June 28th, 2008

Atsumu was no stranger to the story—he and Osamu had heard it many times before, and he could practically recite it in his head. Still, though, Akari was telling it again as she drove them home. They lived a bit out of the way from downtown Kobe, and it was a forty minute drive back home.

Forty minutes of listenin' to ma whine, Atsumu thought scathingly, sharing a glance with Osamu. His twin didn't have to say anything for him to know that they were on the same wavelength about this.

The story could be contained in just a few point sentences. Akari had fallen in love with their father, Hozumi, in high school, and fell pregnant at the age of eighteen—just a month before her graduation. From there, it had been a constant downward spiral into bitterness, takeaway dinners and keeping up with her former fellow trainees by stalking their social media profiles and scorning their success. Now, after months of debate, Akari was determined to set foot in the entertainment industry once again—this time through her sons.

It wasn't so bad.

Akari was annoying at best, and Atsumu enjoyed attention. He had come to terms with this a while ago and didn't really see the problem with it. Besides, no matter how annoying she was, she was still their mom. And it wasn't like she was making them quit volleyball or anything—they just needed to dedicate some of their time to the studio, too.

"Well?" Akari demanded as she sped down the highway. "How were your auditions?"

"'Samu wore a dress," Atsumu said immediately, grinning impishly.

"Did not!" snapped Osamu. "Stop lyin', ya lyin' liar."

Their mother sniffed. "I should think not. No son of mine is going to be wearing dresses, especially on national television." In the rear-view mirror, Atsumu saw her narrow her eyes. "You did get in, didn't you? Or were you just messing around?"

Osamu wasted no time throwing him under the bus for before. "Only 'Tsumu did."

In return, Atsumu aimed a kick at his shin, which he had to jerk to the side to dodge.

"Atsumu," warned Akari.

Atsumu groaned. "Ma, we made it okay? We got through that weird dress-up audition, but we didn't cook anythin'."

Akari smirked. "Good. Who did your makeup, by the way? It looks nice."

It may have looked good, but it certainly didn't feel it. Atsumu's face was beginning to feel cake-y, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to scratch the substance off his cheeks. "Some lady. I don't remember her last name."

"Her first name was Miwa," Osamu, who was in the middle of unzipping his backpack to take out his lunch box, put forth. As soon as he finished speaking, he cracked open the box, pulled out an onigiri wrapped in cling-wrap, and begun to peel off the covering.

"You only remember it 'cause it sounds like ours," Atsumu huffed.

"Yeah. So?"

"Just gimme one already, jerk."

Wordlessly, Osamu passed his brother a rice ball and took a big bite out of his own. Atsumu was quiet, too, as he ate, pondering the next time he would see Aran and play volleyball again. They would be entering their second year of middle school next year, and he wanted to see how how good Aran had gotten since he graduated from his own second year. At his feet, wedged beneath the driver's seat and the floor, was a scuffed up volleyball. One that Atsumu often set whenever he was at home to one-up his lazy brother.

"I spoke to the director a few days ago," Akari suddenly said. "Filming will be in Sendai, Miyagi."

"What?!" Atsumu burst out. "But that's so far away!"

"Do we hafta?" Osamu added, his rice-filled cheeks puffed out indignantly.

Akari's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Are you really asking me this now? You passed, and that's all that matters for now. Don't throw away your dreams like I did."

The twins exchanged a glance.

This ain't our dream.

Finally, they were home, Akari pulling into their driveway. Atsumu collected his volleyball and shut the door, giving his house an appraising look. Akari didn't make a lot of money bagging groceries and stocking shelves, and their dad was unemployed, but at least they had a nice house. One their paternal grandparents had left for their dad before they passed.

"Oomph!" Atsumu glared at Osamu when the latter slapped his back.

"Quit starin' and get movin', ya jerk."

"I was aboutta!"

They took off their shoes at the porch and carried them in. Their house didn't have a typical entrance-way, and they had to stack their shoes on a small shelf by the front door.

"We're home," the twins chorused.

