April 8th, 2011 – Karasuno Gym – 6:47 PM
The gym lights buzzed like they were seconds away from exploding—flickering faintly, casting everything in a jaundiced glow. It smelled like rubber soles, stale sweat, and determination gone slightly sour.
Ryuido wiped a sleeve across his forehead, catching a bead of sweat just before it dripped into his eye. His entire shirt clung to him like a regret. Across the court, Tanaka was shirtless again, pumping his fist skyward like he'd just unlocked Ultra Instinct.
"SECOND WIND, BABY!" he yelled.
Ryuido, to his horror, saw Nishinoya light up with the same deranged gleam.
"One more set!" Noya howled, already bouncing like a caffeinated jackrabbit in receive position.
"Absolutely not," Daichi said with the flat finality of a man who'd been through this too many times. His knees popped as he stood. He winced.
Suga, traitor to all reason, lobbed the ball anyway.
Ryuido's fingers twitched against his thigh. The ache in his left knee stirred, not sharp enough to scream, just enough to whisper, remember me?
Then—Clang!
Asahi's spike smacked the overhead pipe and ricocheted downward. Gravity made no promises. The ball careened straight toward Ryuido like a flaming meteor with his name on it.
---
Flashback – Tokyo, 2009
The Brazilian wing spiker had arms like tree trunks and no mercy.
The serve came fast—blazing, 120km/h of punishment wrapped in spin. Ryuido's body snapped into action, court-vision narrowing.
He stepped. Slipped.
The pop was quiet, like bubble wrap. The pain wasn't.
Everything went white.
---
Present
The ball collided with his hands—caught barehanded, like instinct didn't trust anyone else to do it right. The sting bloomed instantly, spreading from his palms up into his shoulders.
"Nice reflexes!" Tanaka whooped.
"Stupid reflexes," Ryuido muttered, flexing his fingers. His body kept moving like it didn't know it had an expiration date.
---
Drill 1: Suicide Receives
Ukai had them running figure-eights like he was trying to summon a demon. Bright plastic cones marked the path to hell.
"Grasshopper!" he yelled. "Shiratorizawa won't pause their attack while you contemplate the futility of existence!"
Ryuido's lungs were charred paper. His legs? Useless stilts.
But the knee—
The knee held.
He grunted something about volleyball not being a cult, but no one heard him over Noya shouting, "FASTER OR DIE!"
---
7:12 PM – Water Break
Kiyoko handed him two bottles without a word. She was efficient like a sniper—one shot, one kill, and already walking away.
"You're overworking," she said, deadpan.
He drank the first bottle like a man possessed. Cold water, hot brain.
"Not working hard enough," he rasped between gulps. "I'm serious." He added.
She stopped. Her gaze landed on his fingers—raw knuckles, skin peeling at the edges like fruit past the sell-by date.
"For what?" she asked, voice quiet but not gentle. "Trying to Impress someone?" She added.
To deserve the court again. To outrun the version of me that couldn't.
"To beat Ushijima," he said instead. "I'm not trying to impress you, but I'll try."
Kiyoko raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his improv performance, and walked off while muttering "Guess what.. I'm impressed by your dedication! Don't thank me!"
"What did she said again..? Must be my imagination" Deadpan.
---
Drill 2: The Monster Block
Ukai had tied a tire swing to the top of the net.
"I call it 'Ushijima's Wrath,'" he announced proudly. "Lefty spin. Unforgiving trajectory. No personality."
"You forgot 'terrible eyebrows,'" Tanaka muttered.
They took turns timing their jumps. The tire whipped forward like a wrecking ball on a vendetta.
Ryuido stepped up. Calculated. Jumped.
Too early.
The tire slammed into his ribs with a sickening whump, folding him like bad origami.
"AGAIN!" Ukai barked.
Ryuido wheezed and peeled himself off the floor like old gum.
---
Flashback – Tokyo Hospital
"You'll walk fine," the surgeon said, voice like he was ordering lunch. "Volleyball? Not a chance."
His father sold the car within a week.
His mother cried on the way home, her hands tight on the steering wheel.
He stared at the sky through the hospital window, trying not to throw up from the morphine.
---
Present
The tire came again. Ryuido waited.
Then—
CRACK.
He blocked it so hard the chain snapped and the tire dropped with a thud of finality. It wobbled sadly on the court, defeated.
Silence fell.
Ukai blinked. "...Well. Guess we're done."
Tanaka whispered, "Rest in peace, Tire-chan."
---
8:30 PM – Locker Room
The tiles were cold. The bruises were worse.
Ryuido sat hunched, pressing an ice pack to his sternum. Breathing wasn't fun.
Suga entered, wielding two protein drinks like bribes.
"You set like someone with something to prove," he said, handing one over.
"I don't set," Ryuido muttered, not looking up.
Suga grinned. "Could've fooled me. That quick set to Tanaka in morning? Textbook. I nearly cried." (he's indeed cried a little bit)
Ryuido said nothing, but the bottle cap snapped beneath his fingers. "I saw you cried, but I'll pretend I didn't. Thank you!" He added with deadpan tone.
This team didn't need another setter.
Especially not when the King was already en route.
---
9:15 PM – Walk Home
The night air was cool and full of empty promises. Ryuido's hoodie was too thin, his breath came in clouds, and his backpack strap kept sliding off his shoulder. He didn't fix it.
He flexed his hand. No tremors. Just steady calluses and old scar tissue.
This body could still break. But maybe not tonight.
A wind kicked up, sending a crumpled newspaper tumbling across the sidewalk. It stopped at his feet like it had something to say.
He looked down.
"Kitagawa Daiichi's 'King' Sweeps Prelims!"
Ryuido stared at the headline. Then kept walking. "King? Dictator √"
Far off in Miyagi, a small orange-haired boy was counting his jump reps aloud, grinning at the moon like it owed him something.
The storm hadn't arrived yet.
But Ryuido could already hear the thunder.
---
Chapter 6 – End