(chapter xl)

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Yuna stretched her arms above her head, trying to relieve the growing tension in her stiff shoulders as she made her way into the gymnasium. A tired yawn escaped her lips, and she barely managed to lift her head to acknowledge the players she passed by. Instead of offering her usual polite greetings, she simply nodded, her energy too depleted to form any words.

The exhaustion weighed heavily on her, a dull ache spreading through her body as she moved. The signs were all there—her restless nights, the strain on her muscles, the dark circles under her eyes—but she chose to ignore them. Admitting that she was overworked would mean confronting the reasons behind her relentless pace, and Yuna wasn't ready for that.

The truth was, she had been pushing herself harder than usual, driven by a desperate need to keep her mind occupied. Creative sparks didn't come to her easily anymore, and when she finally felt one ignite within her, she clung to it with all her might. She had been working tirelessly on a new song—one that had consumed her thoughts and her energy. Every note, every melody haunted her dreams, and she feared that if she allowed herself even a moment to rest, the inspiration would slip away. Her music was her passion, her anchor, and after enduring so many creative droughts, she couldn't bear to lose the spark again.

Despite her fatigue, stepping into the gym offered a strange sense of solace. The polished wood of the court gleamed under the fluorescent lights, and the familiar scent of sweat, rubber soles, and determination hung in the air. The rhythmic thuds of volleyballs being spiked and the sharp squeak of shoes against the floor filled the vast space with a symphony of sounds. These weren't just noises to Yuna—they were pieces of a living, breathing composition that she could feel in her bones.

Each echo, each shout of encouragement from the players, and each whistle from the coach carried its own melody. Managing the team had become more than a responsibility; it had become a source of inspiration, a place where she could immerse herself in the raw energy of movement and sound.

There was something calming about the routine of it all, something that helped quiet the chaos in her mind. Being in the gym reminded her of the rhythm and harmony she so often sought in her compositions. She could almost hear the music forming in her head—the steady beat of footsteps, the staccato rhythm of a ball bouncing, the rise and fall of voices like crescendos and decrescendos in a symphony. Each practice session was like a performance, a carefully choreographed dance where every player had a part to play. And Yuna, standing on the sidelines, could feel the pulse of it running through her veins.

Though her body ached, and her mind was cluttered with fatigue, she felt a flicker of something else as she stood in that familiar space. It was a sense of belonging, a feeling of connection to something greater than herself. The gym was her refuge—a place where she wasn't just a manager or a composer struggling with her art. Here, she was a witness to passion, perseverance, and camaraderie. And with each practice, with each sound that filled her senses, she found a piece of herself coming back to life.

"Haaa? What did you just say?" A loud, dramatic whine pierced the air, reverberating through the gymnasium like the crack of a volleyball against hardwood. Yuna's head snapped toward the commotion. Her eyes immediately found the team clustered at the centre court, a mix of confusion and curiosity etched across their faces.

In the middle of the group stood Tooru, his usual air of confidence slightly frayed as he waved a piece of paper in front of the team. His expression was a blend of exasperation and amusement. "It's already been settled," he declared, his voice firm but not without a trace of resignation.

"But, captain! Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Yutaro Kindaichi, one of the newest first-years, blurted out. His brow was furrowed in a combination of indignation and youthful frustration, his grip tightening on the same paper he now held in his own hands.

Hanamaki, ever the mischief-maker, chuckled and draped a lazy arm around the younger boy's shoulders. "Ah, Kindaichi-kun, you'll learn soon enough—important stuff like this? We never hear about it right away."

"But—" Kindaichi opened his mouth to protest again, his lower lip jutting out into a pout that made him seem more like a petulant child than a budding athlete. He glanced down at the paper in his hands, his expression twisting with confusion. Words seemed to fail him as he stared, silent now but still visibly perturbed.

Taking advantage of the brief lull in conversation, Yuna approached the group, curiosity piqued by the tension simmering among the players. As she neared, Hajime Iwaizumi handed her one of the papers. She accepted it with a nod of thanks, her fingers brushing over the crinkled edges as she scanned its contents.

"Tooru," she began, her eyes lifting momentarily from the paper, "what exactly is this?"

Hands-on his hips, Tooru straightened his posture, the very picture of authority as he gestured toward the team. "That," he said with a pointed glance at the paper in her hands, "is the set of terms I negotiated for the upcoming match. So, with that in place, I've already got an idea for a new play." His tone was decisive, leaving little room for argument.

Yuna's brow furrowed as she continued reading. Her frown deepened when her eyes landed on the familiar name of their next opponent—Karasuno High. And scheduled for next Tuesday, no less. A practice match against a team with a reputation for being both unpredictable and fiercely competitive? That alone was reason enough to feel a pang of anxiety.

She leaned slightly toward Hajime, her voice lowered so as not to disrupt Tooru's pep talk. "One best-of-three set?" she murmured, her tone incredulous.

Hajime nodded, his expression calm but weary. "Yeah. Since it's a last-minute arrangement between the coaches, it's only half of what we usually do."

"And these conditions..." Yuna tapped a finger against the paper, her voice trailing off as her eyes zeroed in on the terms outlined there. "Let me guess—Tooru only agreed to the match if these stipulations were met?" She gestured toward the paper with a knowing sigh.

Hajime followed her gaze and sighed heavily. He reached out and gave her head a light pat, a gesture equal parts apology and camaraderie. "Yeah. That was the only way he'd allow it."