"Dear?" Akari called, unfastening her earrings. She wandered into the kitchen. "Hozumi?"

"Betcha he's passed out on the floor," Atsumu whispered, smiling. But Osamu didn't return the smile. His brows were furrowed; slowly, Atsumu's own smile faded. "Lighten up, why don'tcha?"

"Sorry if I ain't laughin' about our dad bein' a deadbeat drunk," Osamu deadpanned, walking ahead.

Atsumu let his brother go, clicking his tongue. Osamu had always been more sensitive about their father, but it'd been getting worse recently. What's the point of gettin' all down in the dumps about it, though? It wasn't like their father would change overnight. Because Hozumi never changed. Sighing, he slid down the corridor on his socks and entered the bedroom he shared with Osamu. He threw his bag aside and shrugged off his jacket. It might have been chilly this morning, but it was certainly warming up now.

He slept on the bottom bunk, and all but tossed himself into bed, on top of the covers. He hadn't done much today, but he needed to recharge.

Osamu came in not too long after Atsumu was starting to nod off, bringing the smell of the kitchen in with him. "Ma's makin' lunch."

Atsumu yawned, feeling his t-shirt twist as he turned on his side. "Wha? Like, actual lunch, or...?"

A snort. "Whaddya think?"

Lunch was what Akari had taken home from the local supermarket from her last shift. His appetite reduced to nil, Atsumu sipped on a juice box, wishing that his brother did the cooking around the house instead. He was much better than the rest of them combined. Before her family had disowned her for being a pregnant teenager, Akari had been pampered, and Atsumu knew for a fact that she didn't even know how to cut vegetables properly. Their dad was even worse—the only thing he entered the kitchen for was beer or dinner.

"Where's dad?" Atsumu asked the useless question. Chokin' on his own vomit, maybe?

"I'm not sure," answered Akari. "At the bar, maybe. Or pachinko."

The corner of Osamu's lips turned downward. "Pachinko? Seriously? Can he just... not?"

Akari sighed heavily. "You know how your father is."

"Can't ya just leave 'im?" ventured Atsumu.

"Atsumu, we've talked about this."

Atsumu pushed his soggy, soy sauce soaked vegetables around in his takeaway container. "Whatever."

Their time together proceeded in silence. Osamu ate most of the food, burping loudly at the end of it. He was bringing his plate—he was the only one who needed one—to the sink when Akari popped a question that neither of them had been expecting.

"I saw these in the bin," she lifted up two crinkled papers, "When I was cleaning your room."

Osamu, still standing at the sink and washing his hands now, peered over his shoulder, frowning. "Ya went through our stuff?"

"Don't be like that. It was just trash."

She's making that face, thought Atsumu, eyes darting to the side so he wouldn't have to see it anymore. The one that says 'I have nothin' to be sorry for because I did nothin' wrong'.

Judging from the outrage on Osamu's mien, it was the entirely wrong thing to say. Before he could speak up further about it, though, she went on, "I didn't realize the school was so old fashioned. These 'my dream' worksheets... aren't they outdated?" Akari gave the papers a once-over. "But... it did raise some concerns for me."

Atsumu knew what Osamu had written on his and vice versa.

"I know KidProdigy might not exactly be your dream, but you'll learn to love it," Akari assured them. "Atsumu—it's sort of close to your dream, isn't it? It's not pro volleyball, but you'll still get attention, right?" As if that was all that mattered to him. She really didn't know him, did she? "And Osamu..." Here, she hesitated. Atsumu felt a pang of irritation—Akari was always more patient with Osamu. She never spared that sort of patience or sensitivity with him. "If you do this, you'll be the furthest you can possible be from him."

"Bullshit," Atsumu said, waiting for Osamu to back him up.

But Osamu didn't say anything. Just rubbed more soap into his hands.

Akari's nostrils flared. "Watch your language." Then she held up the worksheets again. "Maybe you should pin these on your board," she advised, referring to the cork-board hanging in their room. It was divided vertically in the middle by a line of chalk—the left side belonged to Osamu, and the right to Atsumu.

