Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or Haikyuu

A/N: AU. Post-Karasuno transfer. Hinata builds something from the ground up—chaos, rivalry, redemption, and volleyball. Mix of Naruto and Haikyuu characters. TW: Bullying (past), language.

He watched the ball hit the floor.

Watched Oikawa grin.

Watched everything they'd worked for collapse under a single point.

Karasuno lost to Aoba Johsai.

After all the training, all the sprint drills, all the late nights... it just ended. With one sharp serve, one perfect block, and the sinking feeling that maybe it had never been enough.

They bowed. They walked off court. They said nothing.

That silence followed Hinata for days.

He earned his spot.

But he never got to keep it.

It started small.

Tsukishima, during a drill:
"Are you trying to spike or swat a fly?"

Kageyama, after a mistimed set:
"…Where were you aiming?"

Yamaguchi, half-laughing:
"Haha, he tried his best though."

Hinata laughed too. Pretended it didn't sting.

Told himself it was just part of team culture.

He could take it.

But then it shifted.

The smiles thinned. The tone changed. The looks got colder.

Then it stopped being funny.

Kageyama, flat after a missed set:
"Try jumping into traffic next time — maybe you'll land that."

Hinata didn't look at him.
Bold, coming from someone who can't set without treating people like equipment.

Tsukishima, deadpan, not even looking up:
"Nobody wants you here. You're a waste of a jersey."

Hinata kept his mouth shut.
You don't even want to be here. So what's your point?

Tanaka, laughing like it was harmless:
"You smile too much. It's fucking creepy."

He smiled anyway.
Still doesn't get the hint that Kiyoko will never get with him.

Nishinoya, after a rough rally:
"Every time you open your mouth, it's like hope dies a little."

Hinata wiped his face with his sleeve.
Then stop listening. No one asked you to.

Yamaguchi, not making eye contact:
"You think effort makes up for being shit? Newsflash: it doesn't."

Hinata didn't flinch.

This from the guy who only steps on court to serve and still chokes half the time?

They stopped setting to him in practice.

Stopped inviting him to team meals.

Someone taped a note to his locker that read: "Please return to Toys 'R' Us."

One day, he found his gym shoes on the roof, hanging from the antenna.

When he told Coach Ukai, he just said, "Try to get along."

So he kept smiling. Kept showing up. Kept jumping like that would fix something.

It didn't.

Two weeks later, his dad came home with the news. A new regional role at Kanadevia Corporation

A job transfer. Okinawa. Mid-June. Start of a new term.

They asked him if he was okay with it.

He packed that night.

Didn't say goodbye. Didn't leave a note.

Only told Kenma.

"I'm leaving Karasuno. Dad's job. New school. Okinawa."

A minute passed. Then another.

Kenma's reply came short, but honest.

"Good. You didn't deserve that."

That was it.

No emojis. No pity.

Just someone who saw him. Really saw him.

It was enough.

Let them laugh.

He'd still be the last one standing.

The sun hit different in Okinawa.

Brighter. Warmer. Like it didn't know anything about the cold stares in Karasuno's gym.

Shoyo Hinata adjusted his new uniform and bounced on his heels in front of Kunigami High's front gate. He looked like every bit of energy he had was barely contained — which wasn't far from the truth. That was his trick. Keep moving. Keep smiling. Keep going.

Even when it still hurt.

New place. Clean slate. Don't screw this up.

The school wasn't big. The building looked like it'd seen better years, and the gym was old enough to creak when the wind hit it. There were no banners hanging. No championship plaques. No volleyball team.

But the air felt open.

Hopeful.

Hinata took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked in.

1st-Year Building, Room 1-B

The classroom buzzed with quiet chatter as the homeroom teacher stepped up to the front.

"We have a transfer student today," she said, clipboard in hand. "Please be kind."

The door slid open.

In walked Hinata — all bright hair and brighter eyes, like someone who hadn't gotten the memo that high school was supposed to be miserable.

"I'm Shoyo Hinata!" he said, loud and fast. "I'm from Miyagi, and I really like volleyball!"

A few heads turned. A few eyebrows raised.

Someone in the back muttered, "Why is he shouting?"

Another whispered, "Is he glowing?"

"You'll sit next to Tobirama," the teacher added, motioning toward the middle row.

Tobirama didn't look up. White hair. Sharp eyes. That distinct aura of "do not engage."

Hinata sat down beside him, completely unfazed. He leaned over, beaming.
"Hi!"

Tobirama exhaled through his nose. "You're going to be exhausting."

"Correct," Hinata replied brightly, already settling in like he'd been there for weeks.

A chair creaked behind them. A tall, broad-shouldered boy tilted back casually in his seat, sizing Hinata up with an amused glance.

"Volleyball, huh?" he said. "Didn't know we had a team."

"We don't," Hinata replied, turning to face him. "Yet."

"You starting one?"

"Yep."

"Alone?"

"For now."

The boy smirked. "Kisame. I like hitting things. Volleyball got that?"

"Only all the time."

Kisame let out a short laugh and gave a small nod. "Sounds fun."

One row over, a slouched figure stared out the window with the posture of someone counting down the days until graduation.

Shikamaru barely blinked as Hinata leaned toward him.

"You good?"

"This is such a drag," Shikamaru muttered.

"You a morning person?"

"I'm a 'why is this my problem' person."

Hinata grinned. "Want to join a volleyball team?"

Shikamaru finally looked at him. "Do I look like someone who runs on purpose?"

"…Fair."

Across the room, Gaara sat with his hands folded neatly on his desk, unmoving. Quiet. Not tense, but still.

"Hi," Hinata offered, voice softer this time.

Gaara looked at him for a second too long. Then gave a small nod. "Hello."

"You like volleyball?"

A pause.

"I don't dislike it."

Hinata smiled. "That's a start."

A few seats down, Obito spun a pen between his fingers, finally glancing up.

"So you're the one trying to start a volleyball team."

Hinata turned toward him. "That obvious?"

Obito shrugged, his tone casual. "You walked in like you were announcing a parade. Said the word 'volleyball' like it was a spell. You're not exactly low-key."

"Shoyo," Hinata said, introducing himself again like he hadn't already done it loudly to the whole room.

"Obito," he replied. "I don't do team pep talks, so if you're here to recruit—"

"I'm not."

Obito raised an eyebrow.

"…Yet," Hinata added.

That got a quiet chuckle. "Alright, transfer kid. Let's see how long you last."

"Longer than you think."

Toward the back, another figure leaned into the shadows of his seat—tall, arms crossed, gaze steady beneath heavy lashes.

"You're the transfer," Madara said, finally glancing over.

Hinata looked at him. "And you're observant. Nice."

Madara studied him for a second. "You talk a lot."

Hinata shrugged. "You don't talk enough."

There was a pause.

"You look like you haven't smiled since birth," Hinata added.

Madara didn't flinch. "I prefer quiet. Keeps people away."

"So does looking like you might bite."

Madara smirked—barely. "Careful. I might actually start liking you."

"Too late," Hinata replied. "You're already in my top ten brooding classmates."

They watched each other in silence for a moment—two completely different energies, but neither backing off.

"You even know how to play?" Hinata asked.

Madara shrugged. "Not really. But I don't like losing. So I don't."

Hinata stared. "…So you're joining a sport you've never played."

"If I wanted easy," Madara said, "I'd join gardening club."

Hinata blinked. "Weirdly valid."

Madara's smirk returned. "I'll figure it out. Just don't slow me down."

Hinata grinned and leaned back in his chair, tapping his pencil against his desk. "Only if you promise not to punch the ball by accident."

