Tadashi's first surprise of the day came right before he walked through the front door of Sendai gymnasium. It was the best kind of surprise, too. The kind that makes the lingering nastiness of a shaky, nauseous, nervous bus trip disappear all at once, and revives every bit of joy that was buried beneath it.

All because of that beautiful, pretty, cheeky smile.

"Taiga!" he said.

Taiga jogged forward, his arms spread out to either side of him.

"Huh?" Nishinoya said, pointing. "What are you doing here?"

Taiga ignored his cousin and kept rushing forward until he collided with Tadashi, chest-to-chest. Tadashi had to spin on the spot to absorb the impact of the hug. A full-speed hug. A battering ram of a hug.

"I skipped school," he said, right at Tadashi's ear. "I'm deathly ill."

And to underscore it, he puffed out two long, wheezing, pathetically fake coughs.

Off to the edge of the group, Mr Takeda put his head down.

"I can't see this," he said. "I...I never saw this."

He hurried away, and Tadashi lowered Taiga to the ground.

"You skipped to come and watch us?"

"No, you misheard me," Taiga said, and coughed again. "I am deathly ill."

"That's your story and you're sticking to it, huh?"

"That's right, but don't worry," he said, waving toward the entrance. Tadashi followed his fingers and, for the first time, spotted Kyoshi and Kagame standing by the doors. They looked bored, but they were musicians and 'bored' was their resting state.

"Kyoshi and Kagame are sick, too," he said. "And it's not the kind of sickness that stops you from cheering and chanting. Or traveling to Sendai. Lucky, right?"

Tadashi laughed and wrapped Taiga in another tight hug.

Beside him, he heard Nishinoya's satisfied voice.

"A makeshift cheer squad, huh? We'll take everything we can get!"

Then Tanaka.

"My sister will be here," he said. "She's plenty loud."

Coach Ukai joined in from further away.

"Shimada and Takinoue are coming, too."

And finally, barely audible, Tsukki.

"I think Akiteru will be here."

Taiga laughed, shaking against Tadashi.

"Well, then," he said, stepping back. "It's not exactly the Karasuno stage band, choir and drama clubs, but I'll do what I can with them. We'll be singing four-part harmony by the middle of the second set. Seijoh will wonder who invited Queen to the Spring Tournament."

"Ahhh," Suga said. "It's going to be great to have our cheer squad back again."

"Right, right," Coach Ukai said. "For the game that starts in half an hour. Come on, let's go inside. Yamaguchi...don't be long."

Tadashi let go of Taiga and snapped to attention.

"Yes, Coach," he said.

The team filtered away and left them there, alone amongst the morning crowd of spectators that were slowly making their way to the stadium.

Taiga smiled at Tadashi. The way he had right before he'd helped him write the Pinch_Server_GC comment at the bottom of Oikawa's article all those months ago. Tadashi loved this smile—it always came right before one of Taiga's amazing, mature, down-to-earth bits of advice. If history was anything to go by, whatever he said next would be perf—

"Ready to beat Oikawa's ass?" Taiga said.

Tadashi's laugh echoed all around the entrance to the stadium.

Perfect.

"I'm happy it's not up to me," he said. "I still think it's better if he's the one who goes to Nationals. For the...narrative, you know. But it's Karasuno versus Seijoh. Not me versus Oikawa."

"Aw," Taiga said. "You sound so mature."

"Well, I turn sixteen in two weeks," he said. "It's to be expected."

"Just don't forget to feel happy when you win," Taiga said.

"When we win," Tadashi said.

"When you win," Taiga said.

They were standing so close—close enough for a quick kiss. No-one would notice. No-one would care. Their heads were even angled the right way. It was like they'd subconsciously gone through a pre-kiss checklist and met all the criteria, and now all they had to do was twitch and they'd be doing it. That little giddy rush crept into Tadashi's gut, and he was about to lean in.

"Ahh!" A girl's voice broke the moment.

Tadashi and Taiga snapped their heads around.

