The Tokyo air smelled different than his previous life. It was cleaner, sharper, and right now, it smelled faintly of Salonpas and floor polish.
Ryuu Gojou stood in front of the metal doors of the Nekoma High gymnasium. He adjusted the dark, sporty sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the glass pane of the door.
He looked dangerous. A shock of vibrant crimson hair, messy and defying gravity, framed a sharp, angular face. Even with the glasses obscuring his eyes, he stood out. At 190 centimeters as a first-year, he wasn't just tall; he was a monolith.
He smirked, checking his reflection one last time.
'So, this is it,' Ryuu thought, stretching his neck until it popped satisfyingly. 'The world of Haikyuu. No more reading about it on a screen at 3 AM. No more shouting at the characters to just move faster. I'm actually here.'
He paused, letting the absurdity of it wash over him.
It was almost laughable how cliché it was. One minute, he was walking home from a late-night shift at the convenience store, re-reading the Spring High Nationals arc on his phone. The next? A blinding pair of headlights, the screech of tires, and the distinct, aggressive grill of a city bus that had decided red lights were merely suggestions.
Bam. Lights out.
He didn't even have time to curse. The last thing he saw was the terrified face of the bus driver and a blurry advertisement for energy drinks.
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in a hospital. He was in a sleek, modern bedroom he didn't recognize, staring at a ceiling he'd never seen, with memories of a life—"Ryuu Gojou, the home-schooled returnee"—that felt like a downloaded file in his brain.
He had died. He had been isekai'd. It was the kind of thing that happened in light novels, usually followed by waking up as a goblin or a villainess.
"But no," Ryuu muttered, looking down at his large, calloused hands. "I got the jackpot."
He flexed his hand. He could feel it—the hum of energy under his skin. It wasn't magic, exactly, but it felt like it. In this life, he had been born with a physical gift that defied logic. The "Emperor's Eyes." Absolute spatial awareness. Kinetic prediction. High-speed processing.
Basically, he was a cheat code walking on two legs.
He knew the plot. He knew Nekoma was the "Fallen Powerhouse." They were the ultimate shield—a defensive team that ground opponents down with tenacity and brains. But they lacked a spear. They lacked the kind of overwhelming violence that teams like Shiratorizawa possessed.
'Well,' Ryuu thought, reaching for the door handle. 'I guess I'll have to be the spear. Or maybe a nuclear warhead. Let's see how the kitties are doing.'
With a dramatic flair that felt entirely necessary, Ryuu didn't just open the door; he slid it open with a force that made the metal rattle against the frame, creating a thunderous CLANG that echoed through the gym.
Inside, the squeak of sneakers and the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of volleyballs stopped instantly.
Twenty heads turned.
The smell of sweat hit him. The gym was bustling with activity. There was the bed-headed captain, Kuroo Tetsurou, holding a ball mid-spin. There was the small, fierce libero, Yaku Morisuke. And sitting in the corner, looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the universe, was the pudding-headed setter, Kozume Kenma.
Ryuu stepped inside, his school uniform blazer slung casually over one shoulder. The red of his hair seemed to vibrate under the gym lights. He walked to the center of the court, ignoring the confused whispers of the benchwarmers.
"Excuse me?"
A voice called out. It was distinct, calm, and laced with a hint of provocation. Kuroo Tetsurou stepped forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sized up the intruder. "This is the volleyball club. Unless you're here to deliver pizza, you're interrupting practice."
Ryuu stopped. He looked down at Kuroo—literally. He was taller than the captain.
"Pizza would be nice," Ryuu said, his voice smooth and carrying easily across the gym. He grinned, flashing white teeth. "But I'm here for something else. I'm submitting my application."
He fished a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and flicked it toward Kuroo. The captain caught it with practiced reflexes.
"A first-year?" Kuroo raised an eyebrow, reading the paper. "Ryuu Gojou. Never heard of you. Did you play in junior high?"
"Nope," Ryuu lied effortlessly. In this world, the original 'Ryuu' had been home-schooled and traveled abroad. A perfect blank slate. "I just picked up the sport recently. I watched a game on TV and thought, 'Wow, those guys look like they're struggling. They need a king.'"
The gym went silent.
Yamamoto Taketora, the mohawked second-year ace, bristled immediately. His face turned red. "Hah?! A King?! You think you can just walk in here and talk big, you red-headed beanpole?!"
Ryuu turned to Yamamoto, tilting his head. He lowered his sunglasses slightly, revealing eyes of molten gold. They were unsettling, like looking into the eyes of a predatory cat—or a dragon.
"It's not talking big if it's true, Mohawk-senpai," Ryuu said, his tone light but his presence heavy. "Nekoma is known for defense, right? You guys connect the ball. You keep it alive. It's admirable."
Ryuu's grin widened. "But it's also boring. You lack a killer. You lack someone who can end the rally whenever they feel like it."
"You little—!" Yamamoto stepped forward, fists clenched.
