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“I hate him.”
It was a mutter, barely more than a breath, but Tooru still glanced furtively around to make sure no one heard him. When no one immediately scolded him, he breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, his resentful admission, however quiet, had been lost amidst the cacophony of athletic shoes squeaking against the gymnasium floor and the shouts of Tooru’s teammates. Not a few of them were cries of praise for their newest team member, one Tobio Kageyama—the object of Tooru’s animosity.
The term “upstart” had never applied to anyone as much as it had Tobio, at least in Tooru’s mind.
Just look at him, Tooru seethed silently as he watched the first-year move across the court. Perfect posture, keen eyes, sheer precision—the kid was blessed with natural talent. All of the other members of Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High—and their coach, too—saw a ticket to the upper echelons of middle school volleyball fame in Tobio. Not Tooru.
No, all Tooru saw was a threat.
“He could have gone for anything, but he just had to go for setter,” Tooru grumbled. “The nerve.”
Tooru had busted his ass since day one in order to claim that position. He was rightfully protective of it; not just anybody could be a setter, the arguable crux of the team. Of course, he knew that someone had to train to be a setter to take over once he graduated. The simple fact that Tobio wanted to be a setter wasn’t what bothered him.
No, it was the fact that Tobio was so stinkin’ talented that he could very easily steal the position from Tooru. The notion of having to play back-up for some usurping freshman boiled Tooru’s blood. He wouldn’t have it. He would not have it! He did not come this far only to have his dreams dashed by some naturally gifted punk with a silver spoon in his mouth!
“Careful, or you’ll give yourself an aneurysm,” came Hajime’s voice from beside him, and Tooru looked just in time for his best friend to flick him in the artery that was bulging in his forehead.
“Can it, Iwa-chan,” Tooru sniffed sourly, reaching up to rub at the throbbing blood vessel. “I’m not in the mood.”
The blood vessel pulsed against his fingertips; despite the very tempting option to keep stewing in his own vitriol, Tooru knew that he should calm down. This wasn’t good for his blood pressure. So, despite himself, he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out. Gradually, the anger bubbled away. Tooru thought he would feel better. Instead, he just felt hollow.
His eyes watered as he watched his teammates crowd around Tobio to gush over yet another display of his stupid God-given talent. It hadn’t even been that impressive, but they were over there acting like Tobio was already an Olympian. Since Tobio had come around, nobody praised Tooru like that anymore, not even their coach. No, it was just, “See, Tobio? Do it like that, and you’ll be a starting setter in no time!”
“If you’ve got time to sulk, you’ve got time to practice,” Hajime huffed and tossed a volleyball at Tooru.
Tooru barely managed to react with his reflexes so dulled by his roiling emotions, but he was able to save himself the embarrassment of being smacked in the chest with the ball; a clumsy catch was still a catch, after all. He hugged it to his chest and pouted dourly at Hajime.
“‘M not sulking,” he said defensively. “I’m just…”
“Brooding?” Hajime sneered, and that stupid smirk made Tooru want to lob the ball at his face. Hajime would respond in kind, however, and Tooru’s eyes were already stinging. He didn’t need his whole face to burn thanks to some up-close and personal contact with a volleyball. So, he begrudgingly followed Hajime to an empty corner of the gym. This was a song and dance that they had done many times; Hajime seamlessly fell into position, waiting for Tooru to set for him.
He’s right, though, the cunning bastard, Tooru thought with a wry smile. I’m not going to keep Tobio from taking my position by moping about it. I need to prove that I’m way more valuable than he is! It wouldn’t kill Hajime to be nicer about it, though.
But, tough love was better than no love at all, Tooru reasoned. He was grateful that his best friend, at least, cared more about him than going ga-ga over the freshman. Tooru would have been shocked if Hajime had gone all starry-eyed, anyway; there was no question that Hajime preferred Tooru’s sets above all else, so he probably wasn’t exactly keen on the freshman clinching the position of starting setter, either. This was Hajime’s way of saying that he had no intentions of abandoning him in favor of the newest model. That fact was some comfort to Tooru, and he couldn’t waste his friend’s sentiment—as disguised by a sharp tongue as it was.
