Chapter Text
One red pen, one black pen, one yellow high lighter. A fresh, empty notebook rested upon Yahaba’s desk, opened to the first page. Minutes before the English Literature teacher taught vocabulary from an excerpt. Memorization was simple. Yahaba remembered the meaning of each word after reading the definitions a second time.
Only 3 hours left. He already finished his physics and English Language classes. Mathematics next, Japanese Literature following, lunch break after. This charade always passed like a blur. The same could be applied his freshman year. Despite being in the advanced classes, he had more problems in volleyball than he did in class. He was no genius, the occasional C or B sprinkled his grade book. Still, the teachers saw his effort and minded their business. They knew he always used his work time efficiently. His participation was noticed but not spectacular.
Students turned their heads when the door slid open. Mutters of confusion arose as an unfamiliar teacher stepped through. He introduced himself as Hayashi-sensei. Yahaba noted that he was a new faculty member as he couldn’t recall anyone who looked like him. Middle-aged, a bit chubby, his hairline receded just slightly. He looked mildly intimidating, but Yahaba’s worries quickly quelled when the teacher spoke so casually, briefly talking about his golfing hobby and his past teaching years.
This was a stark contrast to his advanced algebra teacher, who taught them until the last exam. She was a merciless sergeant who Yahaba always kept a tight smile around. He’d rather not get tethered with the kids who always messed with her and then get severely punished after. All those nights studying or missing out on practice for tutoring only to get 60 marks on the unit exam could make Yahaba pull his perfect hairs out of his head.
“From now until the end of the school year, you are all going to be studying statistics. This course differs from your typical algebra class. The first couple of months may be troublesome, but I insist that statistics becomes much more fun rather than remembering formulas and theorems.”
He started passing out the worksheet. Today’s activity had the class engage in testing everyone’s sniffing abilities. Those who correctly guessed six scented cards out of twelve, then they’d be crowned with a superior sense of smell. Yahaba would have to admit that it was hilarious to see his desk neighbor pump his fists into the air, guessing all six cards.
They ended the lesson with quick notes in math journals and a class discussion over a proportion of classmates with super-smelling abilities. The teacher sometimes laughed, intrigued by his students’ findings. Yahaba breathed a sigh of relief as he looked at the page of homework being passed out. One-sided, ten questions. He could finish this during the lunch break if he wanted to. Within the remainder of the time, Hayashi-sensei skimmed over the syllabus, promising to go into more detail tomorrow. He bid farewell as the class solemnly waved goodbye. There went the easy-going mood as the class transitioned to the literature subject.
Once lunch came around, Yahaba left to find Watari’s classroom. The bell had just rung, so the halls buzzed and Yahaba dodged through clusters towards his locker. A group of girls shyly waved as he approached his locker. Yahaba recognized them as Oikawa’s fangirls, but with this group, they were too intimidated to make a move so they turned their attention to Yahaba.
He would feel touched by their awe, but it was all surface-level. At his locker, Yahaba put a dash of cologne and grabbed his bento of fried rice, his hasty smile easily flustering the group as he turned around and left.
Watari sat in the front row, his bento stacked over his papers. “What’s up, Yahaba? Sit here!” He waved cheerfully and dragged a chair beside him.
Yahaba shuffled over and planted himself down. “It’s all fine. My classes are going pretty well. Actually,” Yahaba scooted closer to Watari as he whispered, “I don’t have Nori-sensei for my math class.”
Watari’s eyes widened. “Really? Same with me! I care for all human beings, but she’s pretty low on my list of people I’d save if they were drowning. You get me?”
“I got you.” Yahaba nodded. “Do you have Hayashi-sensei? That’s who I have now. He teaches statistics.”
“Nope. I have someone else, but she also teaches statistics. I think the administration hired a bunch of different math teachers for the advanced classes.”
“Huh, that’s cool, I guess. As long as I don’t have to see Nori-sensei every morning.”
By the ring of the bell, classes resumed. The same old charade: listen, nod his head, raise a hand, collaborate. The last class soon wrapped up, the students tidied the school, and Yahaba was down the hall after cleaning up the classroom. Friend groups idled around. Lone pairs secretly spoke to one another in quiet corners. Yahaba couldn’t stop the envy that bloomed. To be someone’s center of attention, receiving genuine care that went beyond friendship. But those thoughts stay in the back of his mind. He may play the game every once in a while, but their admiration didn’t reach him.
Yahaba’s usual pace made him early to practice, typically making him the first to be ready on the court. Today, he was off by about ten minutes after a few girls struck up a conversation with him. Not fangirls, but girls who were at the top of the class. They were nicer to talk to; there was no need to put up a thicker facade.
Now, Yahaba wasn’t always a stickler for being the first in the club room, but he’d rather follow this pattern in his regiment than break it. A matter of consistency, a professionality that hopefully someone noticed. His school bag thumped by his hip as Yahaba rushed through the hall. He curtly turned before a goliath force shoved into his shoulder, causing him to take a step back to brace himself.
The fuck echoed through his mind, and once he turned around, he frowned deeper. A stray anomaly. Improper posture, so hunched over, Yahaba would glue a stick to the boy’s back to fix his atrocious arch. A flashy bleached buzz-cut and shabby eyeliner that poorly masked his dark circles. The boy glared at Yahaba over his shoulder before turning away with an annoyed grunt. What an ignorant dickhead.
“Still wimping out on practice?” Yahaba didn’t hold back the aggressive edge in his voice. He straightened his back, utilizing the several more centimeters he had.
Kyoutani paused in his steps. He turned his head to look back, sneering at the sight of Yahaba before walking away.
“Oikawa-san is still expecting you to come back.” Yahaba still remembered his reluctant promise with his captain. Keep encouraging Kyoutani to rejoin. He has potential, he’d be a great weapon. Yahaba cannot deny that, but why did this prodigy suddenly quit? Why should Yahaba care for someone who has no care for the team? “Either tell Oikawa-senpai that you’re really done, or come to fucking practice, you fucking coward.”
This time, Kyoutani turned around, ready to spit a sharp response, yet he didn’t mutter a sound. Tense silence: the only sound was the boys’ subtle breathing. He sharply turned around and continued walking.
“Hey. Hey!” Yahaba should feel triumph in making Kyoutani chicken out from responding, but the ignorance was unacceptable. Another glance at his watch and he was now fifteen minutes off from his usual arrival. Yahaba glared one last time at the shrinking figure of Kyoutani before leaving through the exit. He hoped he sent more negative energy to that grump.
Third day of statistics. Yahaba’s pen hovered over the worksheet, yet he couldn’t bring himself to put it down. He went through the steps one by one. He repeated them one more time to be extra certain. One quick glance at his neighbor’s paper and Yahaba’s calculation was absolute bullshit.
Yesterday was so easy. Sure mosaic plots kind of made no sense, but he can grasp the concept of them along with relative frequency. He also messed up the homework, but it’s okay, it was the second day.
Hayashi-sensei went over the question step by step. It turned out that Yahaba’s blind ass mixed up the type of the numbers he needed to input into the overly complicated calculator provided in the class. The calculator could be another computer based on all the buttons he could press.
He retreated to classroom 2-6, sitting next to Watari with his face down on the desk, arms sprawled over the edge.
