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. Some characters will be aged down than they would seem. TW: Bullying (past), language, silliness.

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: "You're proof that effort doesn't equal talent"

Hinata wiped his face with his sleeve. Right. Because talent means more than showing up. Got it.

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 news: he had been promoted to a regional role at Kanadevia Corporation. The position was in Okinawa, starting mid-June, just in time for the new school term.

They asked Hinata if he was okay with the move. He said yes. Then 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.

Monday: 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."

Right as he said that someone behind Hinata stood up too fast and rammed directly into his back.

"Wh—?" Hinata jolted forward, arms flailing—

And face-planted directly into Madara's.

Lips. Full contact.

The class gasped like they'd just witnessed a murder.

Madara blinked. Slowly. Like he couldn't believe this was his life.

Hinata froze.

So did the guy who bumped him—a random second-row student backing away like the building might explode.

Madara stood. Not quickly, not dramatically. Just steadily. Like something ancient rising from the depths.

"Who," he said calmly, "shoved the gremlin?"

Hinata scrambled backward, hands up. "I—I got bumped! I was launched! There was no consent! From either party!"

Madara turned toward him, eyes narrowing. "You hit me. In the mouth."

"Technically we didn't even kiss! That was a face collision. A tragic accident. A facial traffic jam—"

"I knew you were a menace," Madara said, voice low and flat. "But I didn't know you were a guided missile."

Kisame was wheezing in his seat. "This is better than live sports."

Shikamaru, without opening his eyes, muttered, "We're not even at lunch and we already need a legal team."

Madara turned toward the kid who bumped Hinata. "You. You started this."

"Sorry!" the student squeaked, shrinking like he expected to be smote.

Madara sighed through his nose, like the universe had personally insulted him. "You unleashed chaos."

Hinata, still flailing: "Do you want gum? I have gum. It's mint. I can offer reparations."

Madara looked at him, quiet and cold. "You're lucky this is a classroom. If we were outside, I'd be carving your apology into the floor with your teeth."

Obito clapped once, impressed. "That's beautiful."

Madara pointed at Hinata with surgical precision. "Stay away from me."

"I was staying away," Hinata said, panicking.

"Not well enough."

The teacher didn't look up. "If you two are going to elope, wait until after homeroom."

Kisame wheeled out of his chair, laughing.

Madara sat back down like gravity was heavier on him than anyone else. Like betrayal had weight.

Hinata didn't sit. He just hunched over his desk, whispering to it. "First day. First day. This can't be happening."

Behind him, someone murmured, "Pretty sure that counts as a confession in at least three countries."

During Class

Madara remained behind his desk, absolutely still, seething in silence. His pen hadn't moved in ten minutes. His eyes were locked on the back of Hinata's head like he was deciding whether spontaneous combustion could be achieved through willpower alone.

Across the aisle, Hinata was desperately trying to pretend none of it happened.

Which meant, obviously, he was poking the one person less forgiving than Madara.

"Hey," he whispered, tapping Tobirama's notebook. "Just checking—how mad would you say he is? On a scale of 'mild glare' to 'homicidal aura.'"

Tobirama didn't look up. "He wants you dead."

"Cool. Great. Good vibes all around."

Another tap. "But like… you don't think it was really a kiss, right? I got shoved."

Tobirama flipped a page sharply. "You made lip contact. That's the working definition."

"But it wasn't on purpose!"

Tobirama turned his head just enough to meet Hinata's eyes. His voice dropped, flat and cold. "Intent doesn't matter when your face is where it shouldn't be."

Hinata blinked. "That feels like a broader life lesson."

"It is," Tobirama said. "Apply it immediately."

From behind, Kisame whispered, "How's the marriage, Hinata?"

"Shut up," Hinata muttered.

Obito added, "Is it too soon to call it domestic violence if Madara erases him?"

Tobirama didn't flinch. "It's not domestic violence if it's justified."

Hinata stared at him, scandalized. "You're supposed to be the smart one!"

"I am," Tobirama said, turning back to his notes. "That's why I don't interact with people who use their mouth as a projectile weapon."

Kisame choked.

Hinata dropped his head to the desk, groaning.

Tobirama continued writing like nothing had happened. "You know what's worse than kissing Madara?" he said, voice calm.

Hinata looked up, wary. "…What?"

"Wasting my class time talking about it."

Hinata recoiled like he'd been slapped.

From the back, Gaara murmured, "I think that was the verbal equivalent of a funeral."

Meanwhile, Madara still hadn't moved. Just stared. Unblinking. Silent. Murder in his posture.

