Chapter Text
Chapter One: The Cover Boy Meltdown
Bokuto Kotaro was the loudest about being chosen for the cover. Louder than Oikawa’s fanbase. Louder than Tendo’s live-tweeting fingers. Possibly louder than Kageyama’s freak quick at Nationals. He discovered it at 7:02 a.m., right outside a 7-Eleven.
The city was still half-asleep, trains yawning to life, office workers sipping convenience-store coffee, when Bokuto’s shriek split through Tokyo like a cracked volleyball against a gym wall.
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! IT’S ME!!!”
The poor store clerk, who had been quietly stacking the latest magazine issue onto the shelf, froze. Customers turned. A pigeon on the powerline above startled into flight.
Bokuto held up the glossy magazine with both hands, like a prophet descending from the mountain with holy scripture. There he was: hair wild, grin feral, jersey collar slightly undone. The bold headline screamed.
“COVER STAR: THE RISE OF BOKUTO KOTARO.”
He staggered back a step, eyes wide, voice breaking. “I… I’m on the cover. I’M A STAR. I MADE IT!”
By 7:04 a.m., Bokuto had slammed thirty-seven copies of the magazine onto the counter.
The clerk blinked at him. “Uh… sir?”
“I NEED THEM ALL,” Bokuto declared, slapping his credit card down with the force of destiny. “One for me. One for Akaashi. One for my mom. One for every gym in Tokyo. One to tape to my bathroom mirror for morning motivation. One to hide in Kuroo’s backpack so he thinks I’m haunting him. And… AND… I’ll need backups, just in case.”
The register beeped weakly as it tried to process the sale.
By the time Bokuto left the store, he was staggering under the weight of several plastic bags bursting with his own face. Fans on their morning commute snapped pictures immediately.
One tweet went viral within minutes.
@VolleyballObsessed:
“MAN BUYS HIMSELF. WE RESPECT THE SELF-LOVE.”
Bokuto (bursting into the Fukurodani alumni GC):
“GUYS!!! I’M ON THE COVER!! OF A MAGAZINE!! LIKE A REAL STAR!!”
Akaashi: “…Yes, Bokuto-san. That’s generally how magazine covers work.”
Bokuto: “DO YOU THINK PEOPLE WILL FRAME IT?? DO YOU THINK I SHOULD SIGN MY OWN COPY??”
Konoha: “We’ve lost him.”
Washio: “He was never found to begin with.”
Cue chaos: Bokuto bought 37 copies from that one convenience store, singlehandedly crashing their stock system. The clerk just nodded slowly as Bokuto swiped his card with the energy of a man purchasing destiny.
Meanwhile, Akaashi followed behind, carrying the receipts like a regretful parent who told their child they could pick one toy at Toys “R” Us and then watched the child sprint down every aisle.
Later in the Group Chat:
Bokuto: “I THINK THIS IS MY PEAK.”
Akaashi: “…I pray it isn’t.”
Konoha: “Bro, you’re gonna end up on a future NHK documentary titled ‘Athlete Crashes Economy via Magazine Hoarding.’”
Bokuto: “Worth it.”
Konoha: “…You don’t even read magazines.”
Bokuto: “I WILL NOW! I’M EDUCATED!”
Washio: “Educated in what? Your own eyebrows??”
Cross-Team Reactions (because word travels FAST in Haikyuu alumni circles)
Oikawa (in his own GC): “Excuse me. I INVENTED the magazine cover meltdown.”
Iwaizumi: “No, you invented crying at customs because the flight attendant didn’t recognize you.”
Tendo (on Twitter): “BREAKING: Bokuto spotted buying himself. Healthy ego, 12/10, I support it.”
Kuroo (sliding into Fukurodani GC uninvited): “Hey, Bokuto, you know what’s cooler than 37 magazines?”
Bokuto: “What???”
Kuroo: “38.”
Akaashi: “…Please leave.”
Lev: “Wait, wait, do they come with posters???”
Yaku: “LEV DO NOT ENCOURAGE HIM.”
Bokuto Kotaro was not the kind of man who planned. He was the kind of man who announced ideas at full volume and then bulldozed his way through them until the universe either surrendered or collapsed under his energy.
So when he declared, “I’m going to hold a fan event!” nobody should have been surprised.
