Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Haikyuu or Naruto

Thursday Between Class

Hinata paused outside his classroom, shoulder pressed to the wall, half-expecting the usual.

But there was nothing.

No whispers. No pointed stares.

No smirking first-years pretending not to laugh when he walked by.

A trio of second-years passed him. Nothing. One of them was even holding a phone — and not scrolling through that cursed fanart.

He blinked.

Then turned slowly, scanning the hallway like it might be a trap.

Two third-years leaned against a locker, chatting. Not even a glance in his direction. Not one "kiss boy" or fake cough followed by "Madaraaa~."

Nothing.

He stepped forward.

Still nothing.

No one even looked up.

Hinata stopped dead in the middle of the hall, heart pounding with… confusion?

"…It worked?" he said quietly.

A girl brushing past raised an eyebrow but kept walking.

He turned in a slow circle, voice a little louder this time.

"It actually worked?"

From behind, Kisame appeared like summoned chaos, hands in his pockets and grin wide.

"What worked?"

Hinata turned to him, stunned. "The rumors. They're gone. All of them."

Kisame blinked. "Seriously?"

"I thought Konan was just bluffing," Hinata said. "But she actually shut it down."

Kisame clapped him on the back. "You've been government-scrubbed. Feel honored."

Hinata blinked up at him. "Should I be scared?"

"Oh, definitely."

They started walking toward class. Hinata looked back once — just to check.

Still nothing.

He muttered under his breath:
"Remind me never to get on Konan's bad side."

Hinata hears voices and 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. "I told you. I pop up everywhere. Like a sports-themed haunting."

Rin studied him for a second. "Wait. You're the one who accidentally kissed Madara, right?"

Hinata winced. "Okay, first of all—it wasn't a kiss, it was an unfortunate physics incident."

Obito gave him a flat look. "That rumor spread so fast the teachers know."

"I know," Hinata muttered. "Someone in year two turned it into a haiku."

Rin actually laughed, brief and soft. "It was a good haiku."

"Anyway!" Hinata held up a flyer like it was a lifeline. "Still recruiting. Still desperate. Still annoyingly persistent."

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 the card. "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.

Kakuzu turned, but paused at the doorway. "Just don't start practice by kissing someone. Or whatever it is you did."

Hinata blinked. "Wait—you heard about that?!"

Kakuzu didn't stop walking. "I track risks. You're a walking liability."

Hinata groaned. "I thought the rumors were gone…"

Kakuzu's voice echoed back, dry: "You made it onto a spreadsheet."

"Wait!"

"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 fifteen sets of jerseys at ¥45,000 (including printing and number customization), twenty official volleyballs at ¥42,000, and ¥18,000 for essential training equipment — cones, net tape, resistance bands, knee pads, and whistles. We've also allocated ¥4,500 for a full first aid kit restock (ice packs, tape, disinfectant, bandages), ¥12,000 for the monthly gym and court reservation fee, and ¥20,000 for transportation expenses (bus rental, fuel, and tolls) for matches and local brings us to a subtotal of ¥141,500. With a 10% buffer for unexpected costs (like broken gear, last-minute tournament fees, or emergency food for emotionally unstable players), the total request is ¥155,650."

"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. "Fifteen jerseys: forty-five thousand. Twenty volleyballs: forty-two thousand. Training gear—cones, net tape, resistance bands, knee pads, whistles—eighteen thousand. First aid kit restock: four-five hundred. Court rental: twelve thousand monthly. Emergency bus and travel costs: twenty thousand."

Kakuzu didn't look up. "Subtotal?"

Hinata straightened a little. "One forty-one five hundred."

"Buffer?"

"Ten percent. Brings it to a grand total of ¥155,650."

There was a pause.

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

Hinata blinked. "Wait—seriously?"

Kakuzu's voice was flat. "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?"

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

Then he added, too casually:
"Also, you kissed my cousin."

Hinata groaned. "Oh my god. It wasn't a kiss. It was gravity-assisted face collision."

Shisui looked entirely unconvinced. "Sure. That's what they all say."

Hinata muttered, "I thought Konan and Pein killed the rumor…"

Shisui shrugged. "Yeah, well, some things are too iconic to die."

Hinata slumped slightly. "This school is haunted… and I'm the ghost."

Shisui laughed and held out a hand. "Well, Ghost, you've got 'little brother I never asked for' energy. That makes this my problem now."

