Chapter Text
The Hunter looked at her over the metal wrapped around his lower face. His eyes were expressive. Wide and twitchy. They didn’t look like that before. What changed?
Ishal killed that flicker of doubt. So the beast had gotten better at hiding what he was. Could manipulate people. He wasn’t going to win like this. Not ever again.
The Hunter jerked, possibly trying to strike her. But his feet didn’t leave the ground. His pupils shrank. Pulsed with pink.
That’s right. Be scared. Feel her fear.
He tried again. This time, successfully lunged at her. Dozens of razor-sharp, red spikes pointed at her.
Sharp pain passed through Ishal’s eyes. Now, now, now!
Marble, her trusted friend, burst out between pale skin and pomegranate-red metal.
There was a stranger hanging outside the Karasuno High gym. Walking up to the gym himself, Shouyou looked at them with narrowed eyes. A spy from a rival school? After they had defeated Aoba Jousai in that practice match, enemies must want to have their eyes on him.
The stranger was wearing a Karasuno High uniform jacket, but underneath it was a huge, white hoodie that went past the sleeves of the jacket, and covered up the head of the stranger. If he was going for a low-profile, he was failing.
“Hey, you!” Shouyou called, running up to him. The stranger flinched, bringing his hands up defensively. When Shouyou came to a stop in front of him, the stranger hesitated, eyes squeezed shut. Shouyou crossed his arms. “What’re you doing here?”
The stranger opened his eyes carefully. “Uh… I wanted to look at the sports clubs?”
Ha! He knew it!
“What school are you from?” Shouyou interrogated.
The stranger fidgeted with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Uh. Karasuno…? I’m a first-year.”
…
“Oh.”
Shouyou’s face was burning red. He coughed loudly.
“So, you’re interested in volleyball?” Shouyou switched, rocking on his feet now.
The boy shrugged. “I mean, maybe? I’m still looking around for what club to be in. They told me to look into sports, because I’m really athletic. What’s volleyball?”
No fucking way.
At first, he only felt horror and disbelief. But he had to shove that away, because this was an opportunity. “It’s only the best sport ever! Two teams stand, separated by a net, and they pass the ball between them like SHEW SHEW, except the goal is to make the ball hit the ground of the court, so it’s all super tense and we’re all going BWAMMM. And you dig the ball up POW, then get to jump up and spike it!”
He demonstrated some of the motions, skipping excitably.
The boy drooped, “Ah. I don’t think I can do that, then…”
His shoulders turned as he made to leave. Shouyou quickly darted around to block his path. “No! Why?” he looked up at the boy – and he did have to look up, but not as much as he usually did. Nothing taller than 170 cm, if he had to eyeball it. “Is it cause you’re shorter than all those people practicing in the gym? That’s okay! You can receive, you can jump, there’s way to get around it!”
He fished out the volleyball in his bag, which he needed for morning practice because Sawamura-senpai refused to come early and open the gym for him and Kageyama. “Here, try it!”
For what it was worth, Shouyou’s serve was light and easy. The boy startled, arms coming up with his wrists pressed weakly together, mirroring the receive motion Shouyou had shown him before. The ball made impact.
Then remained stuck on the boy’s wrist.
Shouyou blinked. The boy’s face went white. He brought his hands down frantically – a sharp rip sounded through the air.
The volleyball fell on the ground, a gash torn right through it.
On the boy’s oversized sleeve, a similar tear had appeared along his wrist. And from it jutted out a sharp red spike.
Shouyou stared at it. He looked up at the boy, who was utterly frozen.
From a window in the school building behind them, someone shouted something. A teacher was suddenly bustling up to them at lightning speed.
“You two, vice principal’s office,” she said, not quite frowning, but guardedly neutral. “Now.”
They called the police.
Shouyou, standing next to the door to the vice principal’s office, squeaked as the tall man marched down the hall. Dressed in some sort of yukata, he didn’t exactly look like an official, but the law enforcement badge on his chest was a clear indicator. As was the police car they saw through the window.
Sweat was trickling down his forehead. Wasn’t this way too overkill?
The man paused next to the boy, looking at him intensely. The boy straightened up, eyes fixed to the ground. Shouyou straightened up too, taking the cue.
“What did you do, kid?”
The boy moved his arms behind his back, guilt seeping off him.
“Jyuunoji-san, thank you for answering so quickly,” the vice principal said, poking his head out of the office. The officer walked past the boy, entering after him. He left the door open just a crack, letting a few snatches of dialogue leak out.
“You’re… parole officer?”
“… make this quick…”
“We’re taking great risks on him…”
“… a good kid who deserves a chance…”
“So…” Shouyou realized he’d skipped a couple steps in their interactions. “I’m Hinata Shouyou. What’s your name?”
“Zakuro,” replied the kid, then hesitated. “Uh, I mean. Ichijou Zakuro. But just call me Zakuro. If I get to stay here still.”
“Why wouldn’t you be?” Shouyou asked with a frown. He hadn’t done anything! Just kinda stood there and looked scared. “Wait, are you secretly not a student here and this is a breaking-and-entering?”
“What? No!” Zakuro yelped. “And there was no breaking, anyway! I don’t think you know what that crime is.”
