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Lev's Epiphany
Lev Haiba always thought volleyball was simple.
Ball goes up, ball goes down, somebody yells “Nice receive!” and you try not to trip over your own feet. Easy. At least, that’s how he’d explained it to himself when he first joined Nekoma.
But after finally being on the team lineup, and after being told he might get paired with Kenma, he’d begun to notice something strange. No, something cosmic.
The ball. Every single ball seemed to drift toward the same person.
Not Kuroo, though the captain barked orders with the confidence of a rock star.
Not Yaku, whose defensive dives could be classified as small miracles.
Not Kai, whose calm presence kept the team from spontaneously combusting.
No. The center of Nekoma’s galaxy was a quiet, catlike figure at the back of the court, hair soft and eyes half-lidded, fingers flicking over the ball like he was playing some secret video game. Kozume Kenma.
Like right now. The rally continued, the ball arcing once more again and straight into Kenma’s waiting hands. A set, smooth as moonlight, then a spike that thundered off the hardwood.
Lev froze mid-step, nearly colliding with Fukunaga.
“Did you see that?” Lev hissed, earning only a puzzled look.
But then Lev’s noticed it again.
This wasn't a coincidence. This was gravitational pull.
He trailed the next few plays with wide eyes, No matter where the serve landed, no matter who received, the same pattern unfolded: receive, dig, pivot, and somehow, inevitably, Kenma.
It’s him, Lev thought, heart pounding with revelation. He’s the sun. We’re all just planets.
The realization hit with such force that he almost forgot to jump for the next block.
Almost.
Yaku barked, “Focus, Lev!”
That snapped him out of his daze just in time to flail at the net.
He landed, breathless, more certain than ever.
While the others gathered to switch sides, Lev lingered, scanning the court for proof.
And he found it in the smallest details. Like the way Kuroo’s eyes flicked toward Kenma a half-second before each serve. Or how Kai shifted his stance the moment Kenma twitched a finger. Combined, the subtle anticipation seemed to ripple whenever Kenma touched the ball.
It’s not just strategy, Lev told himself, awed. It’s… destiny.
The next rally began.
Kenma barely moved, only a slight lean and yet the entire team adjusted around him like marionettes on invisible strings.
Lev’s chest tightened with dramatic clarity.
He’s not the setter. He’s the axis. The gravitational core. The beating heart. The—
“Lev!” Yaku barked. “You plan on blocking or just staring at Kenma all day?”
Lev jolted, cheeks flaming. “I—uh—yes! Blocking!”
He jumped late and missed the ball, earning a chorus of groans.
But even as Yaku muttered about “giant clueless scarecrows,” Lev barely heard them. His mind was a supernova of discovery.
When practice ended, he lingered by the ball cart, eyes still fixed on the quiet setter as Kenma packed away his gear.
Kenma moved with the efficiency of someone trying to avoid being noticed, but to Lev it only confirmed the truth.
Of course the sun doesn’t brag about shining, Lev thought, gripping the cart for balance. The universe just circles because it must.
His observations weren’t random, he knew that. He also knew this wasn’t luck. This was a secret design behind his team volleyball, and he, Detective Lev Haiba, a rookie, an occasional menace, the future-ace, will uncover why that is.
Sure the team might laugh. They might call him dramatic. But he had a responsibility.
A duty.
A sacred quest to reveal the truth of Kenma’s centrality to the entire Nekoma cosmos.
Lev squared his shoulders, feeling the weight of destiny settle over him like a champion’s cape.
He would investigate.
He would interrogate.
He would peel back the layers of this quiet conspiracy until everyone admitted what he had seen with his own two eyes.
Kenma glanced up then, catching Lev’s stare. His golden eyes blinked, bored, almost questioning.
Lev grinned. Soon, they’ll all see. The sun can’t hide forever.
Naturally, The Captain is under suspicion!
Lev Haiba launched his investigation the very next afternoon.
Great revelations waited for no man, especially not a man of his towering stature and destiny.