Hinata raised an eyebrow but handed him a crumpled flyer from his bag. "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 leave, then paused and glanced back with a smirk.
"Just don't fall on me. I don't need to become part of your kiss-count."

Hinata gaped. "Oh my god, you too?!"

Shisui winked. "What can I say? I'm a legacy guy."

Then he was gone, vanishing around the corner at a full sprint.

Hinata stared after him and muttered,
"…I need to transfer."

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."

Thursday Cafeteria:

The cafeteria smelled like tragedy.
Overcooked curry. Burnt miso. Someone crying over a dropped melon bread.

Hinata just wanted to eat his rice ball in peace.

Then Obito slid into the seat across from him like he was declaring war.

"I hate this school."

"Hi to you too," Hinata said.

"You've recruited psychos," Obito muttered. "Half this club has murder vibes."

"You're here."

"Exactly."

Rin sat beside him with practiced ease, placing her tray like she was at a tea ceremony. "He says that, but he follows you like a stray."

Obito grumbled. "I'm a hostage."

"A willing one," she said, sipping tea.

Kisame dropped into the seat beside Hinata, tray stacked with questionable meat and even more questionable ambition.
"Hey hey, rumor central's forming early today."

Zabuza stomped up behind him and crashed into the seat like gravity owed him money. "You still eat like you're bulking for war."

"I am the war."

"You're the noise."

"Flirting again?" Kisame asked, grinning.

Zabuza growled. Kisame winked. They didn't deny it.

Across the table, Shikamaru slouched down with a sigh that probably aged him ten years. "This is the worst idea I've ever not agreed to."

"You showed up," Hinata said, mouth full.

"I was hungry. I regret both decisions."

A plate landed beside him. Tobirama. Flawless tray. Cold eyes. Already judging them all.

"You're all disasters," he said evenly.

"Then why are you here?" Kisame asked.

"To supervise the crash."

Minato arrived next—quiet steps, calm smile, and the kind of balance that made him look like he floated through the day untouched.
He placed a perfect bento on the table, nodded to Rin, and handed Gaara a peeled tangerine like it was a perfectly natural thing to do.

Gaara—who had appeared without sound or warning—accepted it wordlessly. But this time, he spoke.

"You peel them too neatly," he said to Minato.

Minato just smiled. "Perfection is a habit."

Gaara blinked once. "That sounds like a threat."

"I mean it as encouragement."

"I'll take it as both."

"I still don't understand how he's here without moving," Kisame muttered.

"He's a ghost," Zabuza replied. "An angry one."

"I'm not angry," Gaara said quietly. "Just always listening."

The air shifted.

Madara arrived.

He didn't walk—he glided, like darkness given form, wearing arrogance like armor and a perfect scowl.

He didn't sit right away.
He stood. Surveyed the table. Let the discomfort grow.

"You're all loud," he said finally.

"You're late," Tobirama replied without looking up.

Madara stared at him. "I was debating whether this was worth my presence."

Shikamaru groaned. "It's always worth your presence, huh?"

"Obviously," Madara said, now sitting, slow and theatrical. "I'm the most interesting part of this tragic ensemble."

"Did he just call us a cast?" Kisame asked.

"I called us tragic," Madara said, spearing his food with unnecessary force. "The cast part is generous."

Hinata raised an eyebrow. "You're still here."

"Curiosity. And morbid entertainment. I'd like to see which of you snaps first."

"You're volunteering?" Obito asked, surprised.

Madara rolled his eyes. "I'm observing. There's a difference. I'll play if it benefits me."

"And what benefits you?" Rin asked.

"Victory. Chaos. A worthy opponent."
He looked straight at Hinata. "Prove you're any of those, and maybe I'll spike a ball instead of someone's face."

From the vending machine corner, Kakuzu dropped a spreadsheet on the table with military precision.

"This conversation cost 680 yen in cafeteria subsidies. Pay up."

"I didn't agree to taxes," Obito muttered.

"Too late," Rin replied.

The table froze.

Itachi appeared.

No footsteps. No warning.

He sat beside Minato and started peeling Gaara's second tangerine like he had always been there.

"You're terrifying," Kisame said.

Itachi didn't blink. "You're predictable."

On his other side, Haku materialized with grace only matched by threat-level aesthetic.
He offered Itachi a wet towel. "You missed a spot of tangerine oil."

"You're enabling him," Tobirama said flatly.

"I am," Haku said. "And I'd do it again."

Shisui slid in beside Hinata, grinning like this was his favorite sitcom. "God, this feels like a student council hit list. You collecting these people on purpose?"