Yeah. He wasn’t exactly the criminal type. Was Zakuro? It seemed like he had a parole officer, after all.
Shouyou looked around for another distraction from his anxiety. And caught sight of a stack of heads peering around the corner. The tallest having dark hair and mean eyes. The next two, being far more mature upperclassmen, looking serious and worried in equal measure. The shortest one looking absolutely thrilled.
“Hinata, dumbass, what did you do?!” Kageyama hissed, all of them stalking towards Shouyou and Zakuro, once seeing that the coast was clear of any present teachers.
“Yeah, why are the police here?” Suga agreed, much more pleasantly. Fake pleasant. The worst kind.
“Did you get in a fight, did you win?” Noya demanded, bloodthirsty.
Inside the office, it seemed that the entirety of the situation had been explained. Because the next thing Shouyou heard was a chair being knocked over and an icy voice demanding; “You called me out here over a destroyed volleyball?”
“W-well, that’s only the start, isn’t it? What if the next ‘accident’ isn’t so small? We can’t take these risks with our other students, you must understand-” the vice principal was stammering. They were moving now, voices coming closer and closer to the door, until it was thrown open and the two adults came outside.
“As far as I’m concerned – based off your account – this was entirely on the other student,” the officer snapped. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t be charging him with assault.”
For the firs time, he looked towards Shouyou, his gaze unsympathetic.
Shouyou’s eyes were watering now. What had he even done? Nothing about this was making any sense.
“Uh, Jyuunoji-san, he didn’t mean to,” Zakuro said now, fiddling with the tear on his sleeve, trying to cover up the spike that kept poking out through it. “It was just a game. He was being nice, trying to include me.”
Silence for a moment.
Jyuunoji turned to the vice principal. “See? They’re dumb kids. Shit happens. …We’ll upgrade the gear, and there probably won’t be more incidents. That make you happy?”
“I-” the vice principal frowned. “I really don’t think you’re taking this program as seriously as it deserves to be.”
“Oh, I’m taking it plenty serious,” Jyuunoji replied firmly. “But let’s not talk about it in front of the students. You’re only scaring them more. Orange kid and assorted peanut gallery, get back to… whatever you do after school. Zakuro, go wait in the car.”
Everyone dispersed without a word of argument. There was just something about this guy’s no-nonsense tone that made Shouyou afraid to disagree.
It seemed that extended to everyone else, as they were all utterly silent as they headed back to the gym.
“No, really, what did you do,” Sawamura said, once they were in the safety of their gym and the tense atmosphere had abated some.
“Nothing!” Shouyou insisted. “That guy had a knife on his arm, and I got blamed for it? Can you believe it?”
“A knife?!” Noya gasped. “And they’re not gonna punish him or anything?”
“Who brought a knife?” Ennoshita asked, from where the rest of the team had already started practice.
“Hinata’s new friend, apparently,” Kageyama rolled his eyes.
“Wow, you really know how to pick ‘em, huh?” Tsukishima snorted. “A shunned king and a delinquent.”
“We are not friends!” Kageyama and Shouyou said simultaneously. Possibly one of the only things they could agree on outside of volleyball.
“Was that why the police car drove onto campus?” Yamaguchi asked worriedly. “Seems a bit overkill.”
“Anyway, Zakuro’s nice!” Shouyou insisted. “Like, I don’t know what the knife thing was about, but his parole officer didn’t seem too mad about it. And he stood up for me, too!”
He was mostly just very shy and jumpy. And that wasn’t a bad thing. Hopefully, they’d see each other again. The officer made it seem like they would. Which was good. Because no matter what Zakuro said, it technically was Shouyou’s fault.
“You’re such an idiot,” Kageyama informed him. Shouyou grit his teeth.
The next morning, a shadow appeared in the doorway of the gym, and just stood there for a long while. Every so often, someone would look over at the small figure, and elected to ignore him.
Finally, Shouyou came out of his volleyball haze enough to notice, and bounded over to him. “Zakuro! Hi!!”
“Shouyou,” Zakuro played with the aglets on his hood’s drawstrings. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”
“Why?” Shouyou tilted his head. “Wasn’t exactly anyone’s fault.”
“Uh, well, I could definitely have, um, communicated better,” Zakuro explained. “I’m not very good at that. So. Yeah.”
Shouyou sneaked a look at the sleeve that had ripped yesterday. It was now patched over, the black string stark against white fabric. Looking at the sleeves in a new light, he could see the bulging patterns along the wrists. He burned with curiosity.
“So, you can’t play volleyball because you’ve got those stabby-spikes on your hands?”
Zakuro looked startled, then nodded. “I kinda… can’t take them off.”
“And the school just let’s you… walk around with those?” Sawamura said, now standing right next to Shouyou. He flinched in surprise, but Zakuro didn’t look too bothered.
“Well, not exactly. You saw what happened yesterday. But they’re working on an alternative that holds up better than my current hoodie.”
“Because the spikes are sharp,” Daichi judged. Shouyou frowned. Why was he being so harsh? Couldn’t he see that Zakuro was already scared? As if noticing Shouyou’s glare, Daichi glanced at him, resolute. “I’m just looking out for us all.”
Zakuro nodded. “I get it. Yeah, they’re sharp. But I keep to myself, so no one’s ever gotten hurt.”