Atsumu refused almost immediately, but Osamu didn't. Instead, he took both of the sheets from their mother. "I'll go put 'em up."

"Hey!" Affronted, Atsumu abandoned the dining table without excusing himself and chased after Osamu, catching up with him in the hall just outside their bedroom. "Yer kiddin' me, right? Why?"

"You don't have to do this," Osamu retorted, shoving the paper in Atsumu's face. "But... Maybe ma's right fer once."

"Huh?! Now I know yer insane!"

Osamu stepped around him and into their room, where he put up his worksheet on his side of the board. Atsumu looked down at his own worksheet, pressing his lips into a thin line. Then, with a grumble, he caved, putting his sheet on his side of the board, too. There was a grey stain on the top corner of the paper, which he ignored when he took a step back to admire it reluctantly.

MY DREAM

NAME: Miya Atsumu

DREAM: Get into the v-league and become the best setter of all time

Atsumu turned his head to glance at Osamu's.

MY DREAM

NAME: Miya Osamu

DREAM: I don't want to be like my dad

"We'll make it," declared Atsumu, sensing the torment in his brother. He placed his hands on his hips. "Even if our dreams end up being somethin' different in the future."

Osamu allowed himself a half-smile. "Sure."

That night, Atsumu awoke to a thudding against the wall. He groaned softly, wiping a trickle of drool from his mouth. Smacking his lips, he sat up in his bed, his hair mussed on one side. What the hell was that?

He slipped out of bed, shuddering when his feet landed on the wooden flooring. It was a relatively warm night, but the planks still managed to suck the heat from his skin.

"Where're ya goin'?"

Atsumu, his hand on the doorknob, paused. Then he tilted his head back to look at Osamu, who was sitting hunched on the top bunk. "Water."

"Mmkay."

The mattress creaked slightly as Osamu flopped back down.

Atsumu waited for a few more seconds before exiting the room.

He was pouring water from the pitcher and into a glass at the kitchen counter when he heard voices growing louder from the other room—the living room, where his dad normally was, just watching television with a beer in one hand.

"—I hate you! You ruined my life!"

"Nobody asked ya to love me, bitch! I didn't ruin yer life, ya ruined it yerself!"

I knew it. Ma and dad are fightin' again... Grimacing, Atsumu chugged his water, not wanting to listen to any more of it. But the voices invaded his head anyway, and his feet were rooted to the floor.

"I WAS GOING TO BE A STAR—AHHH!"

A shriek, followed by the sound of glass shattering against the wall.

His legs shook.

What was that?!

Before he could go investigate for himself, the door to the living room slid open with a bang, then back shut as a figure lumbered through in the dark. Akari's hair was a mess, and—even in the dimly lit kitchen—Atsumu could see her face was blotchy from crying. But she didn't seem to be hurt, and he relaxed slightly.

Akari slumped against the door as her husband shouted something obscene from the living room. She clasped her hands over her ears, screaming back, "FUCK YOU, YOU BASTARD! DIE! DIE! DIE!"

Atsumu set his cup down and padded down the hall and back to his room, unnoticed by his crying mother. He crawled back into bed, numb, and stared at the bottom of Osamu's bed for the next ten minutes.

Then his brother's voice floated down. "You okay, 'Tsumu?"

"Yeah. I'm okay, Samu."

July 13th, 2008

They were on the plane to Miyagi by eight o'clock in the morning. Atsumu and Osamu slept through the entirety of the trip, even through breakfast. When they woke up, the plane was descending at Sendai Airport.

"Yer breath stinks," said Osamu.

Atsumu flipped him off as he drank from a water bottle the airline had given to them for free. Then he passed it to Osamu, who finished the rest of the liquid.

"Are you hungry?" asked Akari, who was sitting in the aisle seat. Osamu—the lucky bastard—had the window seat, leaving Atsumu to sit squished in the middle. "I bought some gyoza."