Tooru sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and took a moment to ground himself. He concentrated on the ball in his hands, feeling the bumps and ridges against his worn palms, until the turmoil of his mind subsided. All of his frustrations and fears fell away until nothing was left but cool, calm clarity; his breathing evened, his heartbeat slowed, his body unwound. The rest of the world echoed distantly in the background. All Tooru need concern himself with was the ball in his hands and Hajime, awaiting the set.
Tobio Kageyama might have been born with an abundance of natural talent, but there was one thing that Tooru had over him yet: years of blood, sweat, and tears. Tooru also had stubbornness in spades. If Tobio wanted to claim the title of starting setter for himself, then he would have to wrest it from Tooru by force. Because Tooru Oikawa was the king of this court, and he ruled it with pride.
“Oikawa-san, do you have a moment?”
Tooru was grateful that he was facing the locker, for the scowl that twisted his face was too instinctive to even think of suppressing. It had been a month now since Tobio had joined the team, but Tooru found him no less grating. Tobio seemed blissfully unaware of Tooru’s bitterness—whether by sheer obliviousness or a carefully crafted façade, Tooru had yet to determine—and it made the situation all the more irritating. It was really the one thing that prevented Tooru’s resentment for the kid from fading: the fact that Tobio had the audacity to ask Tooru for advice on how to basically usurp his own damn position!
Tooru bit back a groan of irritation before grumbling, “Yeah, what?” The question need not asking; Tooru knew damn well that there was only one reason for Tobio approaching him at the start of practice.
“I was hoping that you’d set some time aside after practice today to drill sets one-on-one with me. If you’re not busy, of course, senpai. ”
Ugh, Tooru knew deep down that it was his own acrimony coloring his perception, but damn, did it sound like Tobio was taunting him!
“If you’re not busy,” he says, Tooru thought haughtily. He makes me out like I’m some jerk that won’t put aside the time for his juniors! As indignant as he was by the presumption (probably of his own making, but Tooru didn’t really want to listen to the reasonable side of himself right now), the very idea made him nauseous. Though his coach had assured him that he had no intentions of replacing Tooru as the starting setter, they were just empty words as far as Tooru was concerned. Coaches did everything they could to maximize the team’s potential to win; that was just the reality of competitive sports.
There was no room for niceties or sentiment. If Tobio surpassed Tooru, then Tooru could kiss his hard-won position goodbye. It was the cold, hard truth. And so, Tooru was going to do everything possible to keep that from happening—even if that meant giving his underclassman the cold shoulder.
“Sorry, Tobio-kun,” Tooru sighed. The small level of guilt that his conscience provided him made him seem regretful. “I’ve got a pretty big examination tomorrow. I’m afraid that I’ll be hitting the books as soon as practice is over. Perhaps another time.” He didn’t dare look at Tobio, instead pretending to rifle through his locker for his socks, which were sitting directly in front of his face and thus obscured from Tobio’s view.
“Oh, I understand, Oikawa-senpai.”
Oh, but do you? Tooru thought sourly. He obviously didn’t, if he had the nerve to ask Tooru to practice setting. He continued to fake searching through his locker until he heard the last of Tobio’s steps fade with the clang of the locker room door; then, he released the sigh he had been holding. The tail end of it morphed into a startled yelp when someone slapped their hand down on his shoulder.
Tooru whipped around to see it was Hajime, who was wearing an even grumpier glower than usual.
“Come on, Iwa-chan, ‘m not in the mood to be scolded,” Tooru pouted, then shrugged off his hand and turned to face him.
“Oh? The fact you realize that you need to be scolded is even worse than what I’m about to scold you for,” Hajime huffed while crossing his arms. “It’s been a month, Tooru,” Hajime said, raising his voice over Tooru’s petulant whine. “The kid might have natural talent, but he’s got a long way to go before he’s got any hopes of surpassing you. Besides, it’s not like he’s actually got any intentions of stealing the starter position from you. What’s the harm in playing a good mentor, huh?”
“You answered your own question, Iwa-chan,” Tooru countered matter-of-factly. When Hajime raised an eyebrow, Tooru rolled his eyes and sighed, “He can surpass me, even if it’ll take him ten years. Why should I help him along the way? There’s no benefit in it for me. And, though it galls me to admit it, he’s got way more natural talent than I do. Who knows what’ll happen if I take him under my wing? When he goes flying, he’ll rip mine right off. The only place for a wingless bird is the bench.”
