I smoothed my skirt out about my legs as I settled out onto the grass of one of Aoba Johsai's many beautiful lawns. Students were scattered about elsewhere, but we were secluded enough to talk about whatever we pleased.

When I was settled, my boxed lunch in my lap and my legs tucked to one side, I looked up, catching up on the conversation I'd missed the beginning of.

"It's not like you missed it," Hajime was saying. "Just relax about it."

"How can you tell me to relax when I know you're getting anxious, too?!"

"Who's anxious and why?"

"I am," Toru answered, then pointed at Hajime. "But he is, too!"

"That only answered one part of my question."

"Announcements for try-outs haven't gone out yet," Hajime told me. "He thinks that somehow all three of us have missed it."

"But what if we did?!"

"We didn't," I assured him. "Club applications aren't even out yet. When the team is ready for tryouts, they'll make it obvious."

"But..."

"What, have an itch or something? It's not like you don't play volleyball every evening on your own, Toru." He was still pouting, so I sighed and opened up my lunch. Inside, as I knew there would be, was an apple. "There you go," I said, tossing it to him. "Go ahead and practice setting it. If you can get a good volley going, I'll even give you some of the milk bread I made."

That shut him up and kept him quiet for a few minutes, anyway. As Hajime and I talked about what we were supposed to read for our language arts class, Toru focused only on setting that piece of fruit to himself, over and over, concentrating so much his tongue was poking out from between his lips.

And after a couple of minutes, I told him that he'd done enough, that he could stop. So he caught the apple on its next pass, and handed it back to me. I set it back in the box and handed him some milk bread, instead.

Anything to keep him happy, I suppose.

Though I had been intending to use that bread as leverage for him to help me out this term in our science lab because I might have dozed off during part of the very first lesson, but I would just need to find something else.

Ah, well.

—

"Will you, er..."

"Yes, Toru," I said, prompting him to continue.

I flipped the page I was reading over, scanning the list of all the clubs looking for new members. Student government and treasury, teaching aide positions for older students, more academic-based clubs like science clubs, and... ah, athletics.

"You were our manager in junior high," Toru said. "Do you still want to..."

"Yes, Toru," I repeated, this time not a prompt but a statement. I knew what he wanted to ask, and I already knew my answer.

"Ah," he said. "Good. I mean, of course you want to manage us. Why wouldn't you? It would mean spending more time with us, after all. And wasn't this the agreement back in junior high?"

I kept my eyes on the paper as I answered him and continued to look for what I wanted. "There's that,"" I agreed, "but I also found that managing a volleyball team is something I'm quite good at. Beyond that, there are some valuable real-life skills - managing, of course, and scheduling, learning to maintain a team, drafting correspondence with coaches and other teams, tracking funding..."

With each new point, I could tell in my periphery that Toru's smile grew and grew. I crossed one leg over the other, sitting more comfortably at the table in the library. I lifted my pen upon finding the listing for the volleyball team, and then...

Toru, sitting right across from me and working on his application form for the volleyball team - one he'd run to go get this morning - noticed the way I stiffened up right away.

"(Y/n)-chan? What's wrong?" He leaned closer, as much as he could from the other side of the table.

"There's no manager position listed," I said quietly. My eyebrows furrowed; perhaps it was in another section? But no, it wasn't. For other teams, the listing would have been right there but for the volleyball team, there was nothing.

"What? Let me see, you're probably just missing it," he said, reaching for the packet. I let him take it, but stood anyway, rounding the table to stand beside his chair and look over his shoulder to see if I couldn't find it now.

I couldn't.

And neither could Toru.

"That can't be right," he said, handing it back to me, only to snatch it back and look again. "Maybe a typo?"

"Or maybe the volleyball team doesn't need a manager," I said quietly. Toru looked up at me, his brows furrowed and a frown tugging at his lips.