Yuna tilted her head into his hand, raising an eyebrow at his apologetic demeanour. "I'm not sure why you're apologizing," she replied dryly. "Honestly, I'm more concerned about how hard Tooru's going to push everyone. My brother not playing isn't the issue—I'm worried about how intense things are going to get. Especially with..." She paused, her eyes locking on one name in particular—Tobio Kageyama. Her stomach clenched slightly at the thought of the boy whose presence seemed to stir something fierce in Tooru every time he was mentioned.

She sighed again, tapping the paper lightly against her palm. "I'm not sure I'll be able to make it for the first set, but I'll be there for the second and third."

"I'll let Oikawa and the coaches know," Hajime assured her, turning his attention back to the gathering team.

Yuna lingered a moment longer, her gaze drifting toward Tooru. His face was set in a hard, almost unyielding expression, the very picture of focus tinged with something darker—an edge of simmering emotion that only came into play when Kageyama's name was involved. How would he handle facing him in person? she wondered, her mind swirling with possibilities. She had seen his competitive streak, felt his frustration in moments of self-doubt, but this... this would be different.

As the players broke into murmurs and banter, Yuna exhaled softly, a strange weight settling on her chest. Tuesday is going to be a long, stressful day, she thought. And I'm not sure any of us are ready for it.

Yuna had gathered some insight about Kageyama Tobio, often by way of conversations sparked by Kindaichi and Kunimi. It was during those rare moments when Kunimi shed his usual air of indifference that she saw just how expressive he could be. The two first-years, united in their distaste for their former teammate, frequently shared stories and opinions that only served to increase Yuna's growing unease.

Though she had met Kageyama a handful of times on her occasional visits to Karasuno, the picture painted by his former teammates didn't seem to align with the quiet, focused player she had observed. Their descriptions—tinged with frustration and lingering bitterness—felt at odds with the composed setter she had briefly encountered.

"Ah, Sugawara!" Kindaichi's voice broke through her thoughts as he jogged over to her with an enthusiastic grin. "Hey, hey, I heard your brother plays for Karasuno! Come on, be a pal and share a few tips about—"

"Not a chance," Yuna cut him off with a sharp, unimpressed glare.

Her immediate rejection drew laughter from several of the nearby players as Kindaichi visibly deflated, his shoulders slumping in exaggerated defeat.

Before he could complain further, a deceptively cheerful voice interjected, making him freeze in place.

"Kindaichi," Tooru Oikawa began, the smile on his face pleasant but his eyes sharp, "I hope you have a really good reason for interrupting me."

The younger boy stiffened as if struck by lightning. "Ah—sorry, Captain!" he squeaked, bowing hurriedly before turning back to face his team.

With a flick of his wrist, Tooru shifted the conversation back on track, holding the paper containing their formation notes. "First set lineup: Iwaizumi, Matsukawa, Hanamaki, Yahaba, Shinji, Yutaro, and Kunimi." His voice was crisp, commanding immediate attention from the team.

Yahaba's head snapped up in surprise. "Me?" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "But, Captain, shouldn't you be the setter for this match?"

Yuna, who had been watching from the sidelines, furrowed her brows in concern. She turned toward Hajime, silently questioning him with a look. Before she could ask, he shook his head. "I don't know," he muttered under his breath, his unease growing with each second of silence from their captain.

Finally, Tooru offered a lighthearted laugh, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "Ah, right. I almost forgot," he said, scratching the back of his head. "I've got a mild sprain, so I might sit out this one~."

The air in the gymnasium instantly shifted.

"What?!" The entire team shouted in unison, their voices echoing like a collective thunderclap of disbelief.

Hajime's eyes narrowed as he let out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Seriously? You really know how to pick the worst moments to drop something like this," he growled, his tone filled with exasperation.

"Relax, it'll be fine," Tooru replied breezily, his nonchalance doing nothing to ease the tension.

Yuna let out an audible scoff, muttering under her breath, "He says that with a smile as if we're all supposed to believe him." She crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto one foot, her eyes never leaving Tooru's figure as she stepped aside to let the meeting conclude. Inside, her mind raced with irritation and concern. A sprain? And he didn't tell anyone?

Her fists clenched slightly as her gaze hardened. Tooru's habit of keeping crucial information to himself wasn't new, but this crossed a line. It wasn't just irresponsible—it was dangerous, both for him and for the team. Her annoyance simmered just below the surface, carefully restrained, but waiting for the right moment to erupt.

When Hanamaki finally spoke up, his usual humour laced with seriousness, Yuna felt a rare solidarity with him. He folded his arms and shook his head disapprovingly. "Captain," he began, his voice calm but firm, "we're used to you keeping things to yourself. But an injury? Right before a match? You can't just spring that on us last minute. This is exactly the kind of thing we need to know ahead of time."

It took considerable effort for both Yuna and Hajime to hold their tongues through the remainder of practice. Every time Tooru brushed off his injury as if it were no big deal, their frustration deepened. Yet, they bit back their words, each deciding to save their scolding for when they could confront him privately.

When the final whistle blew and the players began to disperse, Tooru's confident grin faltered just a little. He glanced toward Yuna and Hajime, and the weight of their combined glares made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

A nervous gulp betrayed him.

"Oh," he thought with a sinking feeling, "I am definitely getting a lecture."