It sounded lonely. A memory sparked in Shouyou. “That’s why you’re looking for a club, right? To make friends?”
Zakuro shrugged. “I guess? I was told to join a club. My advisor told me to try sports because it’s basically the only thing I’m good at. But everything requires contact, or the uniforms catch on the spikes, and. Yeah.”
Hinata frowned, trying to think. “Well, what do you like?”
“Nothing.”
“Eh???”
Zakuro continued staring at him, nonplussed. “I don’t like anything. Or if I do like stuff, then I don’t know what those things are.”
Okay. This was unacceptable.
“After practice,” Shouyou decided. “We’ll be going to this store that sells meat buns. You hang around here until then, and I’ll take you with me. Then we can figure out what club you should go to.”
“Eh?!?” it was Zakuro’s turn to be flustered. “You don’t- I wasn’t asking-”
Reality crashed down on him. “Oh, wait, you have that parole thing going on. I don’t know how that works, exactly. Do you have a curfew?”
“A little bit? I need to be in the car back by sunset,” Zakuro replied. “But that’s not really the issue-”
“Then I’ll see you there. You can stay here and watch in the corner,” Shouyou regained his confidence.
Then considered looking to the captain for permission. Thankfully, Daichi nodded. “I’ll allow it. Please be aware of stray balls, though.”
“Alright!” Zakuro agreed, a tiny smile on his face.
He was quiet through all of practice, so much so that Shouyou almost forgot he was there. Then he noticed the sky gradually being tinged with orange, and remembered his promise. Midway during a passing drill.
“Agh!” he reeled back from a ball pitched straight at his head. “Tsukishima, didn’t you see I wasn’t paying attention?”
“Why should I have to pull your weight?” the asshole sniped, clearly thinking this was hilarious. “And I thought you only had room in your head for volleyball.”
Whatever. Shouyou picked up the ball that had begun rolling away from his feet. Carefully eyed the nearest cart of balls. Aligned his fist against the ball in his grip. Served. Cheered when it went inside.
“Alright, I’ll be heading out earlier today!”
“By early you mean at the same time as everyone else?” Tanaka asked, laughing slightly. What was there to laugh about? Shouyou was only trying his hardest.
“You can keep practicing into the night if you want,” Shouyou told Kageyama, scooping up more stray balls.
“Dumbass, practice with who?” Kageyama hissed under his breath, tossing the ball in his hands straight into another cart.
“And please, don’t forget that you have to clean up, being first-years and all,” Suga said, though he wasn’t mean about it, like Tsukishima would have been in the same position.
“Oh, I can help with that!” Zakuro finally volunteered. He’d managed to vanish to completely into the background, Shouyou saw one of the second-years flinch from the sudden voice.
Daichi’s face was a little weird, “You really don’t have to, given that you’re not a member of the club-”
But Zakuro wasn’t to be stopped. He followed instructions intently, mopping the floor and carrying the net poles and putting away the carts, all with much more energy than even Shouyou had left over after hours of practice.
“The meat buns here are really good,” Shouyou told Zakuro, holding out one of the buns for him, the other already half-eaten by him. “I live half an hour away on my bicycle, so they tide me over until I get home for dinner.”
Zakuro took an experimental bite. “They’re quick and easy to eat,” he agreed. Or what seemed like an agreement. Because the words weren’t quite lining up.
“Good, right?” Shouyou prompted. “You like it?”
Zakuro shrugged, but he didn’t seem to be upset. “I suppose it’s good? I already said this, but I don’t really ‘like’ things,” he mulled over his words for a second, then added. “Not saying that to be rude or broody or whatever! That’s just- just how things have always been.”
He seemed disappointed as he said that. His eyes fixed on the ground and the corners of his mouth downturned. Shouyou felt cold, just seeing it.
“But you’re trying to change.” Was Shouyou guessing, hoping, or observing?
He was right either way, as Zakuro squeezed his eyes shut in a smile.
“Yeah, I am. I told my brother that I would find something that I like about myself. So I’m looking for it.”
Shouyou just felt colder, hearing it be said so matter-of-factly. All while Zakuro’s eyes remained blank and unbothered.
“Uh, Shouyou-kun?” Zakuro started, when Shouyou grabbed him by the shoulders.
“I’ll help you find something!” Shouyou promised. Loudly. Zakuro winced slightly from the volume. Whoops.
But he wasn’t just going to let Zakuro go after he’d said something that sad! He didn’t know Zakuro well, but the boy had to know that there were people around him who cared about him.
“Uh, alright,” Zakuro tilted his head to nod. But the way Shouyou’s grip on his shoulders had tightened the fabric of his hoodie made Zakuro’s neck brush against the side of the hood, and then rip.
More red spikes, poking out from the corner. Gleaming dangerously in the setting sun.
Zakuro winced, and for a second, Shouyou worried he was in pain. “What are those things? Did they hurt you? Why are they on your neck, too?”
The other boy mostly ignored his dithering. Just rubbed at the spikes and gingerly unhooked them from the hood. “Gonna have to do more sewing tonight,” he sighed.
“…Sorry,” Shouyou took a step back from him. “Gonna keep my hands to myself from now on.”
He wasn’t touchy with people usually, anyways. Zakuro had just seemed so adrift. It made him want to check that the boy wasn’t going to vanish.
