Morning sunlight cut across Akira's room like a lazy golden blade, spilling over the chaos of his desk. There were notebooks stacked in unstable towers, pencils scattered like fallen soldiers, and an alarm clock that had already been silenced twenty minutes ago.
It wasn't that Akira hadn't heard it. He had. He'd just reached out, tapped it off, and let gravity pull him back into his futon. The match was tomorrow, and while the rest of Karasuno's team was probably waking up early, psyching themselves up, Akira's method of preparation was… conserving energy.
His phone buzzed, the vibration shoving him out of half-sleep. Aya's name lit the screen.
Aya: Don't be late. Coach hates late.
Akira squinted at the clock. Fifteen minutes before homeroom. Plenty of time, he told himself. Sure, that didn't factor in breakfast, a shower, or the fact that Karasuno High wasn't exactly close by — but those were minor details.
Another buzz.
Aya: Hinata's bouncing off walls about tomorrow. Help me keep him alive, please.
Akira stared at the message for a moment, imagining the hyperactive first-year already running laps in his bedroom out of pure excitement. He smirked faintly, finally dragging himself out of bed.
By the time he ambled through Karasuno's gates, Hinata was there — vibrating with so much energy he looked like he might actually take flight.
"Akira!" Hinata's voice carried like a fire alarm. "Did you hear?!"
"I hear a lot of things, Hinata," Akira said, adjusting his hair with slow, precise fingers. "Which one am I supposed to care about today?"
"The practice match! Against Seijoh! Against Oikawa! You know him, right?!"
Akira's lips curled slightly. "You could say we've… met."
Aya arrived just in time to catch that smirk, clutching her clipboard like it was a shield. "More like grew up in his shadow, right?" she teased.
"Shadow?" Akira tilted his head, amusement sparking in his eyes. "Nah. More like… he grew up trying to catch mine."
Hinata blinked. "Wait… you two actually—"
"Later," Akira cut in smoothly, already walking toward the building. Hinata scrambled to follow.
Classroom chatter was already at full volume when they walked in. Akira moved like he owned the place — not in an arrogant way, but in that quiet, unshakable way that made people part for him without thinking. Girls glanced over and whispered behind hands. A couple of guys eyed him like they were sizing up competition.
The fact that Aya, who was popular herself, slid into the seat right next to him didn't help.
"Alright," she said under her breath as the teacher launched into roll call, "so you're going to face your brother in a match. What's the actual plan?"
Akira rested his chin on his hand, the very picture of lazy disinterest. "Plan? Haven't thought about it."
"Liar."
He didn't deny it. He didn't need to.
He caught one of the girls two rows over sneaking a glance at him. She quickly looked away, cheeks pink. Akira wasn't surprised. He'd grown used to the looks — tall, sharp-featured, and with a kind of calm that drew attention whether he wanted it or not.
The bell rang, snapping the room into motion. Akira was halfway to the door when Tsukishima stepped into his path, Kageyama lurking a few steps behind.
"So, Mr. National Champion," Tsukishima drawled, smirk firmly in place, "how's it feel knowing your brother's going to roast you tomorrow?"
"Funny," Akira replied without missing a beat, "I was wondering how it feels knowing you're about to get a nickname."
Tsukishima blinked. "…What?"
"Beanpole."
Aya, walking past, almost choked on her laughter.
Meanwhile, at Aoba Johsai's gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking echoed off the polished floor. Oikawa Toru landed from a jump serve drill, wincing slightly as his taped knee absorbed the shock.
"You good?" Iwaizumi asked, tossing him another ball.
"I'm fine," Oikawa said automatically, though his mind was elsewhere.
"He's going to be there," Oikawa muttered a moment later.
"Your brother?" Iwaizumi tilted his head. "You've been acting like you're playing two matches — one against Karasuno, and one against Akira."
"Because I am," Oikawa said flatly.
Memories flashed — summers spent on the beach, dominating older kids in pickup games, the wordless communication they'd shared. Back then, they'd been an unstoppable duo. Until Akira walked away.
"You worried?" Iwaizumi teased.
Oikawa forced a smile. "No. I'm just… prepared."
At Karasuno's evening strategy meeting, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Coach Ukai pointed at a diagram on the whiteboard.
"Oikawa Toru. One of the top setters in the prefecture. Watch for his feints, his serve — and don't underestimate his ability to control the rhythm of a match."
Several seniors glanced at Akira, waiting for some reaction. He just leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. Aya, handing out printed schedules, caught the flicker of a smirk before he hid it.
The next afternoon, Karasuno arrived early at Seijoh's gym. The air smelled of fresh varnish, sweat, and something heavier — competition.
Seijoh's players were already mid-drill. Oikawa was there, tossing perfect sets like his knee wasn't even taped. Iwaizumi crushed one down the line, earning a chorus of cheers from his teammates.
Then Oikawa turned.
His eyes locked on Akira instantly.
Akira didn't smile. Neither did Oikawa.
The noise of the gym seemed to dull, the space between them charged. Years of shared history, rivalry, and unspoken grudges stretched in that silent glance.
Aya leaned toward Hinata and whispered, "I think the air just got heavier."