Chapter Text
You've never been more grateful for modern air conditioning in your life.
Hauling the last of the boxes into the shop with a long-suffering sigh, you drop them one at a time by their respective aisles. Your cousin looks up from whatever she's doing at the counter when she hears the thuds of multiple cardboard boxes hitting the floor.
"The fuck are you huffing and puffing for?" Yumiko questions.
"I'm not" — you take a deep breath, wiping your forehead with the hand towel you keep in the apron of your uniform — "huffing and puffing. It's just hot outside. Every chicken in the prefecture is probably laying hard boiled eggs right now."
She adjusts the sunglasses perched on her head without taking her eyes off the cash register. "Hyogo is too big for that," she says. "It's one of the few prefectures that stretches entirely across Japan's main island, from the Sea of Japan in the north to the Seto Inland Sea in the south."
You give her a disbelieving look.
Yumiko is actually a nerd. The pink streaks in her hair, artful earring stacks, and general shameless personality make it a little hard to believe, but she's annoyingly intelligent. She graduated a year early from high school, went abroad to study entrepreneurship at a prestigious university in the United States, then came back to Japan to start a business.
To absolutely no one's surprise, it's doing pretty well. Still, she's the kind of person who struggles to be serious all the time, which is why you're here at the store's Amagasaki location and staying in her home. Set to slave away for the entire summer.
Whatever. At least you get a salary.
"You can do my geography homework for me, then," you say, sliding open the ice cream freezer and swiping a chocolate Papico. She makes a sound of protest, but you ignore her.
"I'm just paying you to steal from me at this point," she complains.
"It's the price of my wonderful companionship," you retort easily. "What a bargain."
Yumiko snaps the cash register shut before walking over, a smile of amusement flickering over her face. "It's really not that hot outside. I get the feeling you wouldn't be sweating half as much if you didn't insist on carrying twenty-eight boxes in, four at a time, without help."
You stiffen slightly. "It wasn't hard."
"I figured as much. Your arms are unfairly strong."
"I wouldn't say unfairly, but sure."
"Just saying," she shrugs. "Your body needs a break. That's why you're here, isn't it?"
The expression on your face fades to blank before Yumiko can say anything else, and she huffs a little. This happens every time she brings it up, but that doesn't mean she's gonna stop asking about it. Stubbornness is a hereditary trait in your family. It didn't skip you, and it certainly didn't skip Yumiko either.
Thankfully, she knows how to read a room.
"Okay, okay," she says, raising her hands in surrender. "Point taken. I'm gonna go back home and take a long nap. That's cool with you, right?"
"You really trust me to run the shop without you?" you tease, immediately bouncing back.
She snorts, "Girl, I better. If you burn it down or flood it or some dumb shit like that, I'll have you assassinated."
"I bet you will. Have a nice nap, Yumi-chan."
Your cousin makes a face at the nickname but waves anyway, making her exit as quickly as she can. Damn, she really wanted to get out of here.
Just when you think she's gone, she pops around the corner again, sticking her head into the store. "You forgot two boxes outside," she calls, winking before she disappears again.
You groan silently. It's irritatingly humid outside, the kind of weather that could make even Mother Teresa drop a couple curses. The prospect of having to march back out there and retrieve two boxes sounds like a special method of torture designed just for you.
The perfectionist in you complains, however, as does the logical part of you. You finish off your ice cream and cross the store, pushing open the glass door. You're immediately hit with a stifling wave of heat. If only I could shed my skin, you think wearily.
You turn to look for the boxes, but find none.
What?
Brow furrowing in confusion, you glance around for any clues as to where they could have gone. When it's clear that there are no boxes, you frown. I should've known something was up when she was looking a little too happy. When she gets back, I swear to—
"Heads!" someone shouts from behind you.
You whip around, gaze trailing up to the sky. A volleyball flies straight at you, spinning quickly and unpredictably through the air.
"Ah, shit," you hear the same person say.