“Sure, okay,” Zakuro replied, not meeting Shouyou’s eyes anymore.
Not far from them, along the corner of the road, was the black car with a little fancy star emblem next to the license plate.
Zakuro dodged past Shouyou. “That’s my ride, then.”
“See you tomorrow!!” Shouyou hollered after him. Zakuro’s shoulders jerked – surprised by the words or the volume? He was really jumpy, it was hard to tell.
The car door snapped shut behind him. Zakuro waved at the driver through the windshield as he headed up to the front door. The driver didn’t wave back. Hands rested on the steering wheel, watching him with a stony expression.
It was a small house, not too far from Karasuno High. All of Zakuro’s accommodations were made after they’d managed to get a school to agree to his situation. Honestly, the car wasn’t needed – it was just for the ZP to be able to confirm that he had gotten from school to home and vice versa.
Placing his hand down on the doorknob, and internal mechanisms began to churn, the door unlocking and swinging inside automatically.
“I’m… home,” he said uncertainly, one foot stretching over the boundary. Followed by the next.
No response came to his words, but a steady glow overtook the hallway, the overhead lights responding to his presence.
He took his sneakers off methodically, then, with utmost care and liberal use of the mirror behind the door, maneuvered his way out of the long-sleeved jacket, hoodie, and pants. It was a miracle he managed that without ripping them further. He knew machines were repairing them, but he still felt bad for making them work. Inside slippers were laid out for him, little housewarming gifts. They had little bunny ears on them – very cute, Hina had insisted. Zakuro thought that the soles felt strange, not used to not having the arch support of his sneakers.
Wearing them, he was able to venture deeper into the empty, mostly quiet home. Even if no one else was staying here at the moment, he knew he was just a guest, so it felt awkward to make a lot of noise or spread out. He just wanted to do the bare minimum of keeping his daily routine going.
His bag had to be hung up on a high hook, to keep it out of the way of the vacuum bots, in case they started up at night. His ripped clothes laid out on a panel in the living room, where the sewing machine’s scanners could pick up on the tears easily.
Creeping into the kitchen, he fetched a glass from the dishwasher. Placed an order for sandwiches on Rorotto-san’s Kangaroo-Chef bot. Then sat on the kitchen counter to watch it churn.
More than ever, he felt unsettled. That wasn’t really strange. Someone like Zakuro… wasn’t made for complacency. Shouldn’t be staying in one place for so long. Had to move, had to run, had to get away from the next person who would try to hurt him, had to chase after every dangling thread of truth.
That would explain the electric shiver running up his legs.
But then, why wasn’t his stomach turning in knots of dread?
For once, the idea of movement and running and desperation… didn’t make him feel sick.
Those people – those other students – playing volleyball. They had been so excited to run and move and play. Why? Nothing was forcing them to, or at least, Zakuro thought.
Rustling. Mechanical clanking. Sounds that weren’t out of the ordinary in this place, but certainly weren’t originating from the KC bot. Zakuro turned to the side, looking at the rabbit doll slightly smaller than his torso as it pulled itself onto a chair and then the countertop as well.
“Ah, hello, Inaba,” Zakuro greeted. with a smile. It didn’t say anything, just its customary beeping sounds. Still, he was giddy to tell it; “I think I made a friend at school today.”
Every year, gossip about the new batch of incoming students reached a fever pitch. The fresh talent, the money, the drama. Last year, all eyes were fixed on the prodigious volleyball libero. The junior calligrapher. The honor roll chem student. The child of a local singer – starting a modeling career of their own. Very thrilling stuff.
This year, there was no shortage of the same hubbub. A prodigy being forced to pick between the football and tennis clubs. Someone trying to stir up interest in the animanga club. Suga was really only paying attention when it concerned the volleyball club, and all of that was circled around Kageyama Tobio, the King of The Court.
It was only when a rogue factor wandered into their orbit did Suga think to expand his horizons a little.
Zakuro – name written in katakana, no kanji – from Class 1-3. No one knew which middle school he’d come from. And if he was a foreigner, he wasn’t giving any clues.
After that first memorable meeting, the kid had begun hanging around more and more. Suga just wanted to know what they were in for.
Unfortunately, the grapevine wasn’t as all-encompassing as people liked to think. Nobody had predicted Hinata until he walked into their gym. And in the case of Zakuro, they certainly had… imaginative theories.
His hair is combed down, but you can almost see a tattoo…
Did you see those piercings? And that choker? He’s a total punk.
Why does the school let him get away with it? Is his family rich or something?
He doesn’t blink. Just… stares. It’s so creepy.
Really? I think he’s kinda cute!
Apparently, he’s a delinquent. I’ve seen an ankle bracelet under his trouser legs. That’s why the police showed up that time. They’re his parole officers.
I heard he’s been held back a few years.
He’s violent. A murderer.
Government lab experiment.
I saw him pick up a stack of tables with his two bare hands. There’s definitely something not normal about him.
He could understand where their discomfort was coming from. The kid radiated the vibes that he didn’t belong. Maybe that was why Suga felt bad for him.
“So, I know I’ve been gone for a while, but that guy’s not on the team, is he?” Asahi tapped Daichi’s arm to ask him.
