Chapter One

Spring commenced with its usual onslaught, sending the students at Shiratorizawa into an academic frenzy. Tendou adjusted to the breakneck pace of his classes with relative ease, having learned his lesson the previous year. The same could not be said of his club schedule. In true form, the Demon Coach rolled out his training regimen on the very first day, reducing his players to shadows of their former selves.

"It's time to put the blade to the whetstone, gentlemen," Washijo announced, his face splitting into a smile of pure, mad joy. "Each of you will be molded into a sharper version of yourself. In two weeks' time, I expect you all to play like polished steel – or else."

Molded. That was Tanji Washijo's favorite part about volleyball. He loved the thrill of headhunting, sifting through the rubble to find raw, uncut gems. It didn't mean he turned down perfection – Ushiwaka was cut from the gods' cloth after all – but the experience of teaching volleyball was so much more worthwhile if he could chisel all the way down to the ore of a player's genius, making them shine bright as diamonds.

Tendou was no diamond. He wasn't strong like the other players. His style was more elusive. More like a current of air, slippery and unpredictable. Even so, he was surprised when Washijo announced that he had made it onto the team.

I don't see a problem, so long as you give me your best. The coach had said in the confines of his office. Tendou had slumped in his chair, the weight of rejection already heavy on his shoulders. He was so certain he would be cast aside like so many times prior, he had the uncontrollable urge to protect himself, to display no emotion, even when Washijo announced that the sports scholarship was his. You have all the attributes of a great player, he said, but it's your mind I'm most keen on exploiting. Show me what you can do.

Tendou couldn't believe it.

It was a chance to belong, to be needed, to be valued.

He had thought, with a shiver of excitement, what that might be like, to play in earnest on a team that went far into the tournament season. He would play alongside athletes who were just as passionate about the game as he was, maybe even more so. His chest overflowed just thinking about it, and it made him nauseous. Only when he broke the news to his parents later that evening did he realize he was feeling pangs of joy.

He was happy.

A year had passed since that fateful meeting, and his talents were still taking shape in curious new ways. He was learning that his intuition was best forged in the fires of confidence. He would learn how to harness that power, sharpening his mind as Ushijima sharpened his precision.

. . . . . . . .

Before Tendou knew it, the first week of training drew to an end. The light in the gym turned scarlet, the smell of grass blowing through the open doorway. Coach Washijo had left practice early for a dental appointment, leaving his second-in-command in charge.

"Good work everyone," said Saito, tucking his clipboard under his arm. "Remember to stretch."

A boy with tawny hair, Taichi Kawanishi, had a habit of turning green by the end of practice. Tendou was compelled to poke him with a stick to make sure he hadn't keeled over but settled on handing him a water bottle instead. The first year took it gratefully, pressing the cool condensation to his neck.

"A little sluggish on reaction time, Taichi. Coach expects more when blocking."

"Yeah? Tell that to my legs then," said the first year, sullen. "They don't listen to me anymore."

Tendou made a face.

Another hopeful recruit, a boy named Yunohama, looked rather peaceful. His tanned skin stretched taut over his face, the hollows of his eyes dark as plums. He was seated on the floor, legs crossed, hands on his knees, spirit hovering just outside his body.

"Yunohama, are you alright?" Reon asked, squatting low beside him.

Yunohama cricked his neck.

"You won't believe this, but for a moment, I thought I saw my own ghost staring back at me. Heh."

Reon fell forward on his knees, shaking the first year vigorously.

"NO! YUNOHAMA, DON'T GO! DON'T GO INTO THE LIGHT!"

Several players converged on them, including Jin who was waving a banana in the air as if it were the antidote. "He needs potassium! Quick!" He tossed it to Semi who ripped the peel off and forced the whole fruit into Yunohama's mouth. The first year choked.

A little way across the net, another boy was planted face-down like a corpse.

"I'm about to pass out, barf, or wet myself," said Kenjiro Shirabu, his voice muffled against the floor.

"Why not all three?" Tendou asked him.

That earned him a rather snooty look.

"What? It wouldn't be the first time." Tendou hunched. "Last year, Hayato even bled."

Shirabu looked to the libero, mortified.

"Oh, that?" Yamagata chuckled. "Only because I took one of Ushijima's spikes to the face. The swelling went down after a couple of days. Playing with the neck brace wasn't so bad either."

"Neck brace?" Shirabu shrieked, quickly realizing he was trapped inside a nightmare.