"We'll go talk to the coaches right now," he said, starting to rise, and I set my hand on his shoulder to keep him from going anywhere. Confused, he relaxed back into his seat, and I shook my head.

"I had to ask the coach at Kitagawa Daiichi to become the manager," I reminded him. "I can definitely ask this coach for the spot. If he says no, he says no. But if I don't..."

"Don't say that," he said. "You're going to-"

"If I don't," I cut in, "then I'll just join the freelance journalism club. Or start one, if we don't have one. Or sports journalism. If I just so happen to be a freelance sports journalist that focuses on volleyball, they can't exactly fault me for always sitting in on practices, can they?"

Toru smiled, nodding - and I knew he trusted me to do it. "Hurry, (Y/n)-chan. Go!"

I smiled, turned on my heel, then went, pausing only to grab my things from the table. In my hurry to shove everything in my bag, I didn't realize I forgot to grab the club applications packet again from Toru... which wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that I had no idea who the coach was without it.

So, I turned on my heel and trudged back up to the library, to the table Toru was still sitting at. He was working on his math work, a smug little smile on his face as he held the packet towards me.

I said nothing as I turned on my heel once more and left - for real, this time.

And wisely, neither did he.

—

Looking at the sign, then checking the form in my hands, I knew I had the right room. All I had to do was knock and then wait to be allowed in. And then...

Oh, boy.

There was nothing left to do but to do the damn thing, so I shoved the note into my bag and raised the other hand. With my hand in a fist, it would be an easy thing to rap my knuckles against the door and ask to be let in.

I was just nervous.

I took a deep breath in, steeled my nerves, then knocked. When the acting coach for the high school's volleyball club called for me to enter, I lowered my hand to instead grasp the doorknob.

Don't shy away now, (Y/n). Continuing to be a manager - it will be fun! Probably. Hopefully.

Besides, what's the worst he can do? Say no?

Well, yes, actually.

Hm. Maybe I didn't think this through.

"Hm? I know I didn't imagine a knock," the coach said, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "I said enter, whoever you are."

I hurried to open the door, and I bowed my head in apology to the coach as I shut the door behind me. "I'm sorry," I said right away, approaching the desk when he gestured for me to sit in the seat opposite from his own. "I had trouble with the doorknob."

The coach looked towards his door dubiously. "Damn thing's been giving me no end of trouble recently," he said, and I was only just able to keep my face from revealing how surprised I was that he hadn't seen through my lie - that it had worked. "No matter how many demands I make to admin to get it fixed, they never do it. Tch."

"That seems frustrating," I said, grateful that it was at least a buyable lie that I had sold. I was just thanking my lucky stars when the coach settled his gaze on me.

"It is," he said. "And so is getting mistaken for the coach for the girl's volleyball team."

"Oh, that's not why I'm here," I said right away.

"Right," he said, unconvinced. "Then why are you here? It's far too early in the season for the yearbook club to start coming around for quotes and I know all the brats that work on the school paper. So, who are you, then?"

"I am Kageyama (Y/n)," I said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," the man responded, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest and at that moment I didn't think there could be any mistaking this man for anything other than a volleyball coach. Though clearly short, he was thickly built, with broad shoulders that at one point might have made him a fine spiker - but now, he had rounded out from age.

He had rather accusatory gray eyes now, but there were fine lines - smile lines, I'd seen them called - by his lips and eyes. This man had lived a long, happy life so far, and now coached high school volleyball.

"Irihata," he said in introduction. "Now, tell me. What brings you here?"

"I'm here to inquire about a position managing that team of yours," I told him, and one of his eyebrows rose up in a silent question. "All the other athletic programs here include spots for managers, but not men's volleyball."

"That'd be because no one wants to do it," he said. "So I do it, and I've been doing it for years. We've no need for one."

"Pardon me if this is out of line," I said, "but you don't strike me as the kind of man who enjoys doing that sort of work."

"Where are you going with this?"

