Mizuki Sayeko had never been fond of the whole 'soulmates' concept, not when her past warned her of the side-effects of falling too deep into the lucid, hypnotising trap. With piercing gazes, a stone-cold heart, would her soulmates ever get through...
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THE OPENING CEREMONY went by quickly, and Karasuno's first match arrived quicker than anticipated. Hinata's bag was switched with a child's by accident and Kiyoko went to get them, leaving Yachi and Mizuki to help warm up with the boys, which they were currently doing.
"Uh, Sayeko-san." Mizuki turned to see a middle-aged man with wrinkles etched near his eyes walk up to her. He had black hair, styled and parted to the left, thick eyebrows, a thin moustache and an anchor beard that barely connected to his sideburns. He wore a suit and tie, quite a formal attire for nationals, she deduced. "My name's Fuki Hibarida. I'm the coach for the Japan Olympic Men's Volleyball team. It's nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too," she said, bowing politely. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Yes. I was wondering why you declined the invitation to the All-Japan youth training camp," he answered, confusion swirling in his eyes. "We could have really used your help with the players."
"I appreciated it, but, at the end of the day, I only became an analyst for my team," Mizuki said, a volleyball clasped in her hand.
Hibarida stared at the teenage girl, really really stared her. She was a storm: sudden, powerful, violent, devastating, and utterly magnificent. Like wildfire, or a summer storm swept off the corners of the world. The girl wasn't like wildfire, he corrected himself. She was wildfire.
A laugh bubbled up and out of his throat. His hands sat on his hips, a jubilant grin present on his face. "Your aunt was right," he said. "You really are something else."
Mizuki tilted her head to the side. "You know my aunt?"
"Mhm. We went to university together."
"Ah."
"Anyway, good luck." With a smile to her and a wave to Kageyama, Hibarida left, his hands slipping into his pockets, thoughts of the analyst surging through his mind along with ways to get her to change her mind.
"You really are something," sighed Keishin, cradling his face in his palm, utterly exasperated.
"What do you mean?"
"You're the only person I know that would reject such an offer."
Mizuki arched a brow. "Offer?"
"Their invite to the camp was a way of them showing their interest in your future," Keishin explained, facing the analyst, seeing her nose scrunch up in distaste.
"I don't plan on analysing volleyball plays for the rest of my life," she said, "even if I'm good at it."
"Oh? So what do you plan on doing?"
"I don't know yet," was her answer. She tilted her head to the ceiling, staring at the blinding lights; they mimicked the burning stars settled up in the universe. "I still have many years to figure that out."
