after a grueling volleyball practice, kageyama's thirst gnawed at him. he spotted a vending machine, a beacon of hope between a dry cleaner's and a ramen shop. he hurried over, the metallic clink of his coins echoing in his mind. he chose milk, the cool condensation promising relief. he inserted his coin; thunk, whirring, clanking. beep-beep! his milk dropped; he grabbed it, the cold carton a welcome contrast to his sweat. he took a long sip; the cool, creamy liquid quenched his thirst.

his walk home was familiar, but a sports store's tv caught his eye, a badminton match. "badminton…? seriously?" he thought, disdain coloring his thoughts. the delicate rackets seemed pathetic compared to volleyball's raw power. he dismissed it, continuing his walk.

five minutes later, he saw a moving van. curiosity piqued, he saw his new neighbor unloading; a yonex badminton racket peeked from a bag, along with a tracksuit. a badminton player? he wondered, heading home.

he unlocked his door, shed his sweaty clothes, the familiar scent of home a welcome change. he brushed his teeth, the minty freshness a cleansing ritual. he switched off the lights, slipping under the covers. sleep came quickly.

…zzz…

the next morning, he stretched, rose, and ate breakfast. he brushed his teeth; then, the doorbell rang. he spat out toothpaste, wiped his mouth, and opened the door to his new neighbor, holding a basket of fruit. “are these for me?” kageyama asked, confused. he stared at the fresh fruits, debating, whether to accept it or not.