"Some were accidents," Hinata said. "Most were threats."

"I respect that."

Pein entered.

Silence followed like it had been trained.

He stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, eyes radiating judgment that could crush nations.

"This is not an official club meeting."

"No one said it was," Hinata offered.

Konan appeared beside him, clipboard halfway filled, like she was logging sins in real time.

"You've gathered the most dangerous personalities in school," she said.

"Coincidence," Hinata replied.

"It's a hazard."

"Or potential," Minato said gently.

"No," Pein said. "It's madness."

Sasuke stalked up, ten seconds late, emotionally ten years early.
He stopped behind Itachi, arms crossed.

"I don't want to sit here."

"Then don't," Itachi said calmly.

Sasuke sat anyway, spine straight like he had something to prove. "I'll sit where I want."

"You always do," Gaara murmured.

Shisui leaned toward Hinata. "They've been like this since birth. You just brought a spotlight."

"This is so dramatic," Rin whispered.

"So is our roster," Hinata whispered back.

Then—

Han spoke.

His voice cut through the noise.
Low. Calm. Irrefutable.

"If we're a team," he said, "we need control."

Pein nodded once. "Then control it."

"I will," Konan said, already scribbling faster.

"I'll sponsor it," Kakuzu called from the vending machine, sipping black coffee like a threat. "If no one breaks anything."

"No promises," Madara muttered.

Sasori flipped his sketchpad and laid it in the center of the table.

Each of them, drawn mid-motion—Kisame laughing, Zabuza scowling, Itachi mid-peel, Pein looming like a final boss.

Madara's chair was drawn like a throne. Hinata's like a fuse.

Shikamaru stared at the sketch. "Looks like a family."

"A messed up, probably-doomed one," Kisame added.

"But still a family," Minato said.

Hinata looked around—Madara's smirk, Itachi's silence, Sasuke's fire, Shisui's steady warmth, Rin's control, Konan's terrifying efficiency, Pein's looming aura, Gaara's eerie stillness, Han's monolith calm, Kakuzu's spreadsheet scowl, Tobirama's frostbite judgment, Shikamaru's existential dread, Kisame and Zabuza's mutual violence, Haku's strange serenity, Sasori's deadpan talent, and Minato's gentle center.

And his own tray of slightly crushed rice balls.

He smiled.

"This isn't a team," he said quietly.

Pein looked at him. "No. It's a warning."

"But I'll make it work."

Madara raised an eyebrow. "Bold of you."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Hinata said.

A pause.

Then Gaara, still peeling his third tangerine like he had eternity to spare, added,
"Let him try. If he fails, we'll still get a good story."

"Or a court case," Tobirama muttered.

"Same thing," Kisame said.

No one argued.

They just kept eating.

Like gods before a storm.

They were halfway through dessert—or what passed for it, considering the cafeteria's idea of pudding was just sadness in a cup—when Madara finally broke the lull.

He glanced up, eyes sharp, voice low.

"So."

Everyone froze.

Hinata blinked. "...So?"

Madara's gaze narrowed like he was aiming for blood.

"The kissing rumors."

Hinata choked on air. "W–What about them?"

"They're gone," Madara said. "Vanished. No gossip. No whispers. Nothing in the hallway echo chamber. Suspiciously dead."

Rin looked over her tea. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

Madara leaned forward. "Is it? Or is it… a cover-up?"

Obito groaned. "He's doing this again."

"It was suspiciously efficient," Madara continued. "You'd think a full accidental lip collision in front of thirty people would leave more of a mark."

"It left trauma," Hinata muttered.

"I think it left a fanfiction," Shikamaru added with a sigh. "I saw one printed out in the art room. Illustrated."

"See?" Madara gestured like a lawyer at trial. "Vanishing rumors. Printed fanfiction. Someone's pulling strings."

"I asked for help," Hinata said weakly. "Konan made them stop."

"Did she bribe the school?" Madara pressed. "Threaten the newspaper club?"

"I didn't threaten," Konan said calmly. "I redirected."

"You intimidated six rumor starters," Shikamaru mumbled, face in his hands. "And left one of them a personalized schedule of their GPA decay if they kept talking."

"Which worked," Konan said.

Madara turned to her, unimpressed. "Are you telling me a full-blown scandal disappeared… because you bullied it into silence?"

"Yes," Konan replied. "Efficiently."

Madara leaned back slowly. "I don't know if I'm impressed or mildly afraid."

