Hinata arrived at school earlier than usual, earlier than even the teachers who liked to boast about their discipline. The sky was still pale, the air sharp enough to sting his lungs, and the gates had only just been unlocked.
He liked it this way.
Quiet.
No distractions.
No voices telling him he was being unrealistic.
He stepped onto the empty school grounds and bounced lightly on his toes, warming himself up. His bag felt heavier than usual, not because of books, but because of the folded tournament form tucked safely inside.
Four names.
Four players.
Barely enough.
But real.
He clenched his fist.
This is a team.
Even if it was fragile, even if it looked nothing like the teams he had seen on TV, it was something he could build.
He headed straight to the gym.
The doors were locked.
Of course they were.
He let out a breath and leaned against the wall, staring at the metal handles as if they might open on their own.
"Too early again?"
Hinata turned. The janitor stood behind him, keys in hand, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief.
"I wanted to practice before class," Hinata said.
"You always want to practice."
Hinata grinned. "That is the point."
The janitor unlocked the door with a quiet click. "One hour. Then you go to class."
Hinata bowed quickly. "Thank you."
The moment the door opened, he rushed inside. The gym felt colder than outside, the wooden floor stiff under his shoes. He dropped his bag, pulled out the volleyball, and began with light passes to himself.
Focus on control.
Do not rush.
He tossed the ball, adjusted his stance, and bumped it upward. The ball wobbled. He moved under it, corrected, and bumped again.
Again.
Again.
Each touch had to be cleaner than the last.
He imagined a setter in front of him. Imagined the ball coming fast, unpredictable. Imagined himself reacting without hesitation.
His arms stung.
Good.
That meant he was doing it right.
After a few minutes, he switched to serving practice. He walked to the back line, spun the ball in his hand, and tossed it into the air.
Too low.
He hit it anyway. The ball clipped the net and dropped.
He clicked his tongue.
Again.
This time he tossed higher, jumped slightly, and struck with more force.
The ball cleared the net but curved wildly to the left.
He chased after it, picked it up, and returned to position.
Again.
Again.
Again.
By the time the janitor called out that his hour was up, Hinata's shoulders burned and his breath came in sharp bursts.
He wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded. "I am going."
"Do not collapse in class," the janitor said.
"I will try."
Hinata grabbed his bag and ran out, his body heavy but his mind clear.
Every repetition mattered.
Every mistake taught him something.
He just had to keep going.
---
Classes felt longer than usual.
Hinata could not stop thinking about practice after school. About the new player who said he would come. About how to run a proper drill with four people who barely knew the basics.
He tapped his pencil against his desk, ignoring the teacher's lecture.
Four people means rotation is limited.
No libero.
No proper substitution.
He scribbled a rough diagram in his notebook. It looked messy, but it helped him think.
Focus on fundamentals.
Passing.
Serving.
Communication.
Winning could wait.
The bell rang.
Hinata shot up from his seat before the sound fully faded. He rushed out of the classroom, ignoring the confused looks from his classmates.
He had work to do.
---
When he reached the gym, Fukuda was already there, lazily spinning a basketball on his finger. The boy with glasses stood near the wall, clutching a volleyball like it might explode.
"You are early," Hinata said.
"I had nothing better to do," Fukuda replied.
The boy with glasses nodded nervously. "I wanted to practice more."
Hinata smiled.
Good.
That is good.
"Where is the new guy?" Fukuda asked.
"He said he would come."
They waited.
Minutes passed.
Hinata bounced the ball lightly, his eyes fixed on the door.
Do not tell me he changed his mind.
The door creaked open.
A tall, thin boy stepped inside. His posture was stiff, like he was ready to leave at any moment.
"I am here," he said quietly.
Hinata rushed over. "Thank you for coming."
The boy nodded. "I am not good."
"That is fine."
"I might quit."
"That is also fine."
The boy blinked, confused.
Hinata grinned. "Just try today."
The boy hesitated, then gave a small nod.
Hinata clapped his hands once. "Alright. We start with passing."
They formed a loose circle. It was uneven and awkward, but it worked.
"Keep your arms straight," Hinata said, demonstrating. "Use your legs more than your arms."
He passed the ball to Fukuda.
Fukuda misjudged it completely. The ball bounced off his shoulder and rolled away.
"Sorry."
"It is fine. Try again."
They repeated the drill.
Again.
Again.
The boy with glasses flinched every time the ball came toward him. The new player struggled with timing. Fukuda improved slightly but still lacked control.
Hinata adjusted constantly.
"Lower your stance."
"Watch the ball."
"Move your feet first."
His voice stayed steady, but inside, frustration built.
We are too slow.
Too inconsistent.
At this rate, we will not last one set.
He bit back the thought.
No.
Focus on improvement.
They moved to serving practice.
Hinata demonstrated first. His serve cleared the net cleanly this time, landing near the back line.
"Like that," he said.
Fukuda stepped up next.
He tossed the ball too far forward and completely missed it.
Hinata winced.
"Again."
Fukuda tried again. This time he hit it, but it slammed straight into the net.
The boy with glasses barely managed to get the ball over, and the new player sent it flying out of bounds.
Hinata exhaled slowly.
"Serving is hard," he said. "But we need it."
They practiced until their movements slowed and their mistakes increased.
Fatigue.
It was setting in early.
Hinata noticed it immediately.
"We take a short break," he said.
They sat on the floor, breathing heavily.
"No offense," Fukuda said, "but we are terrible."
Hinata laughed weakly. "I know."
"Can we actually play a match like this?"
Hinata looked at his hands.
They were red.
Slightly swollen.
Still shaking.
"We can," he said. "We just need to get better."
The boy with glasses looked down. "What if we lose immediately?"
Hinata did not answer right away.
He thought about the tournament.
About real teams with real training.
About the gap between them and everyone else.
"We probably will," he admitted.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Then Hinata looked up, his eyes sharp.
"But we will not lose without trying everything we have."
Fukuda smirked slightly. "That sounds exhausting."
"It is."
The new player spoke quietly. "Why do you care this much?"
Hinata paused.
Why?
Because of that moment on TV.
Because of that jump.
Because of that feeling.
"Because I want to stand on the court," he said. "Not watch from the outside."
No one laughed.
No one argued.
They just sat there, absorbing his words.
After a moment, Fukuda stood up. "Alright. One more round."
Hinata grinned and got up.
"Yeah. One more."
---
Practice resumed.
This time, something shifted.
The passes were still messy, but there was more effort behind each movement. Less hesitation. More intent.
The boy with glasses managed a clean receive.
Hinata froze for a split second, then shouted, "Nice!"
The boy blinked, surprised.
Fukuda landed a serve over the net.
"Good!"
The new player adjusted his timing and kept a rally going for three touches.
"Yes. That is it."
Small victories.
But they mattered.
They built momentum.
They built belief.
By the time the sun dipped low and painted the gym in shades of orange, they were exhausted.
Hinata dropped to the floor, staring at the ceiling.
His body hurt.
His muscles screamed.
But his chest felt light.
This is what he wanted.
Not perfection.
Not immediate success.
Just progress.
Just movement forward.
The others packed their things slowly.
"We practice tomorrow?" Fukuda asked.
"Yes."
The boy with glasses hesitated. "Every day?"
"Yes."
The new player sighed. "This will be rough."
Hinata sat up, smiling.
"I know."
They left the gym together.
Not as strangers.
Not as individuals.
But as something fragile and new.
A team.
As Hinata walked home, the sky darkening above him, he felt that same fire burning inside his chest.
It was still small.
Still unstable.
But it was real.
And he would protect it.
No matter how hard the road ahead became.