The first years turned their attention to the formidable wing spiker, their expressions ranging from awe to fear. Everyone had assembled at Shiratorizawa on their own merit, but there were some individuals that were a cut above the rest. Ushijima stood alongside their captain, calmly discussing practice highlights with the lieutenant coach. He toweled the sweat from his neck, curling biceps strong enough to powder stone.

Tendou could sense their eagerness, their desire to emulate such prowess.

That was good. The team needed hunger. It thrived off of it. He thrived off of it.

"In any case, you're enduring the hardest part," he assured them.

It was a lie.

. . . . . . . . . .

Another week passed before Tendou thought of the girl with the books again.

He had been so focused on acclimating to school that, in the time that had elapsed since that distant afternoon, he had difficulty remembering anything outside her words of praise. Nevertheless, the memory seeded itself in the back of his mind, waiting to sprout questions once he relaxed from the initial hurdles of the semester.

As it so happened, it sprouted on a Sunday.

Tendou threw on his heaviest jacket, the one lined in fleece, and checked his pockets for his student ID before stepping outside the boys' dormitory. The morning air pressed in on all sides, making his face raw, and he could see low-hanging fog creep across campus. It was unseasonably cold for April. And still too dark for his tastes. But his body was warm, and he picked his way across the courtyard in long strides.

He performed this ritual every month: wake up early and make a pilgrimage to his favorite convenience store at the top of the hill. It was the same hill Coach Washijo called 'Victory Summit' and what the volleyball team reasonably dubbed 'Dead Man's Hill.' It was a steep, spiraling loop of pavement with houses on either side overlooking the neighborhood. The journey seeped with first-year memories. He couldn't help but reminisce.

There was the tea shop where Jin yakked up his lunch in the jasmine bush. They had to apologize to the hostess profusely in exchange for a cup of water. A little ways further up the road lived the red Akita Ushijima always slowed down to pet, sticking his fingers through the chain-link fence. Later in the summer when the heat was at its worst, the bushes past the spillway would be loaded with berries. They were tart and tasted vaguely of asphalt, but Tendou thought they were still delicious. He and Yamagata made themselves sick on them once, spending an entire night on the bathroom floor. Then, of course, there was the summer training camp where they had all come back so sunburned, Coach Washijo forced them to marinate in aloe vera for days.

His mind replayed his fondest memories, cataloging them carefully as he crested the top of the hill. He would never admit it out loud, but by doing this, he felt a sense of security. He was part of something. The memories mapped out his meaning, gave him context.

A street sign caught the full force of the sun, setting it ablaze like a torch.

I've seen you play on the volleyball team. You're good!

Tendou rubbed his eyes.

Who was she? The girl in the hallway.

There was nothing remarkable about her – nothing that set her apart from the rest. She had short hair, but so did forty percent of the female student population. She had green eyes, or maybe they were blue. He hadn't paid attention. All he could remember was a moony-faced first year with a bright smile. It was the ease about her that had struck him as odd. As if they had been life-long friends.

Tendou had grown so used to behaving as the persistent one, forcing friendships that, at first, seemed unlikely, that it spooked him whenever the opposite occurred. Anyone who went out of their way to befriend him was dubious from the start, and he was inclined not to trust them.

No, what he really wanted to know was where she had seen him play. Was it the tournament from last year? It had to have been the tournament, he thought, swinging his arms wide as he scaled the hill. It was the only time he had allowed himself to play with reckless abandon, earning himself a bit of the spotlight. Given that attendance was open to the public, all incoming students would have been welcomed to sit through the games. She could have just as easily watched him on television too.

As he began to pant with exertion, he supposed the only other reason she stuck in his memory was her help with Nurse Hino. Without her advice, he would have missed out on his first practice, earning himself bad luck for the year. Ushijima may not be superstitious, but Tendou took all the help he could get. He once visited six shrines throughout Miyagi Prefecture in a single weekend to gather favorable fortunes for his entrance exams, much to his parents' disapproval.

Her kindness ought to be repaid somehow, he thought. But after a moment of consideration, he quickly dropped the idea. No, too much time has gone by. It wouldn't mean much to her anyway.

He'd pay it forward and move on. Simple as that.

Rounding on the convenience store, he peeled his jacket off as he pushed through the rush of hot air from the sliding glass doors, enjoying the little jingle that announced his presence.

"Well, if it isn't Satori," greeted a sharp face from behind the counter.

"Satsuki, darling!" he said, throwing his arms up. "Long time no see!"

"You're awfully chipper this morning."