"You've really done it now," another comments.
You don't pay attention to them, though. The sight of a volleyball in the air lights something in your chest, dull but insistent.
Before you can process what's happening, your hands have pulled themselves together and your arms are straightening out. You take one tiny step, adjusting your stance slightly.
The talking stops suddenly. That snaps you out of your daze, and you yank your arms apart right as the ball is about to make contact with your forearms. There's a resounding smack as you catch the ball in your hands, stopping the momentum easily. You straighten up and search for the culprit with a mix of annoyance and confusion.
Make that plural. Culprits with an 's.'
Two identical sets of eyes blink back at you.
They're clearly twins, probably around your age. One of them has his hair dyed gray and combed to the left. The other has his hair dyed blond (can you even call that blond? it's really yellow) and combed to the right.
There's pindrop silence for a solid few seconds as you engage in a stare off with them.
What the hell, you all think simultaneously.
Then the three of you recover simultaneously. "You! Come back!" the blond(?) yells, while you toss the volleyball back to them and turn around in hopes of getting back in the store before anything else can happen.
You don't stop to see if they catch the ball. The shop bell jingles merrily as you dart into the building. You debate ducking into the supply closet so they can't find you even if they choose to come inside, but you know that Yumiko would genuinely revert to torture methods from the Middle Ages if she found out you left the store unattended with two teenage boys inside.
After a moment of hesitation, you go to man the counter and pray they lose interest in you. Maybe they'll get distracted by a butterfly or deodorant or something.
The shop bell chimes again.
"Oi, why'd you run away?" the yellow-haired boy questions, coming up to the counter.
Yumiko, you are so fucking dead.
"She's obviously working," the gray-haired one grumbles, less enthusiastic. "You're harassing her at her workplace. And you almost hit her with that botched receive, too."
"That was not a botched receive!"
"Whaddya call it, then? A learning experience?"
"You're just mad Coach Kurosu complimented Ginjima's passes and not yours."
Gray Hair's fingers are twitching like he's looking to strangle someone, so you decide to intervene before they can start brawling in the store and end up knocking over a shelf.
"Did you come in to buy something?" you ask monotonously.
Both of their heads swivel away from each other to look at you.
"Nah," Yellow Hair says. "We came to ask—"
"You," Gray Hair corrects.
"Huh?"
"You came to ask. Not me."
"Eat shit!" Yellow Hair snaps. "I came to ask if you—"
"I'm sorry," you interrupt, following his brother's example. "If you're not going to purchase something, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Silence for a moment. Then:
Yellow Hair whistles in impress. He marvels, "That's the least sorry 'I'm sorry' I've ever heard. How're you doing that?"
You force on a smile, but you don't bother hiding the irritation in your eyes. "Passion for my job," you say. "Are you going to buy something or not?"
"That's no way to talk to a possible customer—"
"'Tsumu," his brother cuts him off again, eyes trained on the other side of the store. "They have self-serve ramen stations here."
"Hah? Why should I care? And stop interrupting me when—"
"Let's get some."
"Stop interrupting—"
"Don't say you're not in the mood for ramen."
"'Tsumu" wheels on Gray Hair, ready to beat the shit out of him.
"The self-serve ramen stations are new," you inform them. "In case you were wondering."
"I was not wondering, thank you very much—"
"She's obviously not going to answer your question unless you buy something," Gray Hair says to Yellow Hair, exasperated.
He looks bewildered. "What? Why not?"
They do, in fact, get some ramen.
After paying for instant ramen packets and getting hot water through the automatic machine, they grab seats at tables by the wall. Yellow Hair almost bangs his paper bowl on the table, pointing at you with an accusing finger.
"Now will you answer our question?" he demands.
"Quit saying 'our,'" Gray Hair says around a mouthful of piping hot ramen. "It's you who wants to know, not me."
"Shut up! I know you wanna know just as much as I do!"