Hajime was right, and Tooru knew it, deep down—all odds considered, the chances that the coach replaced him as starting setter with Tobio were frankly slim. But there was a chance, one that depended entirely on the unknown variable in the equation: Tobio’s potential. There was no telling how high this kid could go, and Tooru sure as hell wasn’t about to steal the red carpet from his road to success just to roll one out for Tobio. If Tobio was really destined to surpass him, then the kid would have to do it like everyone else: claw his way up the mountain with his own bare hands. Because Tooru wasn’t going to help him up one bit, not even an inch.
“Hah! How is it that you make jealousy and paranoia sound so reasonable?” Hajime smirked, and Tooru frowned resentfully at the dismissiveness of his laugh. But it was just Hajime’s sarcastic humor; a gleam had taken up residence in his eyes, indicating that he was quite fired up about Tooru thinking so far ahead. Tooru’s grand ambitions had always fueled Hajime’s own, after all.
“Well, I still think you’re kind of being an ass,” Hajime chuckled while punching Tooru lightly in the shoulder, “but that’s pretty on-brand for you. I guess I can get behind the whole ‘not-helping-your-rival’ thing.”
“How can you insult me and validate me at the same time?” Tooru pouted while rubbing his shoulder. He wasn’t really that delicate, but Hajime had a bad habit of underestimating his own strength—he probably thought it was a love tap, but he’d kind of socked Tooru a little bit, the freakishly strong bastard.
“It’s just one of my many talents,” Hajime winked at him. “Now, come on!” he said while impatiently nudging at Tooru’s foot with the toe of his own. He whirled on his heel and started marching toward the door; Tooru hurried to catch up with him. As they walked into the gym, Tooru couldn’t help but scan the room until he found Tobio. Why he punished himself like this, he didn’t know—but he did.
As usual, the coach and upperclassmen were showering the boy in praise for the latest showcase of his talent. Tooru didn’t know what was worse—the idea of Tobio insufferably preening under all the compliments or the fact that he, in reality, completely ignored the lauding and just keep practicing. Tooru himself probably bought into his teammates’ compliments a little too much, but the notion of just brushing them off entirely struck him as a little… haughty.
Tooru forced his gaze away from Tobio, tugging at his hair with a scowl. He had to stop spending so much time and energy fixating on the kid, as Hajime reminded him again and again. It would amount to nothing but driving himself crazy.
If he’s gonna surpass me someday, then so be it, Tooru resolved as he stooped down to scoop up a stray volleyball from the floor. He spun it in his hands as he straightened back up, and the longer he looked at it, the more his eyes gleamed with determination. There’s nothing more I can do than to make sure I fight tooth and nail against it. Sorry, Tobio-chan—you picked the pettiest person on this team to make a rival of.
It may not be right. It definitely wasn’t nice. But such was the climb—on the harsh, unforgiving mountain of sports stardom, you couldn’t help others at the expense of yourself, or you’d end up buried beneath the cold snow, forgotten in the dark.
Tooru Oikawa wasn’t going to end up like that, at least not without a hell of a fight.
“He’s watching me again, isn’t he?” Tooru growled at the feeling of eyes boring into the back of his head. It was a feeling he’d become way too accustomed to—the rise of the hairs on the back of his neck and the prickle in the base of his spine. All because Tobio Kageyama couldn’t take a goddamn hint and had resorted to watching Tooru like a hawk in order to learn how to be a setter.
Sure enough, when Tooru cast a discreet glance over his shoulder, he saw Tobio a ways behind him—perfectly executing the jump serve he’d just performed. That little shit.
“Come on. The year’s almost over. Does he have to keep spying on me?” Tooru whined as Hajime ducked under the net to bring him back the volleyball. “Coach has already promised him the position of starting setter next year. Would it kill him to take it easy?”
“Hah! Would you?” Hajime challenged as he held out the volleyball. Tooru took it from him with a dour pout.
“Well, no, but that’s because I’m me,” he grumbled. He then squeezed the volleyball with both his hands and stomped his feet a few times. “Grrrrrrr! It pisses me off so bad! I had to bust my ass to be starting setter second year! Tobio-chan just waltzes in, dazzles everybody with his stupid God-given talent, and is handed it on a silver platter! It’s so unfair!”
Hajime just watched Tooru rant with a blank expression. Once he was finished, he huffed, put a hand on his hip, and squinted disdainfully at Tobio, who was none the wiser to Tooru’s tantrum.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think The Little Prince out there is gonna make it very far as a setter.”
