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YOUTH TRAINING CAMP, DAY TWO !!
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kina tsukishima !
FOLDING MY HANDS INTO TWO L-SHAPES, the ball hit the tips of my fingers, and with the utmost dexterity, I set the ball up in a high, spinning arc, over the head of Kousaka Hana, who landed before the net after a feinted hit (which I definitely did not do on purpose) and was slammed onto the floor of the other side by Rui.
The coaches turned the score on our team — 13-16, and I, along with some others in the team, grinned at the first-year middle blocker, jerking our thumbs at her. The tall girl tucked a strand of stray black hair that fell out of her ear, and nodded at us in thanks.
We rotated positions, and I crouched down in my spot at the back, flanked by Abe Chizuru — a second year wing spiker from Soraya — and Hana Kousaka on my right; her dark and annoyed expression hadn't budged since just now, and it feels as though even Rui was beginning to get concerned between the total frigidity between me and the dark-haired Itachiyama player.
Coach Arata tossed the ball at Kousaka, who caught it and walked over to the back right of the court. I could hear the sound of the ball being bounced on the floor, Kousaka slapping the surface of the ball. Coach Arata put the whistle between her lips, and blew.
A fraction of a moment's pause, and I could hear the telltale sound of soles squeaking on the court floor, as Kousaka jumped to serve the ball over the net —
WHAM.
I staggered forward, dropping onto my knees as something hit my head, hard, and used it as a fucking launch pad to fly into the air and fall a few metres away from me. I clapped a hand onto the back of my head, nails digging into my scalp.
"Oh, shoot," I could hear Kousaka simper, holding in smug laughter, "I'm sorry. My hand slipped."
Blinking furiously against the dreadful ache of my head, I turned to the wing spiker, whose dark blue eyes were full of mirth, shoulder shaking to keep her lips maintained in a thin line. Coach Arata called out, "Can you still play, Tsukishima-chan?" as I lifted myself onto my feet, grudgingly taking my hand off my aching head — which, coupled with the dull drill of my lack of sleep that had already been weighing on my head, simply just amplified the pain, discomfort and irritation.
Oh, fuck you, Kousaka, don't think that I'll let you get away with this shittery. Lifting my lips into a smile, I nodded. "I'm fine, Coach." The salt-and-pepper haired woman nodded, satisfied with my answer, and signaled for Kousaka to serve again.
As Kousaka went to collect the ball, I resisted the urge to ram my arm, my knee, whatever, into her face. Break a nasal septum or something. Keeping my pride in check was the key to not fulfilling Kousaka's desires in seeing me as some senile, unhinged weirdo who went by the morales of 'an eye for an eye' — that would only result in her win and my fall.
I won't get charged for assault on someone as undeserving as her, I told myself as Kousaka served again, this time the ball going over the net, a wide serve that a blonde wing spiker from Hibiya High School passed over the net with an underhand pass.
Switching positions with Uzumaki, I set up the ball Rui bumped up for me, sending it across the court and over to Kanoka, who rebounded the ball against the blockers' hands. Kousaka dove to receive the ball, and Isayama managed to kick the ball into the air.
"Cheng!"
Rui ran over to the center, and locked her elbows to receive the ball. It went over the net, and I stepped forward, still in a crouch — as Miho jumped up to slam the ball down, I dove and hit the rapidly falling ball high into the air. Scrambling back up to my feet, I watched as the libero dove to save the ball from behind Miho. The setter on the other side of the net set the ball up, a neat toss that sailed over Sasaki and met its demise at the palm of Akane Miho.
The onyx-haired ace slammed the ball over the net, but Isayama saved the ball yet again, diving to the floor with one hand maneuvering her body and her left fist outstretched to punch the ball up. Uzumaki ran over to Isayama, and bumped the ball that the silverette had saved. "Tsukishima!"
"Hai!" I backed up, one step, two steps, and plunged my back leg down into a lunge, and set the ball with open fingers over my head. I watched its upside-down journey to ascend the air in a still, no-spin arc, meeting Uzumaki's hand, hitting Yamashiro Fuyumi's fingers, that arched back and let the ball slip through — and the rally came to an end with the ball landing outside court, two players diving a moment too late.
14-16, and not a single spike from Kousaka.
I suppose the pettiness goes two ways.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
ajinomoto national centre, level 2 right wing court !
Oh freaking lord, Sakusa Kiyoomi was simply not having it today. With the time it had taken in which his hair had finished drying, he had gone back to sleep at the unholy hour of 2AM, only to find out a single blink later that it was already 7.40AM and in forty minutes the cafeteria would close and he would have to skip breakfast before the second day of training.
Training camp in first year was an event that gave him more sleep, even with the annoying Miya Atsumu somehow being next door with Ushijima Wakatoshi; Miya Atsumu snored when he was tired, Sakusa found out. The training center's walls were also ridiculously thin, Sakusa found out.