He arrived at the gym fifteen minutes early, clutching a cheap spiral notebook he’d dramatically labeled OPERATION: KENMA CORE in black marker. The letters bled through the cover like a state secret.
Step one, he thought, leaning against the wall with what he hoped was a mysterious detective pose. Interrogate the ringleader. Every galaxy has a sun, but every sun needs a…captain? Whatever. Kuroo-senpai is hiding something.
Kuroo arrived first, hair spiking toward the ceiling like it had been personally struck by lightning. Perfect. Lev pounced.
“Kuroo-senpai,” Lev said, blocking the doorway like a wall of determination. “I know your secret.”
Kuroo’s eyebrow arched. “Uh…which one?”
“You built this entire team around Kenma!”
The captain blinked, then laughed. An actual carefree laughter that pinged off the gym walls.
“He’s our setter, Lev. That’s kind of the point.”
Lev squinted. Classic mastermind move. Deny everything while sounding reasonable!
“Don’t play coy,” Lev pressed. “I can feel it. A gravitational field of tactics!”
Lev even twirled his notebook for emphasis.
Kuroo ruffled his hair like Lev was a particularly excitable puppy.
“You’ve been watching too many space documentaries. Go stretch.”
But Lev wrote in bold capitals the moment Kuroo turned his back: SUBJECT EVASIVE. CLEARLY GUILTY.
Then there was the Guardian of the Setter
Next target: Yaku.
Lev caught him mid-hamstring stretch, crouching like a cat ready to pounce. Perfect symbolism.
“Yaku-san,” Lev whispered, crouching too close. “How far would you go to protect Kenma?”
Yaku’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You guard him like—like—” Lev snapped his fingers. “Like a knight guarding the Holy Grail!”
“That’s called defense,” Yaku said flatly. “I guard everyone.”
“But you guard Kenma more,” Lev accused. “I see it. The extra steps, the death glares at anyone who spikes too hard. Admit it. You’re his personal bodyguard.”
Yaku stood, all five-foot-six of fiery intimidation, and jabbed a finger at Lev’s chest.
“I protect the setter. That’s literally my job, you giant scarecrow. Now move before I dig a ball into your face!”
Lev stumbled back, heart pounding, not from fear (well, maybe a little) but from certainty.
He scribbled furiously: SUBJECT OVERCOMPENSATING. TRUE LOYALTY REVEALED.
Next, Lev needed a witness who wouldn’t yell. Then there was Kai and Shibayama, sipping sports drinks near the vending machine.
He slid in like a very conspicuous shadow.
“Tell me,” he said gravely, “do you ever feel it? The mysterious pull? The Kenma Effect?”
Shibayama blinked. “The…what?”
Kai smiled the patient smile of a man used to Lev. “Kenma sees the court better than anyone. Of course the game flows through him.”
Lev’s eyes widened. Finally, someone admits it outright!
Kai added, “It’s not magic, Lev. That’s just how our offense works.”
Which is exactly what someone would say if it was magic, Lev thought. He scrawled: CONFESSION DISGUISED AS LOGIC.
From there, only one suspect remained: Fukunaga.
Lev found him leaning against the equipment cart, expression unreadable.
“Fukunaga,” Lev began, “you can’t fool me. You’re the high priest of the Kenma cult.”
Fukunaga stared for a long, unblinking moment, then said, “Kenma-spiral,” before walking away.
Lev clutched his notebook to his chest. “Kenma…spiral,” he repeated, awestruck.
That’s practically a confession in code.
The bell of Destiny demanded one last Attempt
After practice, Lev cornered Kenma himself, who sat cross-legged on the bench with his handheld console.
“Admit it,” Lev declared, notebook raised like a court order. “You’re the center of the universe. The ball, the team—everything revolves around you!”
Kenma barely lifted his eyes. “Lev, I don't know what the hell you're on about this time, but Setters touch the ball a lot and you know this. Now go away, you're being annoying.”
