Chapter Text
The sun filtered through the windows of the gymnasium, soft and golden against the freshly polished wooden floors. The air buzzed with anticipation, Karasuno’s team had just finished warm-ups, the squeak of sneakers and the rhythmic thump of volleyballs echoing through the gym. The team gathered near the bench, water bottles in hand, some joking, others already locked into focus mode.
Sawamura Daichi exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders. His eyes scanned the court, automatically assessing every detail: spacing, lighting, the tension in his teammates' shoulders. He had a job to do, and it started now.
That’s when the doors swung open.
"Looks like the cats have arrived," Tanaka muttered, nudging Nishinoya, who instantly perked up.
In strode Nekoma, uniforms crisp, movements almost too calm. Their presence was like a wave of red silk, sleek, quiet, dangerous. And at the centre of it, leading the pack with the kind of swagger that seemed born, not practiced, was him.
Kuroo Tetsurou.
Daichi’s eyes landed on the unfamiliar captain immediately. He was tall, lean, with messy black hair that defied gravity and a lazy smirk that screamed confidence. Or trouble. Maybe both.
Kuroo’s gaze slid across the court like he was taking mental inventory, and when his golden eyes met Daichi’s, something subtle clicked into place. Not a moment of recognition, no, more like… target acquired.
Daichi stood straighter, unconsciously.
"Yo." Kuroo was already making his way over, that insufferable grin tugging at his lips. "You’re Karasuno’s captain, right?"
Daichi nodded, extending a hand. "Sawamura. And you?"
"Kuroo. Nekoma’s captain. Obviously." He grasped Daichi’s hand in a firm shake, but his eyes never left Daichi’s face. "Nice to finally meet the famous ‚Smiley Assassin.’ I was starting to think you were a myth."
Daichi raised an eyebrow. "Myth?"
"Yeah," Kuroo shrugged, feigning innocence. "You know. Unseen, unbeatable, unwavering. I figured someone like that would at least have glowing eyes or a bandana or something."
Daichi snorted. "Sorry to disappoint."
"You don’t," Kuroo replied, eyes gleaming.
Before Daichi could formulate a response, Coach Nekomata clapped his hands, signalling for the teams to line up. The match was about to begin.
They bowed. Exchanged names. Moved into position.
Karasuno’s starting lineup was tight: Daichi, Asahi, Tanaka, Nishinoya, Tsukki and, for the extra amount of chaos: Kageyama and Hinata. The air shifted. You could feel the electricity in the gym, new blood, old rivalry.
From the other side, Kuroo stood across from Daichi at the net, eyes sharp, posture loose. He radiated that kind of offbeat calm, the kind that made you second-guess whether he was actually watching or just thinking about dinner.
But then came the serve.
Nekoma took the first point, a quick, clean set from Kenma, finished by Inuoka. Smooth, effortless. Daichi felt the weight of it settle in his chest. Not panic, but awareness. These weren’t opponents you could half-play. This was a team that knew each other. Like clockwork.
Karasuno pushed back, fast.
Kageyama’s toss to Hinata was nearly too fast to track, but Hinata, with that untouchable spring in his legs, slammed it through a narrow opening, scoring with a satisfying crack against the floor.
Nekoma’s heads turned.
Daichi didn’t miss Kuroo’s impressed blink.
"Huh," Kuroo muttered under his breath, "Looks like the rumours about your new rookies weren’t exaggerated."
"Neither are ours," Daichi shot back, already moving into position.
It was like that for a while. Back and forth. Each team pushing harder, faster. The match had only just begun, but the tempo was brutal. Daichi’s hands stung from blocks. His breath came heavier now, sweat beading at his temple. Kuroo, across the net, moved like smoke, unpredictable, watching everything, always smiling like he knew something no one else did.
On a long rally, with both teams scrambling, it was Daichi who finally dove for a near-hopeless ball, keeping it alive. His body hit the floor hard, but the set continued, and Asahi ended it with a crushing spike.
