REACHING BEYOND THE NET

Echoes Of The Past pt.2

The sound of the volleyball hitting the floor reverberated through the empty gym, its echo fading into the high ceilings. I stood there, staring at the ball as it rolled away, lost in the rhythm of my own thoughts. Training had been intense today, the pressure of the upcoming Olympics weighing on all of us. But even as my body ached with exhaustion, my mind kept drifting back to memories I had tried so hard to bury.

It was a small thing that triggered it—a casual comment from one of the guys about high school crushes, tossed around the locker room after practice. I laughed along with the rest of them, but the words hit too close to home, stirring up memories I'd rather forget.

I closed my eyes, letting the past pull me in.

It was my second year of high school. Karasuno High felt like a world of its own, filled with the clatter of lockers, the chatter of students, and the endless practice drills on the volleyball court. But among all that noise, one voice always stood out to me—a soft, nervous laugh that belonged to Yamaguchi.

Yamaguchi Tadashi wasn't the star of the team, but he had a quiet determination that drew me in. We didn't talk much outside of practice, but I found myself watching him more and more, noticing the way his eyes lit up when he successfully landed a serve, or the way he'd nervously tuck a strand of hair behind his ear when he was uncertain. It wasn't long before I realized that what I felt for him wasn't just admiration.

I had a crush on him.

It was a confusing time for me. I didn't understand why I felt the way I did. I knew what a crush was, but I'd always assumed it would be for a girl, like most of my classmates. But this—this was different. And it scared me.

I tried to ignore it at first, to focus on volleyball and push the feelings aside. But the more I tried, the stronger they became, until they were all I could think about. Every time I saw Yamaguchi, my heart would race, and I'd catch myself blushing for no reason at all. It was embarrassing, and I hated how out of control I felt.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, I was walking home with my father. He was quiet, as usual, but I could tell something was bothering him. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white as we drove in silence.

"You've been distracted lately," he said suddenly, his voice breaking the tense quiet. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

I didn't answer at first, unsure of how to respond. My father wasn't the type to pry into my personal life, but he had always been observant, noticing the smallest changes in my behavior. I couldn't lie to him, but the truth felt too dangerous to admit.

"It's nothing," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Kageyama, you're not a good liar. I can tell something's bothering you."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, staring out the window as the dark streets blurred by. "It's just... school stuff. Volleyball."

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "You can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is."

I bit my lip, debating whether to say anything at all. The words were on the tip of my tongue, desperate to be let out, but fear kept them trapped. What if he didn't understand? What if he got angry?

Finally, I took a deep breath and blurted it out. "There's this guy at school. Yamaguchi. I... I think I like him."

The silence that followed was deafening. My father's expression didn't change, but I could see the shock in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened. He didn't say anything for a long time, and the longer the silence stretched, the more I regretted saying anything at all.

When we got home, he didn't say a word to me. I thought that maybe he was just processing, that maybe, in the morning, things would be okay. But the next day, as I was leaving for school, he stopped me at the door.

"What you said last night," he began, his voice low and measured. "It's... wrong, Kageyama. You can't feel that way about another boy."

I felt my stomach drop. "But I—"

"No," he cut me off, his voice harsher than I'd ever heard it. "It's wrong. You can't let yourself think like that."

I didn't know what to say. I'd never seen him so upset, so stern. I wanted to argue, to tell him that I couldn't help how I felt, but the words wouldn't come.

He sighed, his expression softening slightly as he rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Tobio," he said, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and something that almost sounded like regret. "But it's just not right."

Before I could react, he reached out and slapped me across the face. It wasn't a hard hit, more of a quick shock than actual pain, but it left me stunned, reeling.

He stared at me, his face pale and stricken, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, but this time, it felt empty.

After that, he didn't bring it up again. We went on as if nothing had happened, as if the conversation in the car, the slap, the hurt—all of it had been erased. But it hadn't been erased for me.

From that day on, I forced myself to ignore my feelings for Yamaguchi. I threw myself into volleyball, into practice, into anything that would keep me from thinking about him. It was easier that way, to pretend that the crush had never existed, that I wasn't who I really was.

But even now, years later, I could still feel the sting of that slap, the shame that came with it. And as I stood in the empty gym, the volleyball court stretching out before me, I realized that no matter how far I'd come, those memories would always be a part of me.

I opened my eyes, the present coming back into focus. The gym was quiet now, the echoes of the past fading away. I shook my head, trying to clear the lingering thoughts. I couldn't afford to be distracted—not now, not with the Olympics so close.

But even as I picked up the volleyball and began to practice again, I couldn't help but wonder what my father would say if he knew about Hinata. Would he react the same way? Would he still think it was wrong?

I didn't have the answers, and maybe I never would. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I didn't need them.