Chapter Text
“Oi! We’re accepting applications for the volleyball team. You sure you don’t wanna join? We might even make an exception for you after that killer smash you pulled off at the junior championships!” Tendou said, cackling as he leaned over from the seat beside you.
He’d been pestering you about volleyball ever since you became classmates two years ago, shortly after Shiratorizawa scouted you on a sports scholarship. Apparently, being one of the school’s badminton athletes wasn’t enough to keep him from trying to recruit you into a completely different sport.
You rolled your eyes, gritting your teeth as you turned toward him. “Stop teasing me, you little shit. If you don’t wanna pay attention in class, that’s fine. Just don’t drag me down with you.”
Tendou only smiled, completely unbothered. “Seriously, the manager position for our team is open. You need the extra credits because of your sports scholarship, right?”
Ah, right. Your sports scholarship didn’t work quite the same way as the team sports scholarships. Since you were a singles badminton player, your training schedule wasn’t nearly as demanding as the volleyball team’s daily practices. You still had your own training and tournaments, obviously, but you weren’t tied to the school gym every morning and afternoon. Because of that, you needed to earn extra credits from another club to maintain your scholarship.
During your first year, you’d joined the boys’ tennis team as a part-time manager. It seemed like the most logical choice at the time. Tennis was probably the closest thing to badminton, you actually understood what was happening on the court, and the team didn’t mind having someone who couldn’t attend every single practice. It worked out surprisingly well—until your second year, when the team suddenly received an absurd number of applications for manager positions. You didn’t need to ask why. Most of the applicants were probably just looking for an excuse to watch their favorite players run around all sweaty after practice.
Unfortunately, that meant there was no longer any reason for them to keep you around as a part-time manager. So you were transferred to the girls’ tennis team instead, where things went pretty smoothly for another year. Then third year came around, and apparently that wasn’t going to work either. The girls’ team decided they wanted their manager to be a full-time member who could attend every practice, which was completely impossible with your badminton training and tournament schedule.
So here you were, three years into Shiratorizawa and somehow back to square one, trying to find another club that would give you enough credits without completely wrecking your already packed schedule.
And Tendou, unfortunately, had noticed your predicament.
“Besides, you get to see our famous ace, U-shi-wa-ka.” He wiggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying himself. “God knows how many fangirls would kill for the offer I’m making you right now.”
You gave him a flat look. “You do realize I’ve known him for two years, right?”
Tendou looked at you like you’d just completely missed the point. “Exactly! And you still haven’t appreciated what you have!”
“I sit three seats away from him.”
“Opportunity of a lifetime, ya know?” He pointed at you, looking far too pleased with himself.
You stared at him for a beat, completely unimpressed. “You’re an idiot.”
“I prefer matchmake—”
The bell rang before Tendou could finish, finally signaling the end of class. You let out a small sigh of relief, wondering how on earth your teacher hadn’t noticed the red-haired idiot beside you cackling through half the lesson.
Before you could pack your things, a voice came from a few desks away.
“Oi, Tendou. Stop pestering her!” Semi called, already looking annoyed. “We still owe a hundred serves after that shitty prank you pulled on Goshiki!”
Tendou turned around with an innocent expression. “That was an accident.”
Apparently, Tendou had decided yesterday that putting strawberry jam mixed with salty water into the poor kid’s tumbler was a good idea. You’d heard that he spent the rest of the day throwing up at the school clinic, which made you question why Tendou was still allowed to walk around freely.
Coach Washijou had been having absolutely none of it either; according to Semi, he spent a good fifteen minutes chewing Tendou out for the stunt while Tendou just stood there taking it with that stupid look on his face.
You groaned and started shoving your notebooks into your bag. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
“C’mon, Wakatoshi-kun! We gotta finish Coach’s punishment for us.” The audacity of Tendou to make it sound like the whole thing wasn’t his fault was almost impressive.
Three seats away from you, Ushijima stood up without a word, giving Tendou and Semi a small nod before heading for the door. You still had to tilt your head back slightly whenever you looked at him. Seriously, how could a high schooler grow that tall?
Tendou paused beside your desk and pointed at you one last time. “Don’t forget our offer, mkay?” He gave you a knowing look before following Ushijima out of the classroom.
You watched them disappear down the hallway before turning back to your things. Semi was still there, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
“I know Tendou’s annoying,” he said, sounding almost apologetic, “but we’d really appreciate it if you considered the manager position. You’ve already been around us for two years, so it wouldn’t exactly be like throwing some random person into the team.” He shrugged, then added, “Also, you’re not one of those girls who’d spend practice squealing over every little thing, so that’s already a plus.”
You snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll think about it for now.”
Finally heading out of the classroom, you walked down the crisp white hallway toward the stairs, your bag slung over one shoulder. Volleyball club manager, huh? The more you thought about it, the more it actually made sense. You needed the credits, you already knew most of the team, and the schedule shouldn’t interfere too much with badminton. Not that there was much of a downside anyway.
Still, you had badminton training waiting for you after class. You’d been doing this for two years already, and there was no reason to let some new club arrangement throw off your usual routine. You’d think about the manager position later. For now, you had a practice to get through.
After changing out of your uniform—the purple skirt, white button-down, and white blazer—you pulled on your badminton jersey instead. It was sleeveless and mostly white, with purple running down both sides in Shiratorizawa’s colors.
You grabbed your racket bag and headed toward the gym. Thankfully, the badminton gym was right beside the locker room, so you didn’t have to walk halfway across campus just to get to practice. The boys’ volleyball gym sat directly across from it, and even from the hallway, you could already hear the familiar sound of volleyballs hitting the floor. Someone yelled loud enough that you didn’t even have to look inside to know which team was practicing.