Hinata gave up. "I'm gonna transfer schools. Or fake my death. Whichever's faster."

Tobirama didn't look up. "Good. Just do it quietly."

Hinata stayed seated a moment too long, breathing deeply. One day down. Almost. Maybe.

The teacher cleared her throat, shuffling a stack of papers. "Before you leave, everyone, we have a quick assignment. Lab partners for this semester."

Hinata tensed instantly. Please not Madara, please not Madara—

"Hinata Shoyo and…Uchiha Madara."

Hinata's head dropped to his desk with an audible thunk.

Madara's expression darkened even further, glaring daggers at the teacher like he was personally betrayed by the assignment.

Slowly, Hinata turned toward Madara, smiling nervously. "So, um… science?"

Madara's eyes flashed dangerously. "Stay at least three feet away from me at all times. Understand?"

"Understood," Hinata squeaked, scooting his chair carefully away. "No collisions, promise."

They reluctantly approached the back lab table, Madara radiating murderous intent, Hinata tiptoeing like he was navigating a minefield. As they settled at their station, Madara aggressively sorted through the lab equipment, jaw tense, refusing to look at Hinata.

Hinata hesitated, then reached carefully for a beaker. Madara immediately recoiled, glaring sharply.

"Don't even think about it."

Hinata quickly pulled back his hand. "I—I was just reaching for the beaker!"

Madara glared, eyes cold. "The last time you 'just reached' for something, your mouth ended up on my face."

Hinata flushed bright red. "I told you—it wasn't intentional! It was an accident!"

"An accident," Madara repeated flatly, like the word itself was an insult. "Next time, 'accidentally' injure someone else."

Hinata sighed, deflated. He glanced at Madara's notebook, precise lines and perfect handwriting neatly outlining the lab instructions. He swallowed his embarrassment, frustration flickering in his chest. At my old school, they'd always mocked his intelligence; he didn't want a repeat here. He took a shaky breath, forcing his pride aside.

"Madara," he began cautiously, "I know you're mad, and I get it, but can you at least explain what we're doing? I want to actually get this right."

Madara eyed him suspiciously. "You're serious?"

Hinata nodded quickly, determination filling his voice. "Yeah. Look, I wasn't exactly known for being smart at my old school—I just don't wanna be the dumb one again. So…please?"

Madara stared at him for a long, tense moment, clearly weighing his anger against practicality. Eventually, he sighed bitterly and pushed the notebook slightly towards Hinata.

"Listen closely, because I'm only explaining this once," Madara snapped. "Hydrochloric acid neutralizes sodium hydroxide. It creates saltwater, releasing heat—exothermic. Got it?"

Hinata nodded rapidly, scribbling down notes. "Exothermic. Heat. Saltwater. Okay. Got it."

Madara narrowed his eyes, voice dripping with irritation. "Good. Now stay focused, keep your face away, and we might survive this semester."

Hinata bristled slightly, courage rising despite the hostility. "You know, I'm actually trying here. It wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer."

Madara raised a brow, coldly amused. "And it wouldn't kill you to keep your mouth to yourself. Yet here we are."

Hinata winced but straightened his back defiantly. "I'll prove I'm not an idiot. Just watch."

Madara leaned forward, rivalry sharp in his narrowed eyes. "Prove it quietly. And from a distance."

They finished the lab in tense, charged silence, Madara pointedly avoiding contact, Hinata carefully noting every step, determined not to slip up again.

After class

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

Hinata lingered at his desk, half-packing his bag, half-watching the room empty, his leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table.

He sat back up and tugged at his hoodie strings until they nearly choked him. His leg was still bouncing like it had a mind of its own.

He whispered to himself, "Maybe no one noticed. Maybe if I act normal, they'll forget. People forget things, right? That's a thing humans do."

Then louder: "Oh god, it was face contact. Direct. Facial crash. Maximum impact—"

Tobirama stopped at the door, glancing irritably over his shoulder. "Your leg hasn't stopped moving since class started."

Hinata flinched. "Right. Sorry. Just… minor post-trauma twitching."

Tobirama raised an eyebrow. "If you're trying to make a second impression worse than the first, you're succeeding."

Hinata groaned. "Great. So I've skipped straight to legendary embarrassment."

"That's one word for it," Tobirama muttered. "There are others. None flattering."

Hinata pressed his palms to his cheeks. "This is fine. I'm fine. I'm just a highly visible disaster with great cardio."

Tobirama sighed. "You're going to be exhausting."

Hinata perked up slightly. "Correct."

