Tanaka slowly began to realize that their small libero had somehow adopted a dangerous mindset: that the stakes were too high, his teammates were too precious, there was too much to lose, and that Yuu himself was... expendable. Their Guardian Deity hauled them from disaster time and time again, the broadest and strongest of wings beating the skies and lifting each Karasuno crow out of failure. Yet that left the small libero in jeopardy – and over time, it was painfully clear that for Noya, there was a very blurred line between acts of salvation... and acts of sacrifice.

The longer he treaded that line... the more he neared his own demise.

PROLOGUE:

I'm Sorry.

I am your Libero.

Here, I stand and watch.

The crowd roars for you, yet I hear nothing.

Both eyes wide, unblinking.

My hands, outstretched like twin branches of a sapling tree.

I am weak in form.

I know this.

I cannot jump, or block, or serve like you.

I can only do this for you.

And I will do it well.

Here, I feel and twitch.

It is almost a sixth sense, what I feel.

My eyes and mind track the motion of a ball

Ricocheting off the palm of a strong spiker.

My fingers, they twitch fractionally.

My hands clasp in routine form.

Feet lift off the lacquered wooden court

Carrying me on a human chariot of my own frail form

Landing me in the exact spot needed

Arms snatching the ball from its destination of impact.

Here, I groan and gasp.

The floorboards, slick from your sweat

Complicate my sneakers' efforts to regain traction.

My knees bend and buckle repeatedly.

My shoulders heave with my agonizing breaths.

My heart is hammering against my lungs

Bruising my chest from the inside.

I need to stop, my body tells me.

But I see you standing around me, hopeful.

So I subtly shake my head, stand upright instead.

I know you need me.

Here, I stand and reset.

I faintly register your shouts of praise

That land on a blank mind.

There is no thought left in the adrenaline rush.

I move on pure instinct.

My blood pulses with the sense I get

Tingling sensations roaring in the air.

The hair at the nape of my sweaty neck stands upright.

I know even before you make the spike attempt

That the middle blocker before you will smack the ball down.

Here, I leap and dive.

My chest pounds and scrapes relentlessly against the floor of the court.

My skin is raw by now from the constant friction.

My feet propel me down and forward in the exact trajectory

I need to slide my forearms just beneath the descent of the ball.

I grit my teeth as my elbow thunk painfully against the floor.

But thankfully, once again, the ball and I connect

And you can prepare for the next set-and-spike.

Meanwhile, I gingerly pick myself up.

Here, I stand and sway.

My now-cracked ribs struggle to draw sufficient air.

My vision blurs, and it takes two headshakes to rediscover clarity.

Worried, you ask me if I'm all right.

I automatically reply in the affirmative

As if I would ever reply in any other way.

Externally, I grin widely, backtracking to my position.

Internally, I am a mess of physical trauma and agony.

My balance corrected, I shout encouragements

And I lean onto the balls of my feet.

Our opponents are strong

And I am vigilant.

Here, I intercept.

Later, few will understand just what happened on the court.

Even in the moment, it is only half of you who can even see

That ball carelessly rocket off the flying serve

Piercing the tense air with all the direct power of a sharp arrow.

It is aiming for you.

You, who are dear to me.

My family, my friend, my ward.

It will shatter your skull.

I alone can see that it will kill you.

And you do not – cannot – move out of its path fast enough.

But I can.

I sprint laterally across the court.

My body plants me in front of you

In the knick of time, as my forearms rise up

In a block torn from the pages of a martial arts textbook

Rather than the manual of a libero.

I receive the ball.

All play stops.

All jaws drop.

Because both of my forearms snap, audibly, in the process.

And the force causes me to black out not too long afterward.

My now-useless body collapses onto the court.

I'm sorry.

"NOYA!"