Their stomachs growling, the twins accepted, each of them eating four fried dumplings. As they ate, Akari touched up on her makeup, wearing heavy foundation to hide a bruise on her jaw. Atsumu thought there was one beneath her eye, too, but he couldn't really tell. Maybe it was just part of the dark circles under her eyes.

Director Shō had paid for a hotel room as well as an escort for them, and Atsumu wheeled his suitcase behind him with wide eyes. He had never been out of his prefecture before.

There were two men waiting for them—one was dressed in a black and blue hotelier uniform while the other was wearing a more casual outfit—track pants and some sports jersey with a jacket thrown over haphazardly. The latter was wearing a baseball cap that hid most of his head, too, and Atsumu cocked a brow at his hawk-like stare, as if daring him to do something. Kinda looks like a thug, doesn't he?

The hotelier lifted down the sign he was holding—one that read 'Miya family'—when he saw them coming. Akari approached him with a beaming smile, but the man in the cap intercepted her.

"Good morning," he greeted smoothly, ignoring her surprised face. "My name is Chen Jianhong, and I'm the set manager of KidProdigy." The surprise never left her face—clearly, Akari had been expecting the gentlemanly hotelier to take the lead in introductions. "I hope you had a nice flight."

"O-oh, yes," Akari recovered, "We did, thank you very much."

Chen barely spared the twins a glance. "We'll be heading to the hotel first. You have two hours to yourselves before you have to be on set. We won't be filming today, but," he looked at Osamu and Atsumu for the first time, "The children will be getting acquainted with one another and we'll be laying down some ground rules."

They all climbed into a car with the hotel name painted on the side. The hotelier was the driver, and Chen sat in the front passenger seat, leaving Atsumu and his family to sit in the back row. Again, much to his dismay, Atsumu found himself sitting between his brother and mother.

The drive was... quiet.

A few times, Akari did try to engage Chen in conversation, but the man was stubbornly reserved.

"Are you Chinese, Chen-san?"

"Yes."

"From the mainland, or somewhere else?"

"Mainland."

Bored, Atsumu sagged in his seat and looked out Osamu's window. According to the hotelier, it was an hour drive to their hotel. "Hey," he whispered to Osamu. "D'ya think they'll let us check out some restaurants? I wanna try some Miyagi food."

Osamu nodded, always agreeable when it came to food. "Hope so. They got some pretty good seafood here, I think. Like oysters."

"You'll get food poisoning."

"Nah." Osamu patted his belly. "Iron stomach."

"So what brings you to Japan?" Akari was asking, still pressing Chen for answers.

"I left to find work," Chen replied curtly. "Director Shō was kind enough to take me in."

"Well, you're very good at Japanese," Akari said sweetly. "There's a bit of an accent I can hear, but it's charming."

Chen grunted.

Charmin'? Atsumu wrinkled his nose. There's nothin' charmin' about this punk.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about Manager Chen didn't sit right with him. He looked at Osamu, but his brother seemed to be zoning out, staring blankly at the driver's headrest. Well, Atsumu faced forward, If he tries anythin' on us, we'll show 'im.

The rest of the kids didn't really look like much in Atsumu's opinion. Sure, they were all pretty good-looking for some reason, but none of them really stood out to him. He stood leaning against the wall with Osamu, who was drinking a milk carton he had gotten from the vending machine outside. The last they had seen of Akari, she was introducing herself to the other parents.

They sure were getting a lot of looks, though. Probably because they were twins—to their luck, though, it wasn't hard to tell them apart today. Osamu was wearing a black hoodie, while Atsumu was wearing a white sweater. Atsumu passed his hand through his black hair, pretending he wasn't scratching an itchy spot on his scalp. "Hey, 'Samu."

"Yeah, 'Tsumu?"

"Ya got any mints?" There had been a whole bowl of them at the hotel's reception desk—Osamu had took a whole handful of them.

But Osamu scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Ya ate the last one on the way here."

"Don't be stingy," Atsumu pressed, convinced that Osamu was still holding a couple for himself. Selfish prick. But before he could investigate by shoving his hands into his brother's jacket pockets, the door slammed open, and a brown-haired kid appeared. "Eh?" Smirking, Atsumu nudged his brother. "Who's this clown, 'Samu?"