Lev wavered, stunned by the sheer boldness of the lie. “You can’t hide the truth forever,” he whispered.
Kenma blinked once and turned his attention to Kuroo. Conversation over.
“Hey Kenma, I’m gonna be late with Yaku today.”
“Alright. Then I’m going on ahead.”
Lev slumped against the wall, notebook heavy with “evidence.”
They all know, he thought, electrified. They just won’t admit it. But I will uncover the full conspiracy. For the sake of the universe… and Nekoma volleyball.
The aaaaccidental Discovery
The same night after practice had ended, Lev Haiba stayed behind under the noble pretense of “helping clean up,” though in reality he was rearranging volleyballs in patterns that looked vaguely like constellations.
His grand investigation, Operation: Kenma Core, felt incomplete.
He had the clues: the constant glances toward Kenma, the strategic gravitational pull, the suspiciously evasive answers.
And yet, no one had cracked.
Lev balanced a ball on his palm, frowning at the empty court. I need final proof. Something undeniable. A key to the cosmos.
When voices drifted from the entryway, he froze.
Kuroo’s voice came first, quiet and warm. “Hard to believe we’re almost done with high school volleyball.”
Lev’s heart thumped. The third years.
He crouched—poorly—behind the row of lockers, his long legs folded like a malfunctioning crane. The ball rolled from his grip and wobbled across the floor. He caught it just in time, holding his breath.
Kai’s calm tone floated through the stillness. “You pulled it off, though. The team’s exactly how Kenma needs it.”
Lev’s eyes went wide. How Kenma needs it?
Then came Yaku’s voice, softer than Lev had ever heard it. “Yeah. We’ve all seen it. Kenma wouldn’t have lasted if the team wasn’t built around him.”
Lev nearly yelped. He slapped a hand over his mouth. CONFIRMATION. HIGH-LEVEL CONFIRMATION!!!
Kuroo chuckled, but it was a quieter sound than the usual teasing laugh.
“That was the point. Kenma’s… different. If we wanted him to stay on the court, we had to make volleyball something he’d actually enjoy. I just did what I had to as captain.”
Silence settled, warm and weighty.
Kai spoke again. “He might never say it, but he trusts us now. That’s thanks to you.”
“Thanks to all of us,” Kuroo corrected gently.
Lev stayed hidden, heart hammering.
The grand conspiracy wasn’t selfish at all. It wasn’t even a conspiracy.
It was love. Team-shaped. The kind you never brag about.
The third years’ voices faded as they headed for the doors, and when the gym finally went still again, Lev slowly stood.
He stared at the empty court, at the faint marks of tonight’s drills.
Kenma’s domain. They did it for him. The entire empire… built so Kenma could shine.
The truth settled over him, like a slow sunrise.
Kuroo hadn’t just become captain for glory.
Kai hadn’t just steadied the team for balance.
Yaku hadn’t just guarded every receive for pride.
They had built a world where Kenma could breathe.
Lev pressed the volleyball to his chest, overwhelmed.
Because he finally understood what Nekoma volleyball truly was:
A solar system, with Kenma at its quiet, brilliant center.
And Lev, forever happily got caught in the pull.
If they can protect the sun, so can I. From now on, I’m part of this orbit. He lifted his chin dramatically. I’m the tallest moon in the Kenma galaxy!
But Kenma only Thinks of Kuroo...
The next day, after practice ended, Lev’s eyes immediately caught Kuroo crouched beside Kenma, lowering his voice so only the setter could hear.
“You’ve been on your feet all day,” Kuroo said softly, draping an arm over Kenma’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go to the bleachers.”
“But Lev’s there…” Kenma half-complained.
Lev nearly dropped his pencil. OH. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. How dare you Kenma?! Do you not wanna be around me?!
Before Kenma could protest further, Kuroo bent slightly, and with a smooth, effortless motion, scooped him up onto his back. Kenma settled comfortably, one arm hooked lightly around Kuroo’s shoulders.