Tendou took in the owner's grandmotherly visage, her white hair trimmed at the jaw, the frayed edges of her paisley shop apron, and grinned. "I'm always this way. When have I been otherwise?"

She snorted.

"School off to a good start then?" She was sipping coffee out of a paper cup, her neck bundled in a checkered wool scarf. "The new first years seem nice enough."

"Tanji's in top form this year, but no one has defected yet. That's always something," he said, perusing the stout, wooden shelves filled with pastries and sweets. He normally kept his dorm room stocked with study-ammunition but had run dangerously low on reserves. He plucked items into a wicker basket, humming along the way.

"Satori, dear, you need to eat heartier food. You remind me too much of a daddy long-leg," Satsuki lectured, walking away from the cash register to intervene. "Why not try some of these instead?" She pointed to a refrigerated display case of rice sandwiches and pickled vegetables. "You need bananas and almonds and orange juice. Oh! How about this?" She held out a can of fermented beet greens. "An excellent source of iron." Her brows danced suggestively as if to entice him.

Tendou barely hid his disgust.

"That's senior food. I'm still on the kitten variety if you know what I mean."

Satsuki scowled.

"We had a run on the latest release of your magazine this weekend. I kept a copy held back, but maybe I should give it to my grandson, Daisuke. He listens to Grandma Satsuki. He's a very good boy," she threatened.

Tendou snatched the greens.

"That's more like it."

He wasn't sure who was more frightening – Coach Washijo or Grandma Satsuki.

He brought his things up to the counter where she punched the numbers into a yellowing calculator. The convenience store was ancient, family-owned, and smelled faintly of fish, but it had become his favorite oasis outside school. The first time he had met Satsuki, she had walked right up to him and asked what the weather was like way up above. Tendou, defensive and cagey at the time, had responded with a barb of his own, asking her if she could still remember her name despite her old age.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

"If Tanji has you boys run my hill, be sure to stop in. I'll have some popsicles ready," she said, placing all the items into a plastic bag with a swan printed on the side. She didn't charge him for the greens and slipped his Jump magazine into a brown paper sleeve. Just as she always did. He loved her for it.

"Will you be coming to any of our games this year?" He asked, handing her precise cash and change.

She took the bills but gave him back the change.

"Oh yes," she said. "You know I never miss seeing my handsome Ushiwaka. So moody and mysterious!"

She cupped her face with her hands, wistful.

"Hey! What about me? I thought I was your favorite."

"You look too much like a feather duster." She shook her head with a small sigh. "Why do you think I'm trying to fatten you up? You need to eat more. Too thin and stringy."

Tendou yanked his groceries off the counter. "Well, excuse me! I didn't realize this was a beauty contest." He fixed her with a steely eye. "Do you even pay attention to the game?"

"Good seeing you, kid." Satsuki waved, grinning. "Come see me again. Eat your greens."

Tendou exited the convenience store with a low grumble.

I'll show you, old bird.

. . . . . . . .

Tendou seated himself across Ushijima at their usual table in the cafeteria. Their classes had dragged out all morning, made worse by the darkening, overcast sky outside. Not the best Monday for a pop quiz on physics. Tendou had stared at the long list of equations he was expected to solve within the hour and wanted nothing more than to curl up into a fetal position.

It didn't help matters that he had taken the old woman's advice, bringing the can of greens with him to the lunchroom. He pulled back the metal tab, releasing the strong smell of vinegar into the air before depositing the mush over his fish and rice.

"Bleh! What is that?" Shirabu pinched his nose. "Smells like death."

"An excellent source of iron," Tendou said weakly.

"That's old people food," said Kawanishi. "Are you constipated?"

"On the contrary, I am quite regular, Taichi. Thank you for your concern." Tendou glared. "But you might benefit from it. As I recall, you have a giant stick lodged up your–"

Reon shot him a warning look.

"orfus rectus," Tendou finished lightly. "It's proven to help with momentus crankus asshatius, of which I believe you suffer from chronically."

Yamagata laughed, nearly choking on his own lunch. Kawanishi was not amused.

"I've eaten fermented beet greens," Ushijima said to the group in reproach. "They're not bad."

Of course, Ushijima had. Tendou thought of Satsuki's crush on the ace, and his resolve renewed.

He took a bite, trying not to breathe through his nose. The taste wasn't so bad, but the soft, mushy texture was markedly unpleasant. Like gnawing on tissue paper soaked in brine. Tendou gagged, quickly working his way through his lunch.

"Coach is supposed to announce our scrimmage lineup this week," said their captain as he seated himself at the end of their table.