“I think you’re overcomplicating it, Yahaba,” he said after swallowing down a rice ball. “If you think about it, it’s like multiplying X by Y down the list, and then find the average of the sum of those numbers.”
Yahaba groaned, “I know it’s easy. It’s just stupid how all of that makes one dumb number that doesn’t sound real.”
“You’re just dramatic.”
“Standard deviations are not real.”
“Whatever you say.”
Yahaba sighed. He didn’t like the fate of statistics being his worst grade, but he had long accepted the possible future. What would be worse is Yahaba’s stress bleeding into other classes. He already felt a little more exhausted than usual in Japanese Lit. It was nothing that could bring his grade down. He was just a little unmotivated. It didn’t sit with him right, though.
He turned his head, his previous position no longer comfortable. Yahaba immediately frowned, seeing the notorious blond stalking the hallway. His glare must’ve seeped through the glass as Kyoutani briefly glanced at Yahaba’s direction. He slightly flinched from his cold glare—though Yahaba could be imagining it—and then immediately rolled his eyes and chewed on his snack.
Those ten seconds of tension made Yahaba roll his eyes too. He sighed once again, which seemed to alert Watari. “Are you tired? Have you been getting any sleep?”
“Not really…” Yahaba said, muffled. “I had to fit statistics homework between studying for my physics quiz. And Oikawa-senpai keeps asking me about Kyoutani joining practice.”
“Hmm. Kyoutani-kun hasn’t been coming to practice for about four months, right?”
“I’ve lost track. And, apparently, he could help bring the team to nationals. But remember last year? Practice matches were abysmal and it was easier to have him off the court than to have him argue with the third years.” Yahaba waved his hands, gesturing his frustration. “I don’t see how he’ll help the team if he can’t cooperate with anyone. I doubt he even still plays.”
Watari nodded his head as he packed away his bento. He tapped his chin as he squinted at Yahaba. “As a teammate, he’s the absolute worst. As a player, his spikes are incredible. I think Oikawa hopes to multiply the team's power by including Kyoutani. Then, we’d have three really powerful attackers on the main lineup. Not that the first years aren’t good, but they don’t compare to Iwaizumi-san or Hanamaki-san.”
Yahaba tilted his head, reluctant but understanding. “I get that. If only one of the best spikers wasn’t born with a shitty attitude.”
Watari shrugged. “He’s difficult, but people can change, right?”
“Don’t be too hopeful, Watari. It turns out the world doesn’t have the same purity as you do.”
“Woah, and how am I supposed to feel about that?”
“I don’t know. Quaking. Crying. You pick.” The school bell rang, cueing Yahaba to get back to class. “I’ll see you at practice, Watari.”
“See you later, Yahaba. Also, start doing your stats homework earlier if it’s too hard. The hard homework is your priority!”
Yahaba scoffed as he waved goodbye. He could take Watari’s advice in mind, but he was too stubborn to alter his study routine. It’s hard to describe, but sitting at his desk late at night, his younger brother already sleeping, and a steamy mug of tea beside him was the perfect environment to complete math homework. The coziness of his study environment distracted him from the fact that math is a cold, harsh subject that could bore someone to death.
The rest of his classes passed by without any hiccups. Yahaba routinely went down the same hall to the club room. No Mad Dog crashed into him in the hall. He must be avoiding this hall. Such a coward.
Yahaba’s haste earned him several extra minutes alone in the clubroom, so he sat down and looked through the papers in his bag. A Japanese novel sat at the bottom beneath thick folders labelled for literature or sciences or other subjects. He pointedly avoided his math folder and instead pulled out his English vocabulary sheet. Yahaba glided his pen effortlessly through the paper, untroubled by the foreign words. The definitions echoed in his head and he quickly constructed sentences. By the time familiar faces entered the locker room, the entire worksheet was complete and Yahaba stuffed it into his bag.
“Woah, smartie-pants.” Hanamaki looked startled. “Don’t stress on the schoolwork during practice.” Yahaba smacked away the senior’s hand which ruffled his hair. Matsukawa passed by and did the same. The two of his senpais’ never appreciated the art of a perfect hairstyle. Luckily, their hair abuse was targeted towards their captain while Yahaba was mostly spared. As much as he admired Oikawa, he was glad to not be the center of their torment.
“What subject is it, anyway?” asked Matsukawa as he changed into his gym shirt.
“It was English. It’s easy. You know, finish all the easy work first and then do the harder work later.”
“Yahaba Shigeru has a hard class?” Hanamaki gawked. “Which is it? Is it math?”
Yahaba reluctantly nodded. “The curriculum changed from algebra to statistics, and it’s just so different.”
Hanamaki wiped his forehead, banishing his very real worries. “Thank goodness I’m as dumb as a rock. You could totally do it if you were in advanced classes, Issei.”
The other shook his head. “I’d rather work smart than drown in schoolwork that’ll make my brain hurt. Statistics sounds like absolute torture.”
“You’re right on with that.” Yahaba slipped into his running shoes before he squeezed past changing members and exited the room.
Walking down the stairs, his mind circled back to what Matsukawa explained. Even though his senior was in regular classes, he always made it as one of the top five students in his class, and never once did he let schoolwork bleed into his personal life. Rest assured, Matsukawa was an academic weapon, but putting effort into his schoolwork was beyond his interest.
To some degree, Yahaba believed that he shared a similar mindset. He liked getting his work done in an efficient manner, and he didn’t like prolonged study times unless it was critical to his grade.
Now, statistics threw everything off the table and Yahaba had to put his routine back together. In due time, his study routine would prove unviable and he’d actually have to follow Watari’s advice. Even worse, he might have to get extra help. He’d do if it was absolutely necessary, but his ego would not be the same afterwards.
Yahaba trailed down the same old paved path he always took. He remembered the time he walked with Kindaichi and unexpectedly met the stone-cold crows of Karasuno.
As he turned the corner towards the gym’s entrance, he paused, his hand hovering by the door. Amongst the small traffic of students, Yahaba’s eyes immediately caught onto Kyoutani. Kyoutani wasn’t too far from the school gates, but he turned his head, briefly glancing at Yahaba before glaring at the cluster of people behind him. Somehow they generated more anger in Kyoutani than Yahaba did. This lit a slight suspicion for Yahaba.
However, he’d have to take action on a later date. Kyoutani was too far for Yahaba to run up to and interrogate. Practice was about to start. Yahaba entered the gym and greeted his coaches like he always had.
The only reason Yahaba was reluctant to wake up this morning was that he wouldn’t want to ruin his attendance. There totally wasn’t a quiz yesterday that he utterly flunked and it now demotivated him from learning. Nope. He was resilient and disciplined. Oikawa-san wouldn’t give up on his difficult academics either; though, he was very dramatic when he expressed his frustration with his studies.
His grade wasn’t horrifically low by any means. Seeing a 7.5 out of 10 simply wasn’t something that Yahaba liked to see.
By the end of the week, the class would have their first unit test. They were covering their last topic before the class started reviewing for the test. Unfortunately, the last lesson required the fancy-ass calculator.
The more Yahaba clicked the buttons and did not get the result he wanted, the more he felt like an old-school techie. He carefully inputted the values from his worksheet one more time, extra cautious of which numbers went where. Once he was sure that the mean was the mean, the standard deviation was the standard deviation, and the lower and upper fences were the lower and upper fences, Yahaba sighed in relief when his calculator gave him reasonable results.