Daichi looked at where Asahi was looking at an underclassman standing in the corner, watching all the actions intently. Zakuro; the first year who had gotten Hinata in trouble just a few days ago, and had somehow been taken under his wing. It was surprising – Daichi hadn’t known Shouyou could like things that weren’t connected to volleyball, and Zakuro was… completely incompatible with it.
“Uh, no. He’s a first-year, though. Doesn’t have a club. Just let him stand there, it’s fine.”
“I mean, can’t he just join the team?”
“No, he… doesn’t meet competition requirements,” Daichi said vaguely. He didn’t know exactly what was up with the spikes on Zakuro’s wrists – and possibly his neck and legs, if the placement of the patches along his pant legs and the hoodie’s collar meant anything – but he knew that competing in volleyball was out of the question.
“You wouldn’t normally do something like this,” Asahi noted. What did he know? He’d been gone for so long. But, fair enough. Some explanation was owed.
“I feel kinda bad for him,” Daichi admitted.
“Why? He’s terrifying!” Asahi hissed.
Daichi looked again at Zakuro – shorter than the entire volleyball team, save for Hinata and Noya, and making every attempt to bury himself even deeper within that patchy hoodie of his. Then he tried to look for what Asahi might be seeing. It was just warm enough that he had pulled his hood down. They could see the conch piercings in his ears, the hints of a tattoo peaking out between his bangs, the spiky jewelry that made him look so tough, the brief flashes of extreme strength they saw when he picked up an entire cart of volleyballs, and the eyes that were both blank and piercing simultaneously.
Hadn’t Suga mentioned that there were all kinds of rumors around Zakuro?
“Everyone thinks you’re a punk, too,” he decided to inform Asahi.
“And that he got held back a year!”
To this, Daichi just looked at him. Not willing to repeat himself.
“…Point taken.”
Good, it got swept under the rug. Daichi had been worried that this could become a full-blown argument. And he really didn’t want to cause a civil war over Zakuro’s presence here. He was sure most of the club had grown attached to the kid. Or maybe were just Pavloved by the endless vending machine runs he was always happy to do.
“I wasn’t held back a year,” Zakuro told them glibly, when he was handing everyone a round of water bottles to hydrate themselves.
“You heard that?” Asahi asked, coughing from the water he had nearly swallowed wrong. “You were across the court from us!”
“Maybe don’t have clandestine discussions about kicking out the team mascot in the same room as him!” Noya chided, clapping Asahi on the back. Possibly to help him, possibly to just hurt him more.
“T-Team mascot?” Zakuro stammered, then refocused on Asahi’s words. “I’m observant. Sorry, I’ll try and fix that-”
“Literally who has ever said being ‘observant’ is bad?” Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “You’re just coming up with excuses to take things the wrong way.”
“Careful, you sound like you care!” Tanaka laughed. Tsukishima snapped at him indignantly.
While the others traded barbs, Asahi rubbed at the back of his neck, burning with embarrassment. “Listen, I really am so sorry to be repeating rumors like that-”
“No, it makes sense. For people to be saying things like that,” Zakuro played with his hands. “I didn’t get held back because… well, I never started school in the first place. A lot of stuff happened – and I was in prisons for a bit. And my paperwork got wrecked. Until I got parole and Uoza-san suggested that I start high school from the beginning. And. I know people can be a bit weird about that, so… I honestly should have let you guys know sooner.”
The confession hung in the air.
It was weird, to think of the guy in front of him as a criminal. But then again, they’d kind of known that before as well.
“So, if you did stuff the normal way, what year would you be in?” Suga asked.
“I’m… seventeen, I think,” Zakuro offered. “That mean anything?”
“You think?” Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. “What kind of person forgets their age?”
“My data got lost between transfers and stuff,” Zakuro hedged. “No one’s. Exactly sure when I was born. But the Doctor reckons I’m seventeen.”
And that was why Daichi would feel bad making Zakuro go away. He just kept uncovering new ways that his life was miserable and to be pitied.
“Then you’d probably be in your third year by now,” Kiyoko told Zakuro, barely glancing up from her clipboard.
Noya pulled himself out from the unholy trance he would be put under upon hearing Kiyoko’s voice, only so that he could turn to Zakuro in despair, “No way, so I’m not your senpai after all???”
“I- I don’t really mind, either way,” Zakuro stuttered. “Never really had any people to call my seniors or juniors, so this is all new to me.”
See? Pathetic.
“I really misjudged you,” Asahi murmured, shoulders hunched from the weight of his remorse. “Shouldn’t I know better, of all people-?”
Great, there were more of them now.
Another day, another after-school practice session. Noya was practicing his receives against the newbies’ serves.
“Uh, hey, guys,” Zakuro peeked his head through the door.
Noya sent the ball back strongly over the net, and clicked his tongue in annoyance. Not exactly what he was trying to do, but he supposed it worked. Either way, Hinata was on the other side, and he accidentally slammed the ball into his own face when he tried to receive.
“You can just come inside, you know? Don’t have to wait for permission like some kind of vampire,” Noya said over his shoulder.
“Oh, okay, sorry,” Zakuro mumbled, coming properly into view.
Noya whistled when he saw him. “Woah. New threads?”
