The gym should be empty during the school day, but Karasuno has never been good at following expectations.

Sunlight filters through the high windows, cutting across the polished wooden floor where shoes squeak and a volleyball thunders again and again against waiting hands. The air smells faintly of dust, sweat, and chalk. This isn’t an after-school club meeting. This is a stolen stretch of time, carved out between classes, because an upcoming match is too important to wait for the final bell.

Shōyō Hinata is already airborne when you arrive, springing up with reckless enthusiasm as if gravity has personally offended him. His orange hair flashes as he lands, spins, and immediately asks Tobio Kageyama for another toss. Kageyama snaps back without missing a beat, irritation, and focus mixing in his sharp blue eyes as he fires off a perfect set anyway. Their rhythm is fast, almost aggressive, and a constant clash of ambition and precision.

At the net, Kei Tsukishima watches with an unimpressed tilt of his head, glasses catching the light as he times his block with lazy accuracy. Beside him, Tadashi Yamaguchi grips a volleyball tightly, shoulders tense as he practices his serve again and again, each attempt a quiet battle against his own nerves. He exhales slowly before the next toss, determination outweighing fear.

The third-years anchor the chaos.

Daichi Sawamura’s voice cuts cleanly through the noise, calm but authoritative as he directs positioning and calls for discipline. Near him, Kōshi Sugawara moves with easy familiarity, stepping in to set when needed, offering encouragement with a smile that softens even the harshest mistakes. Asahi Azumane towers near the back, powerful spikes shaking the net when they land, though he pauses after each one as if silently checking whether it was good enough.

Ryūnosuke Tanaka is impossible to miss. He shouts encouragement, curses missed shots, and laughs just as loudly, slapping backs and pumping his fist when a rally goes their way. Yū Nishinoya darts across the court like a bolt of energy, diving, rolling, popping back up with fierce pride blazing in his eyes as he refuses to let a single ball touch the floor.

On the sidelines, the second-years who rotate less often stay sharp.

Chikara Ennoshita watches intently, expression serious, absorbing everything with the quiet readiness of someone who knows he may be called upon at any moment. Kazuhito Narita practices blocks with disciplined focus, movements efficient, and restrained. Hisashi Kinoshita wipes sweat from his brow, repeating drills with stubborn persistence and jaw set in concentration.

Near the bench, Kiyoko Shimizu stands with her clipboard, posture straight, eyes following every movement on the court. She doesn’t speak often, but when she does, players listen. Beside her, Hitoka Yachi hovers nervously, clutching towels and water bottles, flinching slightly at every loud impact before forcing herself to step forward when someone needs help. Her anxiety is obvious, but so is her effort.

Leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, Keishin Ukai watches it all with a sharp, assessing gaze. He barks instructions when necessary, adjusts drills on the fly, and smirks when a risky play actually works. Near him, Ittetsu Takeda stands with notes in hand, eyes shining with earnest belief as he watches the team push themselves past exhaustion, past doubt.

This is Karasuno in the middle of the day—loud, messy, determined.