REACHING BEYOND THE NET

The Weight of Expectations

The sound of sneakers squeaking on the court and the sharp thud of the ball hitting the floor filled the gym, creating a familiar symphony of practice. I wiped the sweat from my brow, my breath coming in steady but heavy as I prepared for the next drill. The Olympic trials were nearing, and every moment on the court felt like a test—a constant push to prove that I belonged here.

The rest of the team was already moving into position, their expressions focused, each one a powerhouse in their own right. Ushijima's presence loomed on the left side of the court, his power as undeniable as ever. Bokuto, with his infectious energy, was chatting with Hoshiumi, who was as intense as he was short. Yaku, our libero, was doing what he did best—calming everyone's nerves with his quiet confidence.

And then there was Atsumu.

I didn't have to look directly at him to feel his presence. It was always there, a weight that lingered in the air between us, making everything feel a little more awkward than it needed to be. We were both setters, both aiming for the same spot, but that wasn't the only reason for the tension.

Atsumu was good. Really good. His sets were precise, and he had a flair for the dramatic that often left the crowd in awe. But behind that flashy exterior was a competitiveness that bordered on ruthless. I respected his skill—anyone would—but something about him always set me on edge. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, always with a smirk, as if he knew something the rest of us didn't. Or maybe it was the way he interacted with the rest of the team, as if he was always a step ahead, always the star of the show.

"Let's go, Kageyama!" Bokuto's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I realized everyone was waiting for me to get into position. I nodded, shaking off the distraction and focusing on the task at hand.

The drill started, and the ball was in motion. I moved quickly, my mind clearing as I fell into the rhythm of the game. This was where I felt most at ease, where everything made sense. The court was my sanctuary, the place where I could shut out everything else and just play.

But even here, Atsumu was a constant presence, his every move a challenge. When it was his turn to set, he did so with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his eyes flicking to me as if daring me to do better. When it was my turn, I could feel his gaze on me, a silent judgment that fueled my determination.

We didn't speak much outside of practice. Even when we did, our conversations were clipped, filled with polite yet strained exchanges. It wasn't outright hostility, but it wasn't camaraderie either. There was an unspoken understanding between us that we were rivals first, teammates second.

The ball came to me, and I set it to Ushijima, who spiked it with brutal force. It was a perfect play, executed with precision, and the impact reverberated through the gym. But even as the point was scored, I couldn't shake the feeling of Atsumu's eyes on me, watching, analyzing.

Practice continued, each drill more grueling than the last. The sweat dripped down my face, muscles burning with the effort, but I pushed through, refusing to let anything break my focus. I could see the same determination in the others—Ushijima's unwavering power, Bokuto's relentless enthusiasm, Yaku's sharp instincts, Hoshiumi's fierce energy. We were all in this together, and yet, the weight of individual expectations pressed down on us all.

After what felt like hours, Coach finally called for a break. We dispersed, grabbing water bottles and towels, the tension easing slightly as the intensity of practice subsided. I made my way to the bench, leaning against it as I sipped my water, my mind still buzzing with the pace of the drills.

Atsumu was nearby, wiping sweat from his brow, his expression unreadable. He glanced over at me, and for a moment, our eyes met. There was something in his gaze, something almost... curious? But before I could decipher it, he looked away, his usual smirk returning as he bantered with Bokuto.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. This awkwardness between us—it wasn't just about volleyball. There was something deeper, something neither of us seemed willing to address. I had heard things, whispers about his past, about a relationship that had ended badly. It wasn't my place to pry, but I couldn't help but wonder if that had anything to do with the way he carried himself, with the walls he put up.

The break ended, and we returned to the court. The drills resumed, the pace even more intense as we prepared for scrimmages. I forced myself to focus, to push Atsumu out of my mind and concentrate on what I needed to do. But it wasn't easy.

At the end of practice, as we were packing up, Atsumu approached me. I tensed slightly, unsure of what he was going to say. He stood there for a moment, as if weighing his words, before finally speaking.

"Your sets today were good," he said, his tone surprisingly neutral. "Solid."

I blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. "Thanks. Yours were too."

He nodded, the smirk still there but softer, less mocking. "We're both fighting for the same spot, but that doesn't mean we can't push each other to get better, right?"

I hesitated, then nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Right."

For a moment, it felt like we were on the same page, like maybe the tension between us could ease, even just a little. But then the moment passed, and Atsumu gave a quick nod before walking off to join the others. The awkwardness wasn't gone, but maybe, just maybe, it was a little less suffocating.

As I watched him go, my thoughts drifted, not to the upcoming games or the pressure of the Olympics, but to something—someone—else. That boy with the bright orange hair, the one who had measured me earlier. I didn't even know his name, but his image lingered in my mind like a flickering light, impossible to ignore.

I shook my head, pushing the thought aside. There would be time to think about that later. For now, I had to focus on the game, on proving that I belonged here. But as I left the gym, I couldn't help but wonder when—or if—I'd see him again.