He paused, then added casually, "First practice is Friday. After school. Back gym. Or… I don't know — whenever I can actually get enough players to show up."

Madara gave a short nod. "Got it."

"Oh—and bring water," Hinata added "And maybe a spare ego. Just in case."

Madara didn't answer. He just watched him, eyes unreadable.

Then turned back to the window.

Tobirama buried his face in his hands. "This is going to be a nightmare."

Hinata leaned back in his seat, watching the personalities collide like sparks in dry air.

"Nope," he said, smiling wide. "This is going to be fun."

After class

The bell rang. Chairs scraped. Students scattered like they were sprinting from a crime scene.

Hinata was still at his desk, half-packing his bag, half-watching the room break apart.

Tobirama was already at the door, pausing just long enough to glance back.

""Your leg hasn't stopped moving since class started." he muttered.

Hinata grinned. "It was either that or fall asleep."

Tobirama rolled his eyes and walked out.

Kisame clapped Hinata on the back on his way past. "You talk a big game, shrimp. Better back it up."

"I plan to," Hinata said, steady.

Shikamaru passed next, hands in his pockets. He looked like he was on the verge of a nap.

"You serious about that club?" he asked.

"Dead serious."

Shikamaru stared at him for a beat. "Troublesome," he muttered, and walked off.

Madara moved slower. He didn't say anything at first — just stopped beside Hinata's desk, looking at him with that unreadable calm.

Hinata tilted his head. "What?"

Madara shrugged. "You've got a lot of nerve."

Hinata blinked. "Thanks?"

"That wasn't a compliment."

"It never is with you."

They stared at each other again, something tense but not hostile crackling between them.

Madara broke it with a short nod. "Friday."

Hinata smiled. "Friday."

Madara walked out.

Obito wandered by last, pausing in the doorway.

"You keep talking like this club is already a real thing," he said.

Hinata zipped his bag. "It will be."

Obito tilted his head. "Hope you're not just loud. Be a shame if there was nothing under it."

Hinata's grin didn't fade. "Stick around. You'll see."

Obito gave a half-smirk and disappeared into the hall.

Now alone, Hinata slung his bag over his shoulder, finally, and looked around the empty classroom.

First step down.
A few maybe-yeses.
A lot of chaos.

It wasn't a team. Not yet.

But it was a start.

He headed toward the courtyard, deciding he'd eat outside. New air, new school, maybe a little peace.

Hinata sat alone on a bench, unwrapping a rice ball.

"Yo."

A shadow loomed. Hinata looked up—and up—and saw the tall guy from earlier: Kisame.

"I figured you'd be out here," Kisame said, plopping down beside him like they were already friends. "You've got 'main character eats alone' energy."

Hinata nearly choked laughing. "I do not!"

Kisame grinned. "You do. I'm Kisame, by the way."

"I remember! You said you like hitting stuff."

"I do. People, mostly. But volleyball sounds fun too."

Hinata squinted. "Should I be worried?"

"Only if you stand in front of me while I'm spiking."

Pause.

"...So when's practice?"

Hinata blinked. "You're in?"

"I'm bored. You're loud. That's usually a good combo."

Hinata lit up. "Yes! Okay, okay—I need at least five members to make it official. You're the second!"

Kisame raised a brow. "This some kind of sports anime thing?"

Hinata: "You have no idea."

The Next Day Wednesday

The library was nearly empty, Hinata sat at a table near the back, surrounded by open textbooks and a notebook that looked more like a crime scene than study material. A highlighter dangled from his mouth as he stared down at a word problem.

"If two trains are moving at… why is it always trains?" he muttered, then started sketching stick figures trying to escape a crash.

Someone slid into the seat across from him.

"That's not how you solve it," said Minato, voice calm and even.

Hinata looked up. "I know. I'm just visualizing my emotional damage."

Minato gave a small, amused breath — maybe the closest thing to a laugh Hinata had heard from him. "Give me your notes."

"Wait... are you helping me?"

Minato took the notebook gently. "Let's call it... preventing a disaster."

Before Hinata could reply, another presence shifted at the end of the row.

A tall student approached — quiet steps, black uniform neat, presence cold and unreadable. He didn't say anything at first. Just pulled a book from the shelf, glanced down at Hinata's notebook, and stared.

"…Are those supposed to be people?" the boy asked.

"They're trying to survive the problem," Hinata said defensively.

"You gave one a sword."

"It's symbolic."

Minato glanced down at the page, then looked back at Hinata. "He's been at this for a while."

Hinata leaned forward. "I'm Hinata."

The other student gave a short nod. "Uchiha. Itachi."

He flipped through his book, then paused. "If you actually want to improve, maybe stop treating word problems like performance art."

Hinata laughed despite himself. "You're not wrong."

Itachi looked at him directly. "Most people your age either try too hard or don't try at all. You're stuck in the middle. That's unstable."

Minato added gently, "It means there's potential. You're just scattered."

Hinata blinked. "Was that an insult?"

Minato gave a faint smile. "Mine wasn't."

Itachi didn't comment.

Hinata sighed and picked up his pencil. "Okay, fine. I'll study for real."

Itachi closed his book. "Do it right, or don't bother."

And with that, he turned and walked off, silent and precise.

Hinata watched him go. "He's kind of terrifying."

Minato nodded thoughtfully. "He's also usually right."

Hinata erased the sword from one of his stick figures.

Then paused.

"So," he said, "would either of you want to join my volleyball club?"

Minato didn't look up from the notebook. "I'll come to practice. That counts, right?"

From halfway down the aisle, Itachi raised a hand without turning around — quiet, effortless, and final.

Hinata lit up, a grin spreading across his face.

"Four down."

Hinata sat at his desk long after the final bell, hunched over his notebook like he was trying to summon the answers through sheer willpower.

His notes were a chaotic mess of arrows, doodles, and something that might've been a mitochondrion… or a potato.

He mumbled to himself, chewing on the cap of his pen. "Okay, cells… power… energy transfer… yeah, because that clears everything up."

Tobirama walked by the door, paused, then slowly turned back like he regretted it immediately.

"…You're still here?"

Hinata looked up, wide-eyed. "Yeah. Studying. Or doing an incredible impression of someone who understands what's going on."

Tobirama stepped into the room, arms crossed. "Let me guess. You're comparing mitochondria to some weird anime thing again."

"Nooo," Hinata said innocently. "They're battery packs now. Upgraded. Version 2.0."

Tobirama sighed like he aged five years on the spot. "They're organelles. Not gadgets."

Hinata grinned. "Well, they sound like they belong in a sci-fi movie. 'Activate the mitochondria!' Zap zap!"

Tobirama walked two desks down, dropped his bag with a dull thud, and pulled out a slim, perfectly organized notebook. He tossed it onto Hinata's disaster zone of a desk.

"What's this?" Hinata asked, blinking.

"My notes," Tobirama said flatly. "Use them. Or at least try not to set them on fire."

Hinata opened it and immediately froze. Clean handwriting. Labeled diagrams. Highlighted key terms.

"…This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"You say that to every page you don't have to write yourself."

Hinata held up the notebook reverently. "Do I bow now? Is this a sacred text?"

Tobirama pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not helping you. I'm protecting the school's reputation."

"So you are helping me."

Tobirama glared. "Just shut up and study."

Hinata gave him a thumbs-up with both hands. "Aye aye, Captain Cold."

"Wait," Hinata called out. "Wanna join my volleyball club?"

Tobirama paused mid-step, turned halfway, eyebrow raised. "That's random."