"A coach's place is with his team," I said slowly. "Having a manager will allow you to focus on the players, and only the players. Leave the office work for someone who wants to do it, and you'll free up time to put all your focus where it needs to be."

The man chuckled and leaned forward in his seat, linking his fingers together and resting his forearms on the desk. "You're a tough one, kid." He looked into my eyes for a moment, then shook his head incredulously. "You know what? Fine." He stood, then came around the desk to hold his right hand towards me. I took it, and he shook my hand firmly. "Welcome to the team, Kageyama."

"Really? Thank you, sir!"

He released my hand and went back towards his chair with even, measured, completely confident strides. "I expect you in my office as soon as classes end tomorrow," he told me. "Tryouts are soon, and we've some wrinkles to iron out before them."

"Yes, sir," I said happily, rising from the chair.

"Don't worry about the paperwork," he told me. "I'll handle it, so you won't get in trouble with the school." Then he leveled an even look with me. "You know a lot about volleyball, kid?"

"I was the manager of the team in junior high," I told him. "It's kind of difficult not to learn, being in that position."

"Yes," he agreed with a chuckle, "I suppose so. Still, study up." From one of his desk drawers he withdrew a large, leatherbound book - one that erupted with a cloud of dust as soon as he dropped it onto the tabletop. After coughing behind my hand and waving the dust away, I was met with Irihata's smiling face again. "Junior high volleyball is a hell of a lot different from junior high. Any little players you brought with you will have a much harder time here."

"I'm counting on that," I told him, taking the heavy book in my hands and marveling at the weight of it.

"Half the kids that try out, don't make the team," he said. "You understand, don't you? Now go, get to reading. I've got an application document to find on this artifact of a computer I have, and I've got to go make a case to admin about that damn door knob again. So go, leave me to it."

"Yes sir," I said, smiling and bowing to him once more before leaving the room. And once the door was closed behind me... I let out a relieved breath.

Thank goodness.

Now... to go tell Toru!

Oh, no, wait! There goes Haji!

Ah, but no. Toru would cry if I didn't tell him first.

Oh, but dammit, I'm too excited!

"Haji," I called to him from down the hallway. "Wait up!"

—

"Come on, he had to have told you what we'd be doing in the tryouts," Toru implored. "Just tell us, please!"

"He said 'basic drills and shit like that'. That's all he told me, Toru, I promise."

"Now see, I don't believe that promise because there's no way he called you in for a meeting on the logistics of tryouts and didn't even go over what would be happening!"

"Maybe in the interest of fairness I didn't want to indulge in details," I said teasingly, making the boy frown. "Toru, I told you already. He didn't say what drills, or what he was looking for, or how many spots he wanted to fill. But I have to imagine it'd be similar to junior high's tryouts, only... looking for more skill, probably."

"Yeah, I'd hope so," Hajime grumbled. "Leave her be, Crappykawa. If she doesn't know, she doesn't know. You'll have to be good enough to make the team without help."

"I guess you'll just have to practice everything," I provided rather unhelpfully. "Receives, blocks, spikes, sets, serves..."

"Yeah, yeah," Toru said. "I get it."

"Working in a team," Hajime added pointedly.

"Accepting criticism without it being a personal slight," I added, too.

"We're students at Aoba Johsai now," Toru whined. "Don't you think you should be above things like this?!"

Hajime and I could only share one more amused look before returning to what we were doing. Tryouts were soon, which would explain the spike in Toru's anxiety. Of course, because of the sudden spike, I'd expected there to be another bump on the day of - but I was wrong.

At least outwardly, on the day of tryouts, he was completely cool and confident. I could see through it, though. I always could.

—

There was, as was usual in a gymnasium, a myriad of sounds that positively graced my ears on this glorious day.

Ok, that wasn't true. I'd been nursing a headache all day, and could do without the squeaking of sneakers.

But to say that I didn't enjoy the sounds of a team at work, well, that wasn't entirely true, either.