Tobirama stared for a beat. Then: "Don't get your hopes up."
And with that, he turned 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.

Kisame laughed, already halfway into the hall. "You better be entertaining at least."

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 sighed like the weight of the world just got heavier. "You know how much work that is, right?"

"Probably too much," Hinata said. "But I'm doing it anyway."

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

Madara moved slower. He stopped beside Hinata's desk, gaze heavy and intense, clearly still irritated about earlier.

Hinata tilted his head cautiously. "What?" Madara's eyes narrowed slightly. "You've got a lot of nerve acting like today didn't happen."

Hinata winced, heat returning to his face. "I was trying to forget it."

"Try harder," Madara replied flatly. "I certainly plan to."

Hinata shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I know you're still mad—"

Madara interrupted, coldly amused. "Mad doesn't begin to cover it."

Hinata sighed, shoulders slumping. "Then how do we move past this?"

Madara gave him a long, unreadable look, tension still clear in his posture. Finally, he exhaled sharply. "Prove you're worth tolerating."

Hinata blinked. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Madara's expression sharpened with a competitive edge. "Friday. Show me something more impressive than your ability to cause chaos."

Hinata slowly smiled, sensing a challenge beneath Madara's hostility. "Friday, then."

Madara's gaze lingered, rivalry sparking silently between them. Without another word, he turned and 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 up his bag "It will be"

Obito raised an eyebrow. "You sure? Because right now, it's just you, a flyer, and a dramatic fall into Madara's mouth."

Hinata groaned. "I was launched. Physics was the enemy."

"Mm-hmm," Obito said, clearly unconvinced. "Hope you're not just loud. Would be disappointing if there's nothing underneath all that noise."

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, the cafeteria noise still faint in the background. He unwrapped a rice ball with more focus than necessary, trying to convince himself that food could drown out embarrassment. It wasn't working.

"Yo."

Hinata flinched slightly as Kisame dropped onto the bench beside him, holding two drinks and what looked like enough food to feed a small team.

Kisame grinned, sharklike and relaxed. "You look like someone having a very public breakdown. Want company?"

"We sorta met in class. You were yelling about volleyball."

Hinata sighed dramatically. "And falling on people. Don't forget that part."

Kisame snorted. "Yeah. Instant legend. Didn't know volleyball tryouts came with kissing your teammates."

Hinata choked on his rice ball. "It wasn't a kiss—it was a collision!"

"Sure," Kisame said, sipping his drink with mock innocence. "A collision. With lips. Happens all the time."

Hinata covered his face. "Please. I'm begging you."

"No judgment," Kisame added, clearly enjoying himself. "You just move fast. First day and already locking lips with the broody type."

"I will hit a volleyball at you."

Kisame raised an eyebrow. "What is this, a sports anime now?"

Hinata groaned. "You don't even know the half of it."

Kisame cracked a grin. "Well, if you start getting power-up arcs, I want a dramatic entrance."

Hinata pointed at him, eyes glinting. "Careful. I could make your nickname 'Sushi Monster.'"

Kisame paused mid-bite. "…You do that, and I'm spiking the ball at you, not the net."

"See? Sushi Monster energy."

Kisame snorted. "You're begging for a concussion."

Hinata dramatically held up his rice ball like a peace offering. "I surrender to the mighty Sushi Monster, destroyer of volleyballs and devourer of cafeteria ramen."

Kisame shook his head, chuckling. "You're lucky I'm amused."

"Lucky and brave," Hinata said proudly. "Mostly brave."

"Mostly a pain."

"Still counts."

Kisame leaned back on the bench, slurping his noodles. "So… does this make it official? Am I on the team now?"

Hinata perked up. "Only if you say it out loud."

Kisame rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm in."

"Yeah, we need others," Hinata said,

Hinata grinned. "We're gonna be great. Just you wait."

Kisame leaned his elbow on the table, looking amused. "Guess you better go hunting, Captain."

Hinata blinked. "Wait, did you just call me captain?"

"Don't get used to it."

Hinata beamed anyway. "Too late."

Tuesday

Rumors moved fast at Kunigami High.

By third period, half the school knew someone had face-planted into Madara Uchiha's mouth during homeroom. By lunch, the story had mutated into something far more dramatic—there were whispers of stolen kisses, forbidden romance, and a duel scheduled behind the gym.

Hinata hadn't even made it through his second day and already, he was a legend. For the worst possible reason.

So he did the only reasonable thing: hid in the farthest corner of the library, behind a stack of textbooks and pure shame.

