The lunch bell rang, and the usual junior high chaos broke loose. Chairs dragging, shouts of excitement, and the sound of plastic wrappers tearing open.
Shoyo Hinata didn't run to the cafeteria to buy yakisoba bread. With calm movements, he pulled a simple, dark blue bento box out of his backpack.
When he uncovered it, there were no sparkles or sausages cut into octopus shapes. There was white rice on one half. On the other, shredded boiled chicken breast, steamed broccoli with no sauce, and two hard-boiled eggs cut in half.
It was the saddest meal a teenager could imagine. For Hinata, it was pure gold.
"Protein, complex carbs, fiber," he recited mentally as he clasped his hands together. "Itadakimasu."
He began to eat methodically. Chewing thirty times per bite. Facilitating digestion. Maximizing nutrient absorption. His current body was a ruined temple in urgent need of reconstruction.
"Hey, you're the guy from this morning, right?"
A shadow fell over his desk, accompanied by a sweet scent, a mix of vanilla perfume and hairspray.
Hinata swallowed (chew number thirty) and looked up. Marin Kitagawa was there, one hand on her hip and a curious smile on her face. Behind her, some of her friends were whispering, wondering why the most popular first-year girl was talking to the "short guy from the volleyball club."
"Hello, Kitagawa-san," Hinata said calmly.
"Just Marin is fine!" She leaned in a little, invading his personal space without hesitation. "I wanted to say thanks for saving my boxes. And my face. If I had fallen there, it would have been a total disaster."
"It was nothing. Just basic balance," Hinata gestured to the empty chair in front of his desk with a nod. "Would you like to sit?"
Marin blinked, surprised by the casual invitation, and sat backward on the chair, resting her arms on the backrest. Then, she looked at Hinata's food. Her expression shifted from curiosity to pure horror.
"Eww!" she exclaimed without a filter. "What is that? Hospital food? It's all white and green! Where's the flavor? The joy of living?"
Hinata speared a piece of broccoli.
"It's not food, Marin. It's fuel," he explained with the seriousness of an engineer talking about high-octane gasoline. "My body is a machine that is currently... uncalibrated. I need construction materials. Flavor is secondary."
At the next table, Wakana Gojo, who was eating in silence trying not to draw attention, froze with his chopsticks in the air. "Construction materials?" he thought. The phrase resonated with him. When making Hina dolls, the internal structure and materials were the most important thing.
Marin, however, tilted her head, fascinated by Hinata's strange intensity.
"You talk like a bodybuilder or something. But you're... well, tiny."
"— Ainda (Not yet)," Hinata corrected, slipping in a Portuguese word without realizing it. "I can't control height, but I can control muscle volume and explosiveness. I'm sculpting."
"Sculpting?" Marin's eyes lit up. "Like when you make a prop! You have the foam base and then you shape it to make it look real."
Hinata smiled. It was the first time he had truly smiled in the conversation, and it transformed his face. He no longer looked like a stoic monk, but the sunny boy everyone knew, just with a more adult edge.
"Exactly. You dress up to transform into someone else, right? I'm transforming this body into one that can fly. It's the same thing. Art and dedication."
Marin stared into his brown eyes. There was fire there. It wasn't the typical boring boy talk about video games or soccer. He was talking about passion.
"You're weird, Hinata-kun," she said, grinning from ear to ear. "I like it."
"You're weird too, Marin," he replied, eating a whole egg in one bite. "I like it."
Gojo, from his corner, felt a pang of envy and admiration. "They can talk about their passions so openly... That's amazing."
Afternoon came, and with it, the reality of the Yukigaoka Junior High Boys' Volleyball Club.
The gym was small, the floor had some loose boards, and the net was a bit frayed. Izumi and Koji were already there, kicking a soccer ball around (because they couldn't find the volleyball) and laughing.
"Sho-chan!" Izumi yelled when he saw him enter. "You're late! Let's do spikes! Koji sets for me and I... BAM!"
In the past, Hinata would have thrown his bag down and yelled, "Me too!"
Today, Hinata set his bag neatly on the bench. He took off his uniform jacket, revealing a simple white t-shirt. He crouched down and tied his shoes with double safety knots.
Then, he walked toward the cleaning closet.
"Sho-chan?" Koji stopped the ball with his foot. "What are you doing?"
"The floor is dirty," Hinata said, taking out two mops and a bucket. "If we jump in this dust, we'll slip. An ankle injury takes 3 weeks to heal if it's mild. Months if it's a ligament. It's not worth the risk."
Izumi and Koji looked at each other.
"But... we just want to play for a bit."
Hinata stopped and looked at them. His gaze wasn't one of reproach, but a serious plea.
"Guys, I know you're only helping me because you're my friends. And I appreciate it," Hinata walked toward them. "But this year I want to go to the tournament. And I don't want to go just to lose in the first round in 20 minutes. I want us to win. Do you trust me?"
There was silence. Hinata's intensity was magnetic.
"Okay, okay," Izumi sighed, grabbing a mop. "But you're buying us soda later."
They spent twenty minutes cleaning the gym until the wood squeaked with cleanliness. Then, when Koji grabbed the ball to try a serve, Hinata stopped him.
"No. No ball today."
"WHAT?!" they both shouted in unison.
"Stretching," Hinata ordered, sitting on the floor and spreading his legs with a flexibility that made his friends' eyes water. "And receiving. Volleyball starts from the ground. If you can't receive, you can't attack. That's the golden rule."
"But that's boring..." Koji complained.
Hinata stood up. He picked up the volleyball.
"Koji. Throw it. Hard. Try to hit me in the face."
"Huh? I'm not gonna do that."
"Do it!" Hinata barked with a commanding voice.
Koji, startled and reacting on instinct, threw the ball with force, a baseball pass straight at Hinata's chest.
Hinata didn't move. He didn't back down. He simply brought his hands together. He didn't swing at the ball. Thump. The sound was dull, dry. The ball hit his forearms, died instantly in the air, and rose gently in a perfect parabola, falling right back into Hinata's hands without him moving his feet a single millimeter.
Izumi and Koji stood with their mouths open. It looked like magic. Normally, the ball would fly off anywhere.
"Impact absorption," Hinata said softly. "Platform angle. Shoulder relaxation. When you master this..." Hinata smiled, and that smile held the brightness of the national stadium lights "...you control the game. I'm going to teach you."
From the slightly open gym door, Marin Kitagawa was watching. She was on her way home, but the sound of the mop had caught her attention.
She saw Hinata correcting Izumi's posture, touching his lower back and shoulders with professional delicacy. She saw the seriousness on his face. She saw how his "small" body seemed to fill the entire gym with his presence.
"Sculpting..." she whispered, remembering his words from lunch.
She took out her phone and, discreetly, took a photo of Hinata from behind, hands on his hips, explaining something to his friends.
"Yes," Marin murmured to herself. "That back... will work perfectly as a reference."