Hinata shrugged, hopeful. "Could use someone fast. Precise. Maybe terrifying."

Tobirama stared for a long moment. "I don't do clubs."

"Not even ones where you get to spike things at people?"

Another pause. Then, deadpan: "I'm listening."

Hinata grinned. "We practice after school on Friday. You in?"

Tobirama gave a quiet sigh, like the weight of the universe had just landed on his shoulders. "Fine. But I'm not shouting weird phrases or wearing matching uniforms."

"No promises," Hinata shot back, already triumphant.

Tobirama turned to leave. "This is a mistake."

"Most good things start that way!"

Hinata sat at a cheap plastic cafeteria table with his head buried in his arms, textbook open, notes scattered like confetti from a failed parade. His pen had rolled off the edge five minutes ago. He hadn't moved to get it. The noise around him — trays clattering, chairs scraping, someone shouting across the room — all blurred together. He looked like a kid trying to summon answers through osmosis.

Kisame dropped into the seat beside him with two instant ramen cups and a canned coffee. "Studying or just slowly dying at this point?"

Hinata didn't lift his head. "The Meiji Restoration is personally out to ruin my life."

Kisame unwrapped his chopsticks. "Bold of you to take on a historical period. How's that working out?"

Hinata mumbled into the table, "I don't even know what I'm reading anymore. I think I just learned about the same emperor three times under different names."

"That's history for you. Confusing on purpose."

Hinata sat up slowly. His hair stuck out in weird directions, and his eyes were half-lidded from staring at notes too long.

"I'm serious," he said. "I've reread the same paragraph five times and it's like my brain's just... rejecting facts."

"You say that every time you study."

Hinata pointed at his notes. "Because every time I study, my notes end up looking like a crime scene."

Kisame slid the canned coffee toward him. "Drink this. It won't make you smarter, but it'll keep you awake while you suffer."

Hinata took the can and turned it over in his hands. "Thanks. I think."

Kisame cracked open his ramen. "You know, most people don't push themselves this hard unless they're desperate. You're not failing, right?"

Hinata shook his head. "No, but… I'm tired of just being the loud one. The dumb one who jumps high. I don't want people to only see that. I wanna be the guy who actually knows stuff. Like, for real."

Kisame paused, then said, softer than expected, "You're not dumb. You're just behind. That's fixable."

Hinata blinked. "Wow. A compliment?"

Kisame shrugged. "Don't get used to it."

He took a bite of ramen, then added, "Seriously though. You're doing something most people don't have the guts to do—admit what they suck at and actually fix it."

Hinata looked down at the can again. "Still doesn't feel like I'm getting anywhere."

Kisame's voice sharpened, just a bit. "That's because you're in the middle of it. You don't feel progress until after. Right now, you're in the sucky part."

Hinata sat quietly for a moment.

Then, quietly, "...What if I stay in the sucky part?"

"Then I'll kick your ass out of it," Kisame said bluntly. "I'm not babysitting your pity party."

Hinata snorted. "Wow. That's the nicest threat I've ever gotten."

"You're welcome."

Hinata cracked open the coffee and raised it like a toast. "To suffering."

Kisame clinked his ramen cup against it. "To getting through it."

Hinata took a long sip, made a face. "This tastes like battery acid."

"Yeah," Kisame said. "That means it's working."

The soccer field was empty after school—just dry grass, fading light, and one guy kicking a ball across the field like it owed him something.

Hinata stopped at the fence and watched.

Sasuke Uchiha moved like he was built for precision. Fast, sharp, not wasting a step. He wasn't just kicking the ball—he was testing it. Measuring angles. Controlling the field without saying a word.

Hinata climbed over the fence.

Sasuke didn't stop. Didn't even look at him.

"You know this isn't soccer practice, right?" Hinata said, walking closer.

"I'm aware."

"You always train alone?"

Sasuke stopped the ball with his foot. "It's more efficient."

"Sounds lonely."

"Sounds quiet."

Hinata nodded. "Fair."

A long silence.

Then Hinata pointed at the ball. "You ever play volleyball?"

Sasuke raised an eyebrow. "That a joke?"

"Nope. Starting a club. Need players. You move like someone who doesn't miss."

"I don't."

"Perfect."

Sasuke tapped the ball, sending it rolling toward Hinata. "Why ask me?"

"Because you're intense. You're fast. And you look like you have unresolved rage you could channel into a solid spike."

Another pause.

Hinata added, casually, "Do you have siblings or something? You give off serious family drama energy."

A pause.

Sasuke looked away. "I'm not answering that."

Hinata shrugged. "Didn't say you had to. Just confirming a vibe."

Another pause.

"…You're not wrong."

Hinata smirked. "So? You in?"

Sasuke glanced away, then back. "If I show up, don't make a big deal out of it."

"No promises."

Sasuke turned and walked off the field without another word.

Hinata kicked the ball once, then called after him, "You've got terrible team-player energy!"

From a distance, Sasuke lifted a hand—barely.

Hinata grinned. "Close enough."

The rooftop was already taken.

Hinata pushed open the door and stepped into the wind. The same guy from class was sprawled across the concrete, hands behind his head, textbook beside him, eyes closed like sleep was more important than gravity.

"Skipping class or hiding from effort?" Hinata asked.

"Both," the guy replied without moving. "What do you want?"

"Recruiting," Hinata said. "Starting a volleyball club."

"You already told me. And the rest of the class. Sounds exhausting."

"It is. I've made five flyers, two enemies, and a spreadsheet I don't understand."

One eye opened. "Tragic."

Hinata dropped his bag and sat down. "You're Shikamaru, right? I remember"

"Unfortunately."

"You've got quick reflexes, good instincts, and a face that says 'please don't talk to me.' Perfect setter energy."

Shikamaru sighed. "You came all the way up here to say that?"

"You were my backup plan."

Shikamaru closed his eye again. "Not interested."

"You don't have to play," Hinata said. "Be the statistician. You seem like the type who likes numbers more than people."

A long pause.

"…You're not wrong."

Hinata shrugged. "I'll take what I can get."

"You really think this team is gonna go anywhere?"

"No clue. But I'm not planning to quit just because it's hard."

Shikamaru sat up slowly, rubbed the back of his neck. "You're weird."

"You're lazy."

Another beat. Then:

"…When's practice?"

Hinata grinned. "Friday. Or whenever I finally have enough people."

Shikamaru flopped back down with a groan. "What a drag."

Hinata stood, grabbing his bag. "Welcome to the team, data guy."

Shikamaru didn't open his eyes. "Don't talk to me until after lunch."

"Deal."

Hinata opened the wrong door.

He was looking for volleyballs. What he found was Zabuza Momochi lifting a weight plate like it weighed nothing, and Haku leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Both of them turned.

Hinata paused. "Okay. Either I just interrupted a workout or a crime."

Zabuza scowled. "Depends. Who's asking?"

"Hinata," he said, holding up a flyer like it might protect him. "Transfer student. Starting a volleyball club."

Haku raised an eyebrow. "You're recruiting in the storage closet?"

"I go where the chaos leads."

Zabuza grunted. "You walked into the wrong room."

"Maybe. But I think I found the right people."

Haku stepped forward, taking the flyer from Hinata's hand. His eyes flicked over the text. "You're serious about this?"

"Dead serious."

"You don't look it."

"I get that a lot," Hinata said. "I think it's my face. People underestimate me." Zabuza crossed his arms. "We don't do clubs."

"Why not?"

"Waste of time."

Hinata tilted his head. "And yet... here you are, lifting in the dark, like a boss battle waiting to happen."