His notebook was a mess of crossed-out math problems, stray doodles, and one stick figure labeled me lying flat under a speech bubble that read "rip social life." A highlighter dangled from his mouth like a cigarette as he stared down at a word problem.

"If two trains are moving at... why is it always trains?" he muttered, then started sketching tiny stick people bailing out with parachutes.

Someone slid into the seat across from him.

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

Hinata looked up, startled. "You heard about it, didn't you?"

Minato's smile was small but far too knowing. "Everyone did."

Hinata groaned and dropped his head to the table. "I think I accidentally invented a new form of humiliation."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Minato said gently.

Hinata lifted his head, hopeful. "Really?"

Minato tilted his head slightly. "You skipped straight to mouth contact. That's efficient, if nothing else."

Hinata let out a muffled scream into his notebook.

Before he could recover, another quiet presence appeared at the end of the row. A tall figure approached, steps silent, black uniform crisp. He stopped, arms folded, looking down at Hinata like he was evaluating a science experiment.

He glanced at the notebook. Then at Hinata.

"You're the one who kissed Madara."

Hinata jolted upright. "It wasn't a kiss! I got launched!"

Itachi raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying it was a tactical strike."

Minato looked amused. "Guided missile."

Hinata threw his arms up. "I hate both of you."

Itachi opened a book. "I don't recall asking for affection."

"Too late," Hinata muttered, stabbing a highlighter at his notes. "You're helping now."

Minato leaned forward slightly. "Only if you stop drawing stick figures with weapons."

"They were symbolic!" Hinata protested.

Itachi glanced over at the page. "One of them's holding a sign that says, I lived, bitch."

"That one's me," Hinata mumbled.

Minato smiled faintly. "He's been at this for a while."

Hinata sighed and slouched forward. "I'm Hinata, by the way. Transfer student. Local disaster."

Itachi gave a nod. "Uchiha. Itachi."

He flipped a page, then glanced at the notebook again. "If you actually want to improve, stop treating word problems like performance art."

Hinata huffed. "You're not wrong."

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

Minato added, "It means there's potential. Just… very loud potential."

Hinata blinked. "Was that an insult?"

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

Itachi didn't bother clarifying.

Hinata sighed again. "Okay, okay. I'll study for real."

Itachi stood, tucking the book under his arm. "Good. Do it right, or don't bother."

He started to walk away, then paused just slightly.

"And next time? Try aiming for a textbook instead of a face."

Hinata flushed red. "It wasn't on purpose!"

Itachi lifted one hand—dry, unreadable, final—then disappeared into the shelves.

Hinata slumped. "He's terrifying."

Minato nodded, adjusting his glasses. "He's also not wrong."

Hinata groaned, erasing the tiny sword from one of his stick figures.

Then, almost as an afterthought: "Hey... 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 across the library, Itachi raised a single hand without turning around.

Hinata grinned. "Four down."

Tuesday During Break

Hinata sat in an isolated classroom, 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 inside, arms crossed. "Looks more like a nervous breakdown disguised as biology."

Hinata held up his notebook. "I'm trying to get smarter, okay? Not everyone wakes up knowing what a lysosome does."

Tobirama raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know now?"

"…Sort of?"

A beat.

Tobirama sighed. "It's not a villain. It breaks down waste. Not that hard."

Hinata groaned, slumping forward. "Okay, fine. Teach me before I end up drawing a sad comic about my cellular failures."

Without a word, Tobirama dropped his bag, pulled a slim, perfectly organized notebook from inside, and tossed it onto Hinata's desk.

Hinata blinked. "What's this?"

"My notes. Try not to ruin them."

Hinata flipped it open—and immediately froze. Clean handwriting. Labeled diagrams. Highlighted terms.

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

Tobirama didn't respond, just gave him a look that said 'obviously.'

Hinata glanced up, awed. "Did you… did you use a ruler for the diagrams?"

"No. My hand is steady. Unlike your academic grasp on cellular respiration."

Hinata grinned. "That was almost a compliment."

"It wasn't."

Hinata leaned on the desk, chin in hand. "You're more helpful than you let on."

"I'm more patient than you deserve."

Hinata laughed, then brightened. "Hey—since you're here being all terrifying and organized... wanna join my volleyball club?"

Tobirama turned, slow and sharp. "Do I look like someone who joins clubs?"

"You look like someone who could break a volleyball with one serve," Hinata said.

Silence.

Then, dry and flat: "Tempting."

Hinata leaned forward eagerly. "We need someone precise. Fast. Cold-blooded."

"Still describing me like I'm a weapon."

