Chapter Text
🎵 “Well, the years start comin' and they don′t stop comin'
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground runnin′
Didn't make sense not to live for fun
Your brain gets smart, but your head gets dumb
So much to do, so much to see
So, what's wrong with taking the backstreets?
You′ll never know if you don′t go (go)
You'll never shine if you don′t glow
Hey now, you're an all-star
Get your game on, go play
Hey now, you′re a rock star
Get the show on, get paid
(And all that glitters is gold)
Only shootin' stars break the mold” 🎶
[All Star - Smash Mouth]
Timeline: August 2022 - Sendai, Miyagi Prefecture (Japan)
In the locker room, amidst the clatter of duffel bags closing and the rustle of sports uniforms ready to be put on, the atmosphere was already electric. Oikawa and Atsumu, both lined up on the same team, couldn't miss the opportunity to poke each other with an almost ritualistic rivalry.
Suna watched the scene, raising an eyebrow, while Hinata was adjusting his knee pads, trying not to burst out laughing. “Are you sure it's a good idea to put them on the same team?” asked Rintaro in an impassive tone
“Better the two of them together than Oikawa with Kageyama,” Shoyo replied with a laugh. “If Oikawa and Kageyama were on the same team, the opponents could sit and eat popcorn while the two of them yelled at each other.”
Kahori, who stood a few steps away from them with the expression of someone used to these dynamics, decided to intervene. She approached Oikawa and Atsumu calmly, ready to diffuse the situation a little.
But Atsumu, seeing the perfect opportunity to annoy him, approached her with a cheeky smile. “Kahori-san, my arm hurts a bit... Couldn't you take a look at it for me? You know, just to make sure I can give my best on the court,” he said, emphasising with mock suffering.
Oikawa, who until then had managed to maintain a certain composure, turned suddenly and placed himself between Kahori and Atsumu, staring at him with a determined expression. “That will never happen. Not even if you were agonising on the field, Atsumu.”
“She's the physiotherapist, you can't stop her from doing her job”. Atsumu shrugged with a satisfied smirk, casting a sly glance at Oikawa. “Oh, how you get annoyed. I was just joking, Oikawa.”
Kahori couldn't contain herself and burst out laughing, covering her mouth to try to control it. The situation was so absurd that even she, who was used to such scenes, found it difficult to remain calm. As nice as Atsumu was, she didn't want to get in the way of their jokes, as Oikawa seemed to take it a little too personally at times. Kahori couldn't understand why he was so jealous of Atsumu's attitude, but she would much rather be a spectator than pander to Atsumu or increase Oikawa's attitude by siding with her husband.
At that point, Iwaizumi huffed, stepping in with a firm tone. “Alright, that's enough, children. We're all adults here, aren't we? We're not here for a reality show”. He grabbed Oikawa by the arm and pulled him close to Atsumu, patting him on the shoulder hard enough to remind him who had the final say in that room.
As soon as Kahori cracked her knuckles and stared at them with a sinister smirk, Atsumu and Oikawa exchanged a look of sheer terror, both taken aback by the change in tone. “Oh, so have you calmed down, huh?” she said in a quiet but menacing tone, tilting her head. “Just because Iwa looks meaner, right? Well, well. I'll be waiting in the wings for both of you, just know it. You and those swaggering muscles... let's see if they'll still be that strong when I'm done with all of you.”
Iwaizumi burst out laughing. “It's your own damn business now.”
Silence fell over the locker room. Oikawa swallowed, while Atsumu was left with a half-smile, clearly undecided whether to continue poking or... turn around.
“Kahori-san... now that I’m thinking about it,” Atsumu murmured, moving just backwards, “maybe my arm doesn't hurt so much. Maybe I can... hang on a little longer, huh?”
Oikawa, his eyes still focused on his wife, nodded softly. “I understand you, Atsumu... because when she gets angry, she is worse than a tornado,” Oikawa's low, conspiratorial tone hinted that he wasn't exaggerating at all.
Atsumu cast him a complicit, almost admiring glance. “So you've survived a storm.”
“More than one,” Oikawa murmured, with a tugged smile. “I don't know how, but I'm still here.”
“Well, then, you know what?” replied Atsumu, barely pulling away. “I guess I'll leave all her attention to you. I'd rather take my chances in the field than under her hands.”
Kahori watched them for a moment with a satisfied air, as if she knew exactly what they were thinking, and approached them with an uneasy smile. “I'll see you guys later. I can't wait to take care of you – a muscle tear here, a sprain there. Sometimes, a little pain does wonders for wayward players.”
