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Kindaichi supresses a full-body shiver at the loud, resounding smack as Sakusa Kiyoomi scores a no-touch ace. The power behind and the speed of the serve was remarkable, and Kindaichi was pretty sure if he tried to receive the serve, his arm might just fall off. Kindaichi didn’t know any seventeen years could have such strength. The closest he can remember is Oikawa’s, but even then, he had never seen a serve so with such a nasty spin. Even Ushiwaka’s southpaw would cower in shame in front of it.
He glances at his team: Yahaba looks terrified, Kunimi isn’t even watching the match, Watari’s eyes are wide as he stares at the court and Kyotani doesn’t look too bothered, eyes shining with anticipation. Among the first years, a few looks as if they may cry just thinking about having to receive that monster serve when they play against Itachiyama. Kindaichi honestly relates to that.
Except, after the momentary shock, when he returns his attention, Miya Atsumu is laughing and Sakusa Kiyoomi looks pissed off, glaring daggers at the setter.
“Omi-kun,” Atsumu chuckles, laugh fading as his eyes hood and he levels Sakusa with a blank yet terrifying look. “If you aren’t gonna play with all you got, then leave the court.”
What?
“I will serve however I want.” Sakusa Kiyoomi glowers.
“Omi-omi! That was a weak serve.” Atsumu growls. “Are ye underestimating us?”
Weak serve?!
Yeah, Seijoh first years, Kindaichi will go ahead and start crying now. Weak serve? Weak serve? What the fuck?
“Shut up, Miya.” Sakusa says, ignoring the following spluttering as he returns to the edge of the court.
His attention snaps back into the game when Miya Atsumu takes an overly familiar pose, arms crossed, and one hand curled around his chin. He grins wickedly, “Y’know what Oikawa Tooru says right? If yer gon’ hit it, hit it until it breaks.”
He didn’t even know Miya Atsumu knew who Oikawa Tooru was. Wow, he feels a bit touched, pride swelling in his chest as he takes the compliment to his ex-captain like it was his own.
Sakusa rolls his eyes. “If I was you, I’d be worried about losing my head right about now. I might just give you the concussion I promised earlier.”
“Oh God,” Miya Osamu butts in. “I beg yer Sakusa, do it.”
Atsumu sticks his tongue childishly at Sakusa before kicking his twin. “Both of yer don’t deserve my amazing sets. Horrible people, both of you.”
From the sidelines, Inarizaki’s coach chuckles, shaking his head as if having the starting setter of his team, who also happens to be the unparalleled best in the high-school circuit, be threatened by a member of the opposing team with a concussion is a normal occurrence.
From behind Kindaichi, a familiar voice calls out, “Sakusa-san, if you give him a concussion before I get to serve at his head, I will give you a concussion.”
Kageyama was wiping his forehead with his bib nonchalantly as if he didn’t just threaten an opposing team member. Behind him, the scoreboard read 23-25, indicating Karasuno had won their set with Shinzen.
Miya Atsumu squeaks “Hey!” at the same time as Sakusa Kiyoomi gives one exaggerated eyeroll, lips pinching upward.
“No one is giving anyone a concussion.” Itachiyama’s libero interjects, “Kiyoomi, behave.”
Kiyoomi glowers at the libero.
Kindaichi, however could barely pay any mind to any of that because he was still reeling from the facts that:
- Inarizaki’s coach does not mind his starting setter, the captain of his team, getting a concussion when Inter-High is around the corner. A concussion especially caused by someone who can easily pass as the most powerful outside hitter in the high school circuit and whose hits are strong enough to dislocate shoulders let alone necks.
- Miya Atsumu’s reaction implies it’s a normal occurrence.
- Kageyama openly and casually threatened not only the best outside hitter in high school but also the best setter in high school. And none of them batted an eye.
- Kageyama threatened two people. Like one would a friend. It sounded like an inside joke. Kageyama has inside jokes with people?
Itachiyama’s coach finally decided to put an end to the bantering and get back into the game, blowing the whistle and snapping Kindaichi out of his thoughts. He focused fiercely on the game—no point in wondering things that has no effect on his gameplay.