It seemed that he wasn’t the only one struggling. Beside him was a girl sharing the same confusion as Yahaba. She tapped his shoulder as her efforts seemed fruitless.
“Yahaba-san, can you help me put in the numbers? I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
Yahaba nodded, mentally preparing his gentle personality as he scooted closer. He held his calculator beside hers and compared each value. Still, reading the values was tricky. He had to mentally translate the odd mathematical symbols into the terms he had learned.
“Ah, the lower fence should be a lot of negative nines. It’s the closest to negative infinity, and finding the probability below the upper fence is found that way.” He adjusted the value and then their calculations were identical.
The girl hummed, her brows raised as something finally clicked within her mind. “I see! I forgot about that. Thank you,” she said as she bowed her head.
Yahaba smiled warmly. “No problem, Hana-san,” he said as he shifted back to his desk. Her eyes still lingered on him. Just keep smiling a little longer but look clueless.
“Your hair looks very pretty today, Yahaba-san.”
Yahaba slightly looked to his right, softly smiling as he quickly searched for something to compliment about her. “Thanks. Your hair clips are cute as well.”
She nodded and turned away, a light flush spreading on her face.
Yahaba looked back at the board, wondering why he was doing this to himself. He cooled his nerves, firmly believing that the compliment was an act of kindness and not a sign of romantic attraction. Yahaba could hurl at how the compliment was horribly not smooth.
Math class ended. Japanese Literature ended. The bell rang for lunch. His mental energy ran on fumes, but slumping to grab lunch at his locker wouldn’t be a sightly view of him. Each step was careful and his shoulders carried themselves up high. Once he arrived in front of his locker, his empty locker reminded him that he forgot his bento.
Only his cologne and old notes that Yahaba will forget about again laid in his locker. Yahaba sprayed on the cologne, his body slightly revitalized by the ocean scent. He shut and locked his locker, changing gears to walk to Watari’s class with an empty stomach. Hopefully, the vending machine would still be stocked with snacks after school. Yahaba really needed to voice out his frustration in a controlled manner, and Watari was the only individual who could keep him calm during times like this.
Through the window, Watari was already looking over his shoulder and waving at Yahaba. Yahaba waved back; however, at the edge of his peripheral vision, an oncoming student stomped closer and closer. He showed no effort to raise his head to look at Yahaba, blocking his way. Yahaba stiffened, making sure his shoulder was the hardest brick wall that the stuent would slam into.
Bam! Kyoutani shoved past Yahaba with even stronger force. He could have knocked Yahaba down if he hadn’t readied himself. Yahaba sharply glared at Kyoutani in the small moment they clashed. A glare that shot disappointment, resentment, and spite.
Kyoutani turned his head, his scowl imprinted on his face as always. However, there was a different layer beneath his scowl. Instead of “Don’t talk to me; I’m an asshole,” the subtle dreariness in his frown emitted “don’t talk to me; life is shitty right now.” That wasn’t the only thing different with Kyoutani.
Yahaba’s glare faltered once he noticed the dried-up blood above Kyoutani’s eyebrow, close to his left temple. He stopped dead in his tracks, yet Kyoutani kept moving. “What the hell happened to your face, Kyoutani?” He didn’t stop. “Kyoutani, god damn it!”
Poor Watari had to be left behind as Yahaba chased after the grouchy second-year. Kyoutani seemed to quicken his speed while maintaining his slouched posture. “Did something bad happen yesterday? Stop running away!”
“Leave me alone.” At this rate, Yahaba might strain his calves if he continued walking at a hasty pace. Kyoutani dodged every motion of Yahaba reaching him. However, it seemed that Kyoutani didn’t have an intended getaway path, so Yahaba quickly devised a plan.
He reached over Kyoutani’s right side, forcing Kyoutani to turn left. Yahaba smirked as the blond fell for the gullible trick. He repeated it several more times until they reached the dead end of a hallway. Kyoutani growled like the dog he was, turning around and facing Yahaba for once.
Finally standing still, the injury looked worse than he initially thought. The area had slight swelling and a little redness. Kyoutani must have compressed it for a while. Yahaba slowly stepped closer—one hand squeezing the stitch on his side. Kyoutani twitched away, but, given his trapped situation, he stood in place stiffly.
A closer look revealed that the blood was freshly dried. Some of it chipped off and exposed the wound. His left cheekbone even sustained a few scratches.
How could Kyoutani let himself get tossed around like this? Was his menacing appearance for nothing?
“Who did this to you?” The blond decided to glare at the floor, his hands deep in his pockets. “Just tell me, Kyoutani. This is only between us.” Literally anything—a grunt, a nod—would work.
“It’s none of your business. You’d tell everyone anyway.”
“Who then?”
“Iwaizumi-san. Oikawa. The two annoying ones. The bald guy you sit with. The stalker girls. Everyone.”
“That bald guy’s name is Watari if you have ever been in the club. Oh, wait, you have been. Way to respect your peers.” Yahaba shot him a glare. “And I still wouldn’t tell him. I keep my promises.”
Kyoutani’s shoulder curled inwards. His gaze upgraded from the ground to the junk stacked by the walls. “I forgot. Still not telling you.”
“I’m dragging your ass to the nurse’s office if you don’t, and I’ll have the counselor interrogate you to find whoever did this to you.”
“Thanks for the options, asshole.” Kyoutani walked to the wall and leaned on his back, crossing his arms. “These dumbasses in my class are jealous of me. They think I’m stupid because I look like a delinquent. So they trash my shit. They were more pissed yesterday and went after me.” Kyoutani glared at Yahaba. “I don’t need people to fix with my problems.”
Yahaba crossed his arms. “What are their names?”
“Like I care. They’d beat your ass.”
“Of course, of course you don’t.” Yahaba paced in a small circle. “And FYI, I was not planning on fighting them. I’d get kicked off the team if that were to happen.”
Kyoutani only gave him a grunt.
Figuring out who was the culprit may be a slow investigation if Yahaba didn’t want to bring suspicion upon himself or Kyoutani from the bullies. The immediate situation called for fixing that scar.
“Let's go to the bathroom and clean off the blood. It’s gross and you’ll pick at it more.”
Kyoutani scoffed, avoiding Yahaba’s lending hand. “I told you already. Leave me alone,” he muttered as he walked away.
Yahaba had exerted so much energy and gave Kyoutani an ounce of empathy. Just for the boy to walk away? Absolutely not. Yahaba grabbed Kyoutani’s wrist and dragged him to the nearest restroom. He ignored the protests and tightened his grip when the other dared to pull away. Yahaba was slightly terrified of what would happen if Kyoutani freed himself. It could become reality with the way his hand twitched as he crushed Kyoutani’s arm. He quickly prayed that he wouldn’t show up to practice with a black eye.
To their fortune, they were in a less populated area of the school, and the nearest bathroom was left deserted. The room’s lackluster lighting added to the uneasy emptiness. Yahaba, still gripping Kyoutani’s arm, ripped away a piece of paper towel with his free hand. He quickly dabbed the paper towel under the running water and swiped it across Kyoutani’s scar.