“Never been so motivated to be ok,” whispered Atsumu to Oikawa, with a strained smirk.
And the two, strangely enough, found a new complicity... in their mutual fear for the sweet, but menacingly effective, Kahori.
[...]
I specify that you will not see all 12 players in the narration. Know, of course, that they are there. There are too many players to write about and I'm not good with volleyball games. I tried to write something anyway, with the focus on Oikawa because he is one of the protagonists of this fanfic. I would like to point out that sometimes you will see different players on the court, as I imagine there were substitutions throughout the match.
The roar of the crowd spread like a wave as the two teams arranged themselves on the volleyball court. The jerseys of Team A and B shone under the arena lights, each player a concentration of talent and ambition.
In the centre, with his sharp gaze and barely-there smile, Oikawa twirled the ball in his hands, ready for the first serve. His eyes slid for a moment to the net, where on the other side Kageyama was staring at him with that serious, concentrated expression that Oikawa had found irritating since high school. He shifted his gaze to beside him, where Ushiwaka stared impassively, statuesque and cold, just as he had always remembered him. They were truly a strange couple to watch from beyond the fence.
The past between them was far away, limned by years and distance. But the friendliness was only a thin varnish over an old rivalry that had never really died out. They were no longer children, but there was still a subtle challenge between them, something that still held them together as rivals on the court.
The referee's whistle cut through the air.
Oikawa threw the ball into the air. The serve, powerful and swift, flew towards the back of the court of Team B. Hoshiumi dived to receive, his body tense as a spring, and the ball leapt into the air with precision. Kageyama moved with the automatism of genius, allowing the ball to fall back into his palm before setting it with a perfect trajectory towards Bokuto, who charged the spike with a shout and brought it down on the field like a hammer.
But Hakuba, agile as a shadow, was there. His low, precise touch threw off the counter-attack.
And here was Oikawa's moment.
He advanced with elegance, hands ready and eyes fixed. It was a millimetric dance, and in that instant time seemed to slow down. Without looking, he set for Hinata, who was already in the air. The opposite player's leap was almost unnatural in its momentum and timing, and the resulting spike pierced the defensive wall like lightning.
1-0 to Team A.
On the other side of the net, Kageyama didn't react, except with a slight clenching of the jaws. Oikawa cast a satisfied glance, too fleeting to be provocative, but enough to be noticed.
The match continued like a furious ballet. Sakusa with his unpredictable attacks, Romero performing with his power and speed, Ushijima, who never fell, capable of breaking through any wall as if it didn't exist. He was the real opponent. The man Oikawa had never stopped wanting to beat, even after years, even far from Japan. Bokuto's exuberance at every point. Every exchange was a struggle between titans, every reception a declaration of intent.
During a timeout, Oikawa wiped his face with the edge of his shirt and looked up at the opposite bench. Kageyama was talking under his breath to Bokuto and Ushijima, his tone calm but firm. No grunting, no bickering: the arrogant boy from the Karasuno days had learned to govern himself. But not to forget. By the time Kageyama looked up at Oikawa, the setter was already turning to his teammates, ready to devise new strategies.
When they returned to the court, it was Oikawa again who surprised everyone: a jump higher than usual, the posture to set the ball, and the last sudden action to execute a decoy and push the ball to the other side. The ball touched the ground, and the roar was immediate.
On the other side, Kageyama barely turned his head and looked at him. A long moment, a silent “I saw, now get ready for my counter-attack” that was enough to let him know that the challenge, as always, was still open.
The score was on the razor's edge, Team B had made up ground thanks to the lightning-fast chemistry between Kageyama, Hoshiumi and Ushijima, and now both sides of the court were buzzing with tension.
Oikawa spun the ball before serving again, an oblique smirk on his face.
“It's getting really interesting this game,” he murmured. Then he deliberately raised his voice, “Sho, do you want to fly a little?”
Not far from the service line, Hinata lifted his thumb, his hair already dishevelled from the constant running. “I thought you weren't going to ask me anymore, Tooru.”
The serve was intercepted by Yaku, but the ball immediately returned to Team A, and Oikawa was ready at that point. His feet moved with studied grace, as if the earth itself knew what to expect from him. The setting was perfect, high, just faster than normal, custumed for Hinata's explosive run-up.
“One, two, three-”
Hinata jumped.
And for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The spike came precise and clean between the two blocks of Joffe and Ushijima, as if they had just forgotten to close the door.