Whistle. Point. Karasuno.
Daichi stood, brushing off his elbows.
"Nice save," Kuroo called casually. "I would’ve gone for the block, but I figured I’d let you have your moment."
Daichi chuckled dryly. "Generous of you."
"Don’t get used to it."
That was how they met. Not with much fate.
But with sweat, teasing, tension, the kind that wrapped tight in your chest and wouldn’t let go. And the worst part?
Daichi already knew he’d be thinking about that smile for the rest of the week.
ᨐ
"Alright, break's over!" Daichi clapped his hands, corralling his team into a huddle.
Sweat-slicked brows, flushed cheeks, and short, sharp breaths all around. The match had only been going for a set and a half, but Karasuno was already feeling the heat. Not just from Nekoma’s relentless rhythm, but from how well they knew each other’s movements. It was like playing against an organism with one heartbeat.
"We’re letting their pace get to us," Daichi said, voice low and firm. "Trust our tempo. Don’t mirror theirs. We’ve got our own weapons."
"Like a high-speed tomato," Suga added, grinning at Hinata.
"WHO’S A TOMATO?!"
"You are," Kageyama muttered, adjusting his knee pads. "You go red when you’re excited."
Daichi allowed himself a small breath of relief. Good. They're still in it.
Across the court, Nekoma’s huddle broke up with quieter coordination. Kuroo stretched his arms behind his head, muscles tight under his red jersey, and caught Daichi’s gaze again.. like he’d been waiting for it.
Then he wiggled his eyebrows.
Daichi rolled his eyes.
"You two gonna flirt or serve the ball?" Tanaka muttered as he took position.
"I will end you," Daichi said flatly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
The next few rallies were rough. Nekoma’s synch was hard to crack. Kenma’s sets weren’t flashy, but they were terrifyingly precise. Kuroo scored with a feint that sent both Tanaka and Asahi lunging in opposite directions like startled puppies.
"Sorry, was that mean?" Kuroo called over the net, feigning wide-eyed innocence.
Daichi squinted at him. "I think you dropped something."
Kuroo blinked. „Huh?"
"Your modesty."
"Ohh, Captain Sawamura, was that a joke?" Kuroo beamed. "You do talk! I was starting to think you only spoke in team strategy and inspirational monologues."
Daichi exhaled through his nose. "I only speak when necessary."
"Hot."
Daichi’s brain stuttered for half a beat. "...Excuse me?"
"I said, ‘Noted,’" Kuroo replied, entirely unconvincing.
Nishinoya let out a choking sound behind Daichi. Hinata stared at Kuroo like he was a cryptid. Kageyama just looked annoyed, though that was probably his default face.
Play resumed before Daichi could respond. Not that he had a response. What was there to say?
Hot?
What did that even mean in context? Was he joking? Was he mocking him? Was it just another weird Kuroo-ism, like his hair or his omnipresent smirk?
The rally dragged on, brutal, long, and filled with incredible saves on both sides. Daichi shut everything else out. Focus returned in full. He had no time for weird opponents with cats on their shirts and chaos in their smiles.
But just as Karasuno started clawing their way back into the set, Kuroo was at the net again. Ready to block. Reading the play too well.
Daichi went up for the spike and- there was Kuroo. Perfectly timed. Blocking it clean.
Point to Nekoma.
"You’re predictable," Kuroo said low enough that only Daichi could hear.
Daichi’s jaw tightened.
Kuroo’s grin widened. "But hey, I like that. Keeps things... fun."
By the time the second set ended, 25–23, Nekoma’s win, both teams were flushed and high on adrenaline. The match would continue, of course. Practice matches usually did, running through rotations, subs, trial combinations. But the captains? They stayed on.
As the teams took a break, bottles cracked open and towels wiped down the worst of the sweat. Daichi sat on the edge of the court, stretching out his legs, mind ticking through every error and adjustment.
