I'm only a weakling | haikyuu

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗶𝗳𝘁𝘆: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝘀𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗗𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘂

I say luckily for us he did not reach us,

and I might almost say luckily for himself.

-'♡'-

Meanwhile, you had no idea that your "wealthy heir" fan had come all the way from Tokyo to Miyagi just to watch you play.

At that moment, you were standing still, eyes on the other side of the net, watching Hinata. Even in the thick of the game, you couldn't help but think:

He's fast.

But Hinata's speed was a different kind entirely. His was explosive, raw power in a single burst. Yours, though, was the product of relentless training, the sharpened mental reflexes that had become second nature.

For you, it was all just muscle memory—your body's reflex to step forward whenever a teammate needed help. Simple as that.

Beep—

This time, it was your turn to step up to the service line.

As you held the ball and approached, a heavy silence fell over the crowd. They held back their cheers, partly out of respect, not wanting to disrupt you, and partly out of sheer anticipation, too focused even to cheer.

Whatever their reason, you could hear every small sound in the silence, right down to the faintest pin drop.

With the ball in one hand, your mind wandered briefly to that conversation with Tendou, and the pact you made with Lady Luck.

Fwoosh.

With a slight flick of your wrist, the volleyball soared into the air. Your narrow eyes tracked its path with absolute focus, then, in the next instant, your gaze shifted—locking in on the boundary just behind Karasuno's libero, Nishinoya.

In the Shiratorizawa rest area, Coach Washijo's eyes widened. He recognized that familiar setup—if he was right, then your aim was precisely on that boundary behind Nishinoya. You were about to pull out the same serve you had first unleashed when you joined Shiratorizawa. That rare, deadly serve.

The thought brought a fleeting blankness to Washijo's expression, then a determined look as he watched Karasuno's players track the ball's trajectory intently. 'This kid... really does have a soft spot for that Karasuno team...'

Boom!

A gust of air swept past Nishinoya's face as the ball rocketed straight toward him, the path unmistakably clear. Yet the ball's speed and power hinted it might just fly out of bounds.

Everyone in the crowd held their breath. The older man and the disguised Hibari Kyoya leaned forward in perfect sync, eyes locked on Nishinoya. They waited—wondering what Nishinoya would do. Could he pull off the impossible and determine if that serve was going out of bounds?

Feeling all eyes on him, Nishinoya's brows furrowed as a bead of sweat traced down from his forehead. Then, suddenly, the corners of his mouth lifted, a grin spreading wide across his face. To everyone's surprise, he stopped watching the ball and, without hesitation, moved directly into position.

For everyone wondering if he'd make the judgment call to let the ball go, Nishinoya's answer was clear: he wouldn't. He couldn't say for sure where that ball would land, but either way, he was going to go for it.

'Because... that was my promise to you.'

At that moment, everyone on the court seemed to recall the same memory:

It was that evening after practice. The setting sun split the court into light and shadow. Nishinoya, standing determinedly in the golden light, pointed across the court toward you, standing in the dusk.