"You kind of are."

Tobirama tilted his head slightly. "You're persistent."

"I've been called worse."

Another pause.

"Fine," Tobirama said at last. "But I'm not wearing matching uniforms. And if anyone yells a team chant, I'm leaving."

"No promises," Hinata said brightly.

Tobirama turned to go, then added over his shoulder, voice calm and flat: "Oh—and stop aiming your face at people. We're still recovering from yesterday."

Hinata sputtered. "It was an accident!"

"I know. That's what makes it worse."

Then he was gone.

Hinata stared after him.

"Okay," he muttered. "That was definitely a yes.

Lunch

Hinata sat alone at a cheap plastic cafeteria table, hunched over his notes like they were the only thing keeping him from folding in on himself. His textbook was open, pages marked with frantic highlighter, half-erased doodles, and increasingly desperate underlines. His pen had rolled off the edge five minutes ago. He hadn't moved to get it.

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."" he muttered, deadpan.

Kisame dropped into the seat across from him with two ramen cups and a canned coffee. "Studying, sulking, or both?"

Hinata didn't lift his head. "Both. Mostly trying not to die of embarrassment."

Kisame unwrapped his chopsticks. "Still about Madara?"

"Still about everyone," Hinata mumbled. "I'm being memed in real time. Someone said they saw a drawing of the kiss in the art room."

Kisame grinned. "That's actually kind of impressive. You're famous."

Hinata groaned louder.

"Don't listen to them," Kisame said, voice low but solid. "They don't know you."

"You teased me too," Hinata pointed out, peeking up.

"Yeah," Kisame replied without missing a beat. "But affectionately. Totally different."

Tobirama appeared a moment later, setting his tray down beside them with surgical precision. He looked over Hinata's mess of notes like he was about to issue a citation.

"Your study method is atrocious," he said. "You're highlighting random nouns. One of them is Wednesday."

Tobirama sat down beside them without a word, setting his tray down with surgical precision.

Hinata blinked. "Wait… why did you sit with us?"

Tobirama didn't even glance up. "Because clearly, unsupervised, you two would self-destruct."

Kisame snorted. "That's one way to say you like our company."

"I didn't say that," Tobirama replied flatly.

Hinata leaned in. "You're still here though."

Tobirama took a slow sip of tea. "I'm making sure the club president doesn't accidentally erase himself from existence before Friday."

Hinata raised an eyebrow. "So this is... a rescue mission?"

"Think of it as damage control," Tobirama said. "Temporary."

Kisame chuckled. "Temporary, huh? That's what Madara said before threatening arson with his eyes."

Hinata groaned. "And he did it again at lunch—he mouthed 'you're an embarrassment.'"

Tobirama gave a dry look. "He's not wrong."

Hinata pointed at both of them, dead serious. "I'm the club president. I have authority. I could make you run laps in mascot suits."

Kisame blinked. "Do you… have mascot suits?"

"No," Hinata said. "But I'm resourceful. And mildly unhinged."

Tobirama looked up, expression flat. "Focus on passing biology before threatening public humiliation."

Hinata squinted at him. "You sound like a dad."

Kisame shrugged. "Same energy."

Tobirama: "Because I have standards."

"Exactly"

The soccer field was empty after lunch—just dry grass, faded sunlight, and one guy punishing a ball like it had insulted his entire bloodline.

Hinata climbed the low fence without much thought, needing air after the cafeteria whispers and half-hidden snickers. He just wanted space to breathe—he didn't expect to see someone else already taking out their stress on the field.

Sasuke Uchiha moved like a shadow. Each kick of the ball was deliberate. Focused. Like everything he didn't say out loud was buried in the rhythm of his steps.

Hinata watched for a moment, then called out, "You know this isn't gym class, right?"

Sasuke didn't stop. Didn't even glance at him. "Obviously."

"You always train alone?"

"It's more efficient."

Hinata walked onto the field, a few cautious steps past the edge. "Efficient's a weird word for 'antisocial,' but okay."

Silence. The ball hit the back of the net.

"You ever play volleyball?" Hinata asked, completely unbothered.

Sasuke turned slightly, gaze cool and unreadable. "Do I look like I play volleyball?"

Hinata shrugged. "You move like someone who hates losing. That usually transfers."

Sasuke finally looked at him head-on. "Why are you talking to me?"

Hinata smiled, a little crooked. "I'm recruiting. Starting a team. Volleyball. You'd be good."

Sasuke stared for a long moment. "You don't know anything about me."

