at the sheer brightness radiating off Hinata.
“They are the same fireworks,” Akashi murmured. “The difference is perspective.”
Hinata tilted his head, considering that, then beamed. “Then I’m glad we’re seeing them from here. Feels… special, doesn’t it?”
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them, filled only by the crackle of fireworks splitting the night sky.
Akashi’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Perhaps it does.”
And so, side by side, the prodigy and the “sunny boy” watched the fireworks light up the September night, a quiet note of recognition settling between them. Not friendship, not yet something more—neither of them could name.
]
When the music started and fireworks cracked across the sky, 1-C cheered as one, their matching shirts glowing faintly under the stage lights.
The second day of the festival closed with color, laughter, and the warm hum of youth.
.
The third morning of the festival arrived with a different kind of energy. It wasn’t just excitement anymore—it was the edge of competition, the quiet thrill that today mattered. The chatter in the corridors had shifted; instead of loud, carefree voices, there was a nervous undertone, like the school itself was holding its breath. Judges from the faculty and the student council would be making rounds to decide the “Best Booth,” “Best Performance,” and “Most Original Concept.” For first years, especially, the pressure was real—it was their debut on the school stage.
Class 1-C gathered early, already in their festival shirts, buzzing as they checked supplies and rearranged table settings. Someone tugged at the curtains to make sure they were even, another dusted chalkboard menus with a sleeve. Hinata stood at the front door of Hikari no Kissaten , bouncing on his heels, his bright orange hair catching the morning sunlight that filtered through the window.
“Okay! We’re not just gonna serve today—we’re gonna blow their socks off!” he declared, punching the air.
“Calm down,” Midorima muttered, adjusting his glasses as his eyes darted to the neatly drawn rotation chart on the wall. His voice was steady, but the way he straightened his shoulders betrayed his own tension. “We should make sure there’s no shortage when the judges arrive. Order is crucial.”
A classmate snickered, whispering just loud enough, “Mido-kun sounds more nervous than Shouyou-kun.”
Hinata laughed, grinning wide. “Eh, that’s fine! We need serious people and loud people—it’s balanced!” He gave Midorima a playful thumbs-up, which earned him a low grumble but also a reluctant twitch of amusement on Midorima’s lips.
The café opened with a steady stream of visitors. At first it felt like any other day—smiling, serving, cleaning—but everyone knew this wasn’t normal. Every clatter of trays, every squeak of chairs felt sharper, heavier, under the knowledge that somewhere, at some point, the student council members would walk through. Conversations were softer, movements were crisper; it was as if even breathing too loudly might break the delicate rhythm of their teamwork.
And then they did.
The door slid open, and the chatter hushed instantly. Akashi Seijuro himself stepped into the café with two council members in tow. His presence was quiet but commanding, and the atmosphere shifted with his entrance, like gravity had doubled. Crimson eyes swept across the room in one smooth glance, taking in every detail—the arrangement of tables, the pastel chalkboard menus, the soft lantern light that cast a warm glow, the efficiency of the staff moving in sync.
His gaze lingered, just briefly, on Hinata, who was mid-spin setting down a parfait with a little flourish. Hinata nearly tripped over his own foot but somehow managed to steady the plate before flashing his brightest grin.
“Welcome to Hikari no Kissaten!” Hinata chirped, voice clear and steady despite the little skip in his heartbeat. For just a flicker, Akashi’s expression softened at the energy radiating from him before he turned back to examine the menu with clinical focus.
The council ordered, sampled, and observed, jotting down notes while scanning the room. Hinata’s classmates, faces slightly pink with nerves, put on their brightest smiles, working seamlessly as if they had rehearsed for this very moment. The trays were balanced, the water poured just right, the parfaits layered beautifully. Even Midorima’s movements—precise and deliberate—seemed sharper, like every detail mattered.
By the time Akashi and the others left, whispers filled the room like a dam had broken. “He didn’t find any flaws, right?” “Did they smile? Did he nod?” “Was that a good thing or a bad thing?” Hinata plopped against the wall, exhaling dramatically.
“I think I just shaved five years off my life,” he mumbled, earning a round of laughter that loosened everyone’s nerves.
The rest of the day swept forward in a blur of visitors. The school buzzed with last-minute runs to other booths: the tea ceremony room smelled of fresh matcha, shrieks echoed from the haunted house, and the light music club blasted an encore in the courtyard, the sound of guitars carrying through the hallways. Hinata dashed between shifts—sometimes serving, sometimes lured away by classmates who tugged him toward other attractions.
“Sho-kun! Haunted house with us!”
“No way! I screamed too much yesterday!”
“Which is exactly why you’re coming again.”
Midorima watched this chaos unfold with crossed arms, eventually sighing and following after the group, muttering something about “keeping idiots alive.”
By late afternoon, the closing ceremony gathered the entire school back in the gymnasium. The space was packed and buzzing, banners from the festival framing the stage. The air was thick with anticipation—everyone wanted to know if their hard work had paid off.
The principal gave his congratulatory speech, followed by the head of the festival committee. Then, finally, the results.
“Best Performance goes to… the Drama Club’s Cinderella Reversed! ” Cheers erupted from the back rows, the actors jumping to their feet.
“Most Original Concept goes to… Class 3-A’s Retro Arcade! ” Applause filled the hall as a group of seniors high-fived, their pride obvious.
“And for Best Booth…” The pause stretched unbearably long. Hinata squeezed the hem of his shirt, heart pounding. “The award goes to… Class 1-C’s Hikari no Kissaten!”