Opening the metal doors to the badminton gym, you found Coach Wang Xiao and the rest of the team already gathered along the side of the court. Ayane and Satomi were standing together near the benches, which wasn’t exactly surprising. The two of them had been Shiratorizawa’s doubles pair for as long as you could remember—Ayane handling most of the defense while Satomi was usually the one trying to end the rally with a smash. You’d seen them argue over something as stupid as who forgot to bring extra tape, then turn around five minutes later and play like they shared one brain cell on court.
Ayane caught your eye and gave you a small wave. Your best friend had somehow become the unofficial mother of the group over the years, which mostly meant she was the one making sure everyone had water, extra tape, and enough sense not to injure themselves. Satomi, on the other hand, was already looking at you with that familiar competitive glint in her eyes. The second-year athlete had been your practice rival since her first year, always pushing you to hit harder, move faster, and stop playing it safe whenever you had the chance.
Haneul, the youngest girl on the team, was sitting on the floor beside them. Half-Korean and half-Japanese, she’d spent enough winter breaks training with you, treating you like an older sister and not just a family friend. She looked up the moment the metal door creaked open and immediately brightened.
“You’re finally here, unnie! We were just about to fetch you from the locker room,” she said, a little laugh slipping out at the end.
You giggled and walked over to drop your bag beside the benches. “How thoughtful of you.”
“I missed you,” Haneul said, pouting.
Before you could respond, Coach Wang glanced in your direction.
“Now that everyone’s here,” he announced. “Start your warm-ups. I better not see any of you slacking.”
A chorus of groans immediately followed.
Coach Wang Xiao had been brought to Shiratorizawa all the way from China. A retired Olympic gold medalist coaching a bunch of high school students was already ridiculous enough, but the school had somehow managed to convince him to move countries for the job. You weren’t complaining. He was a good coach—kind when he needed to be, brutally honest when you were playing like shit, and completely incapable of letting anyone get away with half-assing their training.
He also insisted on speaking English during practice.
Which meant the moment anyone started pretending not to understand him, he’d simply repeat himself slower.
“Warm. Up.”
You joined the others along the side of the court and started with the usual stretches, working through your shoulders, arms, wrists, hips, and legs. Coach Wang made sure nobody skipped anything, occasionally walking past to correct someone’s posture or tell them to hold a stretch longer. Once everyone had loosened up, he had the team run laps around the gym. By the time you finished, your breathing had already picked up, and Satomi looked like she was reconsidering every decision that had brought her here.
“Coach, we haven’t even started playing yet,” she complained, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
“Exactly,” Coach Wang replied. “You should not be tired.”
You tried not to laugh as Satomi stared at him, her face slowly turning red.
The laps were followed by dynamic stretches, then short sprints across the court. High knees, lunges, leg swings, and quick changes in direction kept everyone moving until your legs felt properly warmed up. After that came footwork drills, which were probably the closest thing to actual badminton so far. Without rackets or shuttlecocks, you moved around the court as if returning shots—stepping forward to the net, recovering to the center, shuffling toward the sidelines, then moving back for an imaginary clear.
Coach Wang had you repeat the pattern until everyone could do it without looking down at their feet. You’d been through the routine more times than you could count, but that didn’t stop your legs from burning by the end of it.
Haneul bent forward with her hands on her knees beside you. “Unnie,” she said between breaths, “are we actually going to play badminton today?”
“I hope so.”
“We’ve been here for twenty minutes.”
“And?”
She looked up at you, completely serious. “I’m already tired.”
You glanced around at the rest of the team, who looked about as enthusiastic as she did.
“We haven’t even started yet.”
Haneul let out a miserable noise.
Coach Wang clapped his hands from the other side of the court. “Again. You guys look like sluggish worms!”
The entire gym groaned.
Through the open doors of the gym, a few members of the volleyball team could see what was happening across the way. Tendou had been resting when his attention drifted toward the badminton court, only to find you and the rest of the team halfway through what looked less like a warm-up and more like some kind of punishment.
He watched you sprint across the court, change direction, drop into a lunge, recover, then do the whole thing again.
“Damn, Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou said, sounding genuinely relieved, “I’m glad I’m not part of the badminton team. Aren’t you? That warm-up looks like hell.”
Reon glanced over while rolling his shoulders. “Coming from someone on Washijou-sensei’s team, that’s a bit rich.”
“Yeah, but our warm-ups are a different kind of hell.”
A few of the players looked toward the other gym again. Most of the badminton team had gone straight from laps and stretching into sprints and footwork drills, and none of the girls seemed to be slowing down despite the fact that they’d already been sweating before they’d even picked up a racket.
Goshiki stared for a moment. “Do they always warm up like that?”
“Looks like it,” Reon replied.
Tendou, still watching you move across the court, shook his head. “Seriously, though. I thought badminton was just hitting a little birdie thing across a net.”
Reon gave him a look.
“What?”
Before anyone could answer, a familiar voice thundered across the gym.
“SATORIIII!”
Tendou froze.
Speaking of the devil.
Coach Washijou stood on the other side of the court, veins practically visible on his forehead.
“IF YOU HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO STARE AT THE BADMINTON TEAM, THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD SWITCH SPORTS AND MOVE YOUR ASS OVER THERE!”
The entire gym went quiet for half a second.
Tendou slowly turned back around. “Never mind. I take it back.”
Ushijima glanced toward the badminton gym one last time.
Their warm-up still looked like hell.