At the very least, the other extremely hyper person he had had to put up with back in first year was gone, for he was a third year student, and third years weren't invited to the youth camp to focus more on high school graduation and university exams.
"Sakusa!"
Sakusa's gaze strayed over to Hoshiumi, who set the ball up at a rather precarious angle from the sidelines, and stumbled back from the uncomfortable stance he had. There wasn't enough time to analyze the ball, else it may just fall and the most Sakusa could do was to get the ball over the net and perhaps even give the other side a chance ball — which was not an option.
"Big steps, no fancy moves over anything," Tsukishima said, taking yet another ball from the cart and walking over to the sidelines. She tossed the ball over her head and stepped back, jumping up and sending the ball in a clean set across the court and into the ball cart. "There wouldn't be time to think, and no one's gonna block you in your way. Do a top spin, maneuver your wrists in such a way that you add your disgusting spin to the ball."
Tch. Disgusting, she had really said that about the extra spin that Sakusa was able to give his spikes thanks to his metaphorically double-jointed wrists.
Following her words in heed, he swung his arms back, bending at the second step, using the floor as a spring to leap into the air. The ball was lower than normal, and Sakusa hit the ball with the heel of his curved hand, flicking his wrist to change the ball's directory from a cross shot to an odd straight.
"Out ball!"
That was the strength of his spikes, of course. Add a spin to it so that it would ricochet off a person's forearms in a stilted angle, or convince players to leave the ball untouched and hence score.
The ball hit the backline, so precise and sharp that even the coach had some trouble processing the shot. The person who had called out for the out ball, a first year from Shinzen High, stared at the rolling ball, crouching by the backline, hand on the floor.
"..."
The coach blew on his whistle, and pointed the flag at the back line.
25-23.
"Nice spike, Sakusa-kun!" Sakusa turned to find Atsumu smiling at him, eyes closed, hands on his hips. "That was extremely precise, I wonder how ye managed to trick us into believing that it was an out ball!"
Sakusa stared at him, his signature gaze — passive, mildly annoyed and general disgruntled-slash-indifferent — in place on his sharp features. He was really just tired, he might as well just skip lunch for the day to get some shut eye, why the hell did he even decided to take on Tsukishima's offer?
Whatever came out of Tsukishima Kina's mouth was nothing but bullcrap, yes, he was going to ignore the fact that she had helped him with odd set-ups, because with sleep, he would probably be able to function better than this —
"Ah — Atsu —"
Wait. Atsu. Atsumu. Sakusa blinked, still bleary, but then he looked at Atsumu with a newer interest. Why was it that Miya Atsumu did not look as if he had been outside in the middle of the night the night before.
"It's what I'm supposed to do," Sakusa replied curtly, with the slightest arch of his brows. "Unlike how you seem to sneak around in the middle of the night."
Silence. Sakusa and Miya Atsumu gazed at each other, and to everyone else who had gone over to take a break from the set, it looked as if the two were glaring at each other, and they were, at least until Atsumu's features turned from cunning to stupid, blinking childishly a few times, before he cocked his head to the side in confusion. "Hah? What do ye mea— oh."
Realization dawned on him, and Sakusa was about to walk back to take a drink when Atsumu rebuked; "If ye knew about that, then what were ye doing out there? Seems like the good boy Sakusa Kiyoomi isn't as innocent as they say."
Oh god, his Hyogō accent truly was an annoying sound. He'd be damned if he was ever in the same team as him — speaking on skills, yes, Miya Atsumu was an excellent setter, Sakusa couldn't lie about that, but he wouldn't get along with the faux blonde in the team.
Sakusa Kiyoomi definitely wasn't one for comebacks, as someone who never did go out of his way to try and talk to people, and that resulted in him not being much for being poisonous with his words in an underhanded and deliberate way. Whatever criticism that left his lips was sincere.
And so he did what seemed to be best for him; he let out a low, annoyed breath and simply turned around, ignoring Miya's confrontation. Motoya was chatting with a few of the other players, who were disregarding the two top players' small confrontation.
"W — oi! What were ye doing?! Answer me!" Atsumu didn't expect that Sakusa would just ignore him like that, and would continue to; the obsidian-haired ace turned his back on the setter, and calmly drank as if he had seen and heard nothing.
Motoya, who had been spectating the spectacle with mild interest, grinned to himself, amused. He had definitely heard Sakusa talking with someone at the door, and despite it being rather hazy from his sleep-induced state, he had heard a familiar voice conversing with his cousin.
As it seemed, they were beginning to get along; their friendship was beginning to gain traction, and it was quite amusing to see.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
a/n — a little filler! holidays are almost over but christmas is near so i really wanna do a christmas special for this fic HAHA. thank you so much for 2k reads i am astounded aa. not every chapter is gonna be all about training lmao, i used to be so obsessed with the youth training camp bc it was cool but after writing about it i'm lowk sick of it lolol