The gymnasium thundered with applause. Hinata practically shot out of his seat, pumping his fists as his classmates screamed in delight, hugging one another. Midorima, though calmer, allowed himself the faintest smile as their homeroom teacher ushered them to the stage.
Hinata stood among his classmates, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing as he waved the award in the air. The spotlight caught their matching shirts, doodles and all, making them look less like a group of first years and more like a team—a family.
As the ceremony ended and students spilled into the courtyard one last time, lanterns swaying gently in the night breeze, Hinata leaned against the railing with Midorima at his side. The festival grounds were still glowing, music and laughter carrying on the air.
“Winning’s cool and all,” Hinata said after a long silence, his eyes fixed on the fireworks waiting to launch, “but I think I liked… just being together more. Laughing, messing up, running around like crazy. It felt… alive.”
Midorima adjusted his glasses, following his gaze upward. “…That’s what festivals are for.”
And when the fireworks cracked over Teiko one last time, painting the September night in bursts of red and gold, Hinata felt it sink into his bones. This memory—this festival—wasn’t something he’d ever forget.
The Cultural Festival ended not with silence, but with cheers echoing long after the night sky went dark.
The sun was already dipping low when the first-year Student Council gathered in the small meeting room at the end of the west wing. The tables had been pushed into a square, paper stacks and pencils scattered between them, and the faint hum of the building’s old heater filled the silence as students shuffled into their seats.
Hinata plopped down on the edge of his chair, his legs bouncing almost immediately. He’d already survived Sports Week, a festival, and the shock of somehow becoming a council member, but nothing had prepared him for this: an honest-to-goodness, hours-long meeting .
The agenda was simple on paper— plans for the upcoming school excursion . But judging from the thick packet in front of him, it was anything but simple in reality.
“First-years will have their excursion in late October,” the faculty advisor began, adjusting her glasses. “Destination suggestions have been narrowed to Kyoto, Hiroshima, and Nagano. The Council will discuss and vote after considering transportation, budget, and educational merit.”
Murmurs rippled around the room. Kyoto had temples and culture, Hiroshima carried weight and history, Nagano offered fresh air and open space. Everyone had opinions.
The Auditor named Yuto leaned forward immediately, his smile bright. “Kyoto! Obviously! Imagine all the photos.”
With the Secretary Emi pushed up her glasses, her voice sharp. “Hiroshima is more significant for historical value. As student leaders, we should prioritize education, not frivolous sightseeing.”
Hinata raised his hand, bouncing in his chair. “Nagano sounds fun too, though! Like—we could hike, see the mountains, breathe fresh air! Plus, less chance of me getting lost in a crowd.”
Some of the room chuckled. The advisor raised a brow but jotted down the points.
The debate spiraled, first-years throwing pros and cons back and forth, voices overlapping until the room grew loud. At the head of the table, however, one figure sat perfectly still. Akashi Seijuro, silent until now, finally cleared his throat.
The noise cut instantly.
“Excursions are not vacations,” he said, voice smooth but commanding. “They are an extension of our education. Therefore, Kyoto provides balance—history, culture, and manageable logistics. Hiroshima should be reserved for when students are more mature, able to appreciate the weight of what they will witness. Nagano, while refreshing, lacks the academic value required.”
He paused, eyes scanning the table. “This is not a matter of opinion. It is a matter of purpose.”
For a moment, no one argued. The silence held, heavy, until Hinata blurted—without thinking—
“...But can’t it also be fun?”
Heads whipped toward him. Hinata scratched the back of his head sheepishly, his grin crooked. “I mean—yeah, Kyoto’s great. But… It's also about memories, right? Stuff we’ll talk about years from now. Like getting lost in a temple or eating too much matcha ice cream. If we only think about what’s ‘proper,’ won’t we miss what makes it special? We still have the next two years, so let’s our first year be quite free—like a breather.”
The room was silent again. This time, the weight of it felt different. Akashi’s crimson gaze fixed on him, unreadable, as if measuring something deeper than just Hinata’s words.
Finally, Akashi spoke. “...Interesting perspective.”
That was all. He shifted his gaze, moving to the next item on the agenda as though nothing had happened. But Hinata felt his ears burning, his heart racing from the way those crimson eyes had lingered on him.
The meeting dragged for another hour—transportation budgets, group assignments, risk management. Hinata doodled in the margins of his notes, fighting to stay awake, until finally, the advisor dismissed them.
Students shuffled out, stretching stiff shoulders and groaning about the late hour. Hinata yawned loudly, gathering his messy stack of papers.
“Representative Hinata.”
He froze. The voice was calm, precise. He turned to see Akashi standing by the door, his expression as smooth as ever.
“You argue without polish. But you argue with sincerity. Remember—sincerity leaves no room for doubt.”
Hinata blinked, wide-eyed, before breaking into a grin. “Hehe… thanks? I think? Um…”
“...Is there something you want?”
Hinata scratched his cheek, blurting before he could stop himself. “Can I have your number? …Akashi-san.”
Silence. His fellow council were long gone, but the pause felt louder than their chatter. Hinata’s stomach flipped.
Then, at last, Akashi’s lips curved faintly and then finally, Akashi’s gaze softened—barely. ‘Direct. Unexpectedly. Very well.’
“The meeting is over. So is the day. I’ll walk you home, Hinata.”
Hinata’s ears burned. He wasn’t sure if this was kindness or an order. Maybe both.