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April 9th dawned crisp and golden, the sky streaked with delicate pink as Hinata laced up his worn sneakers for a pre-dawn jog around Karasuno's quiet streets.
His breath puffed visibly in the chilly morning air, legs pumping against the pavement—Gotta shake off the nerves for Nekoma. Big day today.
The rhythmic pounding of his sneakers steadied the whirlpool of thoughts spinning in his mind. Seven days of brutal drills under Ukai's sharp eye still echoed in his muscles—spikes, blocks, receives, every motion hammered into his very bones.
Veering off into a familiar small park, gravel crunching underfoot, Hinata slowed near a weathered bench where a lone figure sat slouched—pudding-blond hair barely visible under the hoodie, a faint glow from a handheld console cutting through the dimness.
Hinata blinked, then squinted harder—Wait... that's him!
"Hey!" Hinata bounded over, voice splitting the morning stillness. "You're from Nekoma, right?"
The figure jolted. Kenma's amber eyes lifted sluggishly from his screen, bleary and cautious. "Uh… yeah," he mumbled, fingers still frozen mid-game.
Hinata beamed, undeterred by the lukewarm response. "I'm Hinata! What're you playing?"
Kenma blinked again, the question seeming too heavy for so early an hour. "Just... a game," he said, the soft click-click of buttons resuming almost immediately.
Unbothered, Hinata leaned closer, practically vibrating with energy. "Cool! You're Nekoma's setter, right? I saw your matches last year—you're amazing! Your sets are so sneaky—like, bam!—and then the spike's already gone!"
Kenma shrank deeper into his hoodie, gaze flickering away. "I just... set where they'll hit," he muttered, voice flat but not unfriendly.
Hinata's grin only grew wider. "That's awesome! I'm gonna spike a ton today—watch me!" he declared, chest puffing out. A bold-faced lie, his real plan simmered underneath—Lose today, ignite the hunger for tomorrow.
Kenma muttered a soft, "Okay…" eyes dipping back to his console. This guy's loud… too much energy… he thought, but not maliciously.
Hinata gave an enthusiastic wave, bouncing a few times on the balls of his feet. "See ya at the gym!"
He dashed off, heart racing faster than his legs. He's quiet... but those sets... Hinata thought, excitement thrumming under his skin. He's dangerous. Gotta keep an eye on him.
The sun crept higher as Hinata looped back to Karasuno, his shirt clinging to his sweaty skin. Outside the gym, the team was already gathering, their voices overlapping in the crisp morning air. A familiar red bus rumbled into the lot, tires crunching gravel as it came to a stop—Nekoma had arrived.
From the gym doors, Kiyoko emerged carrying an armful of freshly cleaned jerseys, black and orange catching the sunlight.
"Uniforms are ready," she said, voice calm and steady as always.
She handed Hinata his, her cool fingers brushing his hand. Hinata grinned, clutching the jersey tightly. "Thanks, Shimizu-senpai! These are so cool!"
Kiyoko gave him the faintest smile before moving down the line.
Daichi accepted his with a satisfied nod, running a hand reverently over the fabric. "Sharp—let's wear them proud."
Tanaka flexed dramatically, his jersey stretching over broad shoulders. "Hell yeah! Nekoma's toast!"
Asahi fumbled with his, nerves twitching through his lanky frame. "It feels... real now," he mumbled.
Nekoma players began spilling from the bus. Kuroo led the pack, his lanky frame loose and confident, a sly smirk curving his lips. Yamamoto bounded out after him, fists clenched with excitement. Kenma trailed last, nose still buried in his game console, seemingly unaware of the building tension around him.
Ukai clapped his hands sharply. "Alright, crows—meet the cats. Old rivals, new fight."
Kuroo sauntered forward, hands buried deep in his pockets. "Well, well—Karasuno's back from the dead, huh? Been a while."
Daichi stepped up to meet him, gaze steady. "Yeah. Let's make it a good one."
Tanaka locked onto Yamamoto, grinning wolfishly. "Mohawk punk—bring it on!"
Yamamoto bristled immediately, stepping forward with a snarl. "Baldy—watch your back! I'm takin' you down!"
Nishinoya threw his head back, laughing. "Loudmouths—love it!"
But mid-taunt, Yamamoto's jaw suddenly dropped. Kiyoko moved gracefully past him, her hair catching the light like a halo.
"Whoa…" Yamamoto breathed, momentarily paralyzed. "She's gorgeous… like an angel…"
He stumbled after her, words tripping over themselves. "H-Hey, beautiful—name's Yamamoto! Wanna—"
Kiyoko, without missing a beat, sidestepped him with fluid ease and addressed Hinata instead. "Focus on warm-ups, okay?"
Hinata saluted. "Yep, got it!"