What he meant, however, was not a carefully scheduled, security-approved signing session with organized lines and ticket numbers. No, what Bokuto meant was climbing onto a public bench outside Shibuya Station with a Sharpie in his hand and a stack of magazines under his arm.
The evening rush was just beginning. Office workers hurried past with briefcases, students loitered near the crossings, and the big screens above the scramble were flashing ads no one paid attention to. Into this orderly chaos burst Bokuto, balancing on the bench like a carnival barker, eyes shining, voice booming.
“SHIBUYA!!! ARE YOU READY TO LIVE YOUR DREAMS??!!”
Pedestrians stopped. Some squinted. One child clutched his mother’s hand and whispered, “Is that a street performer?”
Bokuto, undeterred, brandished the glossy magazine above his head. His own face sparkled from the cover under the neon lights.
“BEHOLD!! YOUR HERO!! SIGNED COPIES, RIGHT HERE!! ONLY ONE PER DESTINY!!”
He ripped open the bag, pulled one out, scrawled his name across the cover with so much force the Sharpie squeaked, and shoved it at the nearest person, a middle-aged businessman just trying to get home.
“LIVE YOUR DREAMS!! SIGNED, ME!!”
The man blinked down at the magazine.“…I was just waiting for my train.”
“AND NOW YOU’RE WAITING FOR GREATNESS!” Bokuto declared, pounding his chest.
From the sidelines, Akaashi leaned against a lamppost, arms crossed, expression set to long-suffering assistant manager of chaos. He could practically feel his dignity shrinking with every autograph Bokuto forced onto bewildered strangers.
“I’d like to formally apologize to Tokyo,” he muttered under his breath.
The Crowd Grows. Word spreads quickly in Shibuya. Within minutes, a small crowd had formed, not necessarily of fans, but of curious passersby. Some recognized him, whispering, “Isn’t that the volleyball guy?” Others simply accepted the free magazine because, well, free.
“FOLLOW YOUR HEART!!” Bokuto cried, pressing a copy into a university student’s hands.
“EAT YOUR VEGETABLES!!” he advised a confused high schooler.
To a startled grandmother clutching her shopping bag, he shouted: “AGE IS JUST A NUMBER, OBASAN!! SPIKE INTO THE SUNSET!!”
The grandmother beamed and shuffled off with her signed magazine, probably Bokuto’s only true fan of the night.
The scene caught the attention of a few familiar faces.
Kuroo, passing by on his way to meet Kenma, stopped dead.
“…Is that—?”
“Yep,” Kenma said without looking up from his Switch.
“On a bench?”
“Yep.”
“…Signing his own magazines?”
Kenma finally glanced up, dead-eyed.
“You’re surprised why?”
Kuroo smirked and immediately pulled out his phone, dialing Oikawa.
“Oiiiii, guess who’s holding a cult rally in Shibuya?”
Five minutes later, Oikawa himself showed up, sunglasses on despite the darkening sky, dragging Iwaizumi behind him.
“What is this?!” Oikawa shrieked. “This is MY brand! I was born for dramatic public meltdowns!”
Iwaizumi groaned. “Don’t you dare join him…”
Too late. Bokuto spotted Oikawa in the crowd. “COVER BOY BROTHERS!!” he roared.
“No,” Akaashi said instantly. “Absolutely not.”
But Oikawa was already on the bench beside Bokuto, adjusting his shades and snatching a Sharpie.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “you are now in the presence of greatness squared.”
The businessmen shuffled away faster.
By evening, the so-called “fan event” had fizzled. Security politely asked them to step down. Akaashi physically hauled Bokuto away by the collar while Oikawa pouted about missed opportunities for “brand synergy.”
When they finally returned to Bokuto’s apartment, Akaashi thought, hoped that the ordeal was over. He was wrong.
The moment he opened the door, he realized Bokuto had been busy earlier that day.
Every wall was plastered with copies of the magazine. Neat towers of them filled the corners like unstable pillars. One hung framed above the bed. Another taped crookedly above the kitchen sink. A third peeked out of the bathroom like a jumpscare.
It was less an apartment and more… a shrine. To himself.
Akaashi stood in the doorway for a long moment, silent. Finally, he muttered, “…It’s like living inside your ego.”
Bokuto turned, beaming, arms spread wide to showcase his new “decor.” “EXACTLY!!”
Akaashi shut the door behind him, resigned to his fate.