His underclassman – age regardless, he was a first-year, and thus Noya’s responsibility to nurture – smiled, pulling at the oversized sleeves of the new hoodie he had under his school gakuran. Like the old one, it was white. But the fit on this one was more intentional. There were zippers along the sleeves, snaking under the gakuran. The fabric had light pink undertones, most apparent in the large bunny ears that hung off the hood.
“It looks cool!!” Hinata cheered, rushing up to ooh and aah over it. From what Noya understood, Hinata had been why Zakuro had begun spending time with the volleyball club, even though their first meeting had ended with an apparent breach in his parole agreement. It was strange, but not stranger than anything else about this kid.
“There’s no way that’s dress code, is it?” Tanaka wondered.
“I’m… not sure?” Zakuro replied. “Rorotto-san made it for me. Because… Oh! Look!!!”
He caught the edge of the sleeve and dragged it intentionally over where the spikes of his wristbands were jutting out against the fabric.
There was no sound of tearing. The fabric slid cleanly along the shackles.
Somehow, that was cooler than Noya would have thought. Zakuro’s wristbands made the Karasuno uniform look like tissue paper. Even if a hoodie like that pushed against the dress code a little, the school certainly wouldn’t mind it, given the alternatives.
Why Zakuro couldn’t just take off the choker and wristbands, Noya wasn’t sure. Maybe it had something to do with the parole that had become an issue with their first encounter?
But, no, that wouldn’t make sense. What kind of situation would allow a student to essentially bring a dozen knives into school every day? If you thought about it for even a couple seconds, it started looking extremely suspect. And people did think – they thought as much as they talked, the whispers and rumors (not quite false ones, even) traveling everywhere. Seeping into the volleyball gym as well.
“You should ask this Rorroto-san of yours if he can make you one that’s black and orange,” Noya suggested, reaching up to clap Zakuro on the back. “And- like- wings somewhere! We can actually make a mascot of you!”
“He takes his branding very seriously,” Zakuro said gravely. “And I told you, I don’t want to be the mascot. I mean, well, unless I have to contribute, in which case-”
“He was joking. And with your hair, you’d just look like a penguin,” Suga teased.
Zakuro bit at his lip, eyebrows creased, then said, “We- we have pretty much the same hair!”
“Ah, Takeda, here are the grade reports for the students in your club,” one of the other staffers handed him a sheaf of papers.
“Thank you, Suzumiya, I-” he sat down at his desk, flipping through the papers. “I think there’s been a bit of a mistake? Ichijou isn’t actually in the volleyball club.”
“I know,” they said, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “I just figured the kid needed someone to talk to him about what’s in there. Since you’ll be giving a bunch of those speeches, probably.”
Ittetsu tried to laugh in a way that didn’t sound pained.
That weak attempt turned into a full whimper as he processed the numbers in front of him.
“Please. Everyone. You have to pull it together,” Ittetsu had almost resorted to begging. If he didn’t sound so angry on top of it. “Especially you five. You know who I’m talking about.”
Hinata, possibly doing more math than he had when he’d gotten a five out of a hundred on his latest math quiz, looked between all of them. “Okay, so I know you mean me and Kageyama and Tanaka and Nishinoya. But who’s the fifth?”
All three of the others named glowered at him.
“Ichijou,” Ittetsu called. Ichijou Zakuro, in the corner as always, flinched and looked up. He hated having to do this. Especially when the kid always looked like he was doing an impression of a rabbit. But seriously. “Kid. You don’t have any club activities. You don’t have any hobbies. How does this happen.”
Just to be sure Zakuro had seen the grades, Ittetsu held a copy of the grade report in front of him. Eyes wide as dinnerplates, he took the paper with limp hands.
Jesus, he looked so guilty. Ittetsu backed away and straightened his glasses. The rest of the volleyball team crowded around to see.
“Huh…” Sugawara said, long and drawn-out. “That sure is… something.”
“A seven. A seven in Japanese Lit,” Sawamura was in disbelief. “But somehow in Chemistry-”
“Eighty-five,” Tsukishima noted. “High scores across the board in chem, physics, math, English, and PE. Literally single digits in everything else. You a STEM kid?”
“I guess I’ve been watching the Doctor work, so I picked up a few things,” Zakuro shrugged.
“Wow!” Sugawara said cheerily. “Someone should put you in a room with a learned person talking about literature. Who knows what you’ll pick up, then!!”
Hinata nodded, “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea-”
“He’s talking about a fucking classroom, dumbass,” Kageyama snapped.
“I think we can all at least agree that there is a problem,” Ittetsu said, feeling a pressure let off his chest. “Now I trust you to try and fix this, or consider taking a step away from club activities to get it under control.”
“Right. Of course, Takeda-sensei,” Sawamura grimaced. “We’ll… work on that.”
A special mission had been assigned by Kiyoko to the first-years – find someone who hadn’t yet selected a club and recruit them into becoming the new manager for the volleyball club.
“I mean, can’t you ask Zakuro to become the next manager?” Kageyama pointed out. “He’s kind of just the ball boy right now.”
Kiyoko looked around to see if the topic in question was within earshot then, just in case, lowered her voice to tell him, “Between you and me, I think he’s worse at reading kanji than you.”
Hinata giggled at that. Kageyama kicked him.
