Chapter Text
Reunion Match
The banners of the All-Star Special Match gleamed under the bright gym lights, the Volleyball Association’s logo splashed across every corner. Reporters crowded the sidelines, fans filled the stands to bursting, and Kenma’s company had cameras stationed everywhere, streaming the event worldwide. On the bench, Kuroo lounged with a satisfied smile, already congratulating himself for pulling this spectacle together.
Hinata could hardly contain himself. He stretched, bounced on his toes, his body practically vibrating with anticipation. Brazil had sharpened him, taught him the patience of sand and the rhythm of new courts, but standing here in Japan again, surrounded by rivals and friends, he felt like the high school kid who once dreamed of touching the sky.
“Oi, Kageyama!” he called out brightly, his grin wide.
Kageyama glanced up from adjusting his elbow pad. His face didn’t change much—still tight with concentration—but his hands paused for the briefest moment. To anyone else, it would’ve looked like nothing. To Hinata, it was enough.
The moment shattered when another voice rang across the court.
“Well, if it isn’t Tobio-chan,” Oikawa sang out, his smile gleaming as sharp as glass. “Still setting those stiff, predictable tosses? Honestly, Italy must be desperate.”
The crowd chuckled, flashes popped from the cameras, and Oikawa soaked in every bit of attention.
“Shut up,” Kageyama bit out, his voice clipped. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense.
Hinata frowned, looking between them. The air bristled like a storm front, heavy with something that wasn’t just rivalry.
“Hinata!”
He turned, and there was Iwaizumi Hajime, sleeves rolled, clipboard tucked under one arm. He wasn’t here as a player, but as Japan’s athletic trainer. His presence was solid, grounding—like an anchor in the swirl of noise. He tossed Hinata a ball, easy and precise.
“Warm up with me. Don’t let those two idiots distract you.”
Hinata caught the ball and laughed, the tension slipping from his shoulders. “Yes, sir!”
They began passing, Iwaizumi’s voice steady each time Hinata got the rhythm right. The sharp sting of nerves faded with every “Nice one” that came his way. When Hinata misjudged a toss, sending the ball a little high, Iwaizumi snagged it with ease, chuckling as he sent it back.
“Keep your head straight,” he teased.
Hinata grinned, cheeks warming. “I’ll show you during the match.”
Across the court, Oikawa was watching. His smile flickered, too quick for most to catch, before he turned his gaze away.
The whistle signaled the start, and then there was no time to think.
The match unfolded in a blur of motion and noise. Oikawa’s serve sliced through the air like a blade, landing untouched before Hinata could react. He dove on the next one, only to misjudge and feel the ball skid off his arm.
“Focus!” Iwaizumi barked, already tossing him another ball.
“Sorry!” Hinata scrambled to his feet, heart pounding as much from Iwaizumi’s sharp tone as from the dive.
The next rally belonged to him. Kageyama’s set snapped from his hands, fast and merciless, and Hinata soared. He struck with everything in him, sending the ball crashing down on the opposite side. The crowd roared, and Hinata’s laughter rang across the court.
Iwaizumi clapped for him, grinning. Hinata felt his chest tighten strangely at the warmth in that smile.
Oikawa’s eyes lingered on him as well, but his expression was hard to read, caught somewhere between irritation and something else he couldn’t afford to name.
The game pressed on, point after point, but the tension only thickened. Oikawa and Kageyama exchanged volleys of smirks and glares, every serve and set a challenge between them. Hinata’s joy lit the court, yet every stumble drew Iwaizumi’s voice to steady him. Each look, each touch of support, made Hinata’s pulse skip. And somewhere beneath the polished grin, Oikawa was watching it all, his composure stretched thin.
When the first set ended, the score was forgotten in the crush of heat and exhaustion. Sweat streaked down their faces, their chests heaving, but none of them looked ready to step back.
“Not bad, Hinata,” Iwaizumi said, clapping Hinata’s back. His smile was wide, but softer now, almost fond.
Hinata’s grin faltered, replaced by a flutter in his chest he didn’t know how to name.
“Shut up, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa muttered as he walked by. His words carried the same old bite, but his eyes lingered on Hinata, then flicked—too quickly—toward Kageyama.
Kageyama stood close, fists tight, words lodged deep in his throat. He wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.
For the cameras, it was just another exhibition match.
For the four of them, it was the beginning of a storm none of them were ready to face.
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