Their easy exchange left Yamamoto staring, dumbfounded.
"She's quick… and he's just chatting with her?!" he whined.
Tanaka smirked, clapping Yamamoto hard on the back. "Back off, newbie. Kiyoko's ours. Hands off!"
Nishinoya cackled beside him. "Dream on, mohawk—she's untouchable!"
Meanwhile, the coaches gathered, trading barbed greetings like old soldiers meeting again on the battlefield.
Nekomata, Nekoma's sly old fox, leaned on his cane with a wicked grin. "Still begging for matches, eh, four-eyes? How many calls did it take?"
Takeda flushed, adjusting his glasses nervously. "W-Well, it worked, didn't it? We're here."
Nekomata chuckled deep in his throat. "Desperate times, huh?"
Naoi, Nekoma's sharp-eyed assistant coach, eyed Ukai with a smirk. "Keishin, still puffing those cancer sticks? You'll croak before me, punk."
Ukai snorted, lighting one defiantly. "Keep dreaming, baldy. I'll outlive your shiny head."
The banter rolled easily between them, rivalry sharp but laced with undeniable fondness.
Inside the gym, sneakers squeaked against polished wood as warm-ups began. Karasuno moved with purpose, muscles loosening, hearts pounding.
Hinata bounced in place, orange jersey gleaming under the fluorescents. Hold back today… let 'em win. Make tomorrow's fire burn brighter.
Kageyama spiked clean off Daichi's toss—CRACK!—the ball slamming into the floor. Tsukishima stuffed one of Tanaka's wild swings—THUD!
"Too slow, idiot," Tsukishima muttered, smirking.
Tanaka growled, eyes narrowing. "Next time's mine, giraffe!"
Asahi stepped up, hesitant—THWACK!—sending the ball soaring past the dummy net. Nishinoya dove spectacularly—SMACK!—hands steady.
"Got it, Asahi!" he crowed.
Sugawara tossed to Yamaguchi, who landed a slightly shaky but solid hit—BOOM!—earning a rare nod of approval. "Nice one," Sugawara praised warmly.
Nekoma moved like water on the other side. Kuroo leapt, spiking hard off Kenma's lazy-looking but precise set—BOOM! Yamamoto roared as he slammed a ball down—CRACK!—the court vibrating.
Inuoka bounced high, spiking fast—THWACK!—his energy infectious. Kai steadied a tough receive—SMACK!—calm as ever, the team's anchor.
Fukunaga, silent but deadly, slipped a sneaky spike just inside the line—BOOM!—catching even Nishinoya off guard.
Kenma yawned as he set, the picture of boredom, but his eyes were sharp, calculating every move across the net.
He's watching everything… Hinata realized, a chill crawling up his spine.
Lineups locked in:
Karasuno front row—Hinata (wing spiker), Daichi (wing spiker), Tsukishima (middle blocker); back row—Kageyama (setter), Tanaka (middle blocker), Asahi (wing spiker). Nishinoya prowled behind, libero sharp as a knife.
Nekoma front row—Kai (wing spiker), Yamamoto (wing spiker), Inuoka (middle blocker); back row—Kenma (setter), Fukunaga (wing spiker), Kuroo (middle blocker). Yaku, Nekoma's fierce libero, held the line steady.
Pre-match, both teams lined up, the net taut between them, air heavy with tension.
Daichi stepped forward, voice ringing clear. "Nekoma's tough—receives like steel, attacks like claws. We've trained hard these seven days—spikes, blocks, teamwork. Today, we hit 'em with our wings. Let's fly, Karasuno!"
"Yeah!" Karasuno roared back, fists clashing together.
Hinata's smile was bright, but a different fire flickered in his eyes. Hold back. Let the hunger grow. Sync attacks come after this…
Tanaka cracked his knuckles. "Let's smash 'em into next week!"
Asahi nodded, face firm. "I'll do my best."
Kuroo sauntered forward on Nekoma's side, smirk tilting wider.
"Karasuno's got spirit—cute, real cute," he drawled. "We're cats—patient, precise. Make one mistake, and we pounce. Let's hunt, boys."
"Right!" Nekoma shouted back.
Yamamoto thumped his chest. "Crush 'em!"
Inuoka bounced enthusiastically. "Let's go!"
Kenma sighed, slouching. "Let's just play," he muttered, amber eyes flickering to Hinata. He's hiding something… I can tell.
Kuroo caught the glance and nudged him. "Oi, Kenma—focus."
Kenma shrugged, pressing a few lazy buttons on his console. "I am."
The referee's whistle hovered in the air—just a breath away.
Ukai crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. Let's see how far we've come.
Nekomata leaned on his cane, grinning. Scrappy little crows. Should be fun.
The tension snapped taut.
Cats and crows, poised for collision.
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