"Please join the varsity team!" A girl bows down before you. You look at her as your eyes squint, trying to figure out one question— what sport was she referring to?
But you couldn't really remember. How many times have you heard these kinds of proposals though? And why were they suddenly asking now?
You suddenly remembered how you've received that japanese player's spike just a few days ago. You've forgotten a couple of things— like how you've done it in an exhibition match and how it's been seen by a load of people.
You gaze at her, uninterested. But your answer will always be the same everytime.
"No."
You've always received requests from athletes once they've seen you play. And this wasn't new. You've had the chance to compete on numerous competitions before, even managing to gain a few golds on the olympics from various sports when your height was still average for your age.
But you've stopped once you didn't start growing, hiding from the spotlight. It was a decision you did not regret.
You wanted a life out of competitions. But you always underestimated how your physical abilities subconsciously show everytime. And you've lost count of how many times you've been urged to return. But you were uninterested everytime.
So you could only do what you could do just like every other interaction you have with with recruiters— run away.
You scoured for a place to hide, suddenly catching a large figure on a nearby tree. It was strange, how a tall person, the bane of your existence finally makes itself useful.
"Hide me." You say shamelessly to the stranger and he just stands there, stiffer than the tree beside him. You wondered why.
And when you looked at him, it made sense. It takes you a couple of second to figure out who he was.
"AH! THE VOLLEYBALL DUDE!" You yelled. Ushijima Wakatoshi looks at you uncomfortably.
"Ushijima, right?" You ask and he nods. But you suddenly become quiet as you peek the view past him.
"Why were you hiding?" He asks.
"She was asking me to join the volleyball club." You reply without hestitation.
"You aren't?" It must have been a surprise. And it was evident on his rather stoic face.
"Do I look like I play?" You ask sarcastically. But to think he would actually reply.
"Yes."
You frowned as you look at him. "Well, I don't."
"You should." He says firmly and your eyes narrow at him. He looks like he's about to whip out a speech about concretes and soil after that but you stop him. You push him towards the tree as you were almost caught.
"Romero-"
"Claire. Call me Claire." You say with a scowl and he sighs. The japanese were always so considerate and particular with names. But your rather famous surname, if used by Ushijima if ever he calls you would be a pain. You didn't need someone declaring that you were Claire Romero. So even if you have to force him to call you by your first name, you will gladly force him. You wonder why he was trying to catch your attention but you suddenly realized you've been holding his hand as you pushed him to the tree.
"You've played other sports before?" He asks in surprise, judging from the callouses on your hands. But somehow, it made sense. He looks like he wanted to ask more but you he stopped.
"Go ahead. Go ahead. Ask away." You owe him so might as well. He suddenly points to your hand and you give him a cheeky grin. "Badminton, tennis, table tennis, a little of basketball, guitar, taekwondo..." Your list went on and you say as you showed him the callouses in your hands, pointing which mark came from which. And Ushijima only stares down at them. They looked like battle scars.
"Guitar?" He asked, wondering why an instrument was on your list. "It's good practice for controlling your fingers." You say simply and he gives it a thought. "No volleyball?" He asked.
"One of my brothers play beach volleyball. But I've never played indoor volleyball in an official match though I just know the basics."
Those kinds of movement you showed on their warm-up didn't look like basics to him though. The air suddenly drops as he looks at you once again.
"Tell me your opinion about the game."
You stop short. You wonder why he was asking such a thing when you've declared you don't really play that much indoor volleyball. "It was good."
"What do you really think?" He repeats again. You sigh, realizing what type of question he was asking. He was asking your opinion about the level he was playing and how he was as an athlete. You didn't need to play a sport to know if the standards of what was good or what was not. Your plethora of athletic skills and experience could make up for that. Plus, even if you haven't played that much indoor volleyball, you have been exposed to the sport as a child though you've never played in an official match.
From the level you've been exposed to and the countless athletes you've seen at the top, you knew the answer to his question.
"Average." You say as you looked at him in the eye. He was average and you were telling him so he'll know. And he nods.
He knows. Against the world, he was just average. He still has a long way to go. But someone like you who had seen the world and knows was an enigma before him.
He found it strange... as someone small like you look and see him eye to eye.
Your eyes match his fierce gaze, not breaking away from the tension.
It was pretty cool. You look pretty cool. Until your neck was hurting just by looking at him and you swallowed the pain. After all. losing wasn't a part of your vocabulary.
it took a while but you thanked him and bid him goodbye, noticing that the coast had been clear.
That night, when you got home, you started doing neck exercises.