Chapter Text
Hinata wouldn't necessarily consider his family poor.
Sure, he might have considered McDonald's to be a fancy restaurant until recently, and yeah, maybe they don’t have hot water most of the year, but he wouldn’t say they’re poor.
They don't live in a cardboard box, their car, or even what could be considered “the slums”.
They live in a house (inherited), it's decently sized (bigger than a shack), and it's in a convenient location (convenient in that it's in the middle of nowhere, which means there's plenty of space for them to grow their own fruits and veggies so they can avoid Mrs. Yamada's overpriced cucumbers).
The Shoyos are not well off, true, but Hinata knows he never went without. Neither he, his mom, nor his sister has ever had to go without a meal, or essentials, or anything like that, even after his asshole of a sperm donor left them. So just because Hinata’s mom could never afford to buy him the newest toys or coolest shoes (or even new clothes most of the time) doesn’t mean they’re poor.
But Hinata admits it does mean they have to be a bit more… frugal with their money.
Hinata learns when he is twelve that if he wants more than one pair of basketball shoes and volleyball a year, he’s going to have to pay for them himself.
Which is fine, really, he gets it.
It's really no trouble to mow a lawn here and paint a shed there to fund his middle school volleyball endeavors, sometimes it's even fun.
Plenty of kids his age take up easy work to fund hobbies and extracurriculars. Heck, his classmate Ishie has been working at his parents' roofing company since he was 12 because he loves playing all the new video games.
So his family's situation isn’t exactly uncommon, and he had assumed that he’d have to save up for a bit to pay for a school outside his prefecture and all the volleyball necessities.
But… He hadn’t considered just how much he’d have to save.
Simply put, Hinata is going to need to do something a little more lucrative than running groceries for the old lady down the street twice a week.
Which leads him to where he is now, waiting outside the guidance counselor's office like a good boy to see how soon he's allowed to get an actual part-time job.
Hinata's startled from his thoughts by a girl his age walking by, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Hinata? You're up.” The girl jerks her thumb toward the guidance counselor's office, where the door has apparently been open long enough that Matsuda-sensei is now standing in it.
Waiting.
“Oh!” Hinata shoots to his feet.
“Sorry!”
Matsuda-sensei sighs.
It isn't an especially annoyed sigh though, Hinata would know.
“Come in, Hinata.”
There are two chairs in front of the desk. Hinata sits, picking the one closest to the door.
“So,” Matsuda-sensei says, settling into his own chair. “You wanted to talk to me about high school?”
“Yes.”
“Karasuno?”
“Yes!”
That one comes out perhaps a bit too loud, and Matsuda-sensei's mouth twitches.
Hinata has been talking about Karasuno since his first year. There probably isn't a single teacher in the faculty room who doesn't know where Hinata intends to go despite never having taught him.
“I see you haven't changed your mind.”
“Nope!”
“Well, that's good to hear. Determination is a wonderful trait for someone your age.” Matsuda-sensei folds his hands over the folder on his desk. “I understand your grades have improved substantially.”
Hinata straightens.
“They have!” he’s rather proud of his grades right now actually. He’s spent way too many nights studying, its gross.
“Your mathematics grade especially.” Matsuda-sensei opens the folder. “You're on track to be a reasonable applicant if these improvements continue. But we can discuss entrance examinations later in the year. Right now, you said you had a question about employment?”
Hinata brightens “Yeah. How old do I have to be to get a real job?”
Matsuda-sensei looks up.
“A real job?”
“Like at a store. Or a restaurant. Something that pays by the hour.”
“As opposed to?”
“Mowing lawns. Painting. I helped Ishie's dad clean gutters once, but my mom found out and said I'm not allowed on roofs anymore.”
Matsuda-sensei stares at him. He does that often. Hinata wonders if the gutter information wasn't necessary.
“So,” he continues, “something normal.”
“Why?”
Hinata blinks.
“For money.”
“I gathered that.”
“Oh.”
Matsuda-sensei waits.
Hinata waits.
It’s a little uncomfortable, to be honest.
Eventually, Matsuda-sensei seems to realize that Hinata won't be elaborating further. “And why do you feel the need for a part-time job, Hinata?”
“For Karasuno.”