Zabuza glared.

Haku smiled slightly. "He's not wrong."

Zabuza grunted. "You think this is funny?"

"A little," Haku said. Then, to Hinata, "What exactly are you hoping to build with this team?"

"A win," Hinata said. "Eventually. But first? A team that actually shows up."

Haku considered that. "You know most people wouldn't ask us."

"I'm not most people."

"No," Haku said. "You're... strange."

"I prefer strategically unhinged."

Haku laughed—quiet, but real. "Zabuza, we should at least attend a practice. If nothing else, it'll be entertaining."

Zabuza looked like he wanted to disagree but didn't.

"We'll think about it," Haku said, handing the flyer back.

Hinata grinned. "That's practically a yes."

Zabuza muttered, "Don't get your hopes up."

Hinata backed toward the door. "Too late. I'm already visualizing your spike form."

Hinata was wandering the second floor looking for a ball cart. Instead, he found a hallway no one seemed to use anymore—lights flickering, silence a little too thick, and a door slightly cracked open like it was waiting for someone brave or stupid enough to push it.

He pushed it.

Inside: dim light. Blinds broken. Desks shoved against the walls. The kind of room the school forgot existed—or maybe tried to forget.

One person stood dead center like he owned the silence.

Orange hair. Piercings. Barely blinking.

Pein.

Student Council President. The kind of authority people didn't challenge. They just avoided him.

Hinata stepped inside, letting the door creak shut behind him.

"You're not supposed to be here," Pein said, flat and even.

"I keep hearing that," Hinata replied. "I think it just means I'm in the right place."

Pein didn't move. Just stood there—measured, unreadable.

Hinata looked around. "So... this your lair? End-of-the-world planning chamber?"

"It's quiet."

"Well, I'm looking for noise," Hinata said, holding up a wrinkled flyer. "Starting a volleyball club. You've got the exact presence of someone who blocks without blinking."

Pein finally turned his head. "You're recruiting the student council president for sports."

"Technically, I'm recruiting anyone who hasn't actively threatened me. You just happen to look like you could end a match with one stare."

Pein walked forward. Controlled. Heavy without being loud. He stopped a foot away.

"You're orange."

Hinata pointed. "So are you."

A pause.

"Unfortunate," Pein said.

Hinata grinned. "We're already intimidating. And visible from space."

Pein looked at the flyer. "If I join, we win."

"That's the idea."

"I lead."

"I'm the club president."

Long pause. Pein stared. Hinata stared back.

"Co-captains," Hinata offered. "You handle tactics and existential dread. I'll handle enthusiasm and morale."

"…Inefficient."

"I run on inefficient. It's part of the brand."

Pein gave the smallest nod. "Fine. But if anyone undermines us—"

"They won't," Hinata said. "They'll be too confused about how this even works."

Before Pein could answer, another voice slid in—cool, precise, and just a bit amused.

"It'll work. Because I'll be organizing it."

Hinata turned fast.

A girl leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, one foot resting casually against the tile. Blue hair pulled back, expression calm but sharp. Like she'd been there the whole time and just waited for maximum impact.

Konan.

Secretary of the student council. The quiet force behind Pein's presence.

She stepped forward. "You've got the energy of a toddler with a whistle and zero structure. I'm here to keep this from exploding."

Hinata blinked. "Wait—you're joining?"

"I'm making sure this doesn't become another administrative disaster," she said. "Right now, this club's held together by optimism and printer paper."

She took the flyer from his hand, smoothed it out. "I'll handle scheduling, paperwork, sign-ups, and making sure Pein doesn't treat warm-ups like battlefield drills."

Pein, already near the door, added without looking back, "She's the only reason I attend meetings."

Hinata looked between them. "Okay. Great. But just to be clear—I'm still the club president."

Konan smiled slightly. "You've got the title. You started it. I'm just here to make sure you don't drown in your own chaos."

"And who tells me when I screw up?"

"I do," she said. "Politely. Usually."

Hinata thought about it. "Alright. You're in."

Konan turned to follow Pein. "You've got six maybe-players, three strong personalities, no roles, no practice plan, and no court reservation."

"I like to live dangerously," Hinata muttered.

She paused at the doorway. "I noticed."

Then they were gone.

Hinata looked around the room again—the broken blinds, dusty desks, the weird tension still hanging in the air.

Then down at the flyer in his hand.

"…How the hell am I in charge of these people?"

Hinata pushed open the art room door.

The lights were low. The air smelled like varnish and metal. One person sat alone at the back table, carving something small and exact. His posture was perfect. His silence louder than most shouting.

Sasori.

Hinata stepped inside.

"I was told this room was haunted," he said. "Guess they meant your energy."

Sasori didn't look up. "You're late."

Hinata blinked. "Wait—you were expecting me?"

"I already read the flyer on the art room door. I don't like to be kept waiting."

Hinata walked over and looked around. "Then where'd the flyer go?"

Sasori, still carving, replied evenly, "I drew on it."

"I read it first."

"Touched. Really."

Sasori set his carving tool down. The piece in front of him looked like a mask made of teeth and geometry.

"You're the one starting the volleyball club," he said.

"I want you to block for us. Middle position. You've got the timing, reach, and presence of someone who ruins dreams for fun."

Sasori eyed him. "Flattery won't get you anything."

"I was going for accuracy."

A pause.

Then Sasori pushed a sketchpad toward him. "Draw something. Anything."

Hinata raised an eyebrow. "What, like an audition?"

"I don't like wasting time."

Hinata sat. Picked up a pencil. No hesitation—just fast, confident lines.

In under a minute, there was a small, clean sketch of Sasori's mask—simplified, but clever. The edges stylized, the proportions exact.

Sasori stared.

"You're good."

Hinata shrugged. "I like shapes. And I've had a lot of practice hiding from math in the art wing."

Sasori flipped to a new page, slid the sketchpad back to him. "Again. But this time, draw me."

Hinata didn't ask why. Just drew.

It was a sharp portrait—Sasori mid-carve, eyes narrowed, fingers focused. Clean, deliberate lines. Not dramatic—just honest.

Sasori studied it. Long pause.

"…Fine. I'll join."

"No chants. No team cheers. No matching warm-ups," Sasori said.

"No promises."

"And no one touches my water bottle."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Sasori grabbed his tools and headed for the door. Then paused.

"When's the first practice?"

Hinata blinked. "You just agreed to join."

"I like schedules."

Hinata grinned. "Friday. Gym. After school."

Sasori gave a short nod. "Don't be late."

Hinata watched him go, then looked down at the sketch and muttered, "Scary. But extremely on time."

Thursday

Hinata pushed open the door to a side classroom, expecting it to be empty—or at least filled with forgotten chairs and tragic whiteboard ghosts.

Instead, he found two students near the window.

Obito sat sideways in his chair, arms crossed, foot tapping absently. Rin sat across from him, calm as ever, twirling a pen in her fingers. Between them sat an open notebook filled with scribbled notes, crossed-out lines, and a half-drawn cartoon of a cat in a cape.

"I'm just saying — you can't say the ending was bad if you didn't finish the book."

Obito didn't look at her. "I didn't need to. I saw where it was going."

Rin raised an eyebrow. "So you quit halfway and still think you're right?"

"I quit because I was right."

Hinata hovered in the doorway. "Should I come back when the debate's over?"

Both of them looked up.

Obito groaned. "You again?"

Hinata grinned, stepping in. "Surprised? I told you, I pop up everywhere."

Rin smiled faintly. "We noticed."