He recognized the group of three girls headed his way—they'd spoken to him on the first day. Or maybe the second day. They were Shiratorizawa supporters, but they'd become unofficial Karasuno fans since reading Monthly Volleyball They'd asked him a ton of questions about what it's like being out of the closet, and what Oikawa was like, but by far the thing they were most interested in was...

"It's Taiga!" one of them said. "He's here!"

"Taiga!" one of the others said.

Tadashi bit back on a laugh as he looked at Taiga's bewildered face.

"Your fans are here," he told him.

"My...fans?"

Tadashi stepped back and bowed to the girls, flinging his arm toward Taiga.

"He's all yours, ladies," he said. "Coach is waiting for me."

"Guchi-chan," Taiga said, in the same tone of voice his mother used when she was mad. Her Yamaguchi Tadashi, clean your room this instant voice. "Are you throwing me to the wolves?"

"Yeah, but..." Tadashi trailed off as the three girls got closer, pressing in around Taiga like he was a painting at an art gallery. Can we have a photo! Are you really a musician!? Can you sing something for us? "They're such cute wolves."

He took off for the entrance to the gymnasium, giggling.

Tadashi's second surprise of the day came when the whistle blew at the end of the first set.

Asahi had launched himself into the air and spiked with enough force to measure on the Richter scale. Seijoh's number thirteen, Kunimi, winced against the impact as he threw himself underneath the ball. It collided with his knee and careened off into the stands like he'd shot it from a cannon.

The scorekeepers flipped the numbers and updated the set counts.

25-23.

First set to Karasuno.

"I can't believe we took the first," Tadashi said.

"Me either!" Suga said.

He could've gone around the stadium, asked everyone individually—they'd all say the same thing. Karasuno wasn't supposed to be in front already. But Hinata and Kageyama had learned a few new tricks in Tokyo, and Tsukki was blocking anything that came near him, and Asahi and Tanaka had improved out of sight over the last few months. Since the exhibition match, everyone seemed to have something extra up their sleeve, and it was enough to earn them the first set of the day.

Up in the stands, Taiga had their cheer squad off to a noisy start.

Karasuno, Fly! Karasuno, Fly! All the way to Tokyo! Leave these guys behind!

Everyone gathered on the sideline and it was Kageyama—not Daichi—who addressed the team.

"Be careful," he said. "Remember the exhibition match. The further behind Oikawa gets, the more dangerous he is. We have no more surprises for them. We've played every trick. The score board might list us in front, but don't believe it. We are level."

"This guy," Tanaka said, slapping Kageyama hard on the back. "Have you ever met someone this intense?"

Tadashi saw it, though.

He looked at the Seijoh huddle and he saw it was true.

Oikawa's players gathered around him like he was Moses with two stone tablets in hand. He pointed to each of them in turn, his face a perfect mix of friendliness and professionalism. A teacher patiently explaining to a class full of children exactly what steps to take to solve the problem in front of them.

When the teams returned to the court, Oikawa took up a position to serve.

He bounced the ball once, twice, three times. Threw it into the air. Jumped.

There was an incredible crack, and something weird happened with time.

It was like it stopped for a second. Oikawa drifted back to the ground, feet planted and posed like a hero from a comic movie. But the ball was nowhere. Everyone stood still as they tried to figure out what happened. They'd heard him strike the ball, but then it just...vanished.

The referee blew the whistle.

Tadashi gaped as the scorekeepers recorded a point for Seijoh.

"What the hell?" he said.

"O...over there," Suga said, pointing.

And there, in the far corner of the stadium—miles away—was a lonesome volleyball.

Tadashi's heart skipped.

Oikawa had hit it so hard and so fast, Tadashi hadn't even seen the ball on its way to the other side of the stadium. Hadn't seen it in the air. Hadn't seen it bounce in-bounds. It was like Oikawa'd teleported it from his hand to the opposite side of the gym.

Tadashi saw the edges of Oikawa's mouth twitch up.

"One more," he said, calling for a fresh ball.

Suga sighed.

"Kageyama was right," he said.