Hinata crossed his arms, still grinning. "I know you're serious. Focused. Kind of angry for no reason."

Hinata tilted his head. "I'm guessing you've got your own mess. Family drama? Pressure? That 'my life's a revenge plot' look in your eyes?"

A long pause.

Sasuke looked away, jaw tight. "You're annoying."

"I get that a lot," Hinata said brightly. "Still doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Sasuke tapped the ball with his toe and moved to kick it again—only for Hinata to dart forward and steal it mid-dribble, sprinting a few feet away like a thief caught red-handed.

Sasuke froze. Then slowly turned, expression unreadable. "Did you just steal my ball?"

Hinata tossed it in the air and caught it. "You move like someone who doesn't miss, remember? Prove it."

"You're going to regret that."

"I regret a lot of things. This won't be one of them."

Sasuke stalked forward, and Hinata launched the ball back toward him with a grin. Their little match lasted maybe thirty seconds—fast, intense, and shockingly even.

Then Hinata caught Sasuke slightly off balance, faked left, darted right, and shot the ball clean past him into the goal.

It was glorious.

It was triumphant.

And then Hinata immediately tripped over his own feet and hit the ground with a dramatic, winded "oof."

He lay there flat on his back, staring up at the sky.

"I meant to do that," he wheezed.

Sasuke walked over, peered down at him, and tilted his head slightly. "That goal was lucky."

Hinata raised a hand without sitting up. "Say 'skilled' and I'll forgive your entire vibe."

"You're an idiot."

Hinata grinned from the grass. "Takes one to notice one."

Sasuke turned slightly, just enough for Hinata to catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"You're awfully desperate," Sasuke said, "trying to build a team with misfits and social disasters."

Hinata blinked. "Excuse me? I'm collecting talent."

"You kissed one of them on day one."

Hinata sat up fast, red in the face. "That was—! That was an accident!"

Sasuke smirked — an actual smirk, sharp and smug. "Sure. Just try not to fall on me next."

Hinata pointed at him, flustered. "You don't even know if I'd want to—ugh, forget it!"

The rooftop was already taken.

Hinata pushed open the door, wind tugging at his hoodie. There, stretched out like he owned the place, was the same guy from class—sprawled across the concrete with a textbook beside him, one arm over his eyes like sunlight was just another thing to ignore.

Shikamaru sighed before Hinata even said a word. "Don't tell me you're here to recruit me. What a drag."

Hinata blinked, stepping closer. "Wow. Psychic and pessimistic."

"You've got that look," Shikamaru said, not moving. "Desperate, annoying, and way too much energy for someone who got publicly clowned on day one."

Hinata groaned. "Okay, not wrong, but still rude."

"You kissed Madara," Shikamaru pointed out. "Voluntarily or not, you're cursed."

Hinata flopped down beside him. "Can we not bring that up every five minutes?"

Shikamaru cracked one eye open. "Not if you keep showing up like a main character."

Hinata sighed dramatically, leaning back on his hands. "Starting a volleyball club. We're going to win nationals and prove all the weirdos belong."

"Wow," Shikamaru said dryly. "Such a realistic pitch."

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

"You seriously climbed all the way up here to say that?"

"You were my backup plan."

Shikamaru groaned. "You're the kind of guy who turns a nap into a conversation."

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

A long pause.

"…You're not wrong."

Hinata tilted his head. "So that's a maybe?"

Shikamaru sat up just enough to give him a look. "You really think this mess of a team is going to work?"

"I don't think," Hinata said, standing. "I believe. There's a difference."

Shikamaru groaned and flopped back down again. "Fine. But don't talk to me until after lunch."

Hinata grinned. "Deal. Welcome to the team, data guy."

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 blinked. "Okay. Either I just interrupted a workout or a crime."

Zabuza scowled. "Depends. You with campus security?"

Hinata raised his hands in mock surrender, a flyer crinkled between his fingers. "Just a transfer student. Looking for volleyballs. And maybe emotionally stable teammates, but I'll take what I can get."

Haku raised an eyebrow, stepping forward. "Volleyball?"

"Starting a club," Hinata said, holding out the flyer like it was a peace offering. "Need bodies. Preferably ones that can spike."

Zabuza looked him up and down. "You look like someone who gets spiked."

"Bold," Hinata said, undeterred. "But fair."

Haku took the flyer, scanned it. "You're recruiting from a closet?"

"I go where the chaos leads."

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

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

Haku tilted his head, intrigued. "You're serious?"

"As a PE injury."

Zabuza crossed his arms. "We don't do clubs."

"Why not?"