Hinata held up a flyer, waving it slightly. "Still recruiting. Still desperate. Still annoyingly persistent."

Obito didn't take the paper, just glanced at it. "You're really still on this?"

"Club president duties," Hinata said. "Also, I have nothing else to do and a frankly concerning amount of determination."

Rin glanced at the flyer. "He's serious."

"Always," Hinata said. "But don't worry, I'm not here to beg."

Obito tilted his head. "What are you here for, then?"

Hinata pointed at Obito. "You. Specifically. You move like someone trying to outrun their own thoughts. That's volleyball energy."

Rin looked at Obito and deadpanned, "He's not wrong."

Obito didn't answer right away. Then:

"You really want me to join this thing?"

"I want everyone," Hinata said. "But yeah. You most of all."

"And what would I be?"

"Player. Vibe checker. Chaos magnet. You choose."

Obito smirked a little. "Fine. I'll show up. Once."

"That's all I need," Hinata said. "I'm hard to shake."

Rin picked up the flyer and examined it. "You have a manager?"

"Technically Konan," Hinata said. "But you seem like someone who could tell me when I'm about to light everything on fire."

"I can."

"You're hired."

Hinata turned to leave, then paused. "Practice is tomorrow. After school. Gym. Try not to be late."

Obito raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Hinata jerked a thumb toward Rin. "Because she'll definitely be on time."

Obito looked at her.

Rin shrugged. "I always am."

Hinata turned to leave, then paused at the door.

"Oh — what book was it?"

Obito looked annoyed. "Why do you care?"

Hinata shrugged. "I like knowing what people quit on."

Obito didn't answer, but Rin did.

"The Housekeeper and the Professor"

Hinata blinked. "Seriously? That's the one you gave up on?"

Obito scowled. "It was boring. And sad. And slow."

Hinata grinned. "Yeah, it's all of that. But I still finished it."

That got their attention.

Obito stared. "You read The Housekeeper and the Professor?"

"Front to back," Hinata said, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. "Also read Kafka on the Shore, Colorless Tsukuru, and The Memory Police , Before the Coffee Gets Cold, and No Longer Human—which was super depressing, by the way."

Rin raised an eyebrow. "Didn't expect that."

Hinata shrugged. "I read a lot on the bus. Helps when people assume you're too hyper to sit still."

Obito muttered, "So now I'm getting shown up by the volleyball kid who reads Murakami."

Hinata flashed a grin. "And yet, you're still coming to practice."

He turned to go. "Friday. After school. Gym. Don't be late. Or i'll hunt you down again"

Rin smiled. "He's not bluffing."

Obito rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable."

But Hinata didn't leave just yet. Instead, he glanced back at Rin. "So you've read Colorless Tsukuru, too?"

Rin nodded. "I liked the way it handled loneliness. Subtle, but heavy."

Hinata's eyes lit up. "Right? That part about the imaginary friends? That hit weirdly hard."

"Yeah. Same with The Memory Police," Rin added. "Quiet apocalypse. No dramatics. Just loss."

"I loved that one," Hinata said, grinning. "The pacing made it feel like forgetting in real time."

They both nodded, totally in sync now.

Obito squinted between them. "Are you two seriously bonding over sad, confusing books?"

Hinata smirked. "Don't be jealous just because you quit on chapter three."

"I made a tactical exit."

Rin turned to Obito, still calm. "You also called it 'emotionally manipulative.'"

Hinata laughed. "He says that like it's a bad thing."

Obito groaned. "I can't believe this is happening."

"You started it," Rin said.

Hinata gave a cheerful salute. "See you both tomorrow. Try not to develop a complex."

Obito slouched deeper in his chair as Hinata finally left.

Rin looked at him, amused. "You're sulking."

"I'm not."

"You are."

Hinata spotted him during cleanup duty.

While most students had already cleared out, Han was still out in the far corner of the courtyard, doing push-ups—slow, steady, precise. A heavy-looking backpack strapped tight to his back.

Hinata approached cautiously. "You know school's over, right? You can stop trying to impress the pavement."

Han didn't look up. "I'm training."

Hinata sat on the grass nearby. "For what? The apocalypse?"

"For control."

Hinata blinked. "Okay. That's either super healthy or extremely ominous."

Silence.

Han kept going. Not fast. Not rushed. Like time didn't apply to him.

"You're Han, right?"

"Yes."

"I'm Hinata. Transfer student. Volleyball club president. Don't worry—I'm not here to fight you. I'd lose."

Han didn't reply.

Hinata held out a flyer. "I'm recruiting. You've got height, power, and the calm energy of someone who's already survived three lifetimes."

"I don't play team sports."

"Neither does half the team. That's what practice is for."

Han stopped. Finally sat back on his knees, breathing steady.

"I'm not interested in being around people who waste time."

Hinata nodded. "Good. Then you'll hate practice, but not me."

That made Han tilt his head slightly. Not quite curious—more like reassessing.

"You'd be a middle blocker," Hinata added. "You don't have to talk. Just move like a machine and stop everything coming at us."

Han stood. Tall. Centered. Controlled.

"You talk too much," he said.

"Yeah," Hinata said. "But I get things done."

Another pause.

Then Han took the flyer, looked it over once, and tucked it into his backpack without a word.

"I'll come once," he said. "If it's a waste of time, I leave."

"Fair," Hinata said, getting up. "Just give me one practice. If you hate it, you can walk out silently and dramatically. I'll respect it."

Han turned and walked away.

He didn't say goodbye.

Hinata grinned.

"That's a yes."

Hinata shoved open the rooftop door, hoping for a breeze and maybe five minutes of quiet before someone asked him for his practice schedule (which he hadn't actually written yet).

He wasn't expecting company.

There, seated at the far edge, was a red-haired student. Alone. Lunch untouched. Back against the wall. Eyes on the sky like he was waiting for something to fall out of it.

Gaara.

Hinata considered leaving. Then shrugged and walked over.

He didn't sit too close. Just enough.

"Did I interrupt your dramatic staring-into-the-distance session?"

Gaara didn't look at him. "I like quiet."

"Me too," Hinata said. "Right before I make terrible decisions."

Silence.

Hinata pulled a flyer from his hoodie. "I'm Hinata. Starting a volleyball club."

"I don't play sports."

"I know," Hinata said. "I'm not recruiting you to spike anything."

Gaara turned his head. Just slightly. "Then why are you here?"

Hinata handed him the flyer anyway. "Because you watch people. And you don't say much. Which usually means you notice everything."

Gaara studied the paper. "You want me to coach?"

"No. I want you to be our sports psychologist."

Another silence.

Then: "That's not a real position."

Hinata shrugged. "It is if I say it is. Club president perks."

Gaara stared at him, unreadable. "You think your team needs therapy?"

"I know my team needs therapy. But I'll settle for someone who can get inside their heads and tell them why they keep self-destructing mid-set."

Gaara looked back at the sky. "You're strange."

"Yeah," Hinata said. "But I'm trying. So are they. You'd help."

A long pause.

Finally, Gaara folded the flyer in half with slow precision.

"I'll observe practice."

"That's all I need," Hinata said, standing up. "If you decide we're beyond help, let me know quietly so I can cry in a hallway."

Gaara didn't respond.

But he didn't throw the flyer away.

The equipment room door creaked open just enough for Hinata to slip inside. It smelled like dust, old mats, and money.

Kakuzu sat cross-legged on the floor, counting coins into stacks like they were sacred. Around him: vending machine trays, folded receipts, and sealed envelopes labeled "misc. reimbursements."

He didn't look up. "Unless this is business, get out."

