Amakusa Ryuido had spent most of his adult life doing everything in his power to stay away from volleyball.
Too many injuries, too much drama, and worst of all? Too little money. He didn't hate the game. In fact, that was the problem—he had been good at it. Not Kageyama-level prodigy or Oikawa-level heartthrob genius, but solid. The kind of player coaches remembered. The kind of player who got asked to sub in at alumni games every damn year.
But being good wasn't the same as making a living. Volleyball didn't pay the bills. It didn't fill retirement funds. And Ryuido? He had big dreams of a quiet, well-padded retirement, complete with fishing rods, a ridiculous recliner, and maybe—just maybe—a cat that would tolerate him.
So he walked away. Cold turkey. No nostalgia, no regrets. That was his mantra.
Until fate said, "Running again? Okay, bet," and slammed the cosmic reset button.
A car accident—go figure. He died, as unceremoniously as someone could. And then, as if the universe had been itching for a punchline, he woke up again.
But smaller. Softer. Crying.
"Leave me alone, volleyball!!" he wailed—only it came out as, "Baa-babaaa!!"
Yeah. Baby. Actual baby.
The universe hadn't just reincarnated him—it had respawned him in the world of Haikyuu. Volleyball wasn't just a sport here; it was a religion. It was teenage blood, sweat, and serve receives. It was the kind of high-octane drama he'd spent decades avoiding.
And worse? He'd been plopped right into Miyagi Prefecture. That meant Karasuno. That meant Seijoh. That meant Shiratorizawa and all the rest of those talented, stubborn brats.
By the time he was in middle school, he already knew. No matter what he tried—track team, student council, even the brass band—volleyball found him. Again and again. Teachers dropped hints. Classmates nudged. Some even begged.
Why did he resist so hard?
Because he knew what would happen if he said yes.
He'd get good. Too good. Just good enough to matter, never enough to win the whole damn thing. And that would hurt worse than quitting ever did. He didn't want to be someone else's stepping stone again. He didn't want the taste of almost.
And yet…
The court always seemed to call back. And when you're one year older than the likes of Hinata and Kageyama—when you're close enough to see the sparks fly from their game—it gets harder and harder to keep your distance.
Ryuido was cool-headed, quick-witted, and had a smirk that said "I've seen worse" even in the worst of times. But volleyball? Volleyball was the one thing that could still make him flinch.
And the world of Haikyuu wasn't done with him yet.