"Scary," Tadashi said.

Bang! Oikawa slammed another serve into the court, just as hard and fast as the last one. Tadashi knew what was coming this time and still he had trouble following the course of the ball. Daichi and Nishinoya looked between themselves. Neither had time to move.

Bang! Another point.

"What's with this serve!" Tadashi said. "Where was it in the first set?"

"It's really intense," Suga said. "Maybe he needs to warm up to it. Get his body loose enough for it during the first set and unleash it in the second."

BANG.

Four points to nothing.

Tadashi clenched his fists and tensed his thighs.

Feelings and thoughts thunked through his head, beating on his temples and grating on the inside of his skull. Was this...good? Was he happy about this? He wanted Oikawa to play his best, and didn't really want to see him lose a chance at Nationals...right? Was that it? If that was it, then why was he sweating? Why was his heart thumping and blood boiling like he was teetering on the edge of a great big cliff?

Bang!

Finally, Oikawa made a mistake.

He loosed his serve with so much power that it sailed over the baseline. The ball knocked three chairs over on its way to the far end of the gym, and the official that righted them had to check the legs were still attached.

Tadashi watched the next few points unfold as an arm wrestle. For every point Karasuno managed to score, Aoba Johsai scored right back. On it went, one-for-one. 4-2. 5-2. 5-3. 6-3. Things were scrappier, now. More desperate. He felt like he was watching a war movie—his teammates trying to storm a beach under enemy fire.

And then, five short rotations later...

He was back.

Oikawa, on the baseline again.

Still three points in the lead. Ten points to Seven.

Calling for the ball.

"Agh," Suga said. "I can't watch."

Bang. Eleven points to seven.

Bang. Twelve.

BANG. Thirteen.

"Time out!" Mr Takeda called from the bench.

The whistle blew, and Oikawa reluctantly stood down. As Karasuno filtered off the court, he stayed on his mark. A few steps this way and that, but never moving from the spot. He was a panther stalking beneath a tree, waiting for the prey he'd scared up there to fall back to the ground.

"Stay calm," Coach Ukai began. "I know that serve seems like a—"

But he was cut off by a sudden, shrill noise from the stands.

"Yuu!" two voices in unison called down.

Tadashi flicked his head around to see Taiga, hands cupped around his mouth. Next to him, Tanaka's sister Saeko was doing the same.

Taiga turned to the rag-tag group of supporters he'd assembled.

"Just like we practiced!" he told them.

Better men have tried! Better men have failed! Every single time, Nishinoya has prevailed!

The cheer was like a wave of pure energy, and Nishinoya seemed to absorb it straight from the air.

"I can do it!" he said, sticking his thumb into his chest. "I can. I've been following his line. I can see how he's moving. I'm fast enough. I just need three—"

Nishinoya Yuu! Nishinoya Yuu! Saved the day before, and he'll do it this time, too!

Tadashi watch Nishinoya's smile double in size.

"Two more attempts," he finished. "I can do it."

Coach Ukai snorted and folded his arms.

"I know you can," he said, and stepped backward to address the entire team. "This isn't magic. It's not a superpower. It's training, and force, and speed. At the end of the day, it's still a volleyball. And volleyballs can't break through walls, and they can't bounce if you don't let them.

"So block and cover," he said. "And don't let them take this set!"

"Yes, Coach!" they all said.

And as they broke away, Coach Ukai pulled Tadashi up.

"Yamaguchi," he said.

Tadashi went rigid.

"Yes?"

"Be ready," he said. "Sometimes the only way to answer a great serve is with another great serve."

Tadashi swallowed, bowed, and jogged back to the players reserve bench. Oikawa was still stalking on the service line, his team in position already. His momentum was physically broken, but he hadn't lost a bit of the intensity in his eyes. Tadashi wondered if he could even see anything other than the ball in his hands and the other side of the court.

"Do you think Nishinoya can really figure it out in two more serves?" Tadashi said.

Suga smiled.

