I'm only a weakling | haikyuu

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗦𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸

A good book 

is an event in my life.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

If the reactions behind the screen were that intense, then the live audience at the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium was even more shaken.

The difference was night and day.

Earlier, the crowd had been buzzing with casual chatter.

But now—

A wave of stunned voices swept through the stands.

It wasn't just because they had seen your serve in high definition—

It was because, even through a screen, they had felt the overwhelming pressure behind it.

And now, witnessing it up close?

The weight of it was suffocating.

More than that—

They had all watched, expecting the ball to go out. It was right on the edge, seconds away from being called out of bounds.

But then—

They saw the shadow that barely covered the line.

The realization sank in.

After the initial shock faded, all that was left was helplessness.

—If it had been them standing in Yaku Morisuke's place—

Would they have been able to think in that moment?

Would they have been able to stay sane, being forced to face a serve like that, over and over again—something that felt like it was toying with human willpower itself?

And so, the only thing they could do was exhale in quiet awe—

"Dynamite—

He was...

Terrifying."

The entire stadium erupted in shocked cheers.

At this moment, they weren't just cheering for Shiratorizawa. They weren't just cheering for you.

They were cheering for that one miraculous serve—one that could only be described as impossible.

Everyone had been convinced the point was lost. The announcers, the crowd—everyone had already accepted it. But then, the instant replay hit the screen and completely shut them down.

At the same time, people started realizing something—something they had completely overlooked in the chaos.

Thinking back, they vaguely remembered the players' reactions right after the ball landed.

While the entire audience had gasped, debated, and reacted to what they thought was your mistake, the ones on the court had only shown a split-second of surprise. And then—seeing that the referee hadn't made a call—they immediately refocused, as if nothing had happened.

And in that moment, while everyone had been crowding forward, eagerly waiting for the referee's discussion, two people had not joined in.

Two players had remained on the outskirts.

And strangely enough, they seemed to represent two entirely different emotions.

If Yaku had stayed back out of disbelief—his mind clinging to the faint hope that the ball had actually touched the line—then you had simply stood there with an air of calm certainty, watching the situation unfold like a spectator.