The blond immediately flinched, turning away as he winced. Yahaba dug his nails further into Kyoutani’s squirming arm. “Don’t. Move,” Yahaba said, low and direct.
He only received an enraged huff, but Kyoutani complied. Yahaba tried to be as careful as he could, cleaning off the dry blood in the gentlest scrubbing motion. Kyoutani frowned even harder. Yahaba sensed Kyoutani’s hand squeezed and loosened under the pain. A stern exhale alerted Yahaba that he was too rough.
Hearing Kyoutani trying to control his breathing felt familiar. It was like the qualifier match when they were first years. By some miracle, he was lucky to be a bench warmer amongst the large number of Aoba Jouhsai volleyball club members. Kyoutani was even more fortunate to be in the starting lineup. That was until he was subbed out. The spiker stood beside the lackluster benchwarmer, his breathing erratic. Veins running along his muscular arms even pulsated.
It was different now. It’s a whole different context anyway. Yahaba heard the way that Kyoutani’s teeth clicked as he tightened his jaw. A sharp jaw. His face flexed with each of Yahaba’s movements. His eyes squeezed tight, hiding his eyes of yellow ochre.
Yahaba may have forgotten how to breathe, too.
He crumpled the stained napkin and shoved it into his pocket. “I can’t believe you actually let me do that.”
Kyoutani frowned. An unimpressed frown. “You said that you would drag me to the nurse and counselor. Anything would be better than telling them.” He tried and failed to pull away from Yahaba’s iron grip.
“Oh, sorry.” He flexed his fingers, a tingling sensation running through them after locking his grip for so long. “I would tell you to get a Band-Aid at the nurse’s office, but you won’t. Just don’t pick at it.”
They both exited the bathroom and began their path back to their classrooms. Kyoutani kept his hands in his pockets while Yahaba’s hands loosely swayed from his sides. Yahaba blamed the crippling silence between them for oozing out more kindness. “Do you need company on the walk home? So they don’t follow you?”
Kyoutani gave him a strange look, just as disturbed as Yahaba felt for deciding to be so generous. “It’s fine. They’re my problem, not yours,” he said, resetting to his typical scowl.
Soon they reached classroom 2-1. Some students lingered by the entrance, not ready to enter the classroom again. A loud group of ruffians laughed boisterously inside the room. Teenage boys who thought everyone adored and feared them. Kyoutani gave them a fiercer frown. They parted without a word before the warning bell rang. Yahaba reached classroom 2-5 before the next period started.
Yahaba checked his watch quickly before he scanned the crowd of students again. After cleaning up the classroom, he caught Watari before he made his way to the clubroom. Yahaba apologized for leaving out of the blue, which Watari brushed off, unbothered.
Instead he dug into what happened between him and Mad Dog. Yahaba doubted that Watari would ever use the anecdote maliciously, but Yahaba did say that he kept promises to Kyoutani. He told him that couldn’t tell Watari the full story yet, and thankfully the libero didn’t pry. Watari also agreed to let the others know that Yahaba had to skip practice because of “tutoring.”
Yahaba wasn’t that academically doomed yet. Telling the truth would be dangerous right now.
Now, Yahaba waited beside the school gate, awkwardly glancing between his watch and the crowd. Someone stopped abruptly as Yahaba checked his watch once again. He lifted his head, seeing the one and only Kyoutani Kentarou looking at Yahaba with a mix of confusion and frustration. Behind him, the rambunctious group of second-year boys wasn’t too far behind.
“C’mon, we’ll split at the cross street.”
“This is not normal at all,” Kyoutani noted ever so intelligently.
“Good thing that this is a one-time thing.”
Yahaba paired himself with Watari again during his lunch break. Instead of eating his midday meal, he worked on a worksheet from the second unit. He was determined to complete it before the next class. Watari watched carefully as he bit into his boiled egg, watching Yahaba overthink about random sampling and biases. He sometimes gave Yahaba a hint for whatever problem, but Yahaba mindlessly nodded. Watari’s words were gibberish mush.
Only a week ago Yahaba had talked to Kyoutani. When Yahaba passed by Kyoutani’s classroom one day, Kyoutani was luckily still in the hall. After forcefully insisting to tell Yahaba, he found out that the bullies were distancing themselves from Kyoutani. No confirmation about an end to their behavior, but any positive change would suffice.
Other than that, neither came across each other for the past several days. Not in the morning, not during the lunch break, not after-school. In the back of his mind, Yahaba felt a little guilty for pushing the other around so much. What he had done could even be classified as invasive to the other’s personal space. Though, Kyoutani only listened that way. Snappy and direct orders. No euphemisms or white lies. Yahaba reassured himself that this would prevent further mishaps, and then Kyoutani would be in fine condition when he eventually rejoins the club.
As the next unit exam drew nearer, Yahaba started to consider studying before school started. He couldn’t decide where. The coffee cafe would be a great place, but he worried about the noisy environment. A library served the perfect study environment, yet it opened thirty minutes after school started. The school’s library provided a fine substitute, but Yahaba was reluctant to go to school that early. In his opinion, any of his options would be better than tutoring. He can totally figure out the material on his own, he just needed more time to study it.
The next day, he chose to study at the cafe 45 minutes before he needed to make his way to Aoba Jouhsai. Yahaba sipped his latte and put it aside as he overlooked his notes. Each sip served as a reward after he correctly finished a review problem out of the statistics textbook. He definitely did not sneak off with it from the school’s library. Surely another copy was left for any desperate soul who was in the same shoes as Yahaba.
Surprisingly, the space wasn’t the worst study place. Very few people were up early to grab a morning brew, nonetheless high school students. Along with soft jazz music in the background and cozy lighting, Yahaba’s work-state flowed smoothly.
It worked so perfectly that the tap on Yahaba’s shoulder spooked him. Turning around, his captain's smile shined while his vice-captain nodded.
“What are you doing here so early, Yahaba-chan?” Oikawa crossed his arms, concerned. His face had this animated movement to it, yet his senpai’s features were like beautifully carved sculptures. Oikawa’s eyes were slightly larger due to his glasses’ lenses. Such a change made him more dollish. Yahaba yearned to be that effortless. He also realized how odd the comparison was.
“I’m a little behind in my statistics class. A test is coming up, so I’m giving myself extra study time here.” Yahaba flipped to the next page of his textbook. His heart internally broke as he looked at the intimidating number garbage.
Iwaizumi frowned. “Is this for a program?”
“No, it’s the new curriculum for second-years. After that, we get to decide whether we want to pursue calculus or data science.”
“Jeez, and I barely get by calculus.” Iwaizumi patted Yahaba’s shoulder. His body would probably remember the feeling of the Great Iwaizumi’s shoulder-pat for the next hour. “Keep up the good work kid. I hope you pass the test.”
“Thank you,” Yahaba said before turning to his work. However, the focus on studying seemed to have dissipated. His mind screamed that he had done enough; talking to his captains was a deserved break. Yahaba gave in as Oikawa sat beside him. Iwaizumi had gone to the front counter.
The captain drummed his fingers against his knee, his legs crossed and his back proper. He watched Iwaizumi at the counter, squinting as if it’d help him hear the conversation between the barista and Iwaizumi. “Look at Iwa-chan. Ordering my favorite coffee just for me. Isn’t he a sweetheart?” Yahaba lightly snickered. “By the way, Yahaba-chan, any word from Mad Dog? We’ve got less than a month before Spring Qualifiers begin.”