Hinata stepped in. "You charge for cones now?"

Kakuzu glanced up. "Hinata. Club president. Volleyball."

"Impressed you know that."

"I track liabilities."

"Charming," Hinata said, holding up a flyer. "You're ruthless, efficient, and immune to chaos. Basically everything I'm not."

Kakuzu didn't blink. "I don't join clubs."

"Then let's make it interesting."

A pause.

Hinata pulled a slightly bent deck of cards from his hoodie pocket. "One game. High card draw. Best of three. You win, I never ask again. I win, you show up to one practice."

Kakuzu studied him. "You think I'm that easy to bait?"

"No," Hinata said. "But you're still listening."

After a long moment, Kakuzu nodded. "Fine. But I go first."

Hinata held out the deck.

Round one:
Kakuzu drew a ten.
Hinata pulled a four.
Kakuzu looked like he'd already won.

Round two:
Kakuzu drew a seven.
Hinata flipped over a jack.

Even.

Final draw. Kakuzu's eyes narrowed.

He drew a eight.
Hinata pulled an nine.

Kakuzu stared at it. "You cheated."

"I'm just stupid lucky under pressure."

Kakuzu grabbed the flyer and stood. "One practice. If it's a mess, I leave."

"Fair," Hinata said. "Oh—and one more thing."

Kakuzu stopped.

"Would you be willing to help with, like… training expenses? Gear? Maybe a bus trip?"

Kakuzu turned slowly. "So it was about money."

Hinata held up his hands. "Hey, I don't make the budget. That's Konan's job. I just beg for things and hope someone with a spreadsheet takes pity on me."

Kakuzu narrowed his eyes. "Have her send me numbers. Nothing vague."

"I would never be vague around you," Hinata said. "I value my life."

Kakuzu left without another word.

Hinata watched him go, then muttered to himself:

"Okay. Now I need to warn Konan."

Konan was standing by the bulletin board, pinning up the club meeting schedule with the precision of someone who believed crooked paper was a crime. Her clipboard rested on her hip, pen behind her ear.

Hinata approached cautiously, holding a flyer like a white flag.

"Hey," he said. "Quick update-slash-confession."

She didn't turn. "What did you do?"

"I may have asked Kakuzu about funding."

Now she looked at him. "You talked to Kakuzu?"

"He was near the vending machine and I was feeling brave."

Konan just stared. He continued before she could stop him.

"He said to send numbers. Exact ones. No fluff. I quote: 'Nothing vague.' Then he stared into my soul and walked away."

She sighed. "Of course he did."

"I might be cursed."

Konan pulled the pen from behind her ear and started flipping through her clipboard. "I already started a rough breakdown. Tell him this."

She handed Hinata a sticky note with small, clean writing:

"Our basic budget request includes ten sets of jerseys at ¥38,000, six official volleyballs for ¥42,000, and about ¥15,000 for training equipment — cones, net tape, resistance bands, and a whistle. We've also got ¥2,800 set aside for a first aid kit refill, ¥9,000 for the monthly court reservation fee, and ¥15,000 in case we need to rent a bus for local travel. That brings us to a subtotal of ¥121,800. With a ten percent buffer for unexpected costs, the total request comes out to ¥133,980."

"No fluff," she said. "No rounding. No excuses."

Hinata blinked. "You already had this ready?"

"I expected you to ask him behind my back. I just didn't think it would be this soon."

Hinata stared at the numbers. "That's… a lot."

"That's bare minimum," Konan replied. "And if he approves it, I want a structured practice plan by Friday. No chaos. No improv. No 'let's just wing it.'"

Hinata winced. "Define chaos."

"You."

"Oh."

Konan tapped the flyer he was still holding. "Now go recruit someone who won't light something on fire."

"No promises," he muttered, already turning.

Hinata found Kakuzu exactly where he hoped he wouldn't: standing by the finance board, arms crossed, reading something that looked aggressively bureaucratic.

Hinata approached like he was walking into a minefield.

"Hey," he said, holding up the paper like it might ward off an attack. "Konan finalized the numbers."

Kakuzu didn't look at him. "Read it."

Hinata cleared his throat. "Ten jerseys: thirty-eight thousand. Six official volleyballs: forty-two thousand. Training gear — cones, net tape, resistance bands, whistle — fifteen thousand. First aid refill: two-eight hundred. Court rental: nine thousand monthly. Emergency bus rental: fifteen."

"Subtotal?"

"One twenty-one eight hundred."

"Buffer?"

"Ten percent. Comes to a grand total of ¥133,980."

Kakuzu finally looked at him. "Breakdown's clean."

Hinata blinked. "Wait—really?"

"I said send me numbers. You did. Barely."

"I'll take the win."

Kakuzu held out a hand. Hinata handed him the paper.

"If I fund this," Kakuzu said, scanning the sheet, "I expect receipts. Inventory. No wasted costs. And if anyone on our team breaks a ball, I charge interest."

Hinata nodded quickly. "Of course. Absolutely. I will personally scream at anyone who mistreats a volleyball."

"Good."

Kakuzu walked off with the budget sheet tucked under his arm.

Hinata exhaled like he'd just dodged a sniper shot.

Then muttered, "Okay. We live another day."

Kakuzu walked off with the budget sheet tucked under his arm.

Hinata exhaled, then called after him:

"So… does this mean you'll be playing too?"

Kakuzu stopped. Turned just enough to glance back.

"If I'm investing in this, I'm not sitting on the sidelines."

Hinata blinked. "Wait—seriously?"

Kakuzu turned fully, voice flat.
"I don't fund things I can't control. I'll play. But don't expect pep talks."

Hinata grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Kakuzu raised a hand in what might've been a wave. Or a warning. Then walked off.

Hinata nodded to himself.
"Okay. That's terrifying… and kind of awesome."

Hinata yanked open the rusted shed door and stepped inside, only to nearly get clipped in the face by a blur of motion.

"Ah—!"

"Whoa, sorry!"

The blur stopped just outside, doubling back with a sheepish grin. Dark hair, lean frame, flushed from sprinting. He jogged in place like his legs didn't know how to be still.

Hinata blinked. "Are you trying to unlock flight or something?"

The guy laughed. "Not today. Just sprint drills. Better to move fast when no one's watching."

Hinata stepped inside, side-eyeing him.

"Only when I don't want to run into teachers."

Hinata squinted. "You're not a first-year, right?"

"Nope. Shisui Uchiha, second-year. You're the kid trying to build a volleyball club from scratch, yeah?"

Hinata took it. "Yeah. You've heard of me?"

"Hard not to. You're recruiting half the school for volleyball like it's a startup."

Hinata laughed. "Well, the business plan is chaos and hope. We're running on fumes and stubbornness."

Shisui raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like half my middle school years."

"You fast all the time or just when ambushing people?"

Shisui grinned. "Depends. You planning to chase me around the court?"

"If I have to. You'd be insane as a hitter."

Shisui tilted his head, studying him. "You know, you're kind of intense for someone this short."

Hinata crossed his arms. "I contain multitudes."

Shisui chuckled. "I like you. You remind me of my cousin when he was little — all fire, zero chill, and always dragging people into things."

Hinata blinked. "Is that... a compliment?"

"Sure. I took care of him. Might have to keep an eye on you too."

Hinata grinned. "You don't have to babysit me."

"Maybe not. But you've got that reckless energy. Someone's gotta make sure you don't try anything stupid."

Hinata reached into his bag and handed him a crumpled flyer. "Practice is tomorrow. After school. Back gym."