“The Little Prince?” Tooru asked.
“Yeah. He’s kinda got a snooty air about him, don’tcha think?” his friend frowned. He motioned with his chin at Tobio, who was performing another jump serve. “I dunno. He just gives me a vibe like… he thinks he’s in a class of his own. Like everyone else on the team would be worthless without him—the setter.” He then turned to Tooru, his frown deepening. “It’s not like how it was with you. You were reluctant to use your position as setter to bring out our talent because you were scared we’d outshine you.”
Tooru just looked miserably at his feet. If anyone else had said it, it probably would have pissed him off. However, this was Hajime, the guy who knew him probably better than he knew himself. In Tooru’s earlier days as a setter, that was very much true—and it had been Hajime who made him realize that the entire point of being a setter was bringing out the strengths of everyone around you, and that in turn would make him shine all the brighter.
“This guy, though…” Hajime huffed with a deep frown at Tobio. “I don’t get the same vibe. He acts like he’s a king, and we’re just the knights who exist to serve him. He’s not worried about anyone outshining him; he doesn’t think anyone can.”
“That’s an awfully eloquent analysis, Iwa-chan,” Tooru smirked wryly. Jokes aside, what Hajime said made sense. Perhaps that was a big part of what irked him—that undercurrent of perfectionism that Tooru had already begun to see bubble at the surface within Tobio. It didn’t take him long to start ruthlessly picking apart his teammate’s technique and performance—even the upperclassmen’s. And it grew worse by the day; there were already grumblings within the team that the coach had made a mistake in choosing Tobio as the starting setter for the upcoming year.
“Tch. I just say what I see,” he shrugged in response. “‘Sides, he ain’t a king yet, just a little prince tryna act like one. Speaking of—incoming.”
Hajime made a hasty retreat to the other side of the net, and Tooru whipped around just in time to see Tobio approaching him. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his breath was slightly labored from his intensive solo practice. He held the volleyball tucked under his armpit as he used the hem of his tee-shirt to wipe at the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face.
“Do you have a moment, Oikawa-san?”
No, Tooru wanted to say, but he bit down on his tongue to keep the unkind dismissal from coming out. He had to tread the fine line between believable indifference and being just plain ugly, at least when the coach was so close by.
“What is it, Tobio-chan?”
“Coach is going to make me starting setter next year,” Tobio said, and Tooru couldn’t refrain from wrinkling his nose at the very evident pride in the younger boy’s voice. “I wanted to ask you for advice.”
“Sounds to me like you don’t need any, if Coach has that much faith in you,” Tooru shrugged. “What advice could I possibly offer you at this point?”
More accurately, what advice could I possibly offer that you would actually listen to?
“Just because I’ve been chosen as starting setter doesn’t mean that I don’t have room to improve,” Tobio answered while idly spinning the volleyball in his hands. “I know my technique isn’t perfect yet. I’ll take any advice you have to give, Oikawa-san.”
Despite the indignance burning inside of Tooru, he could at least give the kid credit for not growing complacent upon his achievement. Tobio’s drive spooked him, yeah—but him thinking he was all hot shit once being named setter would probably piss Tooru off far more. But Tobio was still thinking about things the wrong way, and that made Tooru’s eye twitch in irritation.
A little prince with no regard for the importance of those around him… It sounds like Hajime really hit the nail on the head. It didn’t take a crystal ball to see that things were going to quickly go south come the start of next year if Tobio didn’t get his act together. Not that Tooru was going to tell him plainly; teamwork was a lesson that one could only learn on their own. Plus, that would be throwing his rival a bone, and Tooru didn’t wanna chuck Tobio so much as a tooth. That being said, Tooru had to say something, if only to try and spare the rest of his underclassmen just a little bit of grief.
“Here’s my advice to you, Tobio-chan: think carefully about what it means to be a setter, ” Tooru said while crossing his arms and raising his head slightly in a gesture of lofty importance. “Does the setter work for the team, or vice versa?”
“Think about what it means to be a setter…?” Tobio echoed, his eyes slightly narrowing while he considered Tooru’s cryptic words. “I see… It’s not just about technique; it’s about ensuring that the rest of the team follows through…” He put one hand on his chin as he began to mutter under his breath, a bunch of half-formed thoughts and mumbles that Tooru really didn’t care to listen to.