"Put it this way," he said. "The only thing Nishinoya loves more than saving the day is doing it while people chant for him. If anyone in Miyagi can do it..."

He trailed off as Oikawa tossed the ball.

BANG.

The ball slammed into Nishinoya's forearm and side, catapulting off into the stands.

14-7.

Tadashi studied Noya's face as he returned to his starting position. It was hard to read—for someone so noisy off the court, Noya was weirdly quiet and calm when he was waiting to receive. But he didn't look afraid. He didn't look even slightly nervous.

Tadashi, meanwhile, was crushing his thumb between his own fingers.

Come on...come on...

Oikawa tossed the ball.

It cracked from his palm, sizzled through the air...

And Nishinoya appeared beneath it. He was mostly on the ground, his butt and entire left side sliding across the polished floor. But his forearms were flat. They were angled just right so his joints could absorb the impact. The ball slapped against his skin, reddened it, maybe even tore it.

But it went up.

The crowd erupted as though Karasuno just won the set.

Tadashi screamed, almost as loud as Suga.

"NICE RECEIVE!"

Daichi settled the play, sent it to Kageyama, who linked with Hinata. Their fastest, smoothest quick attack Tadashi had ever seen.

Point Karasuno.

14-8.

The team rushed to Nishinoya's side, petting him like he was the world's most faithful dog. Tadashi felt Suga's arm grip his shoulder as he tried to stay upright, a theatrical sigh rushing out of him.

"This team," Suga said. "You're bad for my heart."

Tadashi let his Senpai lean on him as Asahi took up a position to serve.

Six points behind.

There was no way he wouldn't be serving this time.

Tadashi's third surprise of the day was a bad one.

At 22-15 in Aoba Johsai's favor, Oikawa sent the ball to Iwaizumi. Iwa leaped for it, charging up his spiking arm with every skerrick of power he could muster. Tsukki and Kageyama went up for the block, there was a deafening pair of cracks, and then:

"Shit."

Tadashi grabbed his chest.

He'd never heard Tsukki swear so loudly before.

Tsukki swore all the time, but subtly. Under his breath. When it was funny, or when it made sense, or when it was going to magnify the point he was making. This was nothing like that.

This was pure, unfiltered pain.

The whistle blew, and Mr Takeda called a time out.

"Tsukki!" Tadashi said, rushing forward. "Are you all right?"

He was cradling the fingers on his left hand. They weren't bleeding and they weren't bent the wrong way, but Tadashi could see a purple bruise welling up between his index and middle finger already.

"I...I think it's all right," he said.

"Mm-mm," Coach Ukai shook his head. "A spike like that can cause a ton of damage if it contacts awkwardly. You need to get it looked at."

"If I could get some tape—"

"Nursing station," Coach said firmly.

"I can take him," Tadashi said.

"No you can't," Coach said. "Tsukishima's block won us the point, and he was due to serve. You'll take his place. Sugawara, you go."

"Yes, Coach," Suga said, pushing Tsukki in front of him. "Come on. The quicker we go, the quicker you're back."

"Mmmm," Tsukki said, still biting back on the pain.

Tadashi took a few steps after Tsukki, still too shaken to take in everything that was going on. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Tsukki's fingers, and the worry in him was making Coach's words process a lot slower than normal.

Tsukki to the nurses station.

Yamaguchi to serve.

Yamaguchi...to serve.

Somewhere behind him, a whistle blew. He heard Mr Takeda tell the officials about the player substitution. He felt his teammates file past him, back toward the court.

"Yamaguchi," Coach said.

Tadashi jolted.

Coach was looking at him sidelong.

"When your serve is up," he said, hands cupping the back of his own neck, "I want you to stay out there."

"Right," Tadashi said without thinking. Then "Wait, what?"

Coach's eyes were closed.

"I know," he said. "It's not our usual tactic, but with Tsukishima gone, our block wall loses a lot of height. You're the next tallest we have. Hit as many aces as you've got in you. Then get as forward as you can as quickly as you can. Stop them from scoring."

Tadashi's brain was filled with white noise.

