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Summary
The air tastes sweetest at dawn, as if the world tilts on a different axis and softens. March mornings in Japan are crisper than he remembers, but his body warms soon enough with exertion. Each heaving breath burns in his lungs; his long legs ache with unfamiliar strain.
Kei once resented this feeling of fatigue. It was a necessary evil if he wanted to continue playing, but he certainly never enjoyed it. Or at least, once upon a time, he didn’t.
Then again, maybe his body just sucks.
He doesn’t remember sucking this badly at fifteen.
— Or: Tsukishima Kei has plans for Karasuno, Kageyama Tobio is a local celebrity for reasons entirely unrelated to volleyball, and apparently Kei has been living under a rock. According to Yamaguchi, anyway.