As Tooru whirled on his feet, Tobio momentarily snapped out of his thoughts. He glanced at Tooru, eyes wide, and quickly said, “Thank you, Oikawa-san; I have a lot to think about.”
“Don’t thank me, Tobio-chan,” Tooru quipped back, his eyes glittering as he peered at Tobio through his peripheral vision. With a small smirk, he continued in a soft hum, “I haven’t done anything. It’s really all up to you, where you go from here.”
And if you find yourself all alone, Tooru thought as he turned back around and headed across the court to Hajime, it will be no one’s fault but your own. Hajime’s right about you. Nothing I say right now would sway you. You’ve already put the crown on your head, but you’ve no idea what it really means to rule a court.
It’s just a matter of time before you learn that a castle can so easily come crashing down around you if you’ve built it with no pillars—because there’s no person in this world who can be a fortress all on their own.
“All right! That’s enough for the day,” the head coach barked, prompting Tooru to straighten up from his setting position and swipe the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead. “You know how it goes—first-years are on cleaning duty.”
“Ahhhhhh!” Tooru exclaimed gleefully as he flounced up to Hajime on the sidelines, who had crouched down to tie his tennis shoe's loose laces. “I’m so glad that we’re second-years now! Cleaning duty is such a pain.”
“Tch. Yanno, shit like that makes you seem like such a pretentious asshole,” Hajime huffed. He straightened up, crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, wait, I forgot—you are.”
“Aw, you’re so mean, Iwa-chan,” Tooru pouted at him. “I’m merely enjoying my just reward for enduring a year of paying my dues. Surely, there’s no pretentiousness in that.”
“There is in the way you do it,” Hajime scoffed and started walking toward the locker rooms.
“Iwa-chaaaaaaaan,” Tooru wheedled while shuffling after him. Just as he was reaching out to tug on the back of his tee-shirt, he saw movement in the corners of his eyes and instinctively looked; what he saw made him stop in his tracks, for he was utterly puzzled.
Tobio Kageyama had just walked through the door of the gym. His eyes were scrunched in a slight squint as he looked around, presumably for Tooru. Why else would he show up to the end of Aoba Johsai’s practice, if not for his former team captain? Tooru’s theory was all but confirmed when Tobio finally clapped eyes on him, and his slightly uncomfortable expression morphed into one of delighted recognition.
“Oikawa-san!” he called with a wave of his arm over his head; without waiting for an answer, he began to jog over.
Hajime had literally just walked through the locker room door, but upon hearing Tobio’s voice, he walked out backward and squinted at the approaching middle-schooler.
“Eh? What the hell is the Little Prince doing here?” he mumbled right before Tobio came within earshot.
Tooru hadn’t the faintest idea. He only gave Hajime a wide-eyed glance of bewilderment and shrugged.
“Oikawa-san,” Tobio puffed as he came to a stop in front of Tooru, making him turn back and raise an eyebrow.
“Long time, no see, Tobio-chan,” Tooru remarked and appraised him with a quick once-over. He’d grown in the past year—physically, anyway. Tooru crossed his arms when he raised his gaze back to Tobio’s face. He didn’t want to waste time on small talk and pleasantries; best to get straight to the point. So, he just quirked his brow higher and asked in a smooth, cool tone, “What brings you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Tobio blinked at him. “I came to ask you for advice, Oikawa-san.”
Tooru’s eye twitched at Tobio’s chilly response. Ohoho, looks like you really have changed, Tobio-chan, he thought while trying to keep his face from curling into a scowl. All that accomplished is making his widening smirk seem less amused and more murderous.
“Advice, huh?” Tooru said with a hum, his voice slightly high-pitched from the effort of trying to keep it level. His rage was simmering just at the surface because Tobio had changed; there was some kind of imperiousness to his demeanor that hadn’t been there before, one that made it seem like he was demanding an answer from Tooru rather than asking. And Tooru would be damned if some self-important upstart was gonna order him around.
“The year’s barely started, and you’ve already hit a wall so high that you had to come running to your former senpai for help? Must be a tough riddle to crack indeed, Tobio-chan.”
“It’s not that serious,” Tobio huffed defensively, and Tooru couldn’t help but feel a little spark of glee that he’d gotten a rise out of his junior so easily. “I’d just appreciate your perspective, as the former setter for the team.”