"Oh yeah? I bet your imaginary friends were telling you all about it."
"Are you two just gonna argue the entire time you're here?" you ask, feeling your infinite patience become not-so-infinite as they go on and on.
"Quit distracting me, 'Samu. I'm tryna figure something out here," Yellow Hair scowls. He grabs his ramen and drags his chair over to checkout with ease (those chairs are heavy, but he made them look light, you think before banishing the thought from your mind), sitting down across the counter from you. You stare at him, almost amazed at his audacity, while "'Samu" just sighs and shakes his head.
"The tables are over there," you tell him.
"You think I don't have eyes?" he scoffs, splitting open his chopsticks.
"At this point, yes," you say honestly.
His eye twitches in irritation, and he puts the chopsticks down. The annoyed expression washes away and is replaced with one of angelic peace and tranquility. "Tell you what, I'll forgive you for your transgressions. I'm so amazing and merciful, right? Now we're even."
You have no idea what's happening. "I'm sorry?"
"Again with the apologies that sound more like insults," Yellow Hair remarks. "Don't worry, I'll forgive that one too."
"What are you talking about?" you try instead, at the risk of sounding rude. Fortunately, you don't give a fuck about customer service and all that.
"'Samu and I almost hit you with a ball and had an argument in your, uh... workplace or whatever. You were very mean to me and hurt my feelings," he explains in the tone of someone whose feelings were definitely not hurt.
"If your feelings were hurt because of that, you should probably consider—"
"Shhh, it's okay," Yellow Hair says soothingly. "You're probably in shock because of my kind deed, huh? My generosity knows no bounds, really."
You're dumbfounded, but you recover almost immediately. "'In shock'? Listen here, Goldilocks—"
"Golidlocks?!"
"Yeah, Goldilocks—"
He stands up abruptly. "That's it! You can insult everything else about me, but leave the hair! And my face! And my intelligence! Well, my body too! I have a pretty good body, okay? Actually, don't insult me at all!"
"Just ask the damn question," Gray Hair calls from his spot at the table. You notice he's almost done with his ramen, which is impressive.
"Fine, fine. Quit hounding me," he complains. "Have a little sympathy for your poor brother."
You hear the scraping of a chair on the floor, and upon glancing over you see Gray Hair getting up from his seat. Presumably to kick his brother's ass.
"Jesus, okay!" Bright brown eyes meet your gaze, and the blond boy leans in. You lean away. "Hey, do you play volleyball?" he asks.
You exhale slightly. This is exactly what you expected they'd ask, but you were still hoping they'd have some stupid question ("can we get directions to the nearest subway station," "do you have a phone charger I can borrow," "are you allergic to peanuts") instead.
"I can't answer personal questions," you say. "Sorry, it's company policy."
Yellow Hair's jaw drops. "What the fuck," he says.
The other boy snickers, coming over to stand next to him. "That's what you get."
"I think your ramen is getting cold," you say.
"If you're not gonna eat it, I will."
"Forget the ramen! I want answers."
"I'm working right now, so I'm not allowed to give out information about myself to customers."
"How about an acquaintance? I'm Atsumu Miya, and I'm going into my second year at Inarizaki High," Yellow Hair says, pointing at himself. He jerks a thumb at his brother. "And that's Osamu Miya. He's going into the same year at the same school, but it's just a coincidence. We're not related. You?"
Inarizaki, huh. They've got one hell of an athletic program. And it's a private school, so they're probably rich kids.
You gesture to your name tag. He squints at it.
"Nice to meet you, Joshua." His head jerks up when he realizes. "Your name is not Joshua!"
"How do you know that?" you ask, shrugging. "You shouldn't make assumptions about other people, Goldilocks."
"You know my name now, so don't go around calling me that. Why does your name tag say Joshua?"
"It's company policy."
Atsumu groans. "You're just gonna use that as an excuse for everything now?"