"Tora, wait." Kuroo held up a hand, stopping the ace. The captain's eyes were sharp, calculating. He looked at Ryuu like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. The first-year's stance was relaxed, full of openings, yet he exuded a pressure that made the hair on Kuroo's arms stand up. "So, you're a killer? That's a bold claim for a rookie with no experience."
"I'm a fast learner," Ryuu shrugged. "How about a test? If I win, I start as a regular. Immediately."
"And if you lose?" Yaku asked, stepping up beside Kuroo. The small libero looked unimpressed.
"If I lose? I'll buy everyone meat buns for a year," Ryuu offered. "But I won't lose."
From the sidelines, the elderly Coach Nekomata chuckled. The sound broke the tension. "Ho ho. Interesting. It's been a while since we had a wildly arrogant first-year. Kuroo, entertain him."
Kuroo smirked, spinning the ball on his finger. "Alright then. Let's see what you've got, Your Highness. Three-on-three. Me, Yaku, and Kai against... you, Tora, and Kenma."
Kenma, who had been trying to fade into the wall, looked up with a grimace. "Why me...?"
"Because you need the exercise," Kuroo said cheerfully.
_______________________
Five minutes later, Ryuu was on the court. He was wearing a borrowed practice bib over his gym clothes. The crimson hair was stark against the yellow mesh.
Across the net stood the core defense of Nekoma. Yaku, one of the best liberos in the country. Kuroo, a master blocker. And Kai, a solid all-rounder.
On his side was Yamamoto, who was fuming, and Kenma, who looked like he was about to fall asleep standing up.
"Hey, Gamer-boy," Ryuu called out, not looking back.
Kenma flinched. "Don't call me that..."
"Just toss the ball high," Ryuu said, pointing a finger toward the ceiling. "I don't care where. Just put it in the air. I'll handle the rest."
Kenma sighed, his eyes lifeless. "Fine. Just don't miss."
The whistle blew.
Kai served. It was a standard float serve, aimed tricky, right between Ryuu and Yamamoto.
'Slow,' Ryuu thought.
To everyone else, the ball was moving at a normal speed. To Ryuu, the world seemed to downshift. His golden eyes tracked the rotation of the ball, calculating the air resistance, the spin, and the exact drop point. He didn't move to receive it; he let Yamamoto take it.
"I got it!" Yamamoto shouted, receiving the ball clumsily but getting it up.
The ball arced toward Kenma. The setter didn't jump. He just did a small hop and set the ball high to the left, toward Ryuu.
It was a generic, high toss. An "open" set. The easiest set to block because it gave the defense time to react.
"Block him!" Kuroo shouted, jumping alongside Kai. Two blockers. A solid wall.
Ryuu began his approach.
One step. Two steps.
The sound of his sneakers gripping the floor was violent. SQUEAK.
He jumped.
The gym went silent again, but for a different reason.
Ryuu didn't just jump; he launched. He ascended, his hips clearing the net tape, his crimson hair practically scraping the ceiling lights. He hung in the air, gravity seeming to forget about him for a split second.
Kuroo's eyes widened as he looked up. 'What is this vertical?!'
Ryuu looked down at the blockers. Through his "Emperor's Eyes," the court dissolved into a grid of data. He saw the blockers' fingers. He saw the tension in Yaku's legs in the back row. He saw the trajectory lines glowing in his mind.
He cocked his arm back. It was a whip-like motion, loose and terrifyingly fast.
'Too easy,' Ryuu thought.
He didn't try to avoid the block. He swung straight through it.
BAM!
His hand connected with the ball with the sound of a gunshot. The ball tore through the air, smashing into the side of Kuroo's blocking hand. But instead of stopping, the sheer rotational force and power blew Kuroo's hand backward.
The ball ricocheted off the block, altered its trajectory, and slammed into the floorboards three meters behind the attack line before Yaku could even take a step.
THDOOM.
The ball bounced high, hitting the railing of the second floor.
Silence.
Ryuu landed lightly on his feet. He brushed a speck of dust off his shoulder and pushed his sunglasses back up his nose.
"Oops," Ryuu said, breaking the silence with a nonchalant tone. "I think I put a little too much spin on that. My bad."
Kuroo stared at his hand. It was stinging red. He looked at the mark on the floor where the ball had impacted. Then he looked at Ryuu.
Yamamoto's jaw was unhinged.
Even Kenma was staring, his cat-like eyes slightly wider than usual.
Ryuu turned to the setter and flashed a peace sign. "Nice toss, Kenma-senpai. A bit low, though. Next time, put it higher. I like the view from up there."
"You..." Kuroo lowered his hand, a strange mix of irritation and exhilaration crossing his face. "Who exactly are you?"
Ryuu grinned, the expression arrogant, charming, and utterly dominant. His golden eyes flashed behind the dark lenses.
"I told you," Ryuu said, pointing a thumb at his own chest. "I'm the guy who's going to take this team to Nationals. But first..."
He looked around the gym.
"Does anyone have a hair tie? My hair is getting in the way of my greatness."