"Waste of time. People talk too much. And I don't wear matching uniforms."

Hinata squinted. "You say that like you've been in a boy band."

Zabuza glared. "Watch it."

"I mean it as a compliment. You've got presence."

Haku smirked. "He's not wrong."

Zabuza muttered, "I liked it better when you were silent."

Haku ignored him. "What exactly are you hoping to get out of this… team?"

"A win. Eventually. But more than that? People who show up. Misfits who aren't afraid to try."

Haku studied him for a long moment. "You know most people wouldn't ask us."

"I'm not most people."

Zabuza snorted. "Clearly. Most people don't start clubs by making out with their teammates on the first day."

Hinata's whole soul left his body. "It was an accident! Gravity is evil!"

"Sure it is," Zabuza said, smirking now. "That what you call it? Gravity? Or just really enthusiastic team-building?"

Haku raised an eyebrow, almost impressed. "That's one way to boost morale."

Hinata groaned. "This is slander. I'm being slandered."

Zabuza leaned forward slightly, grin widening. "You kiss all your recruits, or was that just a special bonus for Uchiha?"

"I'm going to throw myself into a locker."

Haku, almost kindly, patted his shoulder. "You're not even the most dramatic person we've met. So that's something."

Zabuza shrugged. "You want bruisers? We'll think about it. If we don't show up, you'll know we hated your flyer."

Hinata, still flustered but recovering, gave a small bow. "I'll take that as a maybe."

Zabuza smirked. "You should take it as a warning."

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

As he slipped out, Haku watched him go. "Strange kid."

Zabuza huffed. "If I catch him falling on me, it's over."

Hinata smirked, eyes glinting. "Careful, Zabuza. You might like my lips."

Haku choked on his laugh.

Zabuza squinted like he was trying to decide between leaving the room or throwing a dumbbell. "Try it, and I'll introduce you to the floor. With force."

Hinata held up both hands, completely unbothered. "Wow. That almost sounded like flirting."

Haku leaned against the wall, grinning. "I think he's blushing."

"I am not," Zabuza snapped, definitely turning a shade redder.

Hinata took a step back toward the door. "See you Friday. Try not to dream about me."

Zabuza growled. "Try not to show up."

"Too late!" Hinata called, slipping out the door.

Haku turned to Zabuza, still chuckling. "You're definitely going to kill him one day."

"Only if he wants to get kissed by the ball first."

Wednesday

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.

Hinata had been looking for the painting he'd heard about—the one with him and Madara. But instead, he saw a different kind of artistry in the back corner.

Sasori.

Hinata stepped inside, the door creaking softly behind him. "I was told this room was haunted," he said, trying to break the silence. "Guess they meant your energy."

Sasori didn't look up, his hands moving skillfully as he continued carving. "You're late."

Hinata blinked, taken aback. "Wait—you were expecting me?"

Sasori paused for just a second, not looking up. "I already read the flyer on the art room door. I don't like to be kept waiting."

Hinata walked around, scanning the room. "Then where'd the flyer go?"

Without a pause, Sasori replied coolly, "I drew on it."

Hinata raised an eyebrow. "I read it first."

"Touched. Really."

Hinata let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "A bit of a perfectionist, huh?"

Sasori didn't respond, instead continuing his carving with precision. The piece in front of him looked like a mask made of teeth and geometric shapes. It was unsettlingly beautiful.

"You're the one starting the volleyball club," Sasori said, his voice low but clear.

Hinata grinned. "Yep. 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, unimpressed. "Flattery won't get you anything."

Hinata shrugged. "I was going for accuracy."

Sasori finally put down his carving tool and pushed a sketchpad toward him. "Draw something. Anything."

Hinata blinked. "What, like an audition?"

"I don't like wasting time."

Hinata sat down, grabbed the pencil, and started sketching without hesitation. In under a minute, there was a small, clean sketch of Sasori's mask—simplified, but clever. The edges were stylized, the proportions exact.

Sasori stared at it for a moment.

"You're good."

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

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

Hinata didn't ask why. He just started drawing. It was a sharp portrait—Sasori mid-carve, his eyes narrowed, his fingers focused. Clean, deliberate lines, not dramatic—just honest.

Sasori studied it carefully. The silence stretched between them before he finally spoke.

"…Fine. I'll join."

Hinata's eyes lit up. "No chants. No team cheers. No matching warm-ups," Sasori added.

"No promises."

"And no one touches my water bottle."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Sasori grabbed his carving tools, standing up and heading for the door. Then he paused for a second, glancing over his shoulder.