Osamu was giving the newcomer a look. "Dunno, 'Tsumu."

To his credit, the boy was quick at flipping the switch. He teased his side-swept bangs a little before standing up straighter and grinning. "Hey, guys! Sorry, I'm late." He merged into the crowd, Atsumu's eyes following him curiously as he swapped introductions. He was a boy maybe around their age, and yet he had this charisma about him that neither of them did. A certain quality that made the other children open up to him quickly, and feel like they were welcome.

"This is a competition," Osamu muttered in Atsumu's ear. "I dunno what he's thinkin', goin' 'round like that."

Atsumu could already trace where this was going. He laughed. "Yer just mad 'cause you don't think he's takin' this seriously."

"Yeah, but—oh, shit, he's comin'. Act natural."

"Don't gotta tell me twice."

"Yoohoo~!" The boy halted beside them. "So you're the twins, huh?"

"Eh?" Atsumu perked up. "You've heard of us?"

"No," said the boy. "Why? Should I have?"

This jerk...! Atsumu narrowed his eyes at him. "Whaddya want, flake?"

"And I'm supposed to be the mad one?" Osamu chuckled lowly.

"Now, now, no need to be so hostile," he smirked, "My name's Oikawa. Oikawa Tooru. Hmm..." He leaned forward, hands in his pockets and eyes wide. "I've never crushed a pair of twins before. This'll be interesting."

"Huhhh?" Osamu made a leering face, Atsumu mirroring the expression. "What was that?"

Oikawa smiled. "Oh, nothing. Just what call friendly banter."

Atsumu sneered. "Take yer friendly banter and shove it up yer—"

The door swung open again, the noise drowning out the rest of Atsumu's words. It was Manager Chen—the man who had escorted them to the hotel. Truly, Atsumu wished he didn't have to see him so soon. Shoving his hands in his shorts—he had no pockets—he settled for glowering at Oikawa.

"Sorry," Oikawa whispered, not sounding apologetic in the least, "Did I offend you?"

"Shuddup before I knife ya."

"Hey," Chen growled, lifting up his clipboard. "I hope you're all acquainted now. Go down to the filming area—Director Shō has an important announcement to make, and then we're gonna go over some ground rules. Got it?"

"Got it!" they said in unison.

Only Oikawa and the twins hadn't replied, both parties exchanging rather distasteful looks.

Chen sent them outside. Atsumu tried kicking the back of Oikawa's ankles a couple of times, but always missed. The final time he tried it, he ended up kicking another kid.

"Hey, watch it!" the kid complained.

Atsumu scowled at him. "Tch, whatever."

"I'll tell the manager," he threatened.

At once, Atsumu stood up to his full height, one which towered over the other boy, who must have been a year or so younger than him. "Oh, is that so? What are ya—some goody-two-shoes? The kind that only knows how ta go cryin' ta mama? Pfft, that's real funny."

"Whoa, someone's fired up," Osamu remarked as the younger boy pushed his way forward in tears, unable to be stand being in their presence any longer. "That Oikawa guy really got under yer skin, huh?"

Once they were all gathered on set—a vast area which had multiple cooking benches for all of them—they sat down on a mat while Shō held court over them. The rules were pretty simple and boiled down to 'don't misbehave or there will be harsh penalties'.

Then they were let go for the day, everybody picking up their bags from their lockers on the way out.

"Well, that was easy," said Atsumu, adjusting the strap of his bag. It crossed diagonally over his front—Osamu had a matching one. Filming started this Tuesday, apparently.

Osamu made a noncommittal noise. "Hey, let's stop by at the vending machine."

"You're always hungry, 'Samu."

"I'm a growin' boy."

"I eat half as much as you do. Yer gonna get fat real soon, y'know."

But Osamu didn't seem to be bothered with this knowledge at all, and they took a detour through the building to where the vending machines were. They slowed down when they saw someone was already there—the stylist from the other day.