A shadow loomed.
"You’ve got a good team," Kuroo said, plopping down next to him like they were friends and not mid-match rivals.
"Thanks." Daichi eyed him warily. "You’re pretty sharp for a guy who walks like he just woke up from a nap."
Kuroo laughed. "Can’t all be poster boys for textbook posture."
"You stalking my posture now?"
"Only when you’re in front of the net. It’s hard to miss."
There was a beat of silence.
Kuroo took a long sip from his water bottle. "You’re different than I thought."
"Let me guess, taller?"
Kuroo grinned. "Nah. Less grumpy. I expected you to be more... uptight."
"I am uptight," Daichi said dryly.
"Not in a bad way. Just…" He paused. "You play like you’ve got a whole world riding on your shoulders. But then you make a joke, or back up a teammate without even thinking, and I think, maybe there’s more going on in there than just volleyball formations and protein bars."
Daichi turned toward him, eyebrow raised. "Is that supposed to be flattery?"
"No," Kuroo replied, standing and stretching. "Just an observation. You’re interesting."
Daichi blinked.
Kuroo smirked, stepping backward toward his bench. "Don’t worry. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself during the next set."
He turned.
"Mostly."
ᨐ
The final set ended with Karasuno barely scraping a win, 26–24. Both teams were drenched, breathless, and running on sheer stubbornness. No official winner had been declared, practice matches weren’t really about that. But no one was pretending this hadn’t been personal.
"We’ll call it a draw," Coach Ukai finally said, scratching the back of his head and looking like he needed a cigarette or two. "Draw," Nekomata echoed, though the glint in his eye said he was already plotting a rematch.
"Draw my butt," Tanaka muttered under his breath, stretching his arms behind his head. "We totally had them if we’d played one more."
Yamamoto Bokuto-style roared from across the court: "BRING IT ON, BALDY!"
"WHO YOU CALLING BALD, YOU LION-MANEED LOSER?!"
"Better bald than a boiled egg!"
"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!"
"Stretching pairs!" Nekomata bellowed, cutting through the rising chaos. "Nekoma and Karasuno mix it up. Captains, you're in charge."
Daichi stepped forward. "Alright, let’s make this clean."
Kuroo sidled up with that catlike walk of his. "Or let’s make it interesting."
Daichi gave him a look. "I already know I’m going to regret whatever you're about to suggest."
"Good. That means it’s worth doing."
Kuroo clapped his hands, voice loud and smug: "Everyone pair up! Nekoma and Karasuno, one of each. Fate decides your doom. Stretch with whoever’s nearest to you on the count of three. One, two—"
"WAIT I HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT THI-„
"THREE!"
Chaos. Absolute, beautiful chaos.
Hinata + Kenma:
Kenma blinked up at the orange blur now crouched two inches from his face.
"Hi! I’m Hinata! I watched your game against Fukuroudani, your set to Kuroo-san was sick!!"
Kenma blinked again. "This is going to be loud, isn’t it?"
Tanaka + Yamamoto:
The gym physically trembled from the force of their high-five.
"YOU READY TO STRETCH LIKE WARRIORS, BRO?"
"I WAS BORN READY, BRO!"
Nishinoya + Yaku:
The two liberos locked eyes and immediately started trying to one-up each other in back bends.
"My flexibility is off the charts!" Noya declared.
"I’ve been stretching since elementary! Let’s go, punk!"
"You calling me punk?!"
"You heard me, twinkle-toes!"
Asahi + Lev:
Silence.
Lev loomed over Asahi like a newborn giraffe.
"You're… big," Lev said cheerfully.
Asahi, caught between intimidation and confusion, muttered, "...Thanks?"
Suga + Kai:
Both smiled politely.
"So, should we do hamstrings first?"
"That sounds reasonable."
"Finally," Suga sighed. "A sane one."
And then there was Daichi and Kuroo.
They stood in silence for a beat.