There it is.
“Ah, so it’s the team that’s the problem, is it?” Tooru guessed. His insight apparently threw Tobio a little off-guard, for his eyes widened slightly. “Let me guess—you want advice on how to make them perform better because, in your opinion, they aren’t doing well enough.”
“Exactly, Oikawa-san,” Tobio gasped in an eager breath, his eyes wide and nodding enthusiastically. “They just can’t match my sets, no matter how many times I tell them how they can improve, and they don’t take matches seriously. I’m the setter, they’re supposed to—”
“I’mma stop you right there,” Tooru snorted and held up his hand. Tobio immediately clamped his mouth shut to bite on his bottom lip while he stared intently at Tooru. Oh, he looked so eager to hear Tooru’s wisdom, the poor thing.
The thing was that, even if Tooru said it, Tobio wouldn’t hear it at all. He had that crown so snug on his head that it covered his ears.
“I’ll give you the same advice I did when I left Kitagawa Daiichi: what does it mean to be a setter?” Tooru said, slowly lowering his hand to tuck it back against his other arm against his chest. “What is it that the other players are supposed to be doing for you, hmm? And what are you supposed to be doing for them?”
“I don’t understand, Oikawa-san,” Tobio frowned, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Surely, you must know that I know the answer to that question already. Why do you think I’m doing what I am?”
As Tobio just gazed at him in utter bewilderment, Tooru experienced one of his rare moments of humanity: he felt bad for Tobio. He really did. Sure, he didn’t want to help the kid surpass him—but right now, he wasn’t looking at Tobio as a volleyball player. He was looking at him as a person, and it made him sad because he knew that Tobio was in for a world of pain.
And there wasn’t a damn thing that Tooru could say that would change that. Tobio had long since left the station, and he was on a collision course with reality. When it would hit, Tooru couldn’t say—but he could scream all he wanted for Tobio to stop, and it would amount to nothing. Tobio couldn’t hear him over the piercing whistle of his own self-importance. The only thing that Tooru could do as his senpai was let him learn the hard way and hope he emerged better for it.
“If you know the answer, then your skills as the setter aren’t the problem, are they?” Tooru smiled wanly and threw up his hands while shaking his head in a “beats me” gesture. “And if you aren’t the problem, then there’s not any advice I can give you.”
“Hmm. I guess you’re right, Oikawa-san,” Tobio murmured, pinching his chin and looking down at the gym floor as he fell deep into thought. After several seconds of consideration, he flicked his gaze back up to Tooru. “Well, I appreciate it anyway. Sorry for wasting your time.” He dipped his head in the slightest rendition of a bow, and then he was walking away, marching towards the gym exit.
The only person’s time you’ve wasted is your own, kid. I have advice, but you won’t listen, Tooru thought as he watched Tobio walk away, his smile drooping a little. Really, it was sad, the tunnel vision that Tobio had locked himself into. It was worse because Tooru knew that Tobio had no chance; he was more far gone than Tooru ever was. Tooru could pull a Hajime, knock him upside the head and yell at him all day long, but he knew that Tobio would just call him a jealous asshole and let it go through one ear and out the other.
Tobio was alone, and he’d stay that way until he learned that it’s not a crown that makes a king.
It sure is a long way to fall when you place yourself completely out of reach, huh, Tobio-chan?
Tooru knew he should get going, but there was something about the warm spring evening that made him linger. Lounging on a bench, he craned his neck back to watch the sunset dye the cloudy sky in hues of red, orange, and gold. The colors of a crown, Tooru thought with a slight smirk. It was like the sky had absorbed it—soaked up the pigments of the diadem that had so ruthlessly been knocked from Tobio’s head and shattered to a million pieces on the gymnasium floor. For the little prince who so desperately wished to be a king had finally looked around and found his castle cold and empty.
Ah, but Tooru wasn’t really that sentimental. The sunset was pretty and the spring breeze invigorating, sure—but that’s not what made Tooru stay. No, it was the inevitable that led him to remain outside this long-empty gymnasium. Empty, save for one lost soul looking for where he went wrong.
“Oikawa-san…”
Tooru didn’t pull his gaze from the saturated sky as Tobio’s shadow fell over him. The boy lingered for a moment, shadow shifting over Tooru as he awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to another; then, he stiffly sat down on the bench next to him. It was only then that Tooru tore his gaze from the heavens, peering out of the corners of his eyes at the boy who’d been thrown viciously from its golden heights.