Honestly, after managing one team, I'd grown to enjoy the sounds that came with a volleyball team working hard at their craft. I'd already covered the squeaking of sneakers on this day in particular, but it was one of those strangely satisfying sounds that I'd come to actually like - unless there was that asshole mindlessly squeaking his shoes on purpose in a corner somewhere.

But the shouts, the chants, the jubilation of cheers were wonderful; the slamming of the volleyballs against hands or the floor was another satisfying one; the shrill of the whistles, the hushed whispers of sudden strategies at play, the flip of the scores; all of it, altogether, were sounds I had come to appreciate.

Managing in junior high had been simple - handing out practice bibs, taking attendance, tossing balls for spiking drills, tracking times for laps, and the most barebones tracking of points during practice matches.

Still, all of it had been fun, and for the players to come to me for advice and for questions, or to take a peek at their personal progress made me feel like part of the team, truly. Surely, in high school my responsibilities would be greatened and intensified - but I was ready for it.

It wasn't just for the love of my friends, but for a genuine love of the sport, now. It had been my grandfather's favorite, and now it was Miwa and Tobio's, too. My place might not have been on the court, not like the rest of my family. My place, so it seemed, was on the sidelines.

And I was perfectly alright with that. Scheduling, tracking, managing... I was good at it, and I had a feeling I was bound by blood and genetics to like the sport, so I didn't think I could walk away from this even if I tried.

So, with my notepad in hand, a timer in my pocket, and a pen tucked behind my ear, I walked into the gym. I caught sight of the coaches right away, and made my way quickly to them - as quick as I could without looking rushed, of course, I was a high schooler now and such things mattered - and I was greeted warmly as soon as they caught sight of me.

"Kageyama," Coach Irihata said. "Welcome to your first big test. This," he said, referring to the much younger, much more confused looking man beside him, "is Mizoguchi. He's my assistant and will be taking over the team when I retire."

"And when will that be, sir?"

"I was planning on it being this year," he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I'm getting too old to chase these boys around anymore. But Mizoguchi, straighten up - this is our manager."

"Manager," he repeated, looking at me seriously. "We haven't had one of those since I was a student."

"And that," he said, "was that last time we made it to nationals. Who knows - maybe with a manager again, we'll make it. Perhaps that was our problem."

"I'll do my best to make it happen," I said genuinely.

"Kageyama," Mizoguchi repeated. "You don't happen to be related to Kageyama Kazuyo, would you?"

"She can't," Irihata grumbled right away. "All his children and grandchildren look like him. She doesn't."

"Actually," I said, "he was my grandfather, on my dad's side."

"So why aren't you at Shiratorizawa? He went there - you'd be a legacy student, and considering his history with the team, it would be a disservice for them not to admit you."

"Mizoguchi!"

"It's a little too far from home," I said, heart slightly warmed by the prospect of Irihata trying to chastise his fellow coach for questioning something that might have been too personal. Truth was, it was personal - and it was for the very reason he said.

My grandfather had never looked at me like he had Miwa, and there was never a chance for me to be seen the same way he saw Tobio. Still, I had loved him - but when he died, my father had lost himself and even now, he...

He still was not home. I was living with only my baby cousin, now - for my older cousin had been forced to spend her teenage years caring for us, because my aunt and uncle deemed work more important than us.

The family's entire existence revolved around my grandfather. If I had gone to Shiratorizawa, I would only have been seen as an extension of him, never as my own person. And I'd be seen as a defective Kageyama, considering I could not play the game that was synonymous with our name.

It was personal.

Of course, all of that was reasoning as to why I hadn't gone to Shiratorizawa.

But the list of why I wanted to go to Seijoh was much, much longer.

So, I smiled. "Honestly," I said, "Aoba Johsai seemed like the better school, to me."

That made Irihata laugh boisterously. "I told you she was a tough one, didn't I? Now, come on. Round the boys up - it's time for the tryouts to begin."