Chapter Text
The squeak of sneakers against the gym floor echoed sharply as Hinata raced across the court toward the bulletin board, where Yachi was attempting to hang up her newly printed fundraising poster.
He had been keeping an eye out for her return ever since she’d announced that she was heading to the school printing room to pick up the first finished draft. Every time the gym doors opened, his head had snapped around. Now that she was finally back, whatever drill he had technically been participating in had apparently ceased to exist.
“Eeep!”
Yachi squealed and ducked sideways, fearing Hinata's rapid incoming would result in collision.
The first thing Hinata noticed was the color.
Bright—blindingly bright—orange.
It didn’t merely sit on the page. It leapt from it, glowing beneath the harsh white gym lights like someone had caught a piece of sunset and pinned it to the bulletin board.
Hinata stopped so abruptly that the rubber soles of his shoes shrieked against the polished floor. His gym bag, abandoned near the edge of the court and hastily snatched up on his way over, slipped from his shoulder and landed with a hollow thump.
“Yachi!”
His voice cracked with awe and carried through the entire Karasuno gymnasium, bouncing off the high ceiling and cutting through the steady rhythm of volleyballs striking hardwood.
Several heads turned.
Ukai’s whistle dropped from his lips. Tanaka stopped mid-stretch with one leg raised awkwardly behind him, while Nishinoya, who had somehow been balancing a ball on the back of his neck between drills, jerked upright and sent it rolling beneath the net.
“THIS IS AMAZING!”
Hinata launched himself the last few steps toward the bulletin board.
“Don’t run through the court in the middle of practice drills!” Daichi shouted automatically.
Hinata skidded to a halt, arms windmilling as his momentum nearly carried him face-first into the wall.
“I went around the court!”
“You were absolutely running through the court,” Ennoshita said.
“You were running so fast you made wind,” Kinoshita added from where he sat retightening one of his shoes.
Narita glanced up from his stretches, a faint smile touching his face. “Maybe he really can fly.”
Hinata ignored all of them.
Pinned carefully at the center of the board was the new Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball Club fundraising poster.
And there—midair, frozen in motion—was him.
His body arched in the familiar curve of a spike approach, chest lifted, right arm drawn back and ready to strike. One knee bent beneath him while the other leg stretched behind, giving the impression that he had launched himself from the earth and had no intention of coming back down.
The angle made him look taller than he was. Sharper, too.
For once, his small frame didn’t seem like a limitation. It looked concentrated, as though every ounce of energy inside him had been compressed into that single airborne moment.
Orange streaks trailed behind him, blending into the black sweep of a crow’s wing. The Karasuno banner stood boldly near the bottom of the poster, and beneath it, in clean lettering, was a request for community support to help send the team to tournaments and training camps.
Hinata stepped closer.
He could almost hear the impact of his palm against the ball and feel the momentary weightlessness just before contact—the open court below him, the net ahead, Kageyama’s toss waiting exactly where it was supposed to be.
“Th-that’s just the first completed version!”
Yachi remained standing beside the poster, looking increasingly ready to flee from the growing attention.
“I mean, not the first version! There were lots of versions, but this is the first version that’s finished, except I still wasn’t sure about the shadows, and the lettering may be too bold, and maybe the orange is too bright, and his hand might look strange, and—”
“Yachi.”
Kiyoko’s soft voice interrupted the spiraling explanation.
Yachi froze.
Kiyoko stood beside her, holding several sample pages against her chest. Her expression was as composed as ever, but there was quiet warmth in her eyes.
“It looks good.”
Yachi’s shoulders loosened by perhaps half an inch. “R-really?”
Kiyoko nodded.
The rest of the team, successfully distracted from their drills and brimming with curiosity of their own, had begun drifting toward the bulletin board. Daichi looked as though he wanted to tell them all to get back to practice, but even he glanced at the poster before apparently deciding they could have another minute.
Hinata still hadn’t looked away.
“It looks like I can fly,” he said softly.
The gym seemed to quiet around him.
Not completely. A volleyball continued bouncing near the far wall, each impact growing softer until it finally rolled to a stop. Somewhere outside, faint beyond the walls, a bicycle bell chimed from the road.
But the usual shouting and arguing paused.
There was no exaggeration in Hinata’s voice now. No wild bouncing. No puffed-out chest or loud declaration that he was going to become the next Little Giant.
Only quiet wonder.
Yachi peeked from behind Sugawara, having shuffled toward the back of the growing semicircle around the bulletin board.