"...You did this on purpose," Daichi said.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kuroo replied, far too innocently.
They sat on the floor, facing each other. Daichi leaned forward for a basic stretch, already feeling his back twinge. Kuroo mirrored him, casually close. A little too close.
"Legs out," Daichi instructed.
"You wanna buy me dinner first?"
Daichi stared.
"Okay, okay," Kuroo chuckled, hands up in mock surrender. "I’m stretching. Look. Serious face engaged."
They did the partner hamstring pull, feet together, hands locked, leaning in and out slowly. Daichi tried to ignore the way Kuroo’s fingers laced so easily with his own. Focus. Captain. Neutrality. Rival. Volleyball.
"You know," Kuroo said as they leaned back, "you’ve got really solid grip strength. Do you train for that?"
"It’s called having a team that doesn’t let you drop the ball," Daichi muttered.
"Mm. Practical and poetic. You are a surprise."
"You're a headache."
"And yet you're smiling."
"I'm grimacing."
Kuroo tilted his head. "Is that what we’re calling it?"
"Yes."
Their eyes held for a fraction too long.
Then Daichi broke the stretch, releasing Kuroo’s hands a little too quickly and reaching for his towel. "Switch sides," he said, his voice even.
Kuroo grinned, flopping onto his back dramatically. "Only if you promise to let me insult your posture again."
"I dare you."
Kuroo blinked up at him, propped on his elbows. "Dangerous words, Sawamura."
Daichi gave him a sideways glance. "Then stop testing me."
Kuroo just laughed. A low, lazy sound that hit somewhere just under Daichi's ribs.
Around them, the gym buzzed with noise, Tanaka and Yamamoto now doing push-ups for fun, Kenma visibly dying as Hinata pulled him into a butterfly stretch, Yaku and Noya somehow both crab-walking competitively, and Suga looking toward the ceiling like he was questioning every life choice that brought him here.
Daichi shook his head. "What a circus," he muttered.
Kuroo, sitting beside him again, nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. But it’s a good one."
He looked over at Daichi, eyes serious for a flicker of a second.
"You’re not what I expected, Sawamura."
Daichi didn't look back, but his voice was steady. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
This time, Daichi glanced sideways, not annoyed, not curious, just... steady. Solid. The way he always was. "Then you probably weren’t expecting much."
Kuroo’s smirk softened, just barely. "No. I just think you hide it well."
Before Daichi could ask what exactly he was hiding, Nekomata blew his whistle and called for cleanup. "Next time," Kuroo said, standing and tossing Daichi his towel. "Rematch. No distractions. Just captains. Mano a mano."
"You’ll lose."
Kuroo winked. "We’ll see."
ᨐ
Evening settled slowly over the gymnasium, golden light pooling across the court as the sun slipped lower behind the windows. The last match had ended hours ago, but no one had quite left. Not the Karasuno team, still buzzing with post-match energy. Not Nekoma, who somehow managed to both cool down and stir trouble at the same time.
And definitely not the chaos.
Daichi stood near the bench with a clipboard Coach Ukai had tossed at him and the weight of every bad decision his team had ever made pressing down on his soul.
Somewhere behind him, a volleyball exploded off a wall.
"What the!?" He whipped around.
"Kenma, why are you hiding under the bench?!"
"Because I value my life?" came Kenma’s muffled reply. "Hinata's trying to make me race him up the bleachers for ‘fun cardio.’ I don’t do cardio."
Hinata zipped by in the background, yelling, "I’M GONNA BEAT YOUR WALKING SIMULATION STAMINA, KENMA!"
"You can’t just yell the word stamina and expect it to work!" Kenma shrieked, crawling deeper into the shadows.
Daichi pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Tanaka! Stop teaching Yamamoto the 'Karasuno intimidation stance'! You're scaring the janitors!"
Tanaka and Yamamoto were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, knees wide, arms crossed, faces contorted into the most aggressive grins ever seen outside of a biker gang.