“Boom”. Point blank. Oikawa cast a glance skyward, almost mock-surprised. “Look at that, it worked again,” he commented, resting his hands on his hips.
“With those sets I could hit even blindfolded!” shouted Hinata, coming back in with a laugh as Romero hit him on the back of the head affectionately.
“Don't let it go to your head,” Sakusa reprimanded him in a flat tone. “Focus on the game, you get distracted too easily.”
“Hey!” protested Hinata, but he didn't seem the least bit offended. “Look, years ago I was able to actually hit without looking.”
“It was because of Kageyama,” Suna emphasised.
Oikawa huffed. “I made a beautiful set and you have to ruin this moment by naming him. Would you like to bandage yourself, Sho? I'm ready to take on the challenge.”
Sakusa looked at him sideways, “Is it taboo to mention that name?
Suna snorted. “Don't you dare make those suggestions again, or I'll ask to replace you with Atsumu.”
Oikawa turned abruptly, feigning offence. “How cruel.”
At the next ball change, Kageyama approached the net, observing the synchrony between Oikawa and Hinata. He said nothing, but his eyes grew sterner. It could hardly be called jealousy. He and Shoyo no longer played on the Japanese team. Yet seeing Oikawa and Shoyo so like-minded, so in sync, simply made him realise how good his long-time friend had become. Oikawa had always been a point to overcome. But Shoyo. Shoyo had improved so much. And, perhaps, after such a long time, he would have liked to set the ball for him again.
Oikawa, noticing the situation, barely inclined his head. “No need to envy, Tobio-chan. You've done a good set too, huh.”
“Just worry about the next point, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama didn't take the bait as easily as he used to, but the tension between the two was palpable.
“Touché,” whispered Oikawa, moving back into position.
The game restarted. Another lightning-fast exchange, libero against libero, wall against attack, and finally a long reception brought the ball back into Oikawa's hands.
And he smiled. A smile that those who knew him well would have recognised: he was having the time of his life.
He took a small step back, then bent slightly. “Would you like another dance, Sho?”
“I'm already in the air!” the orange haired man replied, launching himself towards the highest point of his jump.
His set was surgical, designed on a trajectory that seemed to defy logic. Hinata spiked with all the strength and precision his years in Brazil had taught him. The ball slipped over the edge of Yamamoto's fingers, touched Ushijima's shoulder, and fell just over the line.
Point.
The crowd erupted in a loud roar.
Oikawa raised a hand, pointing at him: “See? Look how the crowd is cheering you.”
Hinata laughed, breathing hard. “It feels wonderful.”
Goshiki crossed his arms. “Could you set the ball for me too? How can I beat Wakatoshi if you don't give me room?”
“Goshiki, I will give you all the space you want,” replied Oikawa, winking at him.
On the bench, Iwaizumi laughed, shaking his head. “It's always the usual ones. But this time... they're really believing it. They're really enjoying themselves.”
Kahori, sitting next to him, nodded softly, “This is what was supposed to happen, right? Enjoying volleyball with fun.”
The scoreboard flashed: 24-23 for Team A. Match point.
A symbolic breeze seemed to cross the field as the players took up their positions for what could have been the last fight. Everyone's breathing was deeper, palms more sweaty. Even the spectators seemed to have stopped chewing snacks, holding their breath.
Oikawa turned to Hinata and winked at him. “Ready to put the icing on the cake, little ray of sunshine?”
“Only if you serve it to me with whipped cream,” Hinata replied, smiling, though his gaze was already focused on the ten-foot line. “How long has it been since you called me that?”
On the other side of the pitch, Kageyama was assessing the opponent's set-up with a sharp gaze. He ran his palm over his forehead to wipe away the sweat. “Oikawa-san,” he muttered to himself, “I won't let you win.”
Wakatoshi, beside him, nodded, “Use me to the point of exhaustion, Kageyama. Let's win this match.”
It was Romero who served. A low missile, well received by Yaku, who bounced the ball on the other side of the net with a low shout, perfectly into Oikawa's hands.
Oikawa said nothing. He didn't nod. He didn't shout at who he would pass it. He just did his job. The set seemed to dissolve in the air, as fast as the beating of a hummingbird's wings. But this time it wasn't for Hinata.
The ball went straight to Sakusa, who had hidden behind the block like a patient predator.
“Now!” murmured the outsider hitter, planting his feet on the ground to take flight with all the strength in his body.
BAM.
But Kageyama had read everything. He had already moved, closing the corner with Ushijima in a perfect wall. The ball bounced over them and back into Team A's court.