“Oh, but I know a couple people!!” Hinata shared. Because he somehow had time for socializing between everything else. “Sato Minami from 1-1 is kinda no-nonsense and level-headed. Yachi Hitoka in 1-5 is super nice. And Hoshi-”
“Thank you, I’ll get started on that,” Kiyoko said, in a way that was meant to be grateful, but mostly came out as flat.
She got the list of students from Hinata, and approached them one by one. No takers, until she reached class 5.
This was Zakuro’s class – which Kiyoko only realized when she leaned against the door and caught sight of the boy in the corner. He was really hard to miss. Still, she ignored him to wave over Yachi.
“If you don’t have anything else lined up, would you please consider joining the volleyball club as a trainee manager?” Kiyoko asked, picking her words carefully. She knew she could be intimidating and stand-offish. That was probably why she hadn’t had much luck in getting a replacement at the beginning of the year. But the club was finally regaining its wings again, and it really needed someone to guide the flock, so to speak.
(Hitoka stared at the upperclassman in front of her. She was so pretty. And the way everyone around them was talking, she was popular, too! She wanted a favor from Hitoka???)
“Uh- okay. I suppose it won’t be too much trouble,” Yachi mumbled.
Kiyoko smiled. “Alright, then. I’ll show you around now!”
(The pretty upperclassman’s hand wrapped around her wrist, and Hitoka was led along, feeling like a helpless baby deer.
This feeling didn’t get any better when the door of the gym was slid open, and revealed the largest – spiritually and physically – personalities she had seen in her life.)
Thankfully, they were working to their strengths – Kageyama and Hinata pulling off their perfect-sync combos, Asahi working on his monster spikes and Noya receiving them. They looked almost cool.
Kiyoko was hoping that Yachi would be impressed, but glancing over, she seemed only overwhelmed.
Hmm…
She caught their little bunny ghost, sticking to the corner like always. A familiar face should comfort her, no? Kiyoko raised an arm to call him over-
“Oi, Zakuro! Could you bring that cart over?” Tanaka called.
“A-alright!” Zakuro picked up the fully loaded cart, holding it over his head as he swiftly weaved between the practicing members, and plopped it down in front of Tanaka, beaming. “Anything else?”
“…You could have just rolled it over, you know?” Tanaka said, sweat beading his forehead.
(Hitoka squeaked and hid behind Kiyoko. She didn’t want to be seen as a wuss, and everyone had always mentioned that Zakuro was strong, but what was he – a monster?!)
His eyes traveled from Zakuro to, predictably, his choker, then flicked away in the opposite direction. Right at Kiyoko. “Ah, Kiyoko-senpai!!! And who is this lovely lady you’ve brought with you?”
And, suddenly, all eyes were on them.
Kiyoko reached around and grabbed Yachi’s shoulder before she could make a run for it. Not that Kiyoko would force her to stay if she didn’t want to. But right now, Kiyoko felt that she just needed a little extra time to understand them all.
After they made a half-decent introduction to the new first-year manager, Suga knew it was time to get serious about the catastrophe bearing down on them. No way Kiyoko could work so hard to pave the way forward, only for the volleyball club to land face-first on the ground. An emergency meeting was held in the club room.
“I know you guys think volleyball is all that’s important right now,” Suga said calmly. “But eventually, you’re going to have more to deal with. At least pick your battles; what path do you want to head down, in the future?”
“Volleyball,” four of their borderline-dropouts chorused.
“Please, man, it’s the only thing I’ve got going for me,” Tanaka broke off to add.
“Wow, not even a rich family to be nepotized by?” Tsukishima raised an eyebrow. “Really riding that wire, aren’t you?”
“I’m surprised that you aren’t more worried, Zakuro,” Yamaguchi commended. “Usually you can’t take any criticism whatsoever without turning into an apologetic pile of goo.”
Zakuro pressed his index fingers together. “I guess I’ve already got something lined up with international law enforcement once I’m out of high school, so I don’t really mind what my grades are.”
“No, yeah, of course you do,” Daichi was far too accustomed to him now. “Good for you.”
“Gotta give Hinata props for being a great networker, though,” Ennoshita said optimistically. “That’ll be useful in the future.”
“That’s just a fancy way of calling him a mooch…”
“I’m not going to be mooching off anybody! I’ll be doing pro sports!!” Hinata insisted indignantly.
“Please just come up with a plan for your upcoming exams,” Suga interrupted. “The future is far-off and uncertain. Do you know anyone who can help tutor you? Find some quiet places, away from distractions to study. Work together to overcome individual weak spots!”
Everyone considered this.
“My place is pretty quiet,” Zakuro volunteered. “We can do group studies there.”
Tsukishima rolled his eyes, “I think that’ll make my grades worse.”
Wait.
Zakuro’s house?
“…I wouldn’t mind tutoring you guys in Literature,” Suga said, trying to be subtle.
“I wanna see where you live!” Noya did not believe in subtleties.
Zakuro blinked, “Oh, is it that big of a deal?”
“You don’t have to feel pressured,” Daichi assured.
“No, it’s fine. I just didn’t think it was interesting,” Zakuro replied. He thought wrong. They were all clearly interested.