Eh? She's here, too? Must've sucked, comin' all the way to Kobe just to come back where she started.

"Oh, hello," Miwa greeted them, collecting something from the slot. A bite-sized chocolate cake. "You're the Miya twins, right? Osamu and Atsumu."

"That's us," Osamu affirmed, hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "It's nice ta see you again... Kageyama-san."

"You totally remembered that just then," Atsumu said.

"Aw, shuddup, 'Tsumu."

Miwa gave a half-smile. "Just Miwa is fine. Would you like anything?"

Osamu started, "Ah, we couldn't—"

"Yes, please!" Atsumu interjected, beaming up at Miwa. "Can we get two of what yer havin'?"

As Miwa inserted the money into the machine, Osamu stepped on Atsumu's foot. "Greedy bastard."

"Kageyama-saaaan," a female voice called, and a shadow appeared on the wall of the corridor, getting smaller as she approached. It was Takagi from the other day, with her limp brown hair and droopy eyes. "Oh, there you are. We're going out for beers tonight. You're coming, right?"

"Oh, I'll be there," Miwa promised, pink dusting her cheeks, perhaps at the prospect of getting drunk after a long day of work. She gave the chocolate cakes to the twins. "Here, my treat."

"Thank you." They accepted the food with grace. Miwa waved at them before following Takagi back to the staff area.

Atsumu peered down at his snack. "She's nice."

"And you took advantage of that, asshole." Osamu glanced down the corridor. "I saw her on set with Takagi-san, too. I wonder why—Takagi-san's so gloomy."

"Yeah," Atsumu agreed as they walked out the building, cake between his teeth. "But Takagi-san's her boss, kinda, I think."

"She's gloomy," Osamu repeated. "Like, spooky, even. I wouldn't wanna be in an alley with her at night."

Atsumu cackled. "Scared she'll turn into a bat?"

"More like that she'll stab me in the back."

Into the late afternoon air, Atsumu laughed even louder.

July 17th, 2008

Atsumu yawned, stretching his arms up and arching his back. Man, that was tough. The standard of competition was... higher than he first anticipated. But there was something strange about it. Everybody fell into a category—either you were pretty good or you absolutely sucked. Osamu fell into the former, while Atsumu was leaning more toward the latter. At least that Oikawa guy didn't seem to be such a great cook either, so it was an even playing field between them.

On Tuesday, it had been a battle for a chance at first immunity pin of the season. On Wednesday—yesterday—it had been a team challenge, and one where Atsumu discovered that he definitely didn't get along with these people. It wasn't his fault, though—they were either idiots, babies, or just plain annoying. Osamu, who had been sorted onto the same team as Atsumu, had basically carried them to victory with his captaining. He was the only reason why Atsumu wasn't cooking in an elimination round this Sunday.

Today, Thursday, had been the battle for the immunity pin between four chefs. Some girl named Hanae Miyo had won it with her unique take on an apple pie.

Personally, Atsumu didn't really see anything unique about it, but the judges were impressed anyway.

Aside from the four winners from Tuesday, everybody else was on the gantry in casual clothes. Osamu and Atsumu were wearing the same thing they had worn last Sunday—only swapped. Osamu had the sweater while Atsumu had the hoodie.

"That was intense," commented Osamu.

"You should've been down there," some random girl opined before Atsumu could respond, wedging herself between them. "You're a great chef, Osamu-kun."

"Oh, thanks." Osamu peered around her. "Oi, 'Tsumu, think ma will let us eat out tonight?"

At being completely blown off, the girl frowned and went away. Atsumu was almost disappointed. She seemed like someone who needed to be called a pig to her face. "Nah," he replied. "Not unless one of us wins somethin'."

"Yeah, thought so."

The children were thanked for being good for this week by Takagi, Miwa standing in the backdrop. Their continued cooperation was emphasized, and then they were sent on their way. Most of them had parents waiting in the lobby, and the twins were no exception. They walked slowly, not wanting to see Akari so soon.