The answer is obvious enough that Hinata isn't sure why they're having trouble here, they were just talking about it.
Matsuda-sensei's patent stare changes a little now, eyebrows creasing in a silly way.
“Has something happened at home?”
“What? No.”
“Is your mother having difficulty paying household expenses?”
“No.”
“Are you concerned you won't be able to continue school?”
“No?”
Now Hinata is confused.
Matsuda-sensei studies him for another second.
“Then what do you mean by ‘for Karasuno’?”
“Oh.” Hinata relaxes. “It's expensive.”
Matsuda-sensei continues looking at him, the funny little crease is gone now.
Hinata supposes he should clarify.
“The tuition's fine. I already worked that out. But my mom showed me everything else, and apparently you have to buy all new uniforms.” He says this with the mild accusation it deserves.
Uniforms are clothes.
Hinata already owns clothes. School one’s even,
He has owned some of them for several years, in fact, and most continue to perform their primary function perfectly well.
“And gym clothes,” he continues. “And indoor shoes. And textbooks. And there's the train sometimes, unless I bike every day, but Mom says I'm not biking when there's ice, so I need money for that too. And lunch. And school stuff.”
“School stuff?”
“You know.”
“I don't, actually.”
Hinata waves vaguely. “Ya’ know, stuff...”
Matsuda-sensei writes something down.
“And volleyball,” Hinata adds.
Matsuda-sensei looks up.
Hinata grins. “I'll need new shoes before high school. Mine should last until summer, maybe autumn if I glue the side again, but I definitely can't start high school in them. And I'll need knee pads. Then there are club fees and tournament costs and probably travel and food when we're away, and if we make it to Nationals-”
“Hinata.”
“Yeah?”
“You aren't attending Karasuno yet.”
“I know.”
“You’re barely even a third-year.”
“I know.”
Matsuda-sensei sighs, “I think budgeting for the volleyball club you're not even a part of yet going to Nationals can wait for a moment.”
Hinata frowns.
“I mean, I guess,” but Hinata likes thinking about it.
Matsuda-sensei takes his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose, as he swivels in his chair to face his monitor.
“Your mother told you that you need to pay these expenses yourself?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, she said we'd figure it out.”
“Okay… Then why are you here?”
“Because we can't afford it.”
Matsuda-sensei's got that crease in his brows now as he squints at whatever's on his screen.
“We're fine,” he adds, because adults get funny about money sometimes. “We have money. We just don't have enough money for all that.”
“Mom can pay for what I need,” Hinata explains. “But volleyball isn't something I necessarily need.”
“... technically” because it actually kinda is something Hinata needs. But, as much as he would like to feign ignorance, he does in fact understand the difference between need-to-live-need and really-really-really-want-need.
Matsuda-sensei is quiet.
Hinata looks down at his hands, for the first time, a bit embarrassed about his family's financial situation. “It's something I want.”
Mom hadn’t said it like that, to be fair.
She'd actually gotten a little angry when Hinata brought up the part-time job thing.
Well, not actually mad-angry, more like sad-angry.
She had said they could make Karasuno work. That she could probably make Karasuno and volleyball work.
She'd said so.
And Hinata wants to believe her, really, but he also knows that Natsu’s going through a growth spurt, and Hinata eats a lot of food, and Mom has been talking about the three of them going to a skating rink for the past four years now, and it never happens because the money just doesn’t check out.
So if he can just work a few hours after school every day and pull full shifts on the weekends to make it happen, well then that's just what he’ll do.
“So I need a better job,” he concludes.
Matsuda-sensei puts his glasses back on.
“Have you calculated how much you'll need?”
Hinata immediately digs into his bag, coming up with three folded sheets of notebook paper.
Matsuda-sensei looks surprised.
Hinata doesn't know why everyone always looks surprised when he produces schoolwork voluntarily. Hinata hasn’t missed homework in like years.
“This is the uniform,” he says, spreading the first sheet over the desk. “And this is what I found for supplies, but I don't know exactly which textbooks Karasuno uses yet, so I rounded up. This is transportation if I bike whenever the weather's good. And this-”
Sensei takes the pages. Admittedly, they aren't the prettiest calculations. Hinata never had to actually write up a budget or anything, but he thinks he’s done a decent job, at the very least, all the information is there.