Yahaba paused briefly, his hand hovering over his stationary bag as he was cleaning upp. Did he have the energy to debrief the situation to his captain? At this point, the situation was old news to Yahaba; they both moved on quickly. “Kyoutani hasn’t said anything about joining.”
“Hmm, I see.” Oikawa rubbed his chin, squinting his eyes. “So did you two lose your tongues when you both walked down the east hall? Passing through the school gate?”
“How did you—”
“If you don’t know how to talk to people, I can certainly teach you!”
Oikawa yelped after Iwaizumi returned and kicked his shin. The other clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he said, “All you do when you talk to people is give overly-optimistic hopes to your fangirls and insensitive insults to anyone in general.”
Oikawa gasped. “Mean, Iwa-chan! Don’t villainize me!”
All of Yahaba’s school work and supplies were packed in his bag, but the boy pondered as he hugged his bag. His captains’ bickering became background noise. Yahaba would say that he could always understand Oikawa’s far-fetched plans or ideas. These ideas were reaching, but Oikawa was the only person who could execute it.
Yet, he couldn’t grasp how including Kyoutani on the team would be beneficial. The spiker’s unmatched strength was an obvious benefit. However, pestering someone with complete disinterest in the team seemed pointless. It could drag the team down.
“Oikawa-senpai, I understand that Kyoutani would provide more raw strength on the team, but I don’t know how he’ll benefit the team. He’s not a team player. He doesn’t listen.”
Yahaba awaited a response. Their bickering immediately ceased, and Oikawa looked at Yahaba with an eerily assertive shadow over his eyes.
“If a dog is rowdy, you have to tame it. Mad Dog will become more docile if he trains with the team and learns how to cooperate.” A darker expression masked over his previous grim smile. “If not, he isn’t getting his reward of going to nationals.”
Yahaba felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when Oikawa stared at him sinisterly. His captain’s will was unwavering, his authority to be left unquestioned. All Yahaba could do was nod and trust Oikawa’s very word.
“Now, I trust that you’ll convince him that he should come back. You have it in you, Yahaba-chan.”
Once classes ended and club activities started, Yahaba tagged along with Watari to the club room. He needed to express his jitters about the Stats test. The libero always lent an ear and amusing feedback. Watari’s path greatly differed from Yahaba’s path: he headed the opposite direction to walk down the stairs and accompany the first-years to the club room. The path also crossed classroom 2-1 before they could reach the stairs.
It may have been divine timing, but they were just as surprised as Kyoutani was when the ex-spiker passed through the classroom’s door. Yahaba and Watari froze in the middle of the hallway, the former staring with subtle frustration while they expressed shock. Kyoutani grunted and turned away; however, a voice—a grating, punchable, insufferable voice—screamed Kyoutani’s first name.
“KENTAROU! Where did your biology notes go? I need them!” The boy’s fist slammed onto his desk; Kyoutani stiffened. He barely made an effort to peer over his shoulder. Yahaba saw his face: unwilling but submissive.
The words that Yahaba never thought he would hear in his lifetime barely came out as a raspy whisper. “Sorry.” Kyoutani turned away from the two standing in the hallway, his head hanging low as he went over to the pompous group of boys. Yahaba’s mouth fell agape as he watched the Mad Dog remove books and folders, pulling out what seemed to be the wanted notes. The boy who called out Kyoutani quickly snatched it and stuffed it in his pocket. He waved his hand, signaling for more notes.
Watari had to nudge Yahaba for him to unglue his eyes from the scene. Watari nodded his head towards the stairs, yet upset plagued his face. Yahaba followed, but he stole one last glance through the classroom’s window. Simultaneously, Kyoutani looked at the window, glaring daggers. Daggers up Yahaba’s neck. Daggers that threatened to slice his skin if he dared to tell anybody.
The two spoke of nothing as the went to search for first-year members. Yahaba immediately shushed Watari when he tried to mutter a sound. Pretend that it never happened. That’s what Kyoutani wanted. They gave each other silence to process the indecent treatment of their past teammate. As Kindaichi approached them, he curiously asked about their down-turned faces. They quickly glanced at each other, silently swearing to never speak of it. Watari brushed off Kindaichi’s concern. Yahaba blamed his exam.
Keeping silent lasted longer than Yahaba had thought. They never whispered about it during practice, and they never brought it up during lunch. Still, it itched him to talk about the moment to Watari. It seemed to be the same way with Watari.
Passing by classroom 2-1 always sparked curiosity for Yahaba. He’d nosy through the window, immediately dissatified to see the boys that harass Kyoutani. The buzz-cut boy sat at a desk to the edge of the wall in the middle section of the room. His head rested in his folded arms, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
It burned Yahaba’s core to see someone so arrogant succumb so easily to one of the most pathetic students he had ever seen. It was unlike Kyoutani, a version that Yahaba didn’t believe in the existence of.
He needed to bring it up.
“Do you know those guys, Watari?”
Watari raised a brow. Yahaba nodded in response.
“I think that note-thief was Maeko. I heard that he’s the vice captain of the basketball team.”
“Anything else helpful?”
“Hmm, give me a moment.” Watari raised his hand to his chin. “He hosts parties once a month on the weekends at his house. His father is a lawyer. His friend group is very… reckless, if you know what I’m saying.”
Yahaba nodded. Leaning back into his chair, thought on what to do next. Does he tell Oikawa-san? Does he tell the counselor? The domino effects of one of the decisions could be costly to Kyoutani’s drecision to rejoin. However, if school troubles were holding Kyoutani back from rejoining, it was within Yahaba’s power to fix it. Oikawa-san believed that he could do it.
“I’ll have to confront Mad Dog about it, whether he’d like to or not. Keep an eye on that kid, Watari.”
“Roger that.”
On the other hand, catching Kyoutani proved to be more challanging than Yahaba intended. Kyoutani’s efforts to avoid him grewe more obvious. He left sooner than Yahaba usually expected, and he shoved pass Yahaba through the hallways. Not even Yahaba’s aggravated hollering down the hall stopped Mad Dog in the middle of his tracks. Even so, it didn’t discourage Yahaba from trying.
Though, he did need to start studying for his next statistics unit exam.
Yahaba waved goodbye to Oikawa and other club members as he passed through the gym doors. The sun was still relatively bright for five in the afternoon. A slight breeze signalled the slow transition of summer to autumn. Yahaba followed the sidewalk, kicking a stone with his foot when the opportunity came. The walk to the library was twenty minutes, so he had plenty of time to think about anything really.
Thoughts colliding agaisnt one another, Yahaba sighed. Tilting his head up, he searched the sky for answers that would never behold to him. Problems sprung up left and right, and the facade of having everything handled strained Yahaba’s face. Pretending that his life was simple and shallow remained pivotal to his appearance. He’d never have the charisma Oikawa has, but people liked his unassuming dependability, a friendly face anyone could talk to. Staying controlled and modest left his unbridled frustration silently fuming in isolation.
Yet Kyoutani already knew the spiteful personality that Yahaba hid. Holding in his anger never felt like an option with Kyoutani around either. Perhaps that’s why Yahaba liked Kyoutani’s presence. Just a smidgen.