Shisui took it, gave it a once-over. "Alright. I'll come. If only to make sure you don't explode."

He turned to jog off, then paused and glanced back. "You need anything — cones, training help, someone to drag your teammates out of bed — let me know."

Hinata blinked. "You're volunteering?"

Shisui winked. "Let's just say you've got 'little brother I never asked for' energy."

Then he disappeared around the corner, fast as ever.

Hinata stared after him, then smiled.

"…I'll take it."

Hinata sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by flyers, scribbled rosters, and half-crumpled notes like he was conducting a budget ritual. His handwriting was getting worse by the minute. His energy? Still feral.

Konan stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes scanning the chaos like she was doing mental damage control in real time.

"Okay," Hinata said, lifting a highlighter like a wand. "We have fifteen players. In theory."

Konan didn't blink. "Define 'in theory.'"

Hinata tapped his notes. "Shisui, Kisame, Madara, Kakuzu, Han, Obito, Sasori, and Pein — they're definitely in. That's eight confirmed bodies with actual limbs and grudging commitment."

Konan raised an eyebrow. "That's disturbingly specific."

"They either told me directly or threatened to show up," Hinata said.

"And the others?"

Hinata made a face. "That's where it gets weird. A few said yes and then walked off before I could ask again. Others… might've changed their minds.

Konan tilted her head. "So, seven people who may or may not think they're in a club."

"Exactly," Hinata said, like that somehow sounded promising. "I mean, if even half of them show up, we're golden."

"If none of them show up, we're back to eight."

"Which is still enough to play."

"Barely."

Hinata grinned. "But barely counts."

Konan pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do any of them know their positions?"

"I assigned them," Hinata said cheerfully. "Whether they know it or not is a separate issue."

Also "None of this matters if we're not officially registered."

Hinata blinked. "What do you mean? We have players. We have a gym. I made a spreadsheet—"

"You also forgot the actual form that tells the Japan Volleyball Association we exist."

He froze. "...There's a form?"

Konan didn't even look up. "To register for prefectural qualifiers. A faculty advisor has to submit it. With signatures. And proof that we're a real club, not just a group of feral teens in matching sneakers."

"Okay. Okay. That's fine," Hinata said quickly, I'll find one.

"Good," Konan said. "Because no form means no matches. And if you drag us all into a club that can't actually compete—"

"I'll dig my own grave. I get it."

She raised an eyebrow. "I was going to say I'll revoke your clipboard privileges."

Hinata gasped. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

He clutched his clipboard like it was sacred. "Okay. I'll talk to some teachers today. Right after lunch. Or right now. Or five minutes ago."

Konan slid a manila folder across the table toward him.

"It's already filled out. You just need him to sign it."

Hinata stared. "You knew I'd forget."

"I plan for disasters."

He grinned, shoving it carefully into his bag. "You're the best."

"I'm the reason we haven't been shut down yet."

"Same thing."

She sighed. "And we still don't have a coach."

"Working on it," Hinata said. "I have a list of teachers who haven't actively avoided eye contact with me. Worst case, I corner someone during lunch."

"Do it fast," Konan said. "The school won't let us compete without faculty supervision."

"I know," he said. "But hey—we've got a libero, blockers, some chaos spikers, a strategist, three-and-a-half support staff,

Konan stared. "I'm adding 'find real adults' to my list."

Hinata smiled. "Make sure they can handle weird."

"I already work with you."

"Exactly."

She glanced at him. "And Pein?"

Hinata pointed at her. "That's your job. Make sure your boss shows up."

"He's not my boss."

"He stands behind you like a final boss. That counts."

Konan sighed. "He'll be there. I already told him if he doesn't show, I'll reassign him to budget committee."

Hinata grinned. "See? That's leadership."

Hinata stood outside the teachers' office door, staring like it might bite him.

The folder in his hand was a mess of barely-clipped forms, smeared ink, and at least one snack wrapper he hadn't noticed until now.

"Okay," he muttered. "I've recruited half the school. I've got a co-captain who might overthrow me, two managers who could run the country, a maybe-budget… and no faculty advisor."

He knocked once. Too lightly. Then opened the door anyway.

Inside: fluorescent lights, paperwork chaos, and teachers in various states of grading despair.

Hinata cleared his throat. "Uh—sorry. Excuse me. I'm looking for someone who might want to support the birth of something legendary. Or, like, moderately impressive."

Most teachers ignored him.

Except one.

Iruka Umino looked up from behind a desk buried in tests and red pens. Kind eyes. Tired posture. Possibly the only adult in the room still holding on to hope.

"You're the transfer student, right?" Iruka said. "Hinata?"

"That's me," Hinata said, stepping forward. "Club president. Volleyball. Technically it exists. On paper."

Iruka raised an eyebrow. "Technically?"

"We have members. A leadership structure that I am legally part of. What we don't have is a faculty advisor. Which is why I'm here. With these." He held up the crumpled folder like it was a newborn.

Iruka looked back at the pile of papers on his desk. Then at Hinata. Then at the flyer sticking out of the folder — wrinkled, crooked, and proudly labeled in thick black marker:
"Volleyball Club: We Might Actually Be Good."
He huffed a small laugh. "That's a title."

"I call it charm."

Iruka looked at him for a long moment. "How many members?"

"Enough to qualify. Too many to control."

"Do you have a budget?"

"We have Kakuzu."

That made Iruka pause. "That's... either a terrible idea or a brilliant one."

"Honestly? Both."

Iruka sighed, closed the folder. "What do you actually want from me?"

"Supervision. Occasional signature. Mild emotional support if we lose badly."

"And if you win?"

"Our school goes in the local newspaper".

Hinata smiled, nervous but stubborn. Then he pulled a folded form from the bottom of the folder and held it out with both hands.

"This is the JVA registration form. If we want to play in any official matches, qualifiers, or tournaments—even just to get on the board—we have to submit this to the All Japan High School Volleyball Federation."

Iruka took it, reading the heading. "And you filled this out already?"

"Konan did," Hinata admitted. "She knows how to spell 'bureaucratic' and owns three different kinds of highlighters."

Iruka raised an eyebrow. "Efficient."

"She also mailed threatening letters to half the staff last week labeled 'urgent club business,'" Hinata added. "It was stationery. With matching envelopes."

Iruka blinked. "That explains the note taped to the staffroom coffee pot."

"Yeah. That was her too."

There was a pause.

"But I can't submit it," Hinata said, holding out the form. "It has to come from a faculty advisor. So… can you be ours?"

Iruka looked down at the form. Then back at Hinata.

"You're serious about this?"

"I didn't start it to quit."

Iruka nodded once.

"All right," he said. "I'll sign it. I'll be your advisor."

Hinata blinked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Iruka said. "Someone's got to keep you—and your paper-wielding manager—from starting a civil war."

Hinata grinned. "No promises."

"Didn't think so."

Kakashi was slouched behind his desk, a book in one hand, half-asleep, the other hand holding up his head like gravity was too much trouble to fight today.

Hinata approached, cautiously, like he was waking a bear.

"Excuse me—Kakashi-sensei?"

Kakashi turned a page without looking up. "No."

"I didn't even say anything yet."

"You were going to ask me to coach."

Hinata blinked. "You don't know that."

"I do. I've been avoiding eye contact with club starters all week."

Hinata held out a flyer anyway. "Volleyball club. New. Loud. Ambitious. We just need a coach who knows how to stay calm when everything's on fire."

Kakashi glanced at the paper for a whole two seconds. "I'm not your guy."

"I think you are. You're practically horizontal and still intimidating."

"I'm not coaching," Kakashi said flatly.