The next serve Sakusa Kiyoomi sends toward Inarizaki is faster, more forceful than the one before, and with a spin nastier than the one before. Miya Atsumu really was speaking the truth when he called the previous serve weak.
The serve bounces off Miya Osamu’s arms, giving yet another point to Itachiyama.
Miya Atsumu grins—a grin so hungry that Kindaichi almost reels back. Hinata winces loudly, questioning Kageyama about why the receive failed. Kindaichi glances back, also interested in the answer. Kageyama smirks like a cat who got the cream as he hits Hinata on the head with his water bottle, albeit lightly, before he answers.
Hinata looks completely unbothered by the unnecessary violence, preening up at Kageyama with eager eyes.
“Sakusa-san has hyper flexible wrists and,” He moves his hand up and snaps his wrists, “When he spikes, rather than going whoosh, the ball goes whish.”
Kindaichi’s brows raise, confusion only magnifying. Hinata, however, doesn’t seem to have that problem. He nods enthusiastically.
“Oh, so like Ushiwaka’s but rather than wham it’s more like fyip.” Is it just Kindaichi or did like no one else understand a thing that was just said? Just him? Cool, cool, totally cool.
“That’s what I just said, dumbass.”
“Whatever.” Whatever indeed, Kindaichi very much appreciates keeping his singular braincell out of any situation that might cause the slightest confusion. He can’t have that last braincell dying on him, he’s actually gonna needs it if he wants to make it out of this training camp in one piece.
The whistle blows again, Sakusa returning for his third serve. This time No. 3 from Inarizaki manages to pick it up, the receive slightly shaky. Kindaichi knows it’s impossible to set, but with the amount of shock he has gotten since today morning, he can’t really say that he kind of didn’t expect it when Miya Atsumu bends backward, balanced firmly by his core strength as he sets a quick to his brother.
The game continues for much longer than expected, Itachiyama’s solid defence countering Inarizaki’s unpredictable offense; Inarizaki’s coordinated, almost single-minded defence going against Sakusa’s offensive. In the end, it’s Inarizaki who comes out on top, taking the set with 38 to Itachiyama’s 36.
Smugness rolls off Miya Atsumu in waves as he smirks across the net. Kindaichi isn’t the most creative person out there but he is pretty sure that on the other side of the court, a dark cloud is forming around Sakusa as a panicked Komori Motoya pats his back in faux comfort.
With lunch time near, the coaches decide to halt matches temporarily, letting them do drills of their own choice while they match up teams for the afternoon practice.
Someone coughs on the Fukorodani side of the court and immediately Karasuno and Nekoma make a beeline toward where the new captain of the powerhouse, that currently ranks second in the nation, is standing on a bench.
“Akaashi.” He hears Karasuno’s captain sigh. “I trust you so handle them while I catch a breather. My heart is about to give out from all this excitement.”
Nekoma’s captain, who he now knows as Yamamoto, mumbles something similar before both him and Karasuno’s captain—ah, Ennoshita—collapses at one corner, still close enough to their team, but far enough that they can feign ignorance to whatever chaos is occurring around them.
Kindaichi wishes he could do that. He would love that. Alas, he is already being surrounded by eager first years who are waiting for instructions from him because their lovely, most competent captain, Yahaba has ditched them with him and ran off to the toilets as soon as Inarizaki took the set.
Looking around in a last-ditch attempt to ignore the growing restlessness, he tries to find Watari but, like this best frien, the libero is also nowhere to be seen. He knows better than to trust Kunimi and Kyotani to get anything done.
With a defeated sigh, he accepts his fate as the voice of reason, forced to bear the responsibility and try fit into the shoes that feel too big for someone like him—someone like him who can never live up to Iwaizumi’s natural ability to make everyone listen.
Before he can come up with a drill that can keep his juniors occupied, his soul is startled out of him by a volleyball whipping past his head. He snaps back to focus, confused as to why the fuck a volleyball almost hit him when all he’d been doing is standing there and having a mild existential crisis.
The answer comes into view soon enough: Miya Osamu stomping past him, armed with three volleyballs. He looks furious. Hmm? No. He looks exasperated—a little tired, a lot angrier but not exactly furious.