"Do you even work here?" Osamu asks, sneakily sliding himself the untouched bowl of ramen. "We come here, like, three times a week, and I've never seen you before."
So they live in the neighborhood, you think. You consider digging a tunnel that connects the store to Yumiko's house so you can travel between the two locations without having to go outside. Considering the amount of dirt you'd get under your fingernails, though, and the potential infrastructure problems (would the building collapse if you disturbed the soil supporting the foundation? hmm), you might have to abandon the thought.
"I started work today," you say. "You think I sewed this apron myself or something?"
"No. I think you killed an employee named Joshua and assumed his identity," he tells you. "Return the name tag to American soil, where it belongs."
"You should really be going to the police station with this information."
He shrugs. "It's too much work."
"Wonderful," you mutter. "This neighborhood really feels safe with upstanders like you around."
Atsumu perks up. "You live around here?"
You wonder if Yumiko sells poison pills here. "No."
"She obviously does," Osamu says. "Why else would she work here in the summer?"
"What school do you go to?"
"No personal questions."
"Shoulda seen that coming."
It's a sunny afternoon the next day when you leave to grab lunch. Yumiko insists that she can watch over the store in the gap between the start of your lunch break and the start of your coworker's shift, which would set you free for the rest of the day.
She's definitely got some villainous plan in mind. You're determined to get to the bottom of it, but you'll do that once you've had lunch.
You step out and are immediately pelted with volleyballs.
Your eyes widen in surprise, but somehow you manage to catch three of them. The other four you're forced to dodge, and they bounce against the glass walls of the building instead.
Upon looking up, you make eye contact with an unfortunately familiar pair of brothers.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Do you need something?" you ask flatly.
Both of them look completely unapologetic.
"How the fuck did you catch so many of them?" Atsumu asks you, walking over with an empty mesh ball bag in his hands. You connect the dots quickly.
"Why do you guys own so many volleyballs?" you fire back, throwing them to him. He hurries to catch them, almost tripping over his own ass. You restrain a laugh.
Osamu grabs one of the balls that's rolling past his feet. "We lose the old ones, buy new ones, and find the old ones again. Pretty inefficient, if you really think about it."
You don't need to think about it to figure that out.
"Right," you say. "And why were you throwing them at me?"
"We were trying to get you to do the thing you did last time," Atsumu says.
At your blank look, Osamu supplies, "When you almost bumped the ball back to us."
"I don't know what you're talking about," you reply without missing a beat. Your expression doesn't change as you walk straight past them.
They immediately start complaining from behind you, scrambling to pick up the volleyballs and catch up before you get too far.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Atsumu asks, matching your stride. He tosses the bag somewhere, like those squirrels that bury acorns then forget where they put them.
"You still have your apron on," Osamu tells you.
You reach behind your back with ease, tugging the apron loose and slipping it off. You fold it up and tuck it into your tote bag, eyes still focused ahead.
"That was a little too smooth. D'you forget to take off your uniform often?" the gray-haired boy snorts.
"Only as often as you decide to throw volleyballs at strangers leaving work for lunch," you say.
"So once," he concludes.
"You don't sound so sure."
Atsumu decides that this is a good time to interrupt. "Do you play volleyball?"
"We've been over this, Goldilocks."
"Yeah, and we've also been over you calling me that."
"Sorry, I forgot your name," you say, finally turning your head to shoot him an unrepentant, almost smug look. "Well, Goldilocks fits you so much better, anyway."
Shit, Atsumu thinks. He can't tell if it's frustration and annoyance bubbling in his stomach, or if it's butterflies.
"Then what should I call you?" he asks.
"Nothing, hopefully, because I don't plan on seeing you guys again."
Nevermind. It's definitely annoyance.
(Yeah, it takes way more than that to get the Atsumu Miya. It's not like one self-satisfied look will have him tripping or anything.)
(...He can dish it, but he can't take it.)
"You know it's obvious that you're lying, right?" Osamu asks you before Atsumu can get a word in.
