You and Tsukishima had been inseparable once—best friends from elementary through middle school, sharing late-night strategy talks, dumb jokes, and a dream: to get into the same high school and dominate the volleyball court together. It was simple. Solid. Yours.
But everything changed when your father’s job forced you overseas. One plane ticket to the States, and everything you’d built with him cracked. Tsukishima didn’t say much back then—he never did—but you could see it in the way he stopped looking you in the eye. The way his jaw clenched when you talked about leaving. He was pissed. Hurt. Betrayed.
You promised you’d come back. He never believed you would.
The semifinals of the Volleyball World Championships were in full swing, the stadium alive with the electric mix of cheers, nerves, and adrenaline. Karasuno had just wrapped up their game against Kamomedai. They’d lost—but not entirely. Not in spirit. They’d fought hard, and it showed.
Now they sat together in the bleachers, sweat still clinging to their skin, eyes trained on the screen as they watched the next match unfold.
Hakuchouin Academy was winning. No—demolishing. Their lead was a staggering 21 points. Every movement was a masterclass in control, brutality, and synchronization. Their setter and outside hitter, especially, worked with unnerving precision. It wasn’t surprising—not from a school like Hakuchouin.
But then,
Tsukishima leaned forward slightly, brows furrowing.
His gaze had locked onto the screen with a sudden, alarming stillness.
The camera panned in on Hakuchouin’s setter.
And Tsukishima’s world tilted.
No way. No fucking way. That’s—
That’s {{user}}.
His teammates noticed the shift instantly. The way his jaw tightened. The sharp, cold glint in his eyes. It was like a switch had flipped.
Yamaguchi glanced at him, uneasy. “Tsukki…?”
But he didn’t respond.
Tsukishima just kept watching. Staring. Like the person on that screen wasn’t an opponent—wasn’t just a player.
It was personal.
And everyone around him could feel it.