They were nearing the end of the corridor that opened up into the lobby when Atsumu heard it for the first time.

"Ugh," one girl was speaking lowly to her friend, unaware she was within earshot. "That Miya Atsumu is such a jerk..."

"I know, right?" her friend murmured back. "He yelled at me during the team challenge yesterday. I was so scared..."

"I yelled at ya," Atsumu whirled around, making them jump, "'Cause ya weren't helpin' with anythin'! If you don't want me ta yell, then stop bein' useless."

Osamu let out a low whistle next to him just as the girl paled, looking like she was about to burst into tears at any moment. And maybe she would've cried right there and then, Atsumu sneering, if someone hadn't appeared out of nowhere.

"Mou, Megumi-chan," Oikawa consoled. "Don't worry about this guy. He's just a huge grump." He patted her shoulder. "You'll do better next time, don't worry about it!"

Ugh, this guy again? Mr. Smiley McFake.

Megumi sniffled, but his encouragement seemed to work. "Thank you, Oikawa-kun..."

They dispersed not long after, and Atsumu all but forgot about the incident. When they were getting driven back to the hotel, however, Akari sprung a surprise on them.

"We're going to get delivery for dinner tonight," she said with one of her rare smiles. "To celebrate the end of your first week. Congratulations, my little stars. Since it's a debut show, they're showing the first two episodes in one sitting."

Delivery? Atsumu couldn't fight back a smile. That was almost as good as going to a restaurant for dinner when it came to their family. "What're we getting?"

"We can look at menus when we get back," Akari promised.

That night, they tuned it at seven-thirty to catch the first episode of KidProdigy: Into the Frying Pan!. Atsumu and Osamu sat on the floor, eating their meals at the coffee table, while their mother sat on the couch just behind them. She was indulging in some creamy pasta. The first episode passed without much commentary from any of them, but then—

Atsumu dropped his fork on his plate, dumbfounded, as he saw himself shouting at Megumi for seemingly no reason. What the hell...? The scene didn't last awful long—there were other contestants to show. She brushed all the onion skins into the bin when 'Samu said he needed them for his stew! He could feel Akari's stare boring into the back of his head. Why do I look like the bad guy here?

Osamu blinked at the TV. "Huh."

It was not an isolated scene. More scenes of Atsumu appeared, all of them being scenes where he was upsetting someone or being upset.

"Atsumu," said Akari, exasperated. "What is all this? I didn't teach you to behave this way."

"It's not my fault!" Atsumu protested, twisting his head back to face her. "I mean, some of it, maybe, but they deserved it!"

"I don't want to hear excuses," she said sternly. "Next week, you better be on your best behavior, okay?"

Atsumu glared at the floor. He couldn't promise that. Not in the least. "Fine."

The next clump of pasta he ate, he bit down on the plastic fork.

"The ratings and viewership," Takagi said gingerly, holding out a sheet of paper to the director. "Aren't as good as we hoped for."

Shō pursed his lips, taking the record from her and scanning it. "I see. But there seem to be spikes at certain time frames." He handed it back to her. "Find out what was playing here," he circled a peak, "and here." He circled another peak.

Takagi bowed. "Of course, sir."

She returned perhaps fifteen minutes later, just as Shō was packing up his laptop and preparing to leave the studio for the day. "Apparently," she reported. "It was when..." She paused, then took out her phone. "It would be better to show you." Takagi had recorded a larger screen from a different room.

Shō watched carefully as Miya Atsumu spat and swore at his fellow contestants on his assistant's grainy recording. Takagi remained apprehensive, waiting for words of disapproval and maybe a threat to kick him from the show.

But, instead, Shō merely smiled. "I see. I understand now. Thank you, Assistant Takagi. You can leave for today."

"Thank you, sir."

As she was leaving, he called after her, "Going drinking with Kageyama-san again?"

"And the others," Takagi said, defensive.

"Well, you have fun now."

"... Thank you, sir."

A/N: Based on the story of Mirae from Girl's World/Odd Girl Out. If you've read it, you'll probably know where this is going 0u0