He's still getting used to a new team, made up of players he doesn't know very well yet and that don't know him either, with the sole exception of Kunimi, a constant presence since the first year of junior high. It's kind of weird too, going back to being one of the youngest. It means going back to calling his teammates senpai and getting used to the idea that he is the new gear in a machine that's been working long before he arrived. It also means that he has to learn everyone's names all over again and what they'd prefer to be called, who is in a horrible mood in the mornings and it's best to avoid, who will be less likely to laugh in his face if he asks an obvious question. It means having to earn himself a spot on the starting lineup again, to prove once more what he's capable of and deal with all the other first and second years that would kill for his spot on the court.
It means, too, getting used to new coaches with their own idiosyncrasies, and new teammates that don't know him well enough to be able to tell at once what's going on with him unless he says it out loud.
"If you need me to change anything regarding my toss, you've got to tell me, Kindaichi."
He nods at once but it's still difficult to gather the courage to ask Oikawa-san for anything or even suggest an adjustment. Perhaps this is the strangest thing of all: a setter you can ask things from, without fear of losing your head, a setter that doesn't believe everyone should move to his tune.
Almost too good to be true.
At first, he doesn't know what to make out of Oikawa-san, with his hair out of a shampoo ad, his silly grin with his tongue out, or the sign peace he likes to pull off for no reason at all. Not to mention his fangirls, who had to be kicked out of practice more than once. Kindaichi never believed a bunch of girls way shorter than himself could be so intimidating, but they've got sharp nails that hurt. He doesn't know very well either what to think of Iwaizumi-san hitting the captain to keep him in line when he "goes stupid." Considering that Oikawa-san is such an amazing player (and it's easy to tell, with his always nearly perfect tosses and his formidable serve that's even scarier than Kageyama's), the other third years don't seem to take him that seriously. Sometimes, Oikawa-san seems not to take anything too seriously and that's definitely something he's not used to in a setter.
But all those toothpaste ad smiles and his peace signs disappear once he's on the court, where his focus turns him into a very different person. At that moment, there's no doubt why he is the captain of a team in the prefecture's top four. Perhaps he was mistaken when he believed that Oikawa-san wasn't the sort of setter that wanted his team to move to his tune, perhaps it's a matter of manner instead of intent. Oikawa-san doesn't yell where you've got to jump and how high; instead, he seems to toss the ball to the exact point where it'll be the easiest for you to spike it, and he directs the game like he would conduct an orchestra, calmly setting the pace and the role of each player.
It's a completely novel sensation, not expecting getting yelled at all the time, and a part of Kindaichi still hesitates and cowers whenever he messes up, no matter how often Iwaizumi-san tries to reassure him with a pat on the shoulder —that always carry a little more force than necessary, of course.
It's not like he's afraid of Oikawa-san.
He just feels the most profound respect.
They have their first practice match against a school that's not in the prefecture's top eight, so they can't be that important. Oikawa-san, though, seems to take it seriously —to the point that he sprains his ankle right before the game. The rest of the boys on the team definitely don't want to listen in, but Iwaizumi-san's yelling makes it impossible not to.
You're acting as dumb as you did at Kitagawa Daiichi, and for what? If you stay on the bench it'll serve you well for being such a dumbass, Trashkawa.
Hanamaki-san, with a look of everlasting resignation, ushers them all away from there before they get to hear the captain's reply.
Only on the very day of the game does Yahaba brings up something that Kindaichi would've rather kept buried.
"Isn't Karasuno the school Kageyama went to?"
Kindaichi scoffs. He knows exactly what he's going to see when he meets Kageyama again, this time at the other side of the net: a tyrannical king who must have already subjected his new team into his draconian dictatorship. People don't change that much, especially in such a short amount of time.
He wonders how they can put up with it; whether they're so desperate for a chance at winning, perhaps, that they're willing to let themselves be ruled by a first year kouhai.
At least, he no longer has to.
Karasuno, though, turns out to be a little… different from what he expected. To begin with there's that guy with the shaved head and murderous glare and the blond one wearing glasses and an aloof demeanor (and shit, he's tall, which coming from Kindaichi is saying something). Both of them seem to have very little regard for Aobajousai's reputation. Then he meets the redheaded midget that plays as a middle blocker, even though he looks like an elementary school kid, and who messes up so often that anyone would think it's the first time he's ever held a ball. Why Kageyama hasn't murdered him yet is a mystery.
The midget screws up the serve and smashes the ball against the back of Kageyama's head. Kindaichi bets he's not the only one whose breath falters and who sees the remains of the boy already splattered over the wooden floor, which they'll have to clean up with a spatula.
He doesn't want to spend the next three years practicing in a gym with wooden floors forever stained by the blood of one of Kageyama Tobio's teammates.
Kageyama… does not kill him. Instead, he goes and apologizes when the midget misses one of his tosses. He knows, without need to look over his shoulder, that Kunimi has the same incredulity painted all over his face.
Kageyama, apologizing?
The world would end first. And yet…
The boy runs at top speed, jumps and the ball is suddenly there, right before his hand and, in a flash, it hits forcefully against the wooden floor at the other side of the net. Too fast to run and receive it, too fast to even blink.
Is it possible that there exists someone capable of spiking Kageyama's tosses and, on top of that, making it look as easy as breathing?
The coach disregards that possibility at once and yet, his words are even harder to believe for Kindaichi. Kageyama, the tyrannical king incapable of listening to anyone's opinion, now adjusting his movements to a rookie's; Kageyama, allowing someone else to set the pace.
If the moon turned out to be made of cheesecake, he'd feel less stunned.
And most unbelievable of it all…
That boy jumps without even looking at the ball, with unwavering certainty that it will be there when he spikes. He jumps with eyes closed, not a worry in the world, at top speed and without an instant of doubt, without the slightest hesitation.
He jumps believing 100% that Kageyama will never fail him.
Kindaichi still remembers all too well all those times he jumped as high and as fast as he could, and even stretching his arm at his maximum he could barely graze the ball with his fingertips. How can you trust someone whose tosses get more and more reckless, more erratic; how can you trust someone unable to realize that no one else can keep up with him?
But N°5 trusts and jumps, over and over again.
The coach points out that the only extraordinary thing about N°5 is that he made Kageyama match his movements to his own, and that he can jump on blind faith every single time.
He says it as though it was meaningless. As though it wasn't the strangest thing Kindaichi has ever seen.
Defeat leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, but it's not so much losing the game as Kageyama's parting words. We'll be the ones to win and that "we" makes it finally hit home.
He watches as they walk away down the hallway, the midget cheekily asking Kageyama whether he's been crying; the other pulling on his hair and grunting as response.
When he tells Kunimi that now he does feel defeated, he gets a smack on the back of his head.
Perhaps he has earned it.