In the end, it was Suga, Noya, Tanaka, and the first-year freak duo who stood at the door of the address Zakuro had given them. It was a plain, quiet house, unremarkable in any way. Underneath the address plate, there was another plate, showing the World Administration Authority’s insignia.
Upon pressing the doorbell, a crackly, unfamiliar voice said; “Unregistered biometrics. Name?”
“Uhm… Sugawara Koushi?” he said, a little intimidated. From the other side of the door, he could hear loud thumps.
“Unrecognized name. Please wait. Physical admission required-”
The door swung open, and Zakuro stood there.
Outside of his heavily modified uniform, Zakuro was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Suga stared at the vibrant choker and the wristbands, now seeing additional ones on his ankles. Then he tore his eyes away without comment. For his part, Zakuro seemed unbothered. “Hi!!! Come on in!”
They all crowded in. The engawa was plain, with just a shoerack mostly devoid of shoes, and a line of hooks with nothing but an umbrella and Zakuro’s hoodie. The walls stretching further into the house were eggshell white, devoid of any pictures or decorations. Not a speck of dust was visible anywhere. It was so. Sterile.
“Uh… I don’t have enough guest slippers,” Zakuro apologized, toeing at his bunny slippers. “But it’s fine to keep your shoes on or go barefoot. I don’t mind either way.”
Suga took off his shoes, as did everyone else. Venturing deeper inside, they found a similar lack of decoration. So severe, in fact, that Tanaka had to address the elephant that was currently the only thing occupying the room; “Dude, why do you live in an empty box.”
“?” Zakuro looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just – there’s no… furniture.”
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t see the need for it?”
“Didn’t somebody when setting this place up?” Suga said. He’d gathered that Zakuro was an orphan, and Suga didn’t know much about that stuff, but surely there should have been a social worker to help him adjust. Actually, wait, foster parents were a thing. “Does someone live with you here?”
“Nope. I’m alone,” Zakuro said. “Kinda? The whole place is automated and covered in cameras, so they haven’t just let me loose out there.”
…Cameras? Automation?
“That wasn’t really the concern,” Suga replied, feeling exhausted.
“Do you seriously not have any stuff?” Hinata worried.
“I have stuff!” Zakuro insisted, now taking offense. “It’s just in my room!”
He led them past the upsettingly white walls and empty flooring and showed them upstairs. Now that Suga was looking, he could see small cameras in the corners of the ceilings. They were everywhere.
Narrow metal railings were built into the walls, clinging close to the floors.
“There. My stuff,” Zakuro declared, opening the door to his room and pointing at an idol poster pinned on the wall, a large cardboard box kept under it, and a shredded punching bag hanging from the ceiling. A futon was folded in a corner, and a folding desk was open, with textbooks on it. On a charging station, stood a cute rabbit toy.
“You haven’t even unpacked yet?!” Noya demanded.
Zakuro frowned. “I was supposed to do that?”
“How are you a functioning human being?!”
Zakuro wilted.
“A Magi-Dru fan! Great taste!!” Tanaka complimented, trying to steer the conversation away.
“I… not really? That was a gift. All of the stuff I have are gifts. Hina-san insisted I pin this up. I don’t really get what it’s for.”
“You’re supposed to like looking at it!” Tanaka groaned. “And it’s autographed. Utterly wasted on you.”
Zakuro shrugged. “I don’t like much of anything. Sorry. I would offer to give it to you, but Hina-san would be sad.”
“That’s not true!” Hinata said emphatically. “You not liking anything, I mean,” he reached down to poke at the rabbit toy. “You really like rabbits, don’t you?”
“Not at all,” Zakuro said bluntly. “Rorotto-san and the Doctor and Hina-san like rabbits,” Suga thought back to the little bunny plush he had picked out as future gift for Zakuro, and endeavored to find something else. “And I gotta warn you, don’t touch Inaba-”
His warning was cut off by the rabbit jumping into action, metal paw outstretched in a fearsome punch. It was only Hinata’s remarkable reflexes that let him duck in time for the rabbit to sail over his head and slam the wall. A dent was left in its wake.
Another was punched into the wall as the rabbit went for another strike.
This time, it was Zakuro who plucked it out of the air, hugging it close as it struggled. Violently. A kick to the ground left a distinct scratchmark, joining the dozens of such marks on the floor, the walls, the futon.
“Sorry! Inaba-Mini is a portable security robot, meant to, uh, subdue hostile forces. It can be a little high-strung, but it’s useful!”
Finally, it fell still, and Zakuro released it. Everyone let out a breath. Suga felt so drained, just minutes into this nightmare place.
“Do you seriously live like this?” Kageyama asked, baffled. “We need to, like, get you outside.”
It was really that bad, huh.
“And this is Kageyama speaking!” Hinata parroted Suga’s thoughts.
“Dumbass, shut up!” Kageyama pulled at Hinata’s hair.
Zakuro looked past their bickering. “So… we gonna start studying?”
Suga pressed his fingers down on his temples, trying to breathe. “Yes. Let’s. Get started on that.”
Three hours later, Zakuro showed them the kangaroo-shaped machine in the kitchen that appeared to miraculously create a multitude of dishes within less than an hour. So his place wasn’t all bad.
Until Suga went to the bathroom, and Zakuro offhandedly warned him that there were cameras there as well.
Never mind. This was fucked. They had to get him outside more.