To Yahaba’s left, a door swung open and the person rushed out with no hesitance. So much so, he didn’t pay attention to Yahaba obstructing his path. It was too late for Yahaba to twist out of the way. The other crashed into Yahaba’s side, dropping books to the ground.
“I’m so sorry! I should’ve moved out of the way.” Yahaba crouched down, picking up the fallen books and handing them back. “I hope you have a good—” Yahaba scowled instantly “—Mad Dog?”
“Don’t call me that,” Kyoutani grumbled. He glared at the books Yahaba picked up as if Yahaba had infected them in his grasp. Did Yahaba have the cheese touch or something? Just as he was about to take them back, Yahaba pulled away.
“Do you work here? At—” The building behind Kyoutani had posters of cats and dogs all over the walls. Big letters on the door’s sign said Please Adopt! “An animal shelter?”
“What of it?” Kyoutani snapped.
Yahaba bristled, ignoring the other’s aggression and instead peaked at the books he still held. They were small with a picture of dogs on the cover. Dog help books?
“Are you going to give me back my books, or am I going to pay the overdue fee?”
Yahaba waved him off. “I’m going to the library, too. Calm down.” Yahaba continued down the path and Kyoutani followed, begrudgingly. The blond walked a few steps behind, doing nothing to split the tension in the air. The moment was too quiet, too tiring to bring up the events of that day. Yahaba would only be talking to a wall if he tried to start a conversation.
The walk stretched as far as their silence. It was a painstaking eternity until the library was less than a block away. As they entered, Yahaba made his way to the education books section. Kyoutani scornfully tagged along as Yahaba still didn’t let go of his books. After skimming the titles of the books, Yahaba pointed to one particular book. “Kyoutani, grab that one.”
Kyoutani crossed his arms. “Give me back my books.”
“Then we’ll be waiting here all day.” Yahaba stood, his foot tapping the ground. Kyoutani’s furrowed brows and petty attitude remained resolute. How was Yahaba going to interrogate this childish asshole.
“Boys,” the librarian—an elderly lady—gently said as she pushed her cart, “the library is going to close in ten minutes, so please hurry.”
Yahaba and Kyoutani murmured short apologies. The blond grabbed a book from the shelf—it could have been the wrong book for all he knew—and they both hurried to the front desk. The librarian lady slowly returned, readjusting her glasses as she examined the boys. “Ah, you’re both from Aoba Jouhsai? And you must be on the volleyball team?” She must’ve noticed the track jacket that Yahaba wore. Kyoutani still wore the uniform slacks while his top was replaced with the animal shelter’s work uniform.
“Yes, ma’am,” Yahaba smiled, adding a tad extra sweetness in his voice.
“I hope you boys do your best. Nationals is always your goal, right?”
Yahaba nodded, ignoring Kyoutani scoffing.
“Ah, then I wish you boys the best. Now, are you returning these books?” she said, leaning closer to the books that Yahaba set down.
“Uhm, no. These are his. He’s returning—”
“—Renewing.”
“He’s renewing these.” Yahaba pretended that the burning glare into Yahaba’s skull didn’t exist.
The lady smiled. “That’s so kind of you to carry your friend’s books. They must be so much to carry all day with all of those textbooks and schoolwork you boys have to carry.”
As she scanned each book, Yahaba sneaked a glance at Kyoutani. He held back a snicker as he saw the intense strain in Kyoutani’s frown. Maybe one day Kyoutani’s facial muscles were lock up that way. That is if they hadn’t already.
She pushed the renewed books aside, waving for Kyoutani to put down the book he held. Kyoutani dropped the book upon the desk and took his books as he stomped away. Yahaba watched him go, deeply offended by his companion’s lack of companionship. Though, it should be the last thing to expect from a lone wolf. Yahaba quickly told the librarian his library card number before he bolted in Kyoutani’s direction. He was not losing this chance to confront Mad Dog.
Yahaba pushed through the door, scanning the surrounding area. Worry quelled in the pit of his stomach, his chase reaching a disappointing end.
Except, as Yahaba looked to his left, the broody teenager leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. The weight of the books in his school bag stretched the bag’s strap. There was a sort of menacing allure to him that was equally stunning. He glanced at Yahaba, then curtly looked away as he stood back up. He mumbled something as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Yahaba was too focused on Kyoutani’s jawline to pay attention.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Could we stop by Hami-mart and buy food,’” he muttered louder, anger seeping into his voice.
Yahaba raised his hands in defense, displeased by the sudden aggression. “That’s okay with me. It’s not too far from my house either.”
They walked in silence again. This time, Kyoutani didn’t slack behind. He matched the pace Yahaba stridden in.
“What do you want from me,” Kyoutani demanded sharply.
Yahaba shook off the spooked shivers that surged throughout his body. “Why do ask?”
“Because you leave me alone unless something about me ticks you off.”
“My reasons are justified. I’m doing favors for you as a ‘friend.’”
“We are not friends.”
“That’s fine by me.” He remained composed, not showing a hint of being disgruntled. Still, it felt like a punch in his gut. “Do you work at the animal shelter after school?”
“Not work. Volunteer.”
“Was it more important than the volleyball club?”
“No. Not really.”
“Then why do you go there?”
Kyoutani shifted, his posture slouching. “I learn about animals a lot there. I get most of my homework done there, too.”
“Interesting.” He proved that he still was academically active. Not at the same level as Yahaba, but still tried. The opportune time to ask about the incident finally came. “Maeko still harasses you?”
A huff signalled that Yahaba may had overstepped. Yahaba sealed his lips shut and accepted if Kyoutani would never give an answer.
“He won’t ever stop until I get out of this hell-hole.”
What did Kyoutani mean that Maeko wouldn’t stop? Kyoutani surely has the menace and aggression to scare off Maeko.
“Why don’t you tell him to fuck off? You certainly did well to piss off last year’s seniors, so you’re fully capable to tell them to back off.”
“It’s not that easy,” Kyoutani whispered lowly.
“Not that easy my ass. Your face already terrifies people. How the hell is that loser pushing you around?”
“It’s none of your fucking business!” Kyoutani snapped. He whipped around, glaring intensely. His clenched fists and shoulders shook.
Yahaba paused. Shock and anger mixed together.
“You really want to know why? He took my dog, Yahaba. That’s why I’m fucking terrified. That dickhead broke into my apartment and stole my dog. For ‘safety reasons,’ as if he owns her.”
Kyoutani turned around and briskly walked, leaving Yahaba behind to process everything.
“And now she’s vomitting.” Kyoutani glanced at Yahaba, making sure he still listened. “One of the volunteers is studying to be a veterinarian, so I ask for her help.”
Yahaba’s typical frown softened from sympathy. “Oh my, I see now. I hope your shiba gets better soon.”
Barely audible, Yahaba heard, “Thank you.”
They both finally entered Hari-mart as their conversation fell quiet again. Kyoutani immediately headed for the fried foods at the deli area. Yahaba looked through the stocked shelves, intending to buy one snack while he was there. Something to keep him awake while he studied.
Yahaba paid for the classic shrimp crackers. He waited outside the mart, squeezing the puffy bag in his hands. Kyoutani soon came through the doors. He was already munching on the fried chicken.
Their paths would diverge at this point. Yahaba needed to return to his studies and personal troubles at home, and the same could be said with Kyoutani.