"THIS IS FOR TEAM SPIRIT, CAPTAIN!" they shouted in unison.
"TEAM SPIRIT CAN’T BE A FELONY!"
Near the net, Yaku and Noya were attempting to choreograph a synchronised dive.
"For libero unity!" Nishinoya declared.
"For the motherland!" Yaku added.
They both dove, perfectly, beautifully, and crashed into Suga and Kai, who were walking past like tired parents with matching water bottles and zero expectations anymore.
Asahi was in the corner, being quietly cornered by Lev, who was somehow both complimenting and intimidating him.
"You have the energy of a gentle forest beast," Lev said earnestly.
"...Thanks?"
"But also like... you could rip my spine out if you wanted to. That’s really cool!"
„...Okay."
Daichi looked at the carnage. Looked at the clipboard.
Then he looked across the gym. And saw Kuroo. Sitting on a stack of unused mats, sipping from a bottle of water like this wasn’t his circus too.
"You!" Daichi barked.
Kuroo perked up, all wide eyes and innocent shrug. "Me?"
"Yes. You. Captain of the other half of this nightmare." Daichi marched over. "I’m trying to keep things under control."
"Looks like you're doing great," Kuroo said, utterly unbothered. "Look, no one's died. Yet."
"I’m five minutes away from letting them figure out natural selection," Daichi muttered.
Kuroo hopped down from the mats with a dramatic stretch. "Okay, okay. I’ll help."
Daichi blinked. "...Really?"
"Of course," Kuroo said sweetly.
For three blissful seconds, Daichi felt the spark of hope.
Then Kuroo cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "HEY YAKU, FIRST ONE TO DO A BACKFLIP WINS A BAG OF MILK BREAD!"
"YOU’RE ON, TRAITOR!" Yaku screamed, already mid-sprint.
Noya screeched, "MILK BREAD IS MY DESTINY!"
Lev: "I CAN DO TWO!!"
All of them launched themselves into chaos. Kuroo looked immensely pleased with himself.
Daichi stared at him. "…Why."
"You said help. You didn’t say what kind of help."
"This is sabotage."
"This is leadership," Kuroo corrected. "It’s called morale boosting. Also, you’re cute when you’re about to burst a blood vessel."
Daichi didn’t even dignify that with a response. He turned back toward the court, lips pressed into a thin line.
Someone (likely Tanaka) was now leading a full-group chant that involved chicken sounds. Suga had disappeared. So had Kenma. Hinata was climbing something he absolutely shouldn't.
Kuroo stepped beside Daichi, hands in his pockets, gaze amused.
"...You're really taking this Captain thing seriously," he said, not teasing for once.
"It’s my job," Daichi replied, tired but grounded. "Someone has to."
"Yeah. Guess so." Kuroo tilted his head. "You always like this?"
"Like what?"
„Responsible."
Daichi turned, half-expecting sarcasm. Instead, Kuroo was just looking at him. Not mocking. Just… studying.
Daichi shrugged. "Karasuno doesn’t run on chaos. Someone has to hold it together."
"That's where we're different." Kuroo grinned again. "Nekoma runs on chaos. You just have to steer the current."
"Like herding cats."
Kuroo nodded solemnly. "Exactly like that."
Daichi sighed and finally allowed a ghost of a smile. "Then I hope you brought a leash."
"Do I look like someone who uses a leash?"
"...You know what? Never mind."
Eventually, Coach Ukai whistled everyone into cleanup, bribing them with the promise of vending machine snacks if they didn’t destroy the entire gym in the process.
As the teams slowly dispersed, sweaty, sore, and loud, Daichi grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Beside him, Kuroo did the same.
"You know," Kuroo said as they walked toward the doors, "I think we make a pretty good team."
"We’re not a team," Daichi replied.
"Yet," Kuroo said with a wink.
Daichi shook his head. "You're exhausting."
"You’re welcome."
ᨐ