"If you're not living for something, then you're just killing time. Me? I lived for the serve."
---
The last thing Ayato remembered was the sound of screeching tires.
It had rained earlier. Slick pavement. Bad visibility. The usual recipe for tragedy. He wasn't even doing anything dramatic—just crossing the street after a light morning jog. He always jogged, just enough to keep his ankles warm and his legs loose.
But destiny has a habit of fouling even the cleanest plays.
There was no pain. No slow-motion fade-to-black. Just a brief moment of annoyance. *Of course it would end like this.*
And then—he woke up.
White ceiling. Rustling trees outside the window. A poster on the wall that read "飛べ (Fly)".
He sat up slowly, eyes narrowing. His hands... smaller than he remembered. But familiar. Too familiar.
The uniform folded on the desk caught his attention. Orange and black.
Karasuno High School.
He stared for a long moment before exhaling sharply through his nose. "Well... this is new."
---
Ayato wasn't the type to panic. Never had been. Even in national finals, he barely blinked. Anxiety was something he studied in other players—how it made them fumble, hesitate, fold under pressure. For him, pressure was where the magic happened.
So when he discovered he'd been dropped into another reality—a world that seemed to function by the rules of an anime he'd vaguely heard of—he didn't freak out. He didn't scream or search for explanations.
He rolled his shoulder, checked the tension in his wrist, and thought: *How's my vertical?*
---
In this world, Ayato Ren was a first-year student at Karasuno High.
According to his new records, he had just moved from Kanagawa. No club affiliations. No volleyball background listed. A blank slate. But the truth? He was anything but blank.
Back in his original life, Ayato was something of an underground legend. He'd been training since he could walk—his father, a retired pro beach volleyball player, saw to that. By the age of 10, he was running drills against grown men. By 14, he'd already won regional beach circuits, using his nonchalant confidence to dominate matches with quiet precision.
He never talked trash. Never celebrated. Just served, dug, spiked, and moved like he was born in the sand.
A few hardcore volleyball forums knew him by name: *The Ghost of the Coast*, they called him. Highlights of his two-on-two victories sometimes went viral, but he kept his face out of the spotlight. He never wanted the fame—just the game.
And now, here he was.
Alive again.
In a body just younger than his last one.
In a world where the national youth scene was dominated by freaks of nature like Kageyama, Ushijima, and Miya Atsumu.
He didn't mind.
He didn't need to be known. He just needed to touch a ball.
---
It was the first day of school. April.
The gym smelled like sawdust and sweat. Wooden floors reflected the light in a way that made Ayato feel something stir in his chest. Nostalgia. Excitement. Something close to hunger.
He didn't go to the main entrance. He slipped in from the side, barely noticed.
Two boys were arguing near the net. Short orange hair and a tall blue-eyed setter. *Hinata and Kageyama,* Ayato recalled from the show he'd half-watched a few years ago.
They were bickering, Predictable.
Ayato sat on the bleachers, legs spread, arms resting on his knees. He watched them in silence, like a cat watching birds peck at breadcrumbs.
After a particularly messy toss and spike attempt, the ball ricocheted off the net and rolled toward the bleachers.
Ayato tilted his head slightly. *Hm. Decent footwork. Body is too stiff though. Needs more tempo.*
"Hey," Daichi's voice snapped Ayato out of his evaluation. The third-year captain walked over. "You're the new first-year, right? Transfer from Kanagawa?"
Ayato nodded lazily. "Yeah. Ayato Ren."
"You play?"
Ayato shrugged, his voice dry. "A little."
Daichi raised an eyebrow. "We've got open tryouts this afternoon. You in?"
Ayato looked toward the court. The ball had rolled to a stop near the baseline.
His lips curved into a slight
"Yeah," he said. "I'm in."