Current savings, estimated earnings, school expenses, and volleyball expenses.
Even a little column showing how much Hinata could put away each month if he started working in April.
Matsuda-sensei reads all three pages, carefully placing them on the desk once he’s done. “Well, you’ve certainly put a lot of thought into this, Hinata. I’m very impressed. You did all this yourself?”
“Mom helped with some of the prices.”
“And you've already saved a decent amount.”
“Yup! It's enough to cover tuition, and I've got more work when it gets warmer. Mr. Sato wants his fence painted again.”
“I thought you painted that last year?”
“He doesn't like the color.”
“Well, what color did you paint it?”
“Brown.”
“And what color does he want?”
“Different brown.”
Matsuda-sensei “mhhms,” sounding unimpressed.
Hinata shrugs.
Money is money.
“A formal part-time job may be an option once you've completed junior high, but not before,” he says. “There are restrictions for minors, and whatever high school you attend may have its own rules regarding student employment.”
Hinata nods rapidly. That's what he came for.
“But,” Matsuda-sensei continues, “I don't think that should be our first option.”
Hinata stops nodding. “What? Why?”
“Because you'll be attending school all day.”
“Yeah.”
“And joining the volleyball club.”
“Yeah.”
“Which practices after school.”
“Yeah.”
“And then you intend to go to work.”
“Yeah.”
“And study.”
Hinata hesitates.
Matsuda-sensei raises an eyebrow.
“…Yeah.”
“And sleep?”
“Obviously.”
“All of which will happen in your very limited hours after school?”
“Well-”
“I'm not saying it's not possible, Hinata, and I do believe you could accomplish it, but I think there may be other avenues we can explore first.”
Matsuda-sensei leans back.
“There are forms of government financial assistance available to students and families depending on their circumstances. There may also be private grants or local programs you're eligible for. Before you commit yourself to working several evenings a week, I'd like to see what options exist.”
Hinata's shoulders slump slightly. Grants sound like paperwork, work sounds much easier.
Person wants brown fence.
You paint the fence.
The fence becomes brown.
Person gives you money.
You save the money.
Excellent system.
Matsuda-sensei has already turned toward his computer.
“Let's see exactly where your grades lie and if Karasuno offers special circumstance tuition waivers.”
Hinata sits for the moment, listening to Matsuda-sensei's tapping, looking around the room for something to occupy him with.
Then Matsuda-sensei makes a small sound.
“Hm.”
Hinata looks back. “What?”
“hmmmmm.”
“Why are hmming?”
Matsuda-sensei sighs and reaches for Hinata's student file.
“Possibly nothing.”
He flips through several pages.
Hinata watches as he flicks through academic reports and teacher comments.
Then, finally, a sheet from their physical fitness testing.
“Mhmm,” he sounds again, sounding rather pleased.
“Hinata,” he says eventually, “have you ever considered track and field?”
Hinata's face falls. “No.”
“Why did you say that like I suggested dentistry?”
“I play volleyball.”
“I know.”
“I can't join track.”
“I didn't ask you to join the school track team.”
Isn't that the same thing, though?
Matsuda-sensei turns the monitor slightly.
“The Hirose Athletics Club has a youth development program.”
Hinata's eyes narrow.
“okay??”
“There's a track and field program.”
“But I don't run track?”
“But you do run.”
“Yeah? Everybody runs.”
Matsuda-sensei looks down at the fitness sheet.
“Apparently not quite as fast as you do.”
Hinata follows his gaze, but he can't actually read much of it upside down, so it doesn't do anything. Then looks back up.
He still doesn't understand what any of this has to do with Karasuno.
Matsuda-sensei taps the screen.
“This program will sometimes provide financial sponsorship to young athletes who qualify.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“That depends upon the sponsorship. Generally, they provide equipment, competition fees, and development grants to selected youth athletes”
Hinata's chair squeaks as he leans forward. “Like money?”
“How much would I get?”
“I’m not sure, you’ll likely have to set up a meeting, which I could help you with if necessary.”
“Could I use it for Karasuno?”
“I don't know.”
“Could I use it for volleyball?”