Reon glanced briefly to Semi. "That means the new startup has been determined."

The gray-haired boy kept his expression cool, but there was evident tension between him and Shirabu. They were competing for the position of setter, and it had become glaringly obvious to the team that Shirabu was a first-class player, even if his showmanship lacked certain pizazz. Tendou forcibly swallowed his food, quick to change the subject.

"What about the culture festival, Captain? I have ideas," he said, slapping the table, "but first, I want to get a consensus on how we all feel about tutus."

Jin covered his face. "Here we go."

"Can you elaborate?" Ushijima asked.

"No, don't encourage him!" Reon tried to warn the ace, but Tendou was already smiling.

"I'm so happy you asked, Wakatoshi. I thought it would be great for the volleyball team to put on a rendition of Swan Lake for the culture festival. Kenjiro could be cast as the sinister Rothbart. Wakatoshi as Odette. Myself as the titular Odile. Eita as Swan Maiden Number 2."

"Come again?" Semi snapped, affronted.

The captain uttered a long-suffering sigh. "And insult the dancing club? I think not."

"Okay but hear me out. I've got loads more ideas." Tendou waved his hands in the air theatrically. "Pyrotechnics."

"No."

"Crime Scene Café."

"Absolutely not."

"Interpretive Karaoke."

"No."

"Glitter Pants."

Their captain was now pinching the bridge of his nose, his lunch forgotten. "Tendou, is there anything you have to offer that doesn't involve murder, madness, or mayhem?"

Tendou paused, thinking. "In that particular order?"

There were snickers across the table. His teammates were shaking their heads in disbelief, shooting each other glances. Even Semi was smirking over the ridiculous impromptu pitch meeting over their distant culture festival. The tension had lifted, for now.

Tendou relaxed. He didn't like it when there was discord within the team. There was nothing he could do to prevent Washijo from determining the new startup, but he could at least shift their focus onto lighter subjects until that moment came. After that, it would be a competition and the team dynamic would shift permanently – for better or for worse.

At the sound of the bell, it was time for his free elective.

"Finally something fun," he said, chugging his milk as he gathered his things.

"Off to poetry class?" Kawanishi taunted.

"Creative writing, you plebeian." Tendou smoothed his blazer, unfastening the buttons so that he could roll his shoulders comfortably. "I'll have you know that Mr. Harada thinks I'm the next Akutagawa."

He tapped his notebook against his shoulder with a grin. "Ciao."

Your composition is most impressive, Satori, Mr. Harada had said shortly before the winter break. Have you ever considered a career in writing? It's a shame you're in volleyball. I'd have you join the literary club in a heartbeat.

It's a paper on the migratory patterns of birds, Tendou had replied, scratching his cheek. Nothing luminary, I assure you.

Ah, but it is! How you managed to dissect a biological phenomenon through the intersection of the global economy and RPG gaming was delightful! Do you have any idea how many papers I read through the course of a year that have been penned by the lifeless, stagnant imaginations of our students today? Mr. Harada paused to clear his throat, gathering himself once more. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, appearing tired and withdrawn. Forgive me, it's been a long year.

Tendou nodded in understanding.

What I'm trying to say is…you're extremely perceptive. How you highlight on the details is truly remarkable. May I suggest taking my creative writing class as your elective next year? You can test it out and see if it sparks ideas for your academic future beyond.

Him, a writer? Tendou loved stories, but as a reader, not a creator. Besides, he'd rarely given much thought to life outside Shiratorizawa. All that serious stuff was determined during his final year which was still far away. Maybe Mr. Harada was right in suggesting the elective. Tendou did have a flair for the dramatic after all.

He chose the class at his counselor's behest. It met on the fourth floor just a few doors down from Nurse Hino's office. It was also one of the few electives that blended the different classes together, allowing him to mingle with students he normally wouldn't encounter. It was surprising to see a diverse range of people – three tennis players, the chess club captain, a cellist, two art students, and a small delegation from the school's disciplinary committee. Even his class representative, Akiko, was there. Relieved to see a familiar face, he claimed the seat beside her the very next day.

Hullo, Akiko!

Tendou, she said, surprised, I didn't know you were taking this class.

I was pressured into it, he said. My paper on geese was a real Pulitzer Prize winner, apparently.

This forced a smile from Akiko. It was subtle and polite.

Does that mean you'll be entering in the short story competition too? She asked him.

Competition?

She nodded, shaking her head of long, rust-colored hair.

Mr. Harada submits his students' work into a competition at the end of the year. Winners get to attend a workshop in downtown. She elaborated. I think it's hosted by one of the universities. Looks good on your resume.