A lopsided reception by Suna made the ball wobble, but Romero recovered it with a miraculous bump, putting it back into the centre.
“Set it to me!” shouted Hinata.
But Oikawa ignored him.
Once again, the ball reached Goshiki. He launched himself into a powerful attack, but this time he hit the antennae.
Mistake. Point for Team B.
24-24. Draw.
A silence cut the court for a moment. Oikawa ran a hand through his hair, then looked at Goshiki. “Too hungry, eh, Tsutomu?”
“Ugh, sorry! I should have put less force into it,” replied the outsider hitter, a little sullenly.
Kageyama said nothing, but his gaze crossed Oikawa's. There was no anger. Only mute defiance. An invitation. “Show me what you're really worth, now.”
The next point was a fierce dance. Hoshiumi spiked with a tight diagonal, which was blocked by Sakusa. Oikawa looked for Hinata with a quick set, but Ushijima intercepted it. The ball bounced several times between hands, arms, until Hinata sprinted across the field, catching everyone by surprise, and then jumped.
Oikawa dived under the moving ball. He no longer had time to think. Only to feel.
“NOW!” He shouted, more to himself than to anyone else.
The ball flew out of his hands like a golden arrow, straight and accurate for Hinata.
And this time, Hinata flew higher than anyone else.
The entire court seemed to bend under his shadow.
SLAM.
The ball hit the far corner.
25-24.
The roar of the audience surrounded all the players like a whirlwind of voices.
Romero threw a friendly pat on Hinata's shoulder, while Oikawa clapped from the floor, lying on the floor, laughing. “This combo is a winner. You jump. I’m set to serve you. And the world spins. Are you sure you don't want to go back to Argentina with me?”
Hinata turned towards him. “We just rewrote physics, Tooru! Would you really want me on your team? It would be an honour, but I have some plans in Brazil.”
“We rewrote the fate of this match, let's face it,” Oikawa retorted.
“Don't overdo it. I've been playing for less time, but my points are worth more,” said Atsumu, sitting on a bench next to Kahori not far from them. "Hinata, you like my sets better, don't you? Look I'll be offended if you don't say yes."
Hinata opened his mouth, but Suna preceded him, sitting on the edge of the court with the towel on his neck. “You are offended at least three times a week, Atsumu. You should get a loyalty card.”
Atsumu glowered at him. “I don't feel appreciated in this group.”
“No one asked you to feel anything,” Sakusa commented, atonally. “But while you're at it, feel silent.”
“Uwah, how sweet!” quipped Atsumu, with an exaggerated melodramatic expression. “And I just wanted some affection and admiration for my talent,” he pretended to cry and took a handkerchief from Kahori, who was watching the scene with an amused smile.
Oikawa pushed himself back to his feet, running a hand through his damp hair. The crowd around them was still roaring, a thunderous wave of voices and applause, yet to him it sounded muted, like it was coming from behind thick glass. His chest rose and fell heavily, but his steps were steady as he crossed toward the center of the court.
There stood Wakatoshi, tall and immovable, the ball tucked calmly beneath his arm as though the chaos around them did not exist. His posture was the same as ever, solid and unwavering, and for a moment Oikawa was transported back to their high school days—when that same presence had been the wall he could never quite break through.
“What do you think of my stupid pride?” Oikawa asked, his voice low, carrying a crooked smile that was equal parts defiance and confession.
Ushijima’s eyes met his. They lingered there, dark and unreadable, before the faintest of nods. A smile appeared on that marble face. “I think it’s wonderful.”
No trace of irony. No hesitation. Just the blunt, disarming sincerity that had always defined him. And perhaps that was why those words sank so deep, cutting through the noise of the arena. For Oikawa, they resounded louder than the cheers, sharper than victory itself—because they carried the weight of the one rival he had never stopped wanting to surpass.
[...]
The sound of the siren signalled the end of the game, but no one seemed to want to leave the court.
They were laughing, patting each other on the back, some were stretching, some were joking while pretending to be exhausted. Faces were red from exertion, eyes shining, hands still outstretched as if to hold back that energy for a few more seconds.
Hinata ran from one to the other, fidgeting like a child on a field trip. Sakusa adjusted his knee pads in silence, but couldn't avoid a half-smile as Bokuto tried to tell him, mimicking everything with his arms, how he had almost ended the game.
Kageyama was talking to Yaku and Ushijima, his serious tone diluted only by an exchange glance thrown at Oikawa. It wasn't exactly peaceful, but it was close. And that was enough for now.