"When's the first practice?"

Hinata blinked. "You just agreed to join."

Sasori's expression didn't change. "I like schedules."

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

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

Hinata watched him leave, then looked down at the sketch he had just finished. As he stared at the image, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of how strange it was—especially since Sasori's mask wasn't the only thing on his mind.

Hinata muttered under his breath, looking at the portrait he'd drawn of Sasori. "Scary. But extremely on time."

As he set the sketchpad aside, something caught his eye on the desk—another drawing. A small painting that hadn't been there before. It depicted him, surprisingly, in a very compromising position. In the image, he was locked in an accidental kiss with Madara. The awkwardness of it was unmistakable.

Hinata froze, staring at it for a moment. "What...?"

Hinata sighed, rubbing his temple. "Great. Guess I'm a walking art project now."

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."

"Konan!" Hinata called.

She stopped, raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Hinata rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward. "Uh, can you do me a favor?"

Konan's eyes narrowed slightly. "What kind of favor?"

Hinata winced. "Can you... stop the rumors about me and Madara kissing? It's... it's really getting out of hand."

Konan's lips twitched slightly. She let out a quiet, amused breath. "Rumors, huh?" she said, her tone light. "That's an interesting request coming from you."

Hinata's face went bright red. "It wasn't on purpose, I swear. I just... tripped! And—"

"I get it," Konan interrupted, her voice smooth. "You don't need to explain. But rumors like that don't die easily."

Hinata shifted, rubbing his neck nervously. "I know. That's why I need your help. I can't do it alone, and people are already... making it worse."

Konan thought for a moment, her expression cool and calculating. "Fine. I'll make sure it doesn't spread. But you'll owe me one. Just don't get caught up in any more drama."

Hinata blinked, surprised. "Wait, really? You'll help?"

She nodded slowly, then glanced back at the door. "It's not about helping you. It's about keeping the chaos under control. You wouldn't want this to spiral out of control, would you?"

Hinata nodded eagerly. "Definitely not."

Konan stepped toward the door, pausing one last time. "Don't let it happen again." Then, with a slight smile, she added, "And for the record, it's a good thing you're starting a team. It'll give you something to focus on. Other than... kissing rumors."

Hinata groaned but managed a smile. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Konan."

"Don't thank me yet," she said, her voice tinged with amusement before walking out, leaving him standing there, feeling a little lighter, and yet still deeply embarrassed.

Hinata sighed and glanced at the flyer in his hand.

"Wait," he mumbled to himself, still holding the flyer, "Pein's the student council president. If anyone can get these rumors under control, it's him."

He quickly walked out of the room, heading the same direction Konan had gone.

Hinata found them in the hallway, walking toward the stairwell. He caught up with them and stopped in front of Pein.

"Hey, Pein! Can you... um... do a favor for me?" Hinata asked, his voice uncertain.

Pein turned and looked at him, his usual unreadable expression in place. "What?"

Hinata rubbed his neck, feeling awkward. "It's about the rumors... You know, the ones about me and Madara kissing?" He winced, cringing just saying it out loud.

Pein blinked, his expression barely shifting. "I'm not sure how my involvement will help in this case."

Hinata sighed, feeling defeated. "I just figured, with you being the student council president and all, maybe you could... I don't know, use your influence to make it stop?"

Konan, standing a few steps behind, glanced at Pein. "It's not a bad idea. The rumors could spread even further if left unchecked. You have the authority to nip this in the bud."

Pein stared at Hinata for a moment before nodding once, slow and deliberate. "Fine. I'll handle it. But don't come asking for favors all the time."

Hinata let out a relieved breath. "Thank you! I promise I won't."

Pein glanced at Konan. "I'll send a message through the usual channels. No one will dare question it."

Hinata grinned. "You're the best!"

Konan shook her head but smiled slightly. "Just keep it together, Hinata. You've got a volleyball team to run."

"Will do!" Hinata said, grateful for their help as he walked away.

"Just make sure you don't accidentally kiss anyone else in the meantime," Konan called after him with a teasing tone.

Hinata's face turned beet red as he waved, calling back, "Not helping!"

Then they were gone.

Hinata looked around the hallway, feeling a little lighter. He glanced down at the flyer in his hand and muttered, "…How the hell am I in charge of these people?"

He didn't have a gym.

Didn't have uniforms, a roster, or a clue what half of them were even capable of.

And Friday? Friday was coming fast.

A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter! Even though this type of crossover is not very common, I was motivated to write it. See you in the next chapters!

What do you think of the story so far?