"About what?" you say, as if obligated to. Your companions exchange a look.
"Playing volleyball," he says.
You really don't care. "Sure," you agree.
"Aha! So you're admitting that you do play volleyball?" Atsumu says excitedly.
You poorly stifle a yawn. "What? I wasn't paying attention."
"You're definitely gonna be paying attention when I sock you in the—"
"No random just reacts to a big fat ball hurtling straight for their head like you did yesterday," Osamu groans, still trying to convince you that the gig is up. "When we chucked them at you earlier, you caught half of 'em. Hell, even most high school players wouldn't react like that. That was actual reflex."
"Maybe I should take up a sport, if you think my reflexes are so good," you hum.
"And your height, too," Atsumu adds, ignoring you while he waves a horizontal hand by his forehead as a gesture to your stature. The twins are taller than you by just a hair, which actually kind of ticks you off. "Oh yeah. It's all coming together."
"Did you seriously just quote Kronk?" you ask.
"Not too much on my boy now," he says, offended.
You end up eating lunch with them. Well, saying with might be a bit of an exaggeration. They promise to buy you food in exchange for you not actually assaulting them to get them to fuck off. You artfully dodge all of their probing questions, and in the end, the Miyas learn virtually nothing about you.
On the other hand, you get a free meal out of the excursion.
"Welcome home," Yumiko calls from where she's sprawled out on the couch, watching something on the TV.
You slide your shoes off and walk over. She slept all through the rest of the day yesterday, so you didn't have time to confront her about the "missing two boxes" comment, and there wasn't really an appropriate time today either. But now, with the annoyances fresh on your mind, you're ready to go.
"Yumiko," you say, stopping in front of her with your arms crossed and eyebrows raised, "why'd you say there were two boxes outside the store yesterday when there weren't?"
"There weren't?" she says innocently. "I'm sure I saw them."
"Oh, please. You just wanted me to go outside, right? 'Two boxes' because there were two idiots playing volleyball outside the store?"
She grins. "You didn't think they were cute? I was hoping you would."
"Cute? Is that a synonym for insufferable now?"
"Sometimes, I wish you were a little more stupid."
"Great. Thanks a lot."
"I really don't understand why you need to figure this out so badly," Osamu says, watching the computer screen from over his shoulder. "Why do you give a fuck?"
Atsumu slams his hands on the desk. "I just don't understand why someone wouldn't want to admit that they play volleyball. Y'know, volleyball, only humanity's greatest creation?"
"I think the air fryer low diffs it," he comments.
"Shut your fatass up. All you think about is food."
Osamu whacks him across the back of his head. This immediately devolves into a full wrestling match.
After thirty minutes and a scolding from their mother, they're back on the computer again, looking considerably more disheveled.
Atsumu fixes his shirt that somehow got turned backwards during the fight. "I'm gonna look her up. If she plays with her school, she'll definitely pop up. Unless she's a scrub. Then she'll probably be famous for being shit."
"You don't know her name," Osamu points out, pulling his socks back on.
"Not a problem."
Without thinking, Atsumu types something into the search bar:
volleyball
And hits enter.
They stare at the screen when it returns the results.
"Volleyball is a team sport in which two teams of six players are separated by a net. Each team tries to score points by grounding a ball on the other team's court under organized rules," Osamu reads aloud. "Source: Wikipedia. You're a genius, aren't you?"
"Go fuck yourself," Atsumu counters. "I didn't mean to press enter."
"Sure you didn't."
"You try then," he demands.
"It's not that hard," Osamu says, rolling his eyes.
volleyball girl
Enter.
"Tallest Women's Volleyball Players in the World. Top 10 Best Women's Volleyball Players in the World. Volleyball Player is the Coolest Job Ever," Atsumu reads.
"I wasn't gonna hit enter," Osamu reasons.
"Go fuck yourself," his brother says again.
They start another death battle, because that's the logical next step.