“That was what I wanted,” she admitted. “I mean—not that you can actually fly, because that would be scientifically impossible, and if I implied that on an official club poster there could be false advertising concerns, but—”
Tsukishima snorted.
Yamaguchi covered his mouth, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.
Yachi’s face reddened.
“I meant that when you jump, it feels like you’re flying,” she finished in a rush. “So I wanted it to look that way.”
Hinata finally turned around.
His eyes shone.
“It does.”
Yachi went completely still.
Then her face turned such a violent shade of red that Tanaka leaned toward Nishinoya and whispered, far too loudly, “Do you think managers can overheat?”
“She might explode,” Nishinoya whispered back.
“We should get a bucket.”
Tanaka stared at him. “Why would a bucket help?”
“For the explosion!”
“Stop planning for Yachi to explode,” Ennoshita said.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
Tanaka and Nishinoya immediately straightened.
“Yes, Ennoshita.”
“Sorry, Ennoshita.”
Kinoshita grinned. “Incredible. Daichi has competition.”
Daichi looked over sharply. “Competition for what?”
“Nothing,” Kinoshita said quickly.
Narita’s smile deepened. “He means your position as the team’s exhausted parent.”
“I am not anyone’s parent.”
“Daichi-san!” Nishinoya called immediately, throwing one hand into the air. “Tanaka stole my sports drink!”
“I did not!”
“You said I could have it!”
“I said you could have a sip!”
“You didn’t specify the size of the sip!”
Daichi closed his eyes.
Ennoshita gave him a sympathetic look.
Narita raised an eyebrow. “You were saying?”
Before Daichi could respond, Tanaka wisely turned his attention toward the poster and let out a low whistle.
“Whoa. That actually looks kinda cool.”
Nishinoya’s head snapped toward him. “‘Kinda’?”
Tanaka folded his arms defensively. “I said it looked cool!”
“You said kinda cool. That’s Hinata’s ultimate aerial form! Look at the speed lines! Look at the wing! I can practically hear the boom!”
Nishinoya struck a pose beside the poster, one arm stretched dramatically toward the ceiling.
Tanaka stared at him for a beat.
Then he shoved him aside and copied the pose.
“The next poster should be me doing a line shot.”
“The next one should be the Guardian Deity performing a miraculous save!”
“No one wants a poster of you rolling across the floor!”
“I don’t roll! I receive!”
“You rolled into the bench yesterday.”
“That was a tactical maneuver!”
“Both of you move away from the poster before you tear it,” Ennoshita said.
They stepped away at once.
Kinoshita snickered, and Narita leaned toward him. “Five hundred yen says they try to make their own poster before practice ends.”
“I’m not taking that bet. It’s guaranteed.”
Near the net, Asahi studied the poster with genuine admiration.
“The shading really is good,” he said. “The way the light comes from behind him makes the jump look even higher.”
Yachi stared at him. “You noticed that?”
Asahi immediately looked uncertain. “Was I not supposed to?”
“No! I mean, yes! I mean—thank you!”
Sugawara laughed and rested a reassuring hand on Yachi’s shoulder. “You’ve officially become Karasuno’s secret weapon.”
Yachi made a strangled noise, and Kiyoko quietly steadied the papers in her arms before she could drop them.
Daichi approached the bulletin board next, crossing his arms as he examined the design. “This will definitely catch people’s attention. You put a lot of work into it.”
Yachi bowed so quickly that Kiyoko reached out in arm in case she face planted.
“Thank you very much!”
Takeda stood a few steps away, holding the clipboard containing the team’s fundraising information. His eyes were already suspiciously bright.
“This is wonderful,” he said. “Truly wonderful. It captures Karasuno’s spirit perfectly. The crow that was once flightless, rising again through the efforts of a new generation—”
Ukai groaned from across the court.
“Sensei, don’t start crying over the fundraising poster.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You’re doing the voice you use right before you cry.”
Takeda adjusted his glasses and looked away. “I’m simply moved by the students’ dedication. And I don't cry that easily.”
“You cried when the new ball cart arrived.”
“It represented progress.”
Ukai rubbed the back of his neck, though the corner of his mouth had lifted. “It’s a good poster,” he said to Yachi. “Easy to read, eye-catching, and it tells people exactly what the money’s for. That’s what matters. Make sure you print a copy for the Sakanoshita shop window.”
For Ukai, it was practically a speech.
Yachi looked ready to cry but nodded determinedly.
A few steps behind Hinata, Kageyama remained silent, studying the image with a deep crease between his eyebrows.
Hinata noticed.