“Probably not directly.”
“Could I still play volleyball while I ran for them?”
Matsuda-sensei’s lips quirk up with that. “I don’t see why not.”
Hinata looks at the computer.
Then, at his fitness results.
Then back at Matsuda-sensei.
“Well, how fast do I have to run?”
Kenji settles onto a bench beside the track they'd be using for the morning's assessments, enjoying the early mist as he looks over the group gathering near the entrance.
Thirteen applicants this time.
Nine of which are under fifteen, applying for Hirose's youth development program. The remaining four are older university students hoping to join the association's competitive program.
Not their best turnout.
They've certainly had larger groups, but thirteen isn't terrible either.
Kenji takes another sip of his coffee and looks down at the clipboard balanced against his knee.
What he would really like is a sprinter. (though perhaps a jumper would be nice too)
Hirose has been thin in the short events for a while now. It isn't that the association is unpopular. They have plenty of distance runners, a respectable pole-vaulting group, and more children in the junior program than Kenji can reliably remember the names of.
They've simply had bad luck with sprinters.
Two of their better athletes graduated and moved away for university last spring. Another followed her coach to a larger club in Sendai, and Riko finally admitted that his knee wasn't going to tolerate another competitive season and retired in December.
Which left the Hirose sprint group looking a little sorry for itself.
Kenji isn't exactly expecting today's assessments to fix that.
Most of the younger applicants have little formal track-and-field experience. A few participate in other sports, two belong to school athletics clubs, and one boy's application lists his primary athletic experience as cycling to school.
Kenji had stared at that one for a while.
Their school fitness scores are promising enough, though.
That is the point of these assessments, after all.
Hirose isn't looking exclusively for children who already know how to come out of blocks or hit a long-jump board. If they only accepted polished athletes, there wouldn't be much point in calling it a development program now, would there?
Technique can be taught easy, but Kenji wants to see what sits underneath it.
Preferably this morning.
Kenji glances toward the track again.
Thirteen applicants.
Surely one of them can run.
They're roughly an hour in when Kenji's coffee hits the floor, spilling the precious nectar that, for once, he doesn't pay any mind to.
The orange one had caught his attention from the beginning, the coloring alone drawing a few glances from the surrounding coaches. It isn't often you meet a natural redhead this far from the city, and Kenji had idly wondered if either of the boy's parents were Irish. He's got some family living in Ireland.
The kid hadn't been anything to impress at first, looking particularly nauseous and decidedly not stretchy during the basic warm-up.
They'd started with jumps, and boy, had that been a great idea.
His standing long jump was impressive, but nothing crazy, and the kid couldn't triple jump for the life of him.
But his vertical...
The whistle had blown, and the boy flinched, looking unsure. He'd shuffled up to the start point, stared at the measuring vanes for a moment, then taken three bounding steps forward-
And flew.
He landed not too far away, unbalanced and clumsy, stumbling a bit before catching himself.
Kenji ordered a retake immediately.
It wasn't a fluke. He jumped, and he jumped, and jumped again. Each time only getting higher.
Eighty-nine centimeters became ninety-one.
Ninety-one became ninety-three, and on his fourth attempt, the boy slapped the vanes at ninety-five centimeters and landed with an enormous grin, apparently having finally worked out exactly what they wanted him to do.
Kenji's coffee hit the ground.
“Again.”
The boy's head whipped around.
“Huh?”
“Just- take a minute, then I want to see it again.”
The kid nodded, still grinning, and wandered back toward the line.
Kenji tried very hard not to get excited.
A vertical like that was interesting all on its own. The jump coaches were certainly paying attention now, and Kenji could practically feel Sakamoto calculating what he might be able to do with the kid after a few months of actual technique.
But Kenji wanted a sprinter.
And there was no telling yet whether the boy could actually run.
Explosive power helped. God, did it help. But jumping high didn't guarantee speed, and Kenji had seen enough powerful young athletes lumber through a hundred meters to know better than to start celebrating early.
Still.
He looked down at the name beside where he’d write the latest measurement.
Hinata Shōyō. Yukigaoka Junior High. Fourteen.
Ninety-six centimeters.
Kenji looked back toward the little redhead.
By God, what a way to start the day.