“If you need help with your studies, with those guys, with your dog, let me know.”
Kyoutani side-eyed Yahaba, uninterested by the other’s warmth. “You don’t have to.”
“If lightening your load means you’ll join the team, then I’ll do my best to help.” Yahaba remembered the chilling feeling when Oikawa entrusted him. “We need you on the team, Kyoutani. To beat Shiratorizawa. To go to Nationals.”
Yahaba tried to not look too desperate. Kyoutani should feel more open-minded now that he dropped the ball about Maeko. Yahaba needed to replant the seed, to make Kyoutani reconsider while he still saw Yahaba as someone trustworthy. Did he actually consider Yahaba to be trustworthy?
“I’ll…” Kyoutani trailed as he started to walk away. “I’ll show up when I want.”
Yahaba watched the back of the second-year drift away to the left. Was he successful? Did Yahaba accomplish nothing? The result was vague, but Yahaba was sure that Kyoutani will think about it. All of this “bonding” should mean something, even if it ended quite lackluster.
Focusing on making precise sets was a difficult task after Yahaba got an earth-shattering F on his probability quiz. No matter how many times Yahaba forced his brain to stop, the cycle of self-doubt and questioning his own skills spun endlessly. It didn’t help with the team rejoicing Kyoutani’s return to the club. It had been a week and a half ago since they talked. He sure took his sweet ass time to decide. As Yahaba readied to make a set, he forgot how much of a temperamental jackass the hitter was.
The ball fell towards the middle of the ner, and Mad Dog sprinted forward and his thr volleyball dead-on. It landed outside the court. “Too short.”
“That set was for Kindaichi,” Yahaba seethed through his forced smile. The middle blocker stuttered, both fearful and shocked. He was too afraid to provide any comment.
Once again, Yahaba questioned Oikawa’s judgement. Kyoutani did not magically change after his prolonged period of absence. He talked back to his seniors, insulting their presence on the first day he came back. Being remotely friendly to Kyoutani was futile. He’d simply make a noise of acknowledgement before turning away.
However, Kyoutani proved to be no slacker. Yahaba thought that Kyoutani’s careless posture meant that he had given up on volleyball. Yet, every spike he produced could rip Yahaba’s arms clean off. Each of his spikes sliced the air with a fierce fire. One’s arms could show burns if they receive his spike. As Yahaba said before, Kyoutani’s strength was unmatched.
“Dearest, Mad Dog, you have to listen to Yahaba-chan or else you’ll mess up the team,” Oikawa said as he watched on the sidelines. Kyoutani didn’t even nod.
“If you steal someone’s set, you’re gonna mess everyone up,” Iwaizumi advised. The blond grunted, muttering a reluctant affirmation.
Oikawa gawked at the disrespect that Yahaba was equally frustrated with. “What do I do that makes him ignore me? What is it, Iwa-chan?”
Iwaizumi shrugged, unbothered to give a suggestion.
By the end of practice, Oikawa gave pointers to the first and second-years before they departed home. Iwaizumi held Kyoutani in the gym against his will. The second-year was insistent on going home early. The others eyed Kyoutani suspiciously or rolled their eyes, unimpressed by his ARROGANCE. Yahaba would feel the same, but he already had insight in Kyoutani’s personal problems. Though, he still selfishly judged Kyoutani’s behavior in spite of that. Just a little.
Another week of draining school and dreadful practice passed. Hayashi-sensei pushed back the probability test date due to reports of excused absences occurring later in the week for sports qualifiers. That now meant that Yahaba would have to take the test several days after the first day of Spring Qualifiers. Did he study? Hell no.
When Yahaba informed Hayashi-sensei, he was content with Yahaba taking the test even later (Yahaba also heard the disappointed sigh), but he warned him that he may end up falling behind as the class progressed into the next unit. He suggested taking the test early for Yahaba’s case, but Yahaba's would rather sprain both of his ankles and run a mile than taking the test early. No one but him (and maybe Watari) knew that he didn’t study for shit. Whether it was detrimental, Yahaba worked hard and stayed at volleyball practice for longer.
During lunch, Watari took a bathroom break, leaving Yahaba to finish last night’s statistics homework that he left untouched. He chewed the eraser end of his pencil as he stared at his answer that was so clearly wrong. Yahaba had Watari’s answered completed homework, and he wanted to know how the fuck Watari got 0.981 while Yahaba found 0.016. Binomial probabilty was too fucking complex yet an incredibly simple concept. Yahaba was struggling like a toddler suffering with his times table.
Right as Yahaba was about to give up and copy Watari’s answer, footsteps approached closer. Yahaba sighed, relieved that Watari came back to enlighten Yahaba with the prestigious knowledge of binomial probability. Yahaba waved, ready to greet the second-year with a cheery smile until he saw the person stand at the doorway. Wrong bald guy.
Yahaba leaned back against his chair, crossing his legs. “What horrific tragedy brought you here?”
Kyoutani dropped a folder on top of Yahaba's papers. “You said you’d help me.”
Yahaba scrunched his brows before resetting his face. “You’re right. I forgot how kind I was. Sit here,” he said as dragged a chair over. Yahaba opened the folder and looked at the unimpressive mess of scattered papers. Most, if not all, were blank. “You don’t like math?”
Kyoutani nodded. His elbow propped on the desk and supported his head. Exhaustion tainted his prominent scowl. His red tie hung a bit loosely and the shirt looked wrinkly all over. Yahaba reaffirmed that his teammate lacked the ability to be proper.
Yahaba tested whether Kyoutani understood what a quadratic function was. He forced Kyoutani to factor and solve the first quadratic on the worksheet. After some pointers and belittling comments, Kyoutani wound up with the right answers. Relieved that Kyoutani wasn’t as intelligent as a rock, Yahaba moved onto drawing the parabolas for the quadratic functions. Problems began to arise from there.
“Where’s your table?”
“Don’t need it.”
“Kyoutani, the a-value is negative. What happens to the graph when it’s negative?”
“Flip it.” He drew the parabola on the other side of the grid, mirroring its initial position.
“Flip it vertically, not horizontally.”
Kyoutani scribbled out the graph and moved to the next graph.
“The a-value is a fraction. What happens to the parabola?”
“It gets smaller?”
“Wrong. The parabola gets wider. Don’t you know what a parabola looks like when the A is two?”
“...That makes no sense.”
Yahaba combed his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to crush his skull. “That’s why you write a table of values, meathead.” Yahaba snatched the paper before Kyoutani could put down an answer. “We’ll draw parabolas later. Try simplifying polynomials.”
Kyoutani stared at the sheet, then frowned intensely as the top equation. “Why the fuck is there a Z.”
“Pretends it’s an X, Kyoutani,” Yahaba said as he held his hand in a fist, preventing himself gnawing at his nails. “What you need to do first is distribute that negative to those numbers. Then combine the polynomials.”
Miraculously enough, Kyoutani didn’t mix up the squared X’s with the X’s and combined like-terms correctly. Yahaba gave him a friendly shove of approval, which Kyoutani growled to with annoyance.
“See? Not too hard. Try this one.” Yahaba flipped the page and pointed at the last question.
“X equals 2i is a factor? What the hell is i.”