"Okay, then just come to our first practice," Hinata said, switching gears. "You don't have to talk. Just observe. Judge us silently from the shadows."

Kakashi finally looked at him, eye visible over his book. "And if it's terrible?"

"Then you can mock me and go back to napping with a clean conscience."

A pause.

Then: "One practice," Kakashi said. "No promises."

Hinata grinned. "That's the best kind of maybe."

Kakashi turned a page. "Bring snacks."

"Done."

Hinata started to leave, then stopped at the door. "Do you actually know anything about volleyball?"

Kakashi didn't look up. "No. But I'm a fast learner."

Hinata blinked. "Wait—was that… encouraging?"

"Don't get used to it."

"I don't coach," Tsunade said flatly, not looking up from her paperwork. "I barely supervise."

Hinata, unfazed, offered her the flyer anyway. "Just come to one practice. You don't even have to yell."

She took the paper, glanced at it once, then handed it off to Shizune like it was a prescription.

Shizune read it in silence, then immediately pulled out a clipboard.

"You're starting a volleyball club?" she asked.

"Yeah," Hinata said. "We've got players. Sort of. And energy. Too much, probably."

"You're underfed," Shizune said, flipping pages. "Do you eat protein before or after practice?"

"…We don't even have practice yet."

"Exactly," she muttered, already scribbling. "You're already behind."

Tsunade sighed and leaned back in her chair. "We'll watch your first practice."

"Both of you?"

"If it's not a total disaster," Tsunade said, "I'll consider helping with strength and conditioning."

"And if it is?"

"Then at least I'll know where to start," she said, dryly. "Probably with you."

Shizune added, "And I'll still hand you a weekly meal plan. You look like you live on crackers and panic."

Hinata backed toward the door, clutching a pamphlet titled You Can't Block On An Empty Stomach and three pages of suggested protein intake.

"Thank you. I think."

Tsunade waved him off. "Don't make us regret it."

"No promises," Hinata said, slipping out. "But I do deliver chaos with conviction."

Hinata stood in front of the desk, already halfway through his pitch—papers sticking out of his folder, energy slightly frayed but still holding together with sheer force of will.

"—and we've got a full lineup, two managers, and a terrifying maybe-budget. We just need a coach. Someone steady. Respected. Preferably not banned from campus."

Across the desk, Hiruzen sat with quiet amusement, hands folded beneath his chin, a thin wisp of smoke curling up from the old pipe resting in the ashtray beside him. He looked at the flyer like it was some fragile historical document.

"That sounds… ambitious," he said.

Hinata smiled. "That's my specialty."

Hiruzen nodded slowly. "I appreciate the effort. I look forward to seeing how the club develops."

Hinata blinked. "So… you'll coach?"

Hiruzen leaned back in his chair and took a long, thoughtful puff. "Absolutely not."

"I'm eighty-two and barely survived the last fire drill."

Hinata sagged. "Why does everyone say it like that?"

The old man smiled through the smoke. "Because it's fun to watch your expression."

He started to hand the flyer back, then paused.

"But... I'll make you a deal."

Hinata perked up instantly.

"I'll attend your first practice," Hiruzen said. "Quietly. No promises. If I see something worth investing in—discipline, effort, a spark—I'll consider it."

Hinata stared. "Wait—so you might?"

"I said consider." He held up a finger. "One practice. Show me it matters."

Hinata snatched the flyer back and grinned. "I will. I promise. You won't regret it."

"We'll see."

Hiruzen leaned back, pipe balanced between two fingers, smoke curling in lazy spirals.

Hinata squinted at it.
"You know smoking's terrible for your health, right, old man?"

Hiruzen exhaled slowly.
"And starting a club with a half-formed team, no coach, and a chaos gremlin for a captain isn't?"

Hinata smirked.
"Bold of you to assume I'm not thriving in chaos."

Hiruzen tapped ash into the tray.
"I figured. You look like the type who considers panic part of the warm-up."

Hinata snorted.
"I'll take that as support."

"Take it however gets you out of my office faster," Hiruzen muttered.

Hinata spun on his heel, already at the door.
"See you tomorrow. Don't die."

"Don't disappoint," Hiruzen shot back.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Hiruzen stared at it for a beat, then shook his head with the barest smile.

"…Menace."

Pause.

"Might work."

Hinata sat at the dining table, surrounded by wadded-up paper balls, highlighters with no caps, and two different drinks he forgot he already opened.

He was halfway through rewriting "Warm-Up Routine, Attempt #4" when the doorbell rang.

He frowned, got up, and padded to the door in mismatched socks.

He opened it—and froze.

"Konan?!"

There she stood, unbothered, holding a clipboard and a neatly folded folder. Same expression she always wore when someone was late turning something in.

"You said I'd have the final version tonight."

Hinata blinked hard. "Wait—how do you know where I live?"

"Your club registration form has an address field. You filled it in."

He squinted at her. "You actually read that?"

"Of course I did. Someone has to be the adult."

He opened the door wider, stunned. "Did you walk here?"

"Bus," she replied, walking past him into the entryway like she paid rent. "I planned the route earlier in case you flaked."

Hinata followed her, still holding a pen. "This is mildly terrifying."

"Then maybe next time," she said, taking a seat at his table, "you'll turn things in on time and I won't have to invade your kitchen."

Hinata sat across from her, slowly sliding the half-written practice plan toward her. "Still a work in progress."

"Of course it is."

Konan opened the folder, scanned the page, and raised an eyebrow.
"You gave fifteen minutes to snack time but five to stretching?"

Hinata leaned on the table. "In my defense, snacks are motivating."

"And pulled hamstrings are demotivating."

She grabbed a nearby pen and started crossing out blocks, replacing them with neater, more functional time slots.

"Start with a light jog. Ten minutes. Dynamic stretches. Line drills. Passing and setting reps in pairs. Then split into two groups—hitters and receivers. Finish with a short scrimmage."

Hinata watched her work. "How are you this good at everything?"

"I live with a color-coded planner. What's your excuse?"

He scratched his head. "I had stickers. And vibes."

She added a final line at the bottom: Cool down. Team meeting. No snacks during feedback.
Then she pushed the paper back across the table.

"There. A practice plan that won't get us sued."

Hinata looked it over, genuinely impressed.
"This is… good. Like, actually good."

Konan stood and packed her folder. "Print five copies. One for me. One for Pein. One for the whiteboard in the gym. Two for you—because I know you'll lose one."

Hinata gave a small salute. "Yes, ma'am."

Konan opened the door.
"Get some sleep. You'll need energy to survive your own team."

Hinata watched her go, then turned back to the finished plan.

"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Let's do this."

Friday Night:

The gym was too quiet.

Hinata stood alone at center court, bouncing a volleyball between his hands. The air smelled like dust, old sweat, and potential.

He checked the clock.

Twenty minutes early.

He was always early when he was nervous.

The folded roster was stuffed in his pocket—names, positions, notes scribbled in the margins. Half the people on it had only kind of agreed to show up. One might still think this was a scam.

He looked at the doors.

Still closed.

Still empty.

He took a breath, bounced the ball again, and muttered to himself, "Okay. Worst case? I run warm-ups alone. Best case? Everyone shows up. Somewhere in between? Chaos."

He smiled.

He could work with chaos.

Then—footsteps. Faint. Echoing.

The door creaked open.

Hinata didn't move. Just waited.

And waited.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Expect slow team-building, messy dynamics, and Hinata being both the glue and the spark. Let me know which characters you're most excited to see play (or fight). Feedback and theories welcome.