“What?”
Kageyama narrowed his eyes.
“The toss angle is off.”
Hinata whipped around. “HEY!”
Every person in the gym looked at Kageyama.
Even Tsukishima raised an eyebrow.
Yamaguchi murmured, “You really had to say it?”
“What?” Kageyama asked. “It is.”
“It’s cinematic!” Hinata shouted.
“Your contact point is too far behind you.”
“My contact point is perfect!”
“You’d hit the ball out from there.”
“I would not!”
“You would if the toss was that low.”
“Then toss it higher!”
“That’s not how—”
Kageyama stopped himself.
“But…”
Hinata stopped, too.
Kageyama looked back at the poster, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes moved over the frozen image of Hinata in the air, the extended hand, the black wing spreading behind him.
“You still hit it.”
Hinata blinked.
The irritation vanished from his face almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Then he grinned.
“Obviously.”
Kageyama clicked his tongue, but his shoulders eased.
Tsukishima pushed his glasses up his nose. “How touching. The King has approved the propaganda.”
“It’s not propaganda!” Hinata cried.
“It does make you look at least twenty centimeters taller than you are.”
“Tsukishima!”
Yamaguchi laughed nervously. “It’s still a really cool picture, Hinata.”
Hinata swelled with pride once again. “That’s because I’m cool.”
“You almost ran into a wall thirty seconds ago,” Ennoshita reminded him.
“That was because I was excited!”
“Very cool,” Tsukishima said flatly.
Ukai blew his whistle.
“All right, poster admiration time is over. Get back to drills before I make the lot of you run laps.”
The team scattered with the immediate urgency of teenagers who knew their coach was entirely capable of following through.
Hinata scooped up the bag he had dropped and hurried toward the edge of the court. As he passed Yachi, though, he slowed.
“Really,” he said, quieter than before. “Thank you.”
Yachi blinked.
Hinata smiled brightly at her and then darted away before Daichi could accuse him of running through practice again.
Yachi watched him go.
A small, proud smile appeared on her face.
The posters went up all over town the following day.
Ukai drove a small group around in the Sakanoshita Market delivery van after school, grumbling that he hadn’t signed up to become a chauffeur while Takeda sat in the passenger seat holding a carefully organized list of approved locations.
“You offered to drive,” Daichi reminded him from the back.
“I offered because Sensei was planning to carry thirty posters onto the bus.”
“I believed it was manageable.”
“They were taller than you when they were stacked together.”
Takeda looked down at his list. “Nevertheless, I appreciated the offer.”
Hinata pressed his face close to the van window.
“There’s one!”
A flash of orange shone from the window of a stationery store.
“You don’t have to announce every poster,” Tsukishima said.
“There’s another one!”
“That’s the same one reflected in the next window.”
Hinata twisted around to keep looking at it as they passed. “It still counts!”
They appeared in bakery windows, on community noticeboards, and beside handwritten menus in family-owned restaurants. One hung in the entrance of the public library. Another was taped near the front counter of Sakanoshita Market, where Ukai’s grandfather had looked at it for a long time before grunting and telling Keishin it was crooked.
It wasn’t.
The small bakery near the station placed one beside a display of sweet rolls, where the bright orange background stood out between soft pink icing and handwritten price tags. The local sporting goods store put another directly in its front window.
Kinoshita, Narita, and Ennoshita delivered posters to several shops along the main road. Kinoshita bowed too many times to every owner who agreed to display one, while Narita smoothly took over the explanation whenever Kinoshita’s words became tangled. Ennoshita kept track of which businesses had donation containers and made sure they hadn’t accidentally skipped any locations on Takeda’s list.
Tanaka and Nishinoya were initially assigned to the same group.
That arrangement lasted eleven minutes.
They returned to the van arguing over which of them had attracted more attention while standing beside the poster.
“You were shouting at pedestrians!” Daichi said.
“We were promoting the team!”
“You challenged a middle-schooler to a receiving contest.”
“He said Nishinoya-san looked short!” Tanaka protested.
“I had to defend my honor!”
Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose.
Ennoshita quietly took the remaining posters from them. “I’ll handle these.”
“Ennoshita—”
“No.”
Both second-years slumped.
Kiyoko and Yachi visited the stores closer to the school. Kiyoko spoke calmly and efficiently, while Yachi held the posters with both arms and nodded so hard whenever an owner agreed to display one that her ponytail bounced.
By the end of the week, people had noticed.
The donation box in the clubroom was no longer a sad, hollow thing that produced only a faint rattle when moved. Bills—actual bills—were folded inside alongside coins, envelopes, and short handwritten notes.