Oikawa, sweating profusely and with his shirt halfway out of his trousers, slumped to the ground laughing as he passed a small bottle of water with Romero. “Who decided that pretending to be twenty was a good idea? My kneecaps shifted.”
Romero burst out laughing. “Speak for yourself, I feel great. It's your ego that weighs too much, not your knees.”
“It is his theatrical soul that drags him down,” Iwaizumi added, throwing a towel over Oikawa. “Every jump, an inner monologue.”
Oikawa stared at him, pretending to be suffering. “I'm literally dying and you're making fun of me. I will tell Kahori. I'll tell her you're cruel.”
Iwaizumi huffed, crossing his arms. “I am not your wife, Tooru. I don't have to put up with you. If you are tired, let Kahori pick you up and reassemble you properly.”
Romero laughed even louder. “That sounds fair. She at least has the patience. And the instruction manual.”
“Very funny,” Oikawa muttered, clutching the small bottle with an offended air. Then he turned back to Romero. “You've seen it all, haven't you? You witness. You 've seen how my best friend treats me.”
Romero raised his hands. “I haven't seen anything. I only noticed that during the third set you talked to yourself for three minutes. And you didn't have the ball.”
Oikawa opened his eyes wide, indignant: “I was charging the atmosphere!”
The game had already been over for several minutes, but no one seemed to be in a hurry to return to the locker room. The court had turned into a tangle of laughter, hugs, good-natured teasing and sweaty clothes. There was a sincere enthusiasm, as if that moment had the flavour of adolescence, but with the awareness and lightness that only years can give.
In the chaos of greetings and exchanges of jokes, and autographs signed here and there, someone noticed that one person was missing. Hinata, turning towards the bench, looked around with furrowed brows. “Hey, where has Kahori gone?” he asked. Aaran shrugged, saying that he had seen her walking towards the women's toilets about ten minutes before the end of the game.
No one seemed to care too much at first, until Yachi, peering closer, turned to Kiyoko. “She's been missing for quite a while, maybe she hasn't been feeling well?”
Kiyoko didn't reply. Her gaze had already become attentive, and without a word she moved in the direction of the toilets. The smell of freshly washed floor was strong in the corridor and the half-open door of the women's bathroom let in a sound she never wanted to hear in that context. Gagging, quick and dull, and then a strange, full silence.
The toilet flush filled that eerie silence, until Kiyoko decided to push open the door to enter the toilets. She walked in to find Kahori bent over the sink, her elbows leaning on the edge so as not to collapse completely, her hair falling over her sweat-damp face. She had just rinsed her face, hoping that some cold water would bring her to her senses.
“Hey,” Kiyoko murmured as she approached, without hiding her concern. “Is everything ok? Have you been feeling sick after the game?” She leaned down beside her, trying to meet her gaze. “Have you been drinking enough water? Maybe it's just low sugar... or mild intoxication.”
Kahori shook her head slowly, still breathing irregularly. “No... I didn't eat anything unusual. My breakfast had enough nutrition to keep me full. And I doubt it's food intoxication.”
Kiyoko became more serious. “Have you had any more episodes like that lately?” she asked in a low voice. Kahori didn't answer immediately. Then she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, swallowing hard, as if trying to contain something – perhaps not just nausea.
“It's been happening for a while. But I didn't want to... I wanted to wait it out. I thought it was just stress. A few things happened, Aaron was away and I was on my own, I had to arrange everything to get the Argentina team settled, then Tooru's departure to come here,” she explained, trying to convince herself in that explanation of hers that it was really stress.
Kiyoko was silent for a moment, then looked straight into her eyes. She had a look that left no room for half-measures. “Kahori. How long has this been happening?”
That seemingly simple question seemed to break something. Kahori stiffened for an instant, as if every muscle had stopped pretending. Her eyes filled slowly, without drama, but with a lucidity that made more noise than any tears. She didn't answer, but it was no use. Kiyoko knew her too well.
The bathroom suddenly seemed far away from the gymnasium, as if it were in another world. A silent place where life was preparing to say something it had not yet said.
Kahori covered her face with her hands.
“It can't be, Kiyoko…” she whispered. Her voice trembled, but it wasn't just fear: it was the realisation that something had changed. That it wasn't just a passing malaise or a bad day.
Kiyoko said nothing. She put a hand on her shoulder and stood beside her in silence, giving her time to breathe, to accept that dizziness.
Outside, the sound of laughter and shoes crawling on the floor seemed to belong to another reality.
Inside her, however, something had begun that she could no longer be ignored.