"But coach, surely Sugawara or Enn—"

"Maybe," Coach cut him off. "But this isn't their game."

"It...isn't?"

Coach smiled, and opened his eyes.

"You'll see. Get out there."

From the ground next to the bench, Coach plucked a volleyball with one hand and tossed it to him. Tadashi caught it between his palms. The jolt was like an echo all the way through him, chasing out the fuzziness in his head and the haze in his eyes.

His fingers tightened around the ball.

"Right," he said.

He turned on the spot, and made for the sideline. The official held up a hand to make the substitution legal, and blew his whistle one more time. Tadashi took a deep breath, and stepped up to the edge of the court.

He could hear them.

The voices buzzing in the crowd.

It was like a swarm of insects, off in the distance but getting closer all the time. Indistinct whispers that built up and up and up until eventually there was a steady wall of sound. It was like someone had built a small fire in up in the stands, and as it got hotter more kindling caught fire. More voices joined in. Got louder.

He could swear he heard his name.

Tadashi here. Yamaguchi there.

Coming from all around him.

But it was Taiga's voice, alone, that kicked everything off.

You've seen him in your magazines! You've seen him on your TV!

Then the rest of Karasuno's tiny, makeshift cheer squad kicked in.

Now see him right in front of you, Tadashi Yamaguchi!

And Tadashi flushed red, because the verses kept coming and he couldn't hear them over the sound of the crowd. Taiga's voice barely made it over the clapping and shouting, and even then Tadashi strained to hear the words he was chanting. Something about 'serve' and 'country', and then definitely his name as the rest of the cheer squad joined in.

He almost lost balance as he looked around the stands.

"Yamaguchi!" two people he didn't even know called to him. "Hit a good one!"

Beside them, a row of men in their fifties slapped their hands together.

Behind them, four girls holding up their copies of Monthly Volleyball and waving them about.

He looked around a full 360 degrees and saw the whole gymnasium filled with it. Noise and smiles and support. From friends, from strangers, from everyone.

And then, finally, his eyes settled on the other side of the court.

Oikawa was stooped low, in a ready position to receive the serve. He still looked intense, still looked determined, still looked scary, with one exception. It was tiny, but Tadashi could see it. The little up-ticked corner of his mouth. The way his face couldn't quite keep his happiness sealed up on the inside.

I told you, didn't I? His face said. All it takes is a second domino.

He snorted, and pressed the ball between his hands.

He made it to the service line and took up his position. The crowd's noise began to settle, and he was left alone to concentrate. There was no time left to think about it, or decide how he felt. This was it.

The whistle blew, and Tadashi let out all the air in him.

Before he had time to over-think it, he tossed the ball.

Was he really doing this?

Did he really want to win?

His palm bopped the ball, and it streaked away from him. No spin. Good line. A ton of jitter and sway. It skipped over the top of the net, barely kissing the tape, and dipped for the court.

His heart clanged against his ribs as one of Seijoh's blockers—Yahaba—dived after it.

He caught it with the edge of his wrist, sent it barreling for Kunimi, and...

Too low.

Kunimi couldn't get to it in time, and it thudded against his shins. Tadashi clenched his fists together, and let go a hissing yes at the same time as his teammates whooped and hollered.

"Nice, Yamaguchi!" Nishinoya said, scooping up the ball and rolling it to him.

"One more!" Daichi said.

22-16.

Tadashi wondered if the reason he was so calm—so relaxed about his serve, and scoring points—was because they were so far behind. Could it be that he'd already written this set off? Would he be able to serve so freely and willingly if this next serve was for the match?

He closed his eyes, and mumbled to himself as the whistle blew.

"For the match," he said quietly. "This is for the match."

He imagined it was 24-23 in their favor. That this was the ball that would knock Oikawa out of the game, and out of high school volleyball forever. Could he do it? Could he—

He tossed the ball.

Jumped. Connected.

It bobbled between two of Seijoh's back line players, landing exactly half way between them. They stared at each other, then watched the ball bounce away to the back wall of the gym.