“I didn’t know you came to watch,” Tobio murmured. He was hunched over, hands clasped tightly between his spread knees. The golden light of the fading sun made the white knuckle bones glaring beneath his skin look even more prominent.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“In the neighborhood…” Tobio echoed. His voice was so soft that it seemed like the breeze had carried it away. After several seconds of silence, Tobio released a bitter laugh and hung his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Me too.”
The spontaneous admission surprised both of them, though Tooru didn’t allow his shock to show. He kept his face impassive aside from a momentary widening of his eyes, while Tobio’s head snapped back up to stare owlishly at him. Despite it being something Tooru never thought he’d admit aloud, it was the truth, and so he didn’t attempt to correct himself. He just gazed levelly at Tobio, waiting for the walls he’d erected around himself to finally crumble.
As they fell, tears sprung to Tobio’s eyes. He hastily dropped his head so Tooru wouldn’t see; even in utter defeat, the boy still clung to his pride. Tooru didn’t know if that was pitiful or admirable.
“Oikawa-san, I…” he whispered. He could hide his tears all he liked, but he couldn’t conceal how they thickened his voice and made it tremble. He’d unclasped his hands and was now clutching tightly at his knees; his fingers dug more into his skin as he choked out, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Melancholy quickly morphed into anger, and Tobio quickly lost all notion of hiding his tears. He whipped his head up to scowl at Tooru, and the blaze in his black eyes made his tears shine.
“You knew! You knew this was going to happen, and you let me do it anyway! Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you—”
“Would you have listened?” Tooru interrupted. Though Tobio seethed with anger, Tooru was unperturbed; with his elbow propped on the arm of the bench to hold his cheek in his hand, he just regarded Tobio with hooded eyes and a slight purse of his lips. “If I’d told you that this would happen, would you honestly have taken me seriously?”
Tobio’s rage evaporated as quickly as it came. Tooru watched it melt from his body, his shoulders sagging and his expression drooping. Just as his bottom lip began to tremble, Tobio hung his head again and uttered a broken, “No...”
“I didn’t want to watch you do this to yourself,” Tooru sighed, closing his eyes as he pressed the fingers of his free hand to his forehead and shook his head slightly. “You should know by now that I regard you as a rival, Tobio-chan. I’m not going to hold your hand or help you climb to the top at my own expense.”
He cracked an eye open to peer back at the dejected boy, and his mouth twitched down into a frown.
“But I’m not the type of person to trip you on purpose, either. I didn’t say anything because I knew you wouldn’t hear me. If I’d’ve thought otherwise, I would have.”
“You’re right,” came Tobio’s hoarse whisper. “I’m sorry, Oikawa-san. I just… I’m so disgusted with myself…” He pressed his hand to his face and whimpered, “Where am I supposed to go from here? I can’t give up, but I don’t know how to move forward… Please, Oikawa-san…”
“You don’t know where you went wrong, do you?”
Tooru smiled ruefully when Tobio just miserably shook his head.
“I know I mistreated them, but… I just wanted the team to be the best it could be,” Tobio sniffled. “Why can’t they see that? It’s my job as the setter to make sure that we win no matter what, right?”
“If you’re asking that question, Tobio-chan, then you’re still not quite ready to hear any advice I have to give,” Tooru sighed and shook his head again. “Take some time to think about it: what it means to be a setter. And when you think you have the answer, come back. Let that be your way to move forward.”
Tobio didn’t protest, or whine, or throw a fit. Instead, he just nodded. When he lifted his head, however, that determined gleam that had always made a home in his eyes had returned. Tooru took that as his cue to leave.
I’ll probably end up regretting this, he smirked to himself while languidly rising from the bench. He paused to stretch his arms above his head, and then he looked back up at the blazing sky. But… If your road to victory is easy, then it doesn’t really mean much, does it?
Tooru slipped his hands in his pockets with a soft sigh, then began walking.
Do some thinking, Tobio-chan… so that the next time we meet, the crown you wear is one that is given, not one that is imposed. Show me that you know what it means to rule… so that we can face each other as real kings of the court.
“Please help me, Oikawa-san!”