“Hey Kuro, do you… know why Lev’s been asking all those weird questions about the team?”
Kuroo chuckled, thumb brushing lightly along Kenma’s arm.
“I have a suspicion,” he said. “But maybe let him figure it out on his own.”
Lev blinked. Figure what out? I already know the cosmic truth! That Kenma is the gravity well of Nekoma volleyball! I’m the detective of hearts, the premier researcher of… of…
His brain supplied an inconvenient word: Kenma.
Kenma tilted his head against Kuroo’s back, eyes half-lidded as Kuroo approached Lev’s way.
When Kuroo finally lowered Kenma onto the bleachers, he got called.
“Captain!” Yaku’s voice cut across the court. Kuroo turned, eyebrows lifting. “Need a quick word,”
Kuroo glanced at Kenma. “You good here for a sec?”
Kenma gave a small nod, unfazed.
“Don’t let him wander off,” Kuroo added to Lev with a grin, then jogged toward Yaku.
Lev blinked at the sudden quiet.
Kenma, still perched on the bleacher step where Kuroo had set him, turned his gaze, slow and deliberate, right at Lev.
“So,” Kenma said, voice soft but carrying. “Why have you been asking so many weird questions about me and the team lately?”
Lev almost tripped over his own height. “Weird? They’re—scientific!” he protested, notebook flapping.
“Lev, please focus on volleyball instead of making up team gossip. And listen to your upperclassmen while they’re still here.”
“What?! I listen!”
“Maybe. But you’re not paying attention, are you?”
“Hey, I totally am! That’s how I found out Kuroo-senpai made team captain because his goal was to-”
“I already know. And Lev, I’m also not the subject being discussed at hand.”
“Sorry.”
“Hn.” Kenma’s gaze stayed on the empty net, voice low enough that Lev almost had to lean in. “Here’s the deal. Kuro won’t have this much time soon,” he said, almost like he was setting a ball only Lev could chase. “Entrance exams start next term. He has to study.”
Lev blinked. “Right, exams.” The word felt too small for the sudden heaviness in the gym.
“That’s why the coach wants us paired up more in practice,” Kenma continued, still calm, still unreadable. “So you can work without Kuro watching every step. It takes something off his plate.”
Lev’s pencil slipped, skidding across the page. Right, I’m to pair up. With Kenma. He straightened, heat rushing to his ears. Focus. He’s being practical. Very practical. Definitely not a cosmic sign of destiny.
Kenma didn’t look at him, eyes tracing the shadow of the net. “I don’t want Kuro to worry about things that get in the way of studying,” he said, voice softer now, almost to himself. “Volleyball shouldn’t make that harder for him.”
“I can do that!” Lev blurted, louder than intended. “I’ll… I’ll work hard. I promise.”
Kenma finally glanced at him again. Not a smile, not exactly. But it almost looked like approval.
“…Good,” Kenma said simply, and looked back toward the court.
“Hey, you two plotting world domination without me?” Kuroo’s voice carried in first, all lazy grin and captain’s swagger. He strode back in with Yaku at his heels.
Lev jumped like he’d been caught stealing state secrets. “N-no! Just… volleyball things!”
Kuroo caught Lev’s eye and smirked, a quiet acknowledgment of… something. Mentor pride? Cosmic secrets? Detective approval?
Yaku bent to scoop stray volleyballs into the cart. “Come on, giant, help me out before the lights cut.”
“Haiii!!!”
Kenma talked to me. Full sentences. Like I’m… like I’m part of the plan. Usually with Kenma, his interactions are nods, shrugs, or a single syllable drifting like smoke. But now? Now Kenma was giving him full sentences. Actual advice. He was… helping Lev fix something.
Lev’s chest tightened, a dizzy blend of triumph and awe. He’s paying attention. To me.
And now, assigned by the universe itself, and partnered with the center of all gravity, Detective Lev Haiba now feels like a chosen moon.