Go, Karasuno!
Bring back the glory!
Fly again!
We believe in you!
Takeda read each note aloud.
Every single one.
By the seventh message, Ukai had taken out a cigarette, remembered he was inside the school building, and shoved it back into the pack with visible irritation.
“Sensei, you don’t have to read all of them.”
“But they took the time to write them.”
“You’re crying again,” Tanaka said.
“I am not.”
“You definitely are,” Nishinoya agreed.
Daichi rescued the notes from Takeda before the teacher could drip tears onto them. “We’ll keep all of these. Yachi, could we put them into a scrapbook or something?”
Yachi straightened.
“Yes! Absolutely! I can organize them by date, or maybe by location, or by message type—unless that would be strange. Is message type too impersonal? Maybe chronological is better—”
“Chronological sounds good,” Kiyoko said.
Yachi nodded rapidly.
Hinata crouched beside the donation box, chin resting on his folded arms as he stared at its contents.
The entire town suddenly felt different.
For years, Karasuno had been spoken about as something that used to be great: a fallen powerhouse, a team whose best days were behind it. Hinata had heard those words before he ever stepped into the gym wearing Karasuno colors.
But now people were looking again.
Not laughing at them or dismissing them.
Watching with hope.
It felt as though the town itself had leaned forward in its seat, waiting to see whether Karasuno would rise.
Hinata couldn’t stop smiling.
Not because his face happened to be on the poster.
That was cool, sure. Really cool.
But every bill in that box meant another person thought Karasuno was worth investing in. Every coin meant someone had stopped long enough to look. Every handwritten Go, Karasuno! meant someone outside their little gym believed that maybe they really could become something again.
Training camps.
Tournaments.
More matches against strong teams.
More chances to grow.
He was part of making that happen.
That was the part that made his chest feel too full.
The grocery store smelled like fresh bread, chilled produce, and the sharp citrus cleaner an employee had recently used on the floor. A small bell chimed each time the automatic doors opened, allowing a breath of cool evening air to sweep through the aisles.
Hinata pushed the shopping cart carefully.
Or, at least, what he considered carefully.
The wheels rattled as he balanced on the balls of his feet and leaned over the handle, letting the cart carry him several inches before his mother reached out and caught the back of his jacket.
“Shoyo.”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You were riding the cart.”
“My feet were on the floor.”
“Barely.”
Natsu clung to the side of the cart, humming tunelessly as she swung one foot. “Can I ride in it?”
“No,” their mother said.
Hinata pointed at her triumphantly. “See?”
“That answer applies to both of you.”
Hinata lowered his hand.
Natsu giggled.
Their mother turned toward the shelves, comparing the prices of two packages of noodles, while Hinata pushed the cart forward at a far more respectable speed.
As he wandered through the familiar store, however, an odd sensation crept across the back of his neck.
Hinata slowed.
It wasn't anything he could identify. No strange sound or sudden movement had caught his attention. He simply had the uncomfortable feeling that someone had been looking at him for too long.
He glanced around.
Shoppers moved through the aisles around him, absorbed in the ordinary business of grocery shopping. An elderly man studied a row of soup packets as if the decision required intense concentration. A woman farther down reached into a refrigerated case for milk. Somewhere nearby, a child whined about wanting candy.
His mother was at the other end of the aisle, removing a box of Pocky that Natsu had apparently smuggled into the cart earlier.
“Natsu.”
His sister attempted to look innocent.
Hinata almost laughed.
Nothing was wrong.
He followed his mother when she turned the corner into the next aisle, the cart wheels giving their familiar little rattle over a seam in the tile.
The sensation disappeared.
Hinata forgot about it.
For almost ten seconds.
Then the prickling returned.
He rubbed the back of his neck and kept walking.
Maybe somebody was staring.
People did that sometimes.
Mostly because of his hair.
Or because he was being too loud.
His mother had informed him on multiple occasions that the entire store did not need to hear his opinions about which meat buns were superior.
By the time they reached the checkout line, though, the sensation had sharpened enough that Hinata found himself looking around again.
His eyes darted over the nearby aisles.
Nothing.
Just shoppers.
Cash registers beeped steadily at the front of the store, punctuated by the rustle of plastic bags and quiet conversation. The automatic doors slid open with a soft mechanical hum.
“Excuse me, young man?”
Hinata jumped.
He turned sharply toward the voice coming from his right.