Kindaichi automatically turns his head to follow the male on his mission to slam volleyballs to his brother’s head. The Kansai accent is too thick for him to properly make out anything that’s being yelled across the court, but hey, its free entertainment and the first years are distracted which means Kindaichi doesn’t need to think about being vice-captain and thus his responsibilities, so who cares really?
“Can you not throw our volleyballs at your stupid brother?” A familiar voice calls out, annoyance clear in his voice. Shirabu looks like he hasn’t slept in days, dark circles under his eyes and hair matted with sweat. “I really don’t have enough energy to deal with Coach when he finds out how four of our volleyballs burst.”
“They are not gonna burst.” No.3 from Inarizaki pipes in. “Atsumu has a volleyball for a head.”
“I don’t really give a shit. I’m gonna be the one getting yelled at even if a fucking meteor drops from the sky right now.” Shirabu sighs, shoulders sagging, “If anyone wants to commit murder, do it outside of the school campus. I do not want to deal with the fallout.”
No.3 frowns, but he doesn’t formulate a response fast enough. Shirabu is already walking past him already. So instead, he rolls his eyes, slouching even more prominently and taking his phone out from somewhere. He isn’t even anywhere near his bag.
Kindaichi really should stop getting surprised at this point. Clearly, since this morning started, he has learned that there exists a whole another micro universe he has no idea about. No.3 could have Doraemon’s magic pocket for all he knows. Maybe, Kunimi was right, he does need a vacation.
With the disappearance of the Miya Twins and nothing more interesting happening, Kindaichi forces his attention back to the first years.
“Okay guys,” he says, clearing his throat and attempting to sound more authoritative. “You saw what kind of serves they do at the Nationals. If we wanna keep up, our receives need to improve. A hundred suicide digs it is.”
The first years groan as Kindaichi ushers them out to the side of the gym. Suddenly, yes once again it is very sudden because apparently these national bound teams can’t ever be consistent about anything, Hoshiumi Kourai is standing inside the middle court, and yelling. It takes a moment to register that its names he is calling out.
Kindaichi tries not to focus on it but when Kageyana’s name is called he finds himself naturally drawn in.
“Code red.” Hoshiumi is yelling. “SakuKomo has disappeared. I repeat, code red. SakuKomo has disappeared.”
What the hell is a SakuKomo now?
“Where the fuck is Miya when you need him?” The guy from Shinzen, Chiya or something curses, running to the window closest to him.
“Getting killed by his twin probably.” Kageyama replies, straying from where he was gathered with Karasuno. His team, oh thank God Kindaichi isn’t the only one, looks confused. Very confused. Actually, so does most of the people in the hall right now.
Well except for that middle blocker from Kamomedai who looks exhausted and Suna Rintarou, no. 3 of Inarizaki, who looks amused. And well, Hoshiumi, Chigaya and Kageyama. And Itachiyama who looks collectively constipated.
“No, no, no he can’t die now.” Hoshiumi yells, “We are this close. No way he’s dying and leaving us alone to suffer. Suna Rintarou, get your boyfriend to stop killing Atsumu.”
No.3, Suna Rintarou, raises an eyebrow before rolling his eyes and promptly ignoring the mess in front of his eyes. Honestly, Kindaichi wishes he had that much self-restraint. It would make life so much easier. Also, where the fuck is Kunimi? He needs to see this.
“One Miya Osamu spotted.” Chigaya yells from where he is basically plastered against the window. “Where the fuck is Miya Atsumu?”
“As long as his body isn’t left to rot anywhere near the clubhouse, it’s fine.” Shirabu pipes in, not even bothering to look up from the humongous textbook he has spread across his lap.
“I’d hope my boyfriend has more common sense than that really.” Suna snorts, tapping away at his phone.
“One piss-haired bastard spotted.” Chigaya informs, “Our soldier is returning from war.”
“Was kinda hoping he died, but I will take what I get.” Kageyama sighs in disappointment as if wishing death on a rival setter is a normal thing. What the fuck, Kageyama? Since when are you like this?
The gym door bursts open—who even closed it?—and Miya Atsumu collapses on the ground. “SakuKomo…” he pants, “They were—”
As if a breath of life had been blown through the room, three figure jump from their spots and almost tackle the setter to the ground although the poor guy was already on the ground.