22-17.

The crowd erupted again. Taiga and the cheer squad had run out of original rhymes, and had reverted back to the general Karasuno chant. Still, above that, Tadashi imagined he could hear Taiga's voice in particular. Shouting his name.

"One more," he said as Daichi tossed the ball his way.

His make-believe hadn't worked. There was just no way he could pretend they were winning. Not when the scores were so disparate. He trusted in his serve, and he was miles better than he'd been at the beginning of the year—but eight more points was beyond wishful thinking.

He squeezed his eyes tight, and shook his head.

It isn't up to you, he told himself. You don't pick the winner.

The whistle blew, and he tossed the ball.

His contact was good, and it sailed over the net. This time, it was headed for Oikawa himself. Tadashi's heart seized up as Oikawa seemed to do nothing for the longest time. He watched...watched...watched...

Then feather-tapped the ball with his fingertips.

The angle was perfect. Tadashi's serve was halted on the spot, and became a beautifully-set ball. Ripe for the spiking by any one of about four Seijoh players.

"Left!" Daichi yelled.

"Right!" Nishinoya called.

Tadashi didn't know who to listen to.

Kunimi ran for the ball on the left. Kindaichi and Iwaizumi on the right. Tadashi played a numbers game, followed Nishinoya's advice, and shuffled to the right to try and receive from either spiker on that side.

Too late, Tadashi saw it all fall apart.

Yahaba—the team's backup setter—flicked the ball backwards.

Oikawa jumped from a standing start.

Back attack.

His spike crackled through the air—almost as powerful as his serve—and slammed into Kageyama's left shoulder before bouncing into the reserve bench.

Tadashi balled his fists.

This guy. This god damn guy. The audacity of him, to make Tadashi feel like maybe he should go easy and then unleash an attack like that. Was that his plan all along? Come out in a national magazine, build Tadashi up, make his life better in almost every way, improve the rights of LGBT people all across the country...just to lull Tadashi into a pity spiral during this finals game?

It was a long shot, but also a super Oikawa-y thing to do.

Tadashi narrowed his eyes.

Maybe he really did want to beat him.

The score ticked up to 23-17 in Aoba Johsai's favor, and Tadashi did something he'd never done in a competition game before. He moved one position to the left—the middle rear spot on the court—and waited. It felt so weird. Standing there without the ball, not tossing and jumping when the whistle blew. He didn't know what to do with his hands.

Kindaichi served from the other side.

He was decent. He had power and speed. But Nishinoya was on the court, and compared to the serves he'd saved from Oikawa's hands, this was like catching a dandelion in the breeze. He sent the ball up, directly to Kageyama.

And Tadashi forgot he was supposed to be doing something.

Oh crap! Spiking!

He'd done it in training before, and knew where to go. He also knew that, with Asahi and Tanaka and Hinata all on the court, he would never be the one to receive this toss. But he still ran like it was a certainty. Jumped like it was definitely coming. He leaped through the air, wound up with his right hand...

And hit nothing.

The ball went to Hinata, who slapped it with all his might.

Which, as it turns out, wasn't much might. His tiny shoulders and torso were fantastic for speed but rubbish for brute force, and Yahaba was able to receive the ball easily. It went up, hanging in the air right above Oikawa's head.

Tadashi remembered Coach's words.

Get as forward as you can as quickly as you can.

He sprinted to Asahi's side, ready to go up for the block. He didn't need to worry about position or timing. Asahi would take care of that. All he needed to do was help complete the wall.

Iwaizumi and Kindaichi were both rushing for him.

Tadashi had never seen anything like it. Kindaichi, wild eyed and red-faced, more animal than man. Beside him, Iwaizumi, as lazer-focused and calm as a monk, speeding toward the net like a freight train.

Tadashi felt Kageyama bunch in on his left. The three of them—Karasuno's block wall—jumped at the same time.

Oikawa sent the ball to Kunimi on the other side of the court, who nudged the ball past Daichi and Hinata. Almost insultingly slowly, like he'd made no effort at all.

