The late afternoon sun spilled through the windows of the quiet café near Sendai Station, painting the wooden tables in a warm, honey-like glow. The post-match buzz had faded into a comfortable hum in the city outside. Here, however, the air was still charged—just in a different way.
Akira Toru sat across from Hinata Shoyo, his silver hair catching every stray beam of light, making it look as though his head were crowned in sunlight. Nishinoya Yuu, Karasuno's loud and ever-energetic libero from the previous year, sat beside Hinata, sipping iced coffee with the satisfied air of a man who had been yelling himself hoarse in the stands only a few hours ago.
Hinata's eyes were still wide, almost glowing. "Akira, that match earlier… You were amazing! Like—BAM! Then SWOOSH! And the blocks—oh man, the blocks were like walls from heaven!" He flailed his arms in random, spiking motions, nearly knocking over the glass in front of him.
Akira chuckled, leaning back with that effortless, laid-back posture that came so naturally to him. "Easy there, Shoyo. You're gonna take out the drinks before you even get a proper snack in."
Nishinoya smirked. "Nah, let him go. I haven't seen someone this hyped up since… well, me." He leaned forward on his elbows. "But seriously, kid—you made Kitagawa Daiichi look like a middle school beginner squad. Kageyama's no pushover, but you had him locked down. That takes some reading."
Akira just smiled, stirring his drink lazily. "You say that like it's some big mystery. You just… watch people, you know? See how they move, what they want to do before they do it." His blue eyes gleamed. "Kageyama's sets are sharp, but he's got tells."
Hinata leaned forward eagerly. "You read him that easily? I can barely keep up with him when he's setting for me!"
"That's because you're already in the air before you've even seen the ball," Nishinoya laughed.
Hinata ignored him, resting his chin on his hands. "So… Akira, you've got all those offers, right? From the big schools?" His voice was hesitant now, almost careful.
Akira took a slow sip before answering. "Mm. Yeah. Shiratorizawa, Fukurodani, even some from Tokyo. Coach from Shiratorizawa's been persistent." He smiled faintly. "Guess winning three straight Nationals makes you a hot commodity."
Nishinoya whistled low. "Three-time champ, and you're still not walking around with a crown? I'd have one made of solid gold."
Hinata's voice was quiet now, though still brimming with that ever-present spark. "Then… why even think about Karasuno? We're… not exactly a powerhouse anymore."
For a moment, the café seemed quieter, as if the clinking of cups and the murmur of the other patrons had faded into the background. Akira didn't answer right away.
Nishinoya broke the silence first. "Karasuno wasn't always 'not a powerhouse,' you know. Back in the day—before your time, Hinata—we were feared. They called us the 'Flightless Crows' later, but before that? We were soaring. We had players that could make the strongest blockers sweat."
Hinata blinked. "Really?"
Akira's gaze flickered to Nishinoya. "Tell me more."
Nishinoya's grin widened; if there was one thing he loved, it was talking about Karasuno's glory days. "We had an ace—'Little Giant.' Guy wasn't tall, not much taller than you, Shoyo, but his vertical jump? Crazy. Fast, too. And we had guys who could adapt, fight against teams that on paper should crush us. We were scrappy, but smart. Then… people graduated, coaches changed, and we started slipping. Lost our wings."
Hinata's eyes shone like he was hearing a campfire legend. "That's why they call us 'Flightless Crows' now, huh?"
"Exactly." Nishinoya leaned back, crossing his arms. "But that doesn't mean the story ends there. Every school has cycles—times when they're kings, times when they're rebuilding. Karasuno's got a good core now. Solid third years, a setter with fire—" he smirked knowingly "—and maybe even a certain silver-haired miracle spiker if we're lucky."
Akira's eyebrow rose. "You trying to recruit me, senpai?"
"Me? Nah." Nishinoya grinned wider. "Just saying… you could go to a school where they expect you to win. Or you could go to one where you can change the whole story."
Hinata practically bounced in his seat. "Yeah! We could make Karasuno fly again! With your spikes, it'd be insane! No one could stop us!"
Akira tapped the side of his glass, thoughtful. There was a weight to those words—change the whole story. He'd had his pick of programs where victory was just another day's work, where systems were already in place and expectations already sky-high. But here… here was a school where the victory wouldn't be given—it would be built.
Nishinoya seemed to read his thoughts, leaning forward just slightly. "Karasuno's not for everyone. You've got to deal with being underestimated. You've got to grind through people saying you're done before you've even started. But when you win? You don't just win games. You change history."
Hinata nodded furiously, nearly knocking over his drink. "And we'd do it together! I mean, we already play well when we mess around at the park, right? Imagine that in an actual match!"
Akira couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. He'd never been short on offers. But he'd never been offered a challenge like this.
The conversation drifted into easier topics—Hinata recounting his middle school games, Nishinoya telling outrageous stories about past Karasuno training camps that may or may not have been true. They laughed, they teased, they painted Karasuno in colors both rough and bright.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows through the glass, Akira's phone buzzed. A new email notification. He glanced at the screen, and there it was:
Subject:Karasuno High School – Official Offer of Admission & Athletic Scholarship
For a moment, his eyes lingered on the bolded text. He didn't open it yet. Just looked at it.
Nishinoya noticed, his grin tilting. "That it?"
Akira didn't answer, but the faint spark in his eyes told them both enough.
Hinata leaned across the table, voice dropping to an eager whisper. "Open it."
Akira leaned back, sliding the phone into his pocket instead. "Not yet," he said, but there was a warmth in his voice, a decision already quietly taking root. "Some things are better savored."
Outside, the last light of day slipped below the horizon, but in that small café, a different kind of light had just begun to grow.