“SakuKomo what?” They chorus. Even Kageyama. Wow Kageyama can be this fired up about something other than volleyball then?
“I saw…by vending machine…” For Kindaichi it doesn’t make any sense. For the three its aimed toward—well they light up, Hoshiumi hollering before he is dragging a half-lying Miya Atsumu out of the gym, closely followed by the other two.
As if on command, as soon as they disappear off the view, Sakusa Kiyoomi and Komori Motoya comes in through the door, Komori snickering and Sakusa’s brows doing wonderful acrobatics on his forehead.
Suna Rintarou collapses on the floor, bending over as he howls. “You should have seen them. You can see them, I have pictures.”
Itachiyama releases a sigh of relief. “Do you know how hard it was to hold in our laughs? Nahayama almost spilled your secrets.” Itachiyama’s captain wails.
“Hey!” Someone—Nahayama probably, quips in. “They looked so passionate. Reminded me of our reddit blog from first year. Afterall, 1-7 was the most avid shippers of SakuKomo.”
Komori giggles, “One of you should have pointed it out. I’d have loved to see the expression on their faces. Sunarin send me those pictures.”
“How long are we going to have to do this?” Sakusa Kiyoomi hisses, brows furrowing.
“Chill out, Omi-kun.” Itachiyama’s captain giggles, “It’s like a reward.” Then as if to clarify, “For us. Not for you. Or Motoya. I hope you keep suffering for the collective trauma you caused the entire Class of 2013. More actually, I still remember Yui senpai wiping her snot on Iizuna senpai’s jersey after we found out the truth.”
“Oh, I am not suffering.” Motoya snorts, “I have never felt more alive.”
At the same time, Sakusa stomps out of the sports hall, hissing out another, “How is it my damn fault that—”
Kindaichi looks around the room—even the usually nonchalant Shiratorizawa is intrigued, judging by how Goshiki is leaning forward. Tsukishima, unbothered by the chaos happening around him, is munching on a protein bar as he scrolls through his phone, is the only one who isn’t looking around trying to make sense of whatever is happening.
Akaashi, Fukurodani’s captain sighs, clapping his hand as he calls for attention from the three teams gathered at his feet.
Even Kindaichi is drawn in by the sheer confidence being exuded.
“Ten more minutes and then its mixed team.” He narrows his eyes, glaring at the setter from Nekoma, “Kenma, put that damn console down and eat your damn banana.”
Yamamoto guffaws from his seat about five paces away, sharing an orange with Ennoshita. “Damn Akaashi, you really sounded like Kuroo-san just now.”
Akaashi sighs, exhausted, “If you had that pain-in-the-ass bedhead blowing up your phone at 6 am requesting you to take care of his best friend—”
“Oh, I already do.” Yamamoto cuts him off, “You just learn to ignore it. Or pass it on to Fukunaga.”
“The respect I have for you just reached a whole another level just now,” Ennoshita laughs, passing him a clove of the orange, “You should be allowed to put professional babysitter in your CV.”
“Yeah well.” Akaashi grumbles. “At least Bokuto-san is doing better.”
Twenty minutes later, Kageyama slinks into the gym, dragging his feet in a very unlikely show of childishness.
Behind him, the middle blocker from Chigaya looks equally petulant.
The third years, on the other hand, are nowhere to be seen.
At this point Kindaichi is expecting one of their completely unsurprised teammates to drop another murder joke out there for everyone to hear.
And just like clockwork, Miya Osamu fulfils that role, glowing almost as he eagerly asks, “Did Hoshiumi finally get that bastard?”
Kageyama lets out a sigh so big, Kindaichi almost expects to hear a confirmation. “No, I wish, but no. They are wrestling a vending machine.”
Chigaya sighs, “If that machine breaks, Kageyama and I are here to clear our names. We have nothing to do with that.”
“Why do you look this exhausted if you have nothing to do with all that?” Shirabu asks the question bubbling in his soul, judgemental as always.
“Try dealing with Miya Atsumu and Hoshiumi Kourai at once.” Chigaya shoots back, plopping himself on the floor, right there in front of the gym doors. Kageyama follows him, spreading his leads out in front of him.