"Why not both?" Shisui offered, already stealing Zabuza's mochi.

"You people are unwell," Tobirama muttered, sipping water like it was laced with disappointment.

Han finally spoke.

His voice was low. Calm. Final.

"It doesn't matter."

Madara's eyes slid to him. "Excuse me?"

Han met his gaze without blinking. "Rumors are temporary. What matters is what comes next."

"You don't think it's worth revisiting?" Madara asked.

"No," Han said, quiet but resolute. "You're focused on the past. I care about the win."

Zabuza blinked. "That was either poetry or a threat."

"Both," Haku said, proud.

"Madara's just mad no one's still talking about his lips," Kisame added with a smirk.

Madara's eyes snapped to him. "I will bury you."

"You'll have to outspike me first."

"Try me."

Across the table, Shikamaru buried his face in his arms.

"What a drag," he muttered. "I signed up for a volleyball club. Not a soap opera wrapped in a Greek tragedy."

Itachi, calmly peeling Gaara's third tangerine with surgical precision: "This was inevitable."

Sasuke crossed his arms. "Itachi, stop peeling things. It's weird."

"I'm practicing detachment," Itachi said. "From expectations. And rind."

"I need to go lie down," Shikamaru muttered.

"Don't," Kakuzu called from two tables over. "Lying down still costs seating fees."

Hinata took a loud bite of rice ball, trying to vanish.

Shisui nudged him. "You okay?"

"Mentally or emotionally?"

Shisui grinned. "Neither."

Han, quietly: "Focus up. Friday matters."

Pein, arms still folded, gave the smallest nod. "Your performance reflects your discipline. I expect neither failure nor excuses."

Konan jotted something on her clipboard. "Practice roster's locked. Uniforms arrive next Thursday. No absences."

Gaara nodded once. "The storm starts then."

"Storm?" Kisame asked, grinning. "I thought it was just practice."

"No," Gaara replied. "It's war disguised as warmups."

The table fell silent.

Even Madara paused.

Rin blinked. "...Is everyone okay?"

"No," Shikamaru said from the table.

"Definitely not," Hinata said, grinning.

But his eyes were bright. His hands steady.

"Still showing up, though."

Madara stared at him. Then leaned back with a smirk.

"Good," he said. "Would've been boring if you quit."

And just like that, the chaos resumed.

Zabuza and Kisame resumed mock-bickering. Sasuke tried to steal Shikamaru's pudding and got fork-threatened. Gaara ghosted halfway out of the seat. Tobirama sighed like he aged a decade. Haku poured tea for Rin. Kakuzu glared over his budget notes. Shisui reached for more mochi. Obito sulked with flair. Rin balanced it all.

Madara watched it unfold like a slow, inevitable spiral.

A mess.

A warning.

A storm.

But beneath it—

Something solid.

Something dangerous.

Something that might even be...

A team.

After Lunch

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." Iruka paused, then added with a pointed look, "And don't kiss any more students."

Hinata groaned. "It wasn't a kiss!"

Iruka raised an eyebrow.

"It was a forehead collision!"

"Sure," Iruka said, already signing the form. "Just keep your collisions off the school record."

Hinata muttered, "I'm haunted by one mistake..."

Iruka handed the form back, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "Welcome to high school."

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

Hinata crept into the staff room like he was approaching a crime scene.

"Excuse me—Kakashi-sensei?"

Kakashi didn't move. "No."

Hinata blinked. "I didn't even say anything yet."

"You were going to ask me to coach."

"Okay, wow," Hinata said, stepping closer. "Didn't know you moonlight as a psychic."

Kakashi finally turned a page. "I've been avoiding eye contact with club starters all week. You're the loud one."

"Club president," Hinata corrected. "Volleyball. New. Loud. Ambitious. Just need a assistant coach who knows how to stay calm when everything's on fire."

Kakashi glanced over his book for a whole two seconds. "I'm not your guy."

"You're literally the definition of calm," Hinata said. "You're practically horizontal and still intimidating."

"I'm not coaching."

"Fine," Hinata said, switching gears, holding out a crumpled flyer. "Then just come to our first practice. You don't have to talk. Just observe. Judge us silently from the shadows."

Kakashi looked up, eye half-lidded. "And if it's terrible?"

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

There was a long pause.

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

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

Kakashi turned another page.

Hinata squinted. "Wait… are you reading Summer Lesson: Midnight Confessions?"

Kakashi slowly lowered the book.

Hinata clicked a photo. "Say cheese."

"Did you