A woman stood near the entrance, just behind the checkout area, apparently having only recently entered the store. She clutched a shopping basket in both hands and looked to be around his mother’s age, with a pale scarf looped around her neck.
Her gaze moved from Hinata to something behind him.
“The poster,” she said. “Are you the boy in the poster?”
Hinata blinked.
For one startled second, he wondered whether she had somehow seen it at school.
Then he followed her gaze.
A copy was taped neatly to a support pillar near the front of the store.
That same bright orange.
That same frozen moment in the air.
His image seemed even larger outside the gym.
More public.
More real.
“Oh—uh…”
Hinata scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s me. The poster is for our volleyball team,” he added quickly. “Karasuno.”
The woman smiled. “I remember Karasuno. I used to hear about the team all the time.”
Hinata’s grip tightened around the shopping cart handle.
“We’re going to be strong again.”
The words came out before he could stop them.
His mother glanced over from where she was placing groceries onto the conveyor belt.
The woman’s smile widened.
“I believe you.”
Hinata felt heat crawl up the back of his neck.
“I’m number ten,” he added, a little breathlessly, pointing toward the image. “In the picture.”
“I thought so. That jump is incredible.” She looked between him and the poster. “You look like you’re flying.”
Hinata’s face burned.
“Th-thank you!”
Natsu’s head popped up from the other side of the cart.
“My big brother can fly!”
“Natsu!”
“He can jump really high,” she continued proudly. “He jumps on the couch, too.”
“I don’t jump on the couch!”
Their mother raised one eyebrow.
Hinata faltered.
“Anymore,” he corrected.
The woman laughed warmly. “Well, I’ll be rooting for you, number ten. Good luck at your tournament.”
“Thank you!”
Hinata bowed so quickly his forehead nearly struck the cart handle.
The woman gave another soft laugh before continuing farther into the store.
Hinata remained where he was.
He looked back at the poster.
The overhead lights reflected faintly off the plastic covering, making the illustrated version of him seem to glow.
“They recognized me,” he whispered.
Natsu tugged on the hem of his shirt. “I recognized you.”
“You're basically a mini version of me.”
“I still recognized you.”
Hinata barely heard her.
The stranger hadn’t called him small.
She hadn’t asked if he was the manager, the libero, or someone’s younger brother.
She had looked at the picture and then looked at him.
A volleyball player.
Not merely Hinata Shoyo, the short kid who talked too loudly and dreamed beyond what his height should have allowed.
Number ten.
A member of Karasuno.
Part of something people believed in.
Something in his chest expanded—warm, bright, and almost painfully full.
“I’m actually part of something,” he murmured.
His mother placed the last of their groceries on the conveyor belt before looking at him.
“You’ve been part of it for a while.”
“I know, but—”
His gaze darted briefly toward the poster again.
His mother followed it.
Her expression softened.
“I’m proud of you, Shoyo.”
Hinata’s mouth opened.
For once, no loud response came out.
He looked down, rubbing beneath his nose with one finger. “Yeah,” he mumbled.
Natsu leaned around the cart.
“He’s smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are!”
“I’m not!”
“You’re smiling really big!”
Hinata grabbed the cart and began pushing it toward the end of the checkout lane. “Let’s go find the meat!”
His mother stared at him.
“Shoyo.”
He stopped.
“We already checked out.”
Hinata looked down at the bagged groceries.
“Oh.”
Natsu dissolved into giggles.
Hinata scowled at her, but his smile remained.
As his mother finished paying, the strange feeling from earlier briefly crossed his mind again.
Someone probably had been looking at him.
Maybe they had recognized him from the poster, just like the woman had, but had been too shy to say anything.
That made sense.
Actually, now that he thought about it, it made a lot more sense than the weird prickling sensation his imagination had managed to turn it into.
Hinata relaxed.
What else could it be?
Across the store, beyond the checkout lanes and partly concealed by a refrigerated display, a man watched him.
His hands rested inside the pockets of a dark jacket.
A shopper moved between them, briefly obscuring Hinata from view.
The man didn’t shift.
He simply waited.
When the shopper passed, his gaze settled once again on the boy near the front of the store.
Not on the bright poster beside him.
On the boy.
Orange hair.
Bright voice.
Quick movements.
The poster had captured him suspended in the air, body stretched toward something beyond the frame.
Flying.
The real thing was smaller.
Louder.
Alive.
Hinata laughed when Natsu said something to him, the sound carrying above the quiet mechanical beeping of the registers.
The man tilted his head.
His eyes followed every movement.
A faint smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.
“Found you,” he whispered.