Tendou thought of his volleyball schedule. How on earth would he find time to produce a story in the middle of the tournament season? Writing papers on biology was one thing, entering a competition another. He grinned at Akiko, hunching his shoulders noncommittally. I imagine you'll do well, miss representative. Do your best!

Akiko turned shy. Oh, I don't know about that, but thanks.

The way she straightened her pencils on the desk made him think of Ushijima's carefully stacked notebooks.

By the way, Wakatoshi really likes your puppy, he said casually.

Akiko faced him, her cheeks taking on an attractive color. She was the kind of girl who was pretty in an understated sort of way – and incredibly transparent too. The emotions on her face bled from disbelief to happiness to mortification in the span of a second. She was oblivious he was on to her, which made it all the more entertaining.

Ah, is that so? That's good to hear. Not everyone likes dogs, she said by way of deflecting the subject. My sister and I have wanted one for quite some time. Perhaps I was a little too excited yesterday.

We'll have to meet him. Argus, Tendou promised her. Wakatoshi would like that.

Mr. Harada walked into the classroom then, cutting their conversation short, but Tendou was pleased to see her cheeks lift into a smile.

As it turned out, Mr. Harada did not disappoint. The creative writing class began with full gusto, and it was thrilling to watch the instructor in his natural habitat. Instead of the tired, meekly-mannered person who forced Tendou to fill out his career assessment forms, this person was robust with dark humor. The pall lifted from his face, and Mr. Harada was suddenly an actor waxing poetic on center stage. Big, sweeping hand gestures, a voice so deep, it dove into something primordial – a teacher who used the classroom as his amphitheater. He shocked them all by standing on his chair with a foot on the desk, reading aloud an excerpt of a sea voyage gone terribly wrong.

Tendou was inspired.

They began the term reading short stories in different genres, focusing on narrative structure and character development. He thought it interesting that there were as many rules in writing as there were in volleyball and pondered how he might use them to his advantage. When it came time to delve into their assignment, he wanted to try his hand at a mystery. But…what to write?

This question had stumped him all weekend.

He could list his favorite mysteries at the drop of a hat. But to come up with an idea on his own?

Tendou was at a loss.

It was this assignment that occupied his mind now as he made his way up to the fourth floor. He took the stairs two at a time, then three, absently following students as he chewed his thumb in deliberation. As he turned the corner by the school infirmary, he rounded on a curious sight.

"What the–?"

Mussed hair. Rolled sleeves. The first-year girl. Only this time, instead of books, she was carrying a long white tarp. It was rolled up like a rug, dirty and rust-stained in places, and long too. It was the length of a cafeteria table at least. She had it hoisted over her shoulder, the end dragging on the floor behind her. Students moved out of the way, turning to stare in the process.

What in the world? Tendou hummed, squinting an eye.

There were low murmurings in the hall.

"Is she allowed to have that in the building?" One student asked another. "Doesn't seem sanitary."

"Where did she even find that thing?"

"You should have seen what she dragged in last week! You'd think one of the teachers would get on to her by now," said another student with a small shake of his head. Tendou recognized him as a junior member of the disciplinary committee. They tended to be a particular, uptight bunch.

He listened to the clandestine chatter a moment longer until it reverted to homework and weekend plans. By then, the warning bell rang, forcing everyone back inside the classrooms.

Tendou stayed, watching the first year disappear around the corner.

An idea began to form.

A/N: What kind of electives would Tendou be interested in if given a choice? As I sat down to write this chapter, I thought of his love for manga and immediately made a correlation with creative writing. With his gift for reading people, he'd be a shoo-in as a storyteller, don't you think? Mr. Harada certainly thought so, tearing up over his ground-breaking discourse on Canadian geese so much, the administrative assistant had to go and fetch Tendou for an emergency counseling session.

"Find that boy and bring him to me, Ms. Sakimoto!" Mr. Harada demanded, still in the throes of literary rapture.

"But sir, he's in French right now."

"I don't care if he's flying a plane in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic! Bring him to me! Quickly, before someone else snatches him up!"

Needless to say, Ms. Sakimoto was second-guessing her career in school administration. As she hustled through the building, she quickly realized she wasn't getting paid enough to track down first-year students all over campus. "I'm filing a complaint," she grumbled under her breath. "This is getting ridiculous."

"Rich Youth" – Hayley Kiyoko

"A Beautiful Sea" – Sing Street

Thank you for reading!

lavendermoonmilk