“Try dealing with them when they are convinced they are doing the absolute right thing.” Kageyama tacks on. “They are like energy vampires.”
“Kageyama Tobio of all people saying that?” Tsukishima speaks up for the first time since all of this chaos started, “Have you looked in the mirror?”
“Right,” Tanaka laughs, “You and Hinata aren’t much different.”
“Hey!” Hinata crows from beside him, “Why am I being slandered all of a sudden?”
“Victory!” Twin voices yell from outside as Miya Atsumu and Hoshiumi Kourai make their appearance behind Chigaya and Kageyama’s collapsed forms. They each hold four drinks in their hands, smiling wide and bright.
Kageyama and Chigaya flinch in unison. Miya Atsumu nudges a knee in Kageyama’s back until he lets out another world-weary sigh and turns his head to give the much-sought attention.
His eyes light up immediately at seeing the goodies in Atsumu’s arms. He immediately snatches a carton of milk from his arms, exhaling in relief once he’s had a sip.
“I’ll try breaking your arms instead,” He swears wholeheartedly. “The concussion can wait.”
“Such graciousness, why thank you, Your Highness.” Miya Atsumu replies, rolling his eyes. He offers a sickly-sweet smile, “Just because I’m being a good senpai now doesn’t mean I won’t be trying to smash a volleyball or two in your face later.”
Kindaichi faintly wonders if someone should really get these All-Japan candidates into some sort of therapy. There’s been a whole lot of second-degree murder being announced left and right. The future of Japanese volleyball seem to be grim if all their talents are intent on committing manslaughter on each other.
“What did I say about intentional injury?” Komori Motoya’s stern voice rings out from across the room. Ah, finally a voice of reason. Maybe, Kindaichi will be able to finish this training camp from hell without any career-ending injuries occurring in front of his eyes.
“If you are intent on violence on court, limit it to a nosebleed or two.”
Ah, nevermind. Kindaichi feels a headache forming at the back of his head.
“Komori-san!”
“Toya-kun?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“When the hell did ya come back in here?”
Yeah, the headache is fully formed.
Kindaichi desperately looks for a clock, begging that night is already here even though the sky outside is still light and bright.
The clock reads 2:10pm.
Ugh.
He can’t take another hour of this.
“What are you talking about? We have been here all this time.” Komori Motoya, who definitely hadn’t been here all this time, replies, motioning between him and Sakusa beside him.
There is one moment where everything is calm and then that calm fractures into smithereens.
Miya Atsumu looks at Kageyama who looks at Chigaya who looks at Hoshiumi who looks back at Motoya.
Kageyama’s carton of milk gives a loud slurp as it empties.
Then, Hoshiumi is launching himself at Komori with the fury of a thousand seagulls, shaking him by the shoulders as he fires ineligible question one after another. Komori, to his credit and Kindaichi’s horror, smiles serenely.
“Sakusa went to get some space away from all the chatter, and I went to the toilet?” He says once Hoshiumi collapses beside him, exhausted and petrified. “Why? Were you guys looking for us?”
Someone on the Itachiyama side definitely bursts out laughing before quickly hiding it behind a cough.
Miya Atsumu sputters, mouth opening and closing and opening and closing, his arms lax and shoulders drooped. Thankfully, all the cartons of milk and juice are already safely deposited on the floor.
“But—I—no—I—y—huh?”
Chigaya looks from Atsumu to Komori to Sakusa to Hoshiumi, shares a look with Kageyama before they both fully starfish on the floor, almost knocking Atsumu off his feet.
“The hell I care anymore.” Chigaya scoffs to the gym ceiling.
“Only volleyball is worth trusting.” Kageyama offers sagely.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sakusa speaks up finally, frowning so hard its imprinting on the mask. Kindaichi is almost impressed at his ability to make his displeasure so obviously evident.
Miya Atsumu is still gaping, now on all fours as he speedruns an existential crisis.
The shutter of multiple phones is ultimately the thing that gets his soul back in his body, immediately springing up and lunging at his brother and Suna Rintarou.
Really, Kindaichi thinks, what the hell did he ever do to end up here?