Tadashi's feet hit the ground, and he rushed back to the middle-back position again. Everyone was slapping Hinata on the back, telling him 'don't mind', and Tadashi joined in. Even though he felt like he and Kageyama and Asahi were just as much to blame for what happened.

Winning isn't up to you, his own words came back to him.

And for the first time, he was starting to believe them.

It was 24-17. Barring a miracle, Seijoh were going to take this set. But still, Tadashi's heart was pumping. He felt like he was on fire all over. Adrenaline was thrumming through him so hard, it was all he could do not to jog on the spot to let some of it out. All around him, his teammates looked the same. Tense as coiled metal springs. None of them willing to give up.

The whistle blew, and Kindaichi let rip another serve.

Nishinoya caught it again, and linked with Kageyama.

He sent it to Asahi—when you're in trouble, always toss to the ace—who slammed the ball as hard as he could. But it wasn't enough. It was received, and went up in the air. Much more shallow than last time, though, which meant there was less hang time. Tadashi found himself stranded in the middle of the court, halfway between the baseline and the net, when Oikawa started his toss.

Four spikers were charging for the ball. Kunimi, Kindaichi, Yahaba, Iwaizumi.

But there was no question in Tadashi's mind who was going to take this shot. He could feel it in every bone and muscle and pore and hair in his body. He could see the look on Iwaizumi's face, the way he was concentrating so intently on the net, the ball, the court...

And then, for the briefest second, on Tadashi himself.

Tadashi jerked sideways. He watched Iwaizumi's hand, tried to predict where the ball would land.

And he ran.

As hard as he could, he ran.

Everything was slow-mo as he jumped for the spot. The ball slapped off Iwaizumi's hand, the sound so loud it drowned out the entire stadium's cheers. Tadashi imagined he could hear it whipping through the air on its way down. A meter away. Half a meter. Twenty centimeters...ten...

He threw himself forward, his arms both outstretched, and felt the ball whack against his skin. It stung. Worse than anything he'd ever felt during practice. He felt like he'd been slapped and punched and stabbed all at once.

Then, the paralyzing jolt as his body hit the ground.

All the wind was knocked out of him, but he kept his head up. He watched the ball as it skewered off his wrist, and skittered through the air toward the net, and slammed into it with a limp thwock. It fell to the ground, bouncing like it wasn't sure which direction to go, and eventually lay still.

Tadashi could hear Seijoh celebrating, and let the pain overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back. His chest hurt. His arms hurt. His left hip especially hurt. Breathing hurt. Every single thing about him hurt.

"You okay, Yamaguchi?" Daichi said, somewhere above him.

Tadashi opened his eyes to his captain, towering with an arm stretched downward. Tadashi forced a couple of breaths down and let Daichi hoist him up.

"Fine," he said.

"Nice effort," Daichi said. "I don't think any of us would've gotten that."

It hurt too much too talk, so Tadashi patted Daichi on the shoulder and pointed to his throat. Daichi snorted, nodding that he understood, and turned to leave the court.

On the other side of the net, Seijoh were ecstatic.

Tadashi watched as Iwaizumi and Oikawa grinned at one another and playfully slapped their teammates. He looked from them to his wrist, which was already showing a big red welt from Iwaizumi's spike.

He didn't have to try so hard just now

He could've let that last ball go and nobody would've blamed him. They were down by seven points, and it was a full-force spike from Seijoh's ace. And yet he'd run after it like his life depended on it. Dived like the court was filled with water, not made of hard, polished wood.

He felt his pulse quicken as he finally figured it out.

People who don't want to win wouldn't throw themselves at a receive like that.

He clenched his fist, and smirked at the laughing, grinning, happy players on the other side of the net.

"Game on, Seijoh," he said.

And he walked to the bench to join his teammates.

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Hi everyone! This story is actually already completed over at AO3, and there you can find illustrations, too! As well as join in the discussions in the comments section if you like! Just search for TheHaruWhoCanRead over there and you'll find it.