April 5th, 2011 – Karasuno High School
The sky couldn't have been clearer if it tried. A soft breeze rolled down the hills, ruffling the budding trees and brushing across the rooftops of Miyagi like some divine blessing. It was the kind of weather that whispered, "Go outside. Move your body. Play volleyball."
But Ryuido Amakusa wasn't listening.
He stood at the entrance of Karasuno High School with both hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders rolled forward, his mouth set in a flat line. A perfect day to feel absolutely nothing.
"Of all the places," he muttered, casting a glance at the school buildings with a level of distaste usually reserved for expired milk or overly cheerful people.
His school uniform hung a little loose around the shoulders, but he wore it properly. No sagging tie, no crooked buttons. And his hair—normally a windswept disaster—was slicked back today, sharp and clean, as if trying to fake some sense of purpose.
He hated it already.
He adjusted his bag and sighed dramatically. "I'm here... reluctantly."
It didn't feel like a new beginning. It felt like walking into someone else's movie halfway through the second act.
Still, he walked.
---
The first-year orientation was a blur of speeches and overcomplicated maps. The auditorium buzzed with soft chatter, papers rustling, and the occasional cough. Ryuido took a seat in the back row, arms folded, eyes half-lidded.
The principal's voice echoed over the speakers: "...and so we welcome you to Karasuno High School—where we hope you'll soar to new heights!"
Ryuido rolled his eyes. Please don't make crow jokes. I just got here.
He glanced sideways, casually scanning the other students. That's when he saw them.
Tanaka Ryūnosuke: shaved head, fire in his eyes, talking way too loud about some anime nobody asked about.
Nishinoya Yū: short, electric, already bouncing in his seat like someone had slipped espresso into his veins.
Chikara Ennoshita sat near them, looking both responsible and quietly exhausted. Narita and Kinoshita flanked him like confused extras in a high school drama.
Well damn, Ryuido thought. So this is the circus.
He looked away before they could notice him. He wasn't ready for any of that energy. Not today.
---
After the ceremony, students were given time to explore the campus or head home. Most drifted toward the gym, lured by the sound of balls echoing off polished floors.
Ryuido walked the opposite direction.
He wasn't planning to join any club. He liked volleyball—he wasn't a liar—but liking something and committing to it were two very different beasts. He played casually in middle school. People called him good. Sometimes even too good. Coaches nudged. Teammates clung. Suddenly it wasn't a game anymore; it was pressure, expectation, responsibility.
He hated that.
He passed the gym, paused for a second when he heard a solid spike shake the floor. Someone shouted, "Nice one, Asahi!"
He kept walking.
---
Ten minutes later, he found a quiet corner behind the school building, plopped down on the steps, and stared at the sky.
His mind wandered. Not toward volleyball, not toward dreams of nationals or spike form—no, toward silence. Peace. The stuff you didn't have to chase.
"Yo! You're the new guy, right?!"
Ryuido flinched hard enough to nearly fall off the step.
Nishinoya Yū stood there, hands on his hips, grinning like a kid who just found a shiny coin in the dirt. Behind him, Tanaka popped around the corner like a jump scare.
"We saw you in the auditorium!" Tanaka beamed. "Cool hair! You a delinquent?"
"No," Ryuido said flatly. "Just allergic to people."
Nishinoya laughed. "Too bad, 'cause now you're stuck with us!"
"Hard pass," Ryuido muttered, already standing.
But it was too late. Nishinoya had already clapped a hand on his shoulder like they were childhood friends reunited after years apart.
"You're tall," Noya said, looking him up and down. "You play volleyball?"
"That depends," Ryuido replied. "You asking because you're recruiting, or just profiling tall people again?"
Tanaka leaned in. "You do play, right? You got that vibe."
"Is that a thing now?" Ryuido snapped. "'The vibe'? Is that science?"
"Dude, chill," Tanaka laughed. "It's just—you've got that presence, y'know?"
Ryuido blinked. Presence?
He didn't like that. It sounded like a trap disguised as a compliment.
---
Five minutes later, somehow, he was standing in Karasuno's gym.
He didn't even know how it happened.
One second he was deflecting questions, the next, Noya and Tanaka were herding him like sheepdogs, talking about positions and first-year tryouts. Ryuido hated how familiar the gym felt. The smell of wood polish, sweat, and faint desperation clung to the air.
He stood by the wall, arms crossed, watching. A third-year was tossing balls to a second year with face that's not high schoolers who leapt like a Tokyo tower. Another second year with short black hair that strong in receive. Ryuido would later learn.
Noya and Tanaka joined the fray. Noise exploded instantly.
"No way," Ryuido whispered. "They actually live like this?"
He turned to leave—again.
"Hey!"
He froze. That strong guy in receive called him.
"You here to join?" Daichi asked.
"Nope," Ryuido said. "Wrong building."
Daichi raised an eyebrow. "Your friends dragged you in?"
"Dragged is a strong word," Ryuido said. "I'd say 'coerced through noise.'"
Daichi chuckled. "Well, since you're here, might as well show us what you got."
"No thanks," Ryuido said, already backing away.
And then came the worst part.
A volleyball rolled across the floor. As if summoned by fate. It stopped right at his feet.
He looked at it like it had insulted his mother.
"I'm not doing this," he said to no one in particular.
Tanaka grinned from across the gym. "C'mon, one toss! If you suck, we'll leave you alone forever."
Ryuido stared. "…You won't."
"True!" Tanaka laughed.
Fine, Ryuido thought. One toss. Just to shut them up.
He picked up the ball. It was lighter than he remembered. Or maybe his hands were stronger now. He sighed, adjusted his stance, and tossed it in the air.
Jump. Swing.
CRACK.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
The gym froze.
The ball slammed against the floor, rebounded high, and thudded into the far wall.
"...holy crap," Nishinoya whispered.
Tanaka's mouth hung open. "Bro."
Ryuido stood there, arm still half-extended, expression unreadable.
"Guess you're not just tall," Daichi said with a low whistle.
"That's what I've been saying!" Tanaka whooped.
Ryuido exhaled sharply. "...I'm going home."
And then he walked out.
---
He didn't sleep that night.
Not because of guilt or embarrassment. No. That spike—it felt good. Too good. Like muscle memory had woken up for a second and said, "Hey, remember this? This is what you're built for."
He hated that.
Because he did remember.
And remembering made it harder to pretend he didn't care.