“What’s i?” Watari finally returned, walking up to the desk the others huddled at. “X to the fourth minus 6x to the third power… X equals 2i… Oh! You already have two factors,” Watari said, pointing to the given numbers. Kyoutani squinted harder.
Yahaba tucked the page into Kyoutani’s folder, hoping that Kyoutani wouldn’t get more forehead wrinkles the longer he looked at the worksheet. “We can do it another day. At least I know that your brain isn’t a smooth rock.”
That earned Yahaba a kick in the ankle from Kyoutani. Yahaba will sue him if he did break it. Nonetheless, Watari snickered at the comment and made sure he was out of ankle-kicking range. The bell rang in time before the fight could ensue.
By the time after-school practice came around, Yahaba felt the doomsday clock tick towards the dreadful date. Bumping and setting the volleyball when he should be finishing and studying review questions. His growing anxiety didn’t quell as Yahaba kept practicing. His logical mind demanded that he must study, but every inch of his being yearned to keep playing on the court, to play competitively, to keep scoring winning points.
A loud slam woke Yahaba from his spiral. The ball had curved to the right corner, opposite of Yahaba, landing outside of the line. On the other side of the net, Oikawa huffed with dissatisfaction. A perfect serve with the slightest mistake. A few other players across the net kept practicing their serve, but Yahaba paid close attention to the captain. Oikawa shook his hands before grabbing a stray ball. The ball flew up high enough from the toss, and it whistled past, curving to the left corner, landing inside. Oikawa stared so coldly at the spot the ball had landed. When Hanamaki gave praise, Oikawa’s icy stare melted to his usual chipper face.
To have the solid, unwavering focus that his captain possessed. It itched Yahaba with envy. His drive to win overshadowed Yahaba’s greatly. It made the losses against Shiratorizawa hit even harder for Oikawa. Pain that was perhaps beyond Yahaba’s understanding, or it would crush him immediately if he was so passionate. But, he deeply appreciated the effort his upperclassmen put to bring the team so far. Such responsibility may fall on him one day.
Focus. Serve. Yahaba stood a little over a meter away from the back-line. He tossed the ball, its position mostly center of Yahaba’s path. Several steps forward and he jumped, swinging his arm and hitting the ball to curve to the right. The ball followed the path that Yahaba visualized. Watari, on the other side, deftly sprung to the corner. His receive brought the ball a little short of the setter’s position. Not bad, but Yahaba could hit it harder.
Yahaba’s gym bag was carelessly thrown to the side of his bed. He already tossed his sweaty jersey in the washer. The citrus scent of the detergent from his pajamas irritated Yahaba rather than comforted him. The back of his head was still wet since Yahaba made no attempt to blow-dry his hair.
Yahaba had spent twenty minutes staring at a empty page of math problems. Post-game loss hit him harder than he thought. Blaring noises from the TV reached to Yahaba’s room. His younger brother should be in bed, yet he’d rather ruin his day to watch his favorite show now. He would scold his brother for staying up so late, but Yahaba already contradicted himself as he “studied” in his room.
Ever since he returned from the qualifiers, Yahaba consistently thought about two things: avenging his third-years and studying until he dropped dead. He actually arrived home more furious than teary-eyed. He even scared his little brother when he opened the door. He now slacked on his chair, too limp to do work and wanting to sink into his bed and continue being angry at his incompetence.
His phone sat against his stationary bag, propped up to show the screen. Number one studying-sin, Yahaba knew that. To that, Yahaba would throw hands at his haters.
Several minutes of staring at his paper, Yahaba’s phone buzzed. Yahaba eagerly answered, leaping off his chair and stretching over his bed. “Took you long enough.”
His older brother sighed through the phone. “Sorry, Shigeru. It turned out that I was busy the three times you called me.”
“You’re awfully busy for a business major.”
“Watch that attitude, corn ball,” his brother scolded in jest. “How are you? How’s Reiko-chan?”
“I’m tired, mad, sad, tired, and tired again. Reiko is not getting his sleep.”
“Of course, of course. I saw your match against Karasuno online. It was so clutched. I don’t blame you for being so tired.”
Shigeru could imagine his brother waving around his arms for dramatics. He only hummed a response.
“Your serves are on par with the other jump servers. The spiker using his left for your set was nuts. My jaw actually dropped when he saved the short set.”
Shigeru’s mind replayed the fucked-up set. His brain taunted his incompetency. Only Kyoutani’s blessed skill could save a crappy set. “Shit, yeah. I messed up that one. I’m lucky that Kyoutani still scored with it.”
“That’s his name? The guy with funky buzz cut?”
“There’s nobody else with that haircut.” Shigeru thought back to the Karasuno baldie. His hair was as daring as Kyoutani’s. The Karasuno libero was arguably as bold, cooler even.
A period of silence followed, his brother clicking supposedly on his laptop in the background. “Kichi-nii? I’m going to hang up if you don’t say something.”
“Hold on. Let me send you something.” A couple more clicks and then a notification popped on Shigeru’s phone. “I’d like you to explain whatever happened here, and give me every detail.”
By the tone of his voice, Yahaba could tell this meant one thing, and he wouldn’t have to open the message. “Don’t tell me the cameras caught the fight between me and Kyoutani.”
His brother laughed. “Was it really a fight? You were the one dominating by the looks of it.”
“Nii-san! No!” If only chucking his phone equated to throttling his brother. “It was just a dispute. I had to straighten that guy out because he has on the verge of giving up. I wasn’t letting that guy ruin our chances to win, even if we did lose…”
“Whatever I saw didn’t look straight to me. That Kyoutani-guy must have pulled your hairs or bit you to drive you this mad. Literally nobody makes you that mad, except for me or Reiko.”
“I’m actually going to hang up. I called you so you could make me feel better, not to think about that embarrassing shit.”
“Language, you little shit. If you won’t tell me, Reiko-chan can ask for me.”
Initially confused, Shigeru realized that Kichi-nii meant sending Reiko the clip, too. His older brother already hung up before Shigeru could declare for him to stop. He shoved his phone into the mattress, another form of throwing his phone across his room without committing to it.
Speedy footsteps thundered towards his room, but Shigeru leapt his door and shut it just in time. A loud thunk came from his brother ramming himself into Yahaba’s door. Quite unnecessary power to enter someone’s room. He made sure that wretched animal would not enter.
“Don’t talk to me! I’m busy!”
“But—”
“I don’t care what Kichi-nii sent! And go to sleep, Reiko!”
“Fine! You’re still gonna tell me tomorrow!” Reiko shouted back. “And goodnight!”
“Goodnight!”
Shigeru slumped back onto his chair, returning to his horrible studies. With newly inflamed hatred for his brothers, Shigeru channeled his anger into motivation to focus.
The first light and the second light being red have a probability of 0.4556. The first light not being red but the second light being red have a probability of 0.1332. Kyoutani licking lips before a serve was honestly attractive.
Yahaba paused. What the fuck did his brother plant into his mind.
His conscious couldn’t stop slipping into the same thoughts while he tried solving the important question of the conditional probabilities of traffic lights. Honey eyes that could glow gold. The veins that ran up his arms. Calloused hands that he’d let—
Nope. What mattered right now was figuring what the probability of the first traffic light being red.
Hormones and brains battled each other until Yahaba clocked out four hours after midnight.