Tooru tried not to, but he couldn’t help it; he took some sickened sort of delight in watching Tobio bow before him and plead for his assistance. He just had to immortalize the occasion. What kind of twisted little sadist would he be if he didn’t capture this moment so he could lord it over Tobio forever? You weren’t a real senpai if you weren’t at least a teeny bit cruel to your kouhai after all. After snapping his little trophy, Tooru giggled and put his hands on his hips to lean slightly over Tobio.
“All right, all right. I’ll hear you out. But first, answer my question, Tobio-chan: what does it mean to be a setter?”
Tobio straightened up to glower at him. Tooru didn’t begrudge him for it; he’d certainly bruised his pride, after all. However, as he considered Tooru’s question, his expression slowly relaxed into one of calm clarity.
Oh? Maybe he’s finally figured it out, Tooru thought, raising his eyebrow as a little smirk danced on his lips.
“The role of the setter is to bring out the best in the rest of the team,” Tobio answered slowly. He was still a little unsure of himself; it was a question that had plagued him for many months, after all, and Tobio still had some growing to do. But he had grown, Tooru could see—and despite everything, Tooru was glad for that.
“To use their individual strengths and compensate for their weaknesses so that the team works as a unit to accomplish a goal… A setter is only as strong as those around them. That’s what you’ve been trying to tell me all along, right, Oikawa-san?”
“Bingo!” Tooru trilled. “I knew you could get it through that thick head of yours!” He knocked on Tobio’s skull, and the ravenet flinched away with an irritated huff.
“Look, I let you take your stupid picture and answered your question, so will you listen to what I have to say, now?” he whined.
“Yes, yes, I did say that I would,” Tooru sighed magnanimously. “What’s the problem with you and Shouyou?”
When Tobio explained it, Tooru couldn’t help but palm his face in secondhand embarrassment. How could Tobio be so dense, even after finally learning his lesson?
“Tobio-chan, you’re acting like a dictator, you know?” he sighed, and Tobio winced at the accusation. Tooru knew the turn of phrase would rub salt in an old wound, but it was kind of necessary to get Tobio to see what the issue was here. With a huff, he dropped his hand to his face and jabbed Tobio in the chest with his index finger. “You’re not the one in control of the quick attack. Shouyou is. And if you refuse to let him evolve the technique, you’re just holding both of you back.”
“Shouyou’s… in control?” Tobio echoed, his eyes slowly widening.
“You said it yourself, didn’t you? A setter is only as strong as those around them. You claiming that the quick attack is ‘perfect’ is a direct contradiction to that statement,” Tooru challenged. “It’s this kind of stubborn mentality, this obsession with your being right and ignoring anything your teammates have to say, that got you in trouble at Kitagawa Daiichi. If you refuse to change the attack, Tobio-chan, you’ll be on a slippery slope back to the King of the Court moniker you resent so much.”
Tobio pressed his lips into a thin line and glared firmly at Tooru. He then slowly dropped his gaze to his feet. Tooru realized that he might have pressed a little too far, so he decided—for one time and one time only—to throw Tobio a bone.
“Tobio-chan, there’s one thing in particular that holds you back,” Tooru sighed softly. “Once you get past it, not even the sky is the limit for you.”
“But you can’t tell me what it is, right?” Tobio joked, looking back up at Tooru with a wry smile. “It’s a lesson that I have to learn on my own.”
“Look at that. You have learned something,” Tooru smirked.
“You’re a real hardass sensei, you know that?” Tobio sighed, but his smile only widened. “But… I guess I still have to thank you, Oikawa-san. I’m not there yet, but… I’m finally ready to listen.”
“Make sure you do, because this is the one and only time I’ll be giving you advice!” Tooru huffed and held up his index finger emphatically. “From here on out, I’m only gonna look at you as a rival I need to crush mercilessly! You’ll get no more leeway from me!”
“Bah! I’m gonna be the one to crush you!” Tobio asserted, bristling.
By the time Tobio left, he was good and fired up. Tooru couldn’t help it, after all; it was so easy to get under his skin! But, for better or worse, Tooru much preferred Tobio to be determined than to be defeated. Crushing an opponent with no will just wasn’t fun.
Welcome back to your throne, Tobio-chan, Tooru thought as he watched his junior’s form grow smaller and smaller against the city backdrop. This time, I’m glad to say you’ve earned it.
Now… let’s see which of us is the true king of the court. I can’t wait.