Chapter Text
22-24. By some miracle, Shiratorizawa was in the lead. The third years watched from the sidelines, shouting quick tips of feedback or cheers. Semi watched carefully with his arms crossed, wondering what his kouhai would do next.
Shirabu’s head hung low as he assessed the opponent and his teammates. Oddly similar to the aggressive play style of Karasuno high school, the college athletes posed versatile and relentless. Shiratorizawa’s defense and blocks remained steady after so many games, a few gaps every now and again. Human error was natural, but the team couldn't afford to go easy at all.
Shirabu needed to trick them, to condition them. The point just scored was a scrappy B-quick by Taichi. The opponent’s defense was weak at that moment anyway. Now, the bulkier athletes stood close to the net, on guard.
Do they expect another quick? Will their wall block the ace? The miniscule thoughts plagued Semi’s mind, and perhaps they would have overwhelmed him if he had been under this much pressure. Yet Shirabu always stood on the court firmly. The second-year wouldn't allow himself to play sloppily. Never.
The ball aggressively hurled towards the opponent’s libero, whose receive appeared unshaken. Shirabu frowned as he gave Goshiki a quick glare, very much disappointed by his pissy serve. The opponent was able to squeeze a spike through Shiratorizawa’s block.
23-24.
Shiratorizawa stood unyielding, awaiting the serve. Semi could feel his scowl engrave itself onto his face, silently pleading for another point. To his left, Yamagata watched intently, barely showing a hint of easiness. His face slightly twitched after the shaky receive of the serve.
On the court, both teams stubbornly fought to keep the ball up spike after spike. Goshiki and the other wing spikers kept their attacks consistent, giving each spike 100% effort (and 120% for the former) this far in the game. Semi could only imagine Shirabu’s impatience for the ball to slam into the opposite side of the court.
“He won’t break.” Ushijima stood anchored. He truly believed it. The second-year had learned his lesson of faltering, causing him to under-utilize the ace.
Semi nodded. “You’re right.” Shirabu was forced to set the ball in a complicated angle after a rocky receive. However, his face showed determination rather than stress.
Taichi leapt as an attacker down center, yet the ball soared past him, distracting the blockers for hopefully a second longer. Goshiki from the left slammed the volleyball, a mighty straight with one and a half blockers. The ball met the floor of the opponent’s court before dribbling away. The referee blew his whistle.
23-25. Semi released a breath of relief.
As the players shook hands, Semi caught Coach Washijo’s wary expression, unsure of whether to congratulate the victory or nitpick Shirabu’s plays.
Once the college coaches commemorated them for their efforts, Coach Saito rounded up the club at the bench. Coach Washijo stood amongst them, examining each of them with a stern face. “You have all shown your strengths this week, and you have been able to build up such strengths with your third-years still around at camp.”
Washijo turned his head to Shirabu. The setter stiffened. “Remember that for us to be a solid team, our strengths are the core of our play style. We don't waste time on tricks and doing the impossible. If you cannot use your strengths on the court, then you shouldn't stand there at all.” Semi felt a pang of sympathy, Washijo’s words leaving a sting upon Semi’s skin.
“Nonetheless, you each acted accordingly and scored points. I expect this consistency to improve, even with the next first-years joining. You all played good games.”
“Thank you, sir!” the club said in unison excluding the third-years.
“We have reservations at a restaurant a few blocks away for lunch,” Coach Saito chimed. “However, those reservations are available in the next hour and a half. Do any of you want to go back to the inn and eat a snack there?”
At the end of the team's chatter, they concluded on staying at the gym. By now, a college bus had already left, and the other two college teams had already put away volleyball equipment from their courts. Only one net remained hung for those who wished to keep playing.
The Shiratorizawa club thanked their coaches once again before dispersing. Some talked to the college students, a small group played 3-on-3 volleyball, and others retreated to their bags.
Shirabu decided to sit in the corner and work on his schoolwork. If Semi’s kouhai was occupied, he could be left on his own. Training camp mayhem had finally ended.
Semi sat at the edge of the gym’s back entrance, close to the familiar water fountains from days prior—the volleyball cake incident. He leaned his back against the door frame, his arms resting over his folded knees. His iPod currently played a My Chemical Romance song, and the usual bright colors danced in his mind. The sun at its peak neutralized the biting cold breeze. Tendou and Hayato had disappeared minutes ago. In front of him, Jin and Reon sat close to the edge, engaged in their game of shogi on their travel-sized board. Semi watched afar, mentally criticizing each move even if he wasn’t a shogi pro.
Not long after, Ushiwaka maneuvered through them, walking towards the flowering winter shrub. Some smaller birds scavenged the bushes. Earlier he had been discussing with the coaches and observed the 3-on-3 match that the first-years were playing. Ushiwaka now analyzed the shrub’s blossoms, and he noted his observations of the birds nesting in the surrounding trees.
The difference between the menacing ace and the peaceful man was off-putting. Usually, Ushiwaka rarely showed a wide array of emotion during the team’s matches. The chilling excitement in his eyes or the bubbling anger when he spiked made the Spring Preliminary Finals match much more nerve-racking; it gave them much more reason to win.
Now, the Ushiwaka surrounded by nature sported a different behavior. His tense expression was replaced with tranquil curiosity as he looked at the wildlife in the trees. Some may call it majestic to witness a brute look at nature so softly.
Heavily intrigued, Semi fought his reluctance to leave his spot and made his way to the flowery bushes. Ushiwaka glanced at Semi, curtly nodding before sinking back to taking his notes. “Hello, Eita. Are you interested in the songbirds?”
Semi removed an earbud. “I like them. They sound beautiful in the morning.” It was true. During a musky autumn morning, where the sky looks just as tired as Semi was in bed, the mourning doves sang in their soothing voice. From their low-pitched hoots, Semi visualized a soft baby blue river flowing through his mind. The occasional high-pitch chirp flashed a white halo scattered in his mind.
Ushiwaka hummed in agreement. “Indeed, they are. It is a shame their numbers are shrinking.”
“What? Really?”
Ushiwaka promptly revealed his pages. Rows of kanji were organized by certain categories. His handwriting was nicely legible, a few ink smears caused by his left hand. “Today, I’ve only seen 3 azure-winged magpies. I remember during Finals I saw 11 magpies at Sendai City Gymnasium.”
“Wow, that's upsetting.” Semi scanned the notes further and saw doodles of the bush’s flowers. “What do you like the most about birdwatching?”
The ace stared at the sky, at the trees where a bird was feeding its young. “They all play a role in the habitat they live in. They’ve all evolved to follow a routine that is key to their survival. Their perfect routine.” A small fluffy bird with a black beak and brown-white feathers limped close to the bush and nibbled on the fallen berries. In turn, Ushiwaka plucked out a few berries and handed them to Semi. “Civilian factors sometimes disrupt their harmony and their population dwindles, so I like to assist them when I can. Now, slowly lower your hand.”
Semi followed, his hand slightly trembling. The bird looked at Semi’s palm curiously, slowly inching closer. It picked at the berries, and Semi softly chuckled in amazement. Ushijima’s hands steadily hover around the bird. One swift motion and Ushijima grasped the bird. His sturdy hands tucked the bird’s wings in his hold and it chirped in a panic. As it flailed, it kicked its legs erratically. Both legs were tied together by a knotted string.
“Can you remove the string, Semi?”
“I think so,” Semi muttered. He messed with the knot carefully until he figured out a way to untie it. He tucked the string into his pocket, noting to throw it away properly later. Ushijima brushed his thumb against the bird’s head before releasing his grip. The bird hobbled to the ground, but it quickly found solid footing before it took flight.
“They won’t be strong enough to withstand hardship when they are wounded themselves. I can only do so much to be their aide.”
As the ace solemnly gazed at the birds, Semi was reminded that Ushijima was not the “brick-wall” personality that he and the others joked about. Wakatoshi always showed to be aware of his surroundings, whether on the court or out in the fields. He may not be well versed in the social aspects of life, but his eye on pointing out issues was keen. Like a true captain, Ushijima maintained a dependable figure for many around him.
“It feels really good to watch out for them.”
“Indeed.” They both trotted around the perimeter of the gym, choosing to stay outside rather than entering the gym again. “Your hobby is playing guitar, correct?”
“Mhm. After graduation, I’ll be a guitarist and start up a rock band on the side. Hopefully, I’ll make it my career after that.” Hands in his pockets, Semi wistfully looked at the volleyball courts through the open doors. Flashes of white blinked away in tune with the slam of the volleyball. “Is there any music genre you like to listen to?”
Ushijima tilted his head to ponder. He shrugged after. “I only listen to classical instrumentals.”
“Ah, so stuff like Beethoven. Or Nobuyuki Tsujii? That guy’s incredible.”
Ushijima nodded. “Tendou recommends several songs to me every so often.”
“Oh no, is it those American hits? Or those J-Pop tunes that last a week on the radio?”
“Yes,” Ushiwaka said, his eyes widening from slight shock. “How did you know?”
“He downloads and puts a random pop song in my playlist. I don’t even know how he does it without me noticing.”
“Do you dislike that genre of music?”
Semi zoned out for a split second, just realizing the disdain in his tone. He had no loathing for the genre; he just hated his roommate. “Music is subjective. I prefer rock music, but every genre has its merits.”
High in the sky, a sharp cry echoed a flashing white spark in the corner of his mind. Aaaaaaaack! Aaaaaaaaaack! It faded as the calls traveled away. Ushijima already pulled out his booklet. “Garrulus Glandarius.”
A far distance away, a familiar redhead and friend with dementia walked closer to the gym, both carrying plastic bags. A savory aroma wafted towards Semi.
“So that’s where they went,” Semi muttered.
“—and so we were about half way back until Hayato realized he left his phone on the bench!”
Hayato scoffed as he walked around, handing boxes of gyoza to circles of players. “I got distracted because the guy was gonna rip us off. He told us the wrong price before I corrected him.”
Tendou clicked his tongue. “Just put your phone in your pockets. Then half of your problems are solved.”
“I don’t have pockets! These shorts don’t have pockets! Where would I put it?”
“Up your ass around the corner.”
An empty, humiliating silence passed by. “You’re not funny,” Hayato deadpanned. Tendou shrugged, unharmed.
Eventually the third-years sat in their own circle after all the packages were distributed. Tendou theatrically offered a box of gyoza to each of them. At Semi’s turn, Semi gingerly accepted the offering. His lingering suspicion quelled—the warmth of the box, the chili oil and ginger fragrance. It would defy law if this box was cake all along. Semi raised his head and caught himself under Tendou’s scrutiny. The redhead narrowed his eyes, his stare pricking and prodding at Semi’s suspicions.
“What’re you staring at.”
A knowing smile spread across Tendou’s face. “Just waiting for my dear friend to eat the food I got just for him.”
Semi held his scowl against Tendou while he unpacked the box. An aromatic steam rose from it. It truly seemed like the real deal, but Tendou could go just as far someway. So he sniffed the pan-fried dumplings, stabbing through their oily-burnt surface with his chopsticks. Semi huffed in relief. No sticky frosting or crumbs.
Semi’s sanity must be hitting close to rock bottom if he had to be this cautious. “Not cake? You’re not doing it this time?”
Tendou tilted his head, waving his chopsticks. “Doing what?” he said in between the bites of his gyoza—a stolen dumpling from Ushiwaka’s box.
Semi rolled his eyes. The subject of his stinginess was dropped and the group revolved around multiple topics in their discussion. It turned out that the vendor always walked two blocks away from the gym. One of the college students suggested trying their gyoza to Yamagata, in which Tendou somehow got roped into as well.
They then discussed their classes, the team, and then surprisingly music taste. Tendou had the courtesy to look up the songs and play them on his phone. A game of listening to each other’s favorite music genre soon turned into an embarrassment ritual to determine who had the shittiest taste in music.
It started off rational. Friendly feuds and poking fun at niche songs. What’s that awkward pause? What a weird beat. You actually listen to this? They laughed in good fun.
Hate soon ignited by the honorary chaos-starter. “You like that song?” Tendou gaped once Semi mentioned Nickelback. “Oh my, they just as corny as that other rock band. The one that goes like—” Tendou aggressively shook Ushiwaka who peacefully chewed his gyoza. “—I. Hate. Everything about youu!” A dumpling slipped from Ushiwaka’s chopsticks and fell onto the floor. The ace stared at it with subdued sadness.
Semi rolled his eyes as he bit through his gyoza. “I don’t want to hear that from someone who listens to the music the mini-mart plays on loop.” He snapped his chopsticks together, a thought on the tip of his tongue. “What’s that overplayed band you put in my playlist? Imagine Dragons?”
“How could you slander pure gold?” Tendou was definitely dying on his sinking ship.
“It’s not bad,” Semi said through his gritted teeth. “I just don’t like it when a random song is in the middle of my rock playlist.”
“But they’re like catchy. And Englishy. And rocky.”
“So?”
“So whaaaat? I’m introducing you to top-tier music; you are just close-minded.”
“Well, perhaps beep boop bop isn’t my type of music.”
Tendou’s eyes narrowed, ready to play war. “It’s sad to know you call screaming, whiny men music.”
“Funny how half of your music taste comes from Eurovision. The other half is American auto-tuned slop.”
“Strange how you listen to songs complaining about their daddy issues or their missing girlfriends. Is that relatable?” The orange-hazy fog that was Tendou’s voice pierced sharp knives of a fiery red hue in Semi’s mind. At this rate, Semi could develop a headache if he kept visualizing Tendou’s horrendous voice.
“You would need LSD’s to actually like the hot garbage you list—”
“Guys,” Oohira chimed in, sitting beside Semi and holding an arm up. “I think we’ve heard enough. Don’t want to incite a fight. Please.” Yet again, Semi grasped his chopsticks tightly like a knife. Tendou gave him a wicked smirk as if he had won the argument. Asshole.
Semi poked inside his box gyoza, only to find all of it consumed. Begrudgingly, he set aside his box with as much gentleness he could muster within his enraged body. The unsaid awkwardness among the third-years shifted the mood. Some like Hayato eyed at each other expectantly, watching to see if a hair may trigger a brawl. Semi silently hoped the tension would pass over. However, his stomach preferred to make things worse as it grumbled. Wonderful.
Kindly enough, Oohira offered his box of gyoza. At first, Semi declined in the gist of being respectful. Semi quickly caved when Oohira insisted sharply, pushing his box closer to Semi. Did the smile on Oohira’s face twitch? One thing was for certain: Don’t ever question Reon’s orders. Everybody loved Peacemaker Reon.
Semi felt a bit more at ease with the caring gesture. The awkward glances held no comfort. He unpacked the box, and inside it laid 3 thinly glazed dumplings, all sides burnt just right.
He immediately spat out said dumpling as soon as he chewed it.
“What the fuck. Why does it taste like bacon?” Semi turned to Oohira, whose serious demeanor was replaced with a suppressed smirk. Bastard. “Are you involved in this?”
Oohira shook his head. “Why would I be? I didn’t make them.”
“What’s wrong, Semi-poo? You don’t like the twist in your dessert?” Tendou’s voice jutted orange spears into Semi’s mind.
“What kind of psychopath thought bacon and frosting was a good combo?”
“Wait a second, let me try.” Yamagata from Semi’s right reached over and stole a piece. His eyes sparkled as he chewed the putrid delicacy. “These are like the maple bacon cupcakes I had at a bakery a few weeks ago! We tried it out together, didn’t we?”
Tendou nodded. “Right-o! I wanted to bless Semi-Semi with that fun flavor.”
“More like you finding ways to poison me.”
Yamagata gave him a scandalous look. “It’s really not that bad, dude.”
Suddenly, Tendou scooted over, his chopsticks holding a faux-gyoza up to Semi’s face. “Come on, Semi-Semi. You should always try something new!”
By pure instinct, Semi swatted the dumpling away like a spiker spiking a ball. His palm smeared the cake across Tendou’s face.
Eyes full of betrayal, Tendou wiped off the cake on his face and slapped Semi’s cheek with his tainted hand. Hayato exclaimed in protest as Semi swiped away his box of gyoza and smashed it into Tendou’s forehead. The gyoza squeezed out of the box and the soy sauce exploded everywhere. In retaliation, Tendou stole Soekawa’s box and shoved it to the side of Semi’s head. The dipping sauce from his box seeped into Semi’s hair, and now Semi could smell the ginger and savory gyoza seasoning.
The captain and co-captains of the team watched bewildered. The first-years and second-years had turned their attention to the food fight, yet not a single member peeped a word in fear of getting in trouble, even if the coaches were magically not present.
Oohira sighed and turned to his most sane teammates. “So who wants to stop them?” Jin still seemed flabbergasted that he could no longer eat his gyoza; Ushiwaka watched the scene with utmost concern.
“I’m not dealing with this can of worms,” Soekawa said as he waved his hands defensively.
“They won’t stop unless the coaches scold them or if we end it now,” Ushiwaka said.
“Would you like to do the honors, Ushiwaka?”
“I do not mind.”
No one had the courage to bring up the food fight until the students were at the inn, packing up to leave with the bus. Although the coaches did not see the fight itself, Coach Washijo flamed Semi and Tendou for their reckless behavior given their messy appearances. They could only clean themselves up at the water fountains before the club left for lunch. Tendou’s gelled hair was disheveled and stuck in weird places. His black tee-shirt still had faded smears of frosting and food stains all over it. However, the redhead seemed unfazed, rather satisfied by the disorder he had started.
Semi slouched upon his seat. The soy sauce stain in his hair wasn’t washed thoroughly. Some soy sauce residue was left on his arms.
After that, coach still wouldn’t allow them to shower until they returned to the school. They’d have to ride the bus all sticky and gyoza-scented. Tendou’s joke about them being the best smelling induced no laughter.
Goshiki swiped away the wall of text notifications from his phone. A string of texts from a quite boisterous setter from another school. Perhaps Goshiki spilled too much tea to his friend. Picking up his folded futon and slinging his bag over his shoulder, Goshiki made his way out of the shared bedroom. Shirabu had also finished packing his stuff and trailed Goshiki.
“How many times has Tendou-san pranked Semi-san?”
Shirabu gave Goshiki a cold glare. “We shouldn’t talk about this. We don’t want-know-who to hear about this and then punish us too.”
Goshiki’s skin shivered. He wouldn’t want chastisement from Coach Washijo either. “Fair point.”
The two of them walked down the hallway, about to pass through the inn’s exit.
“Do you have the video of the bus thing from the first day?” Shirabu asked, barely audible.
“Yeah, Tendou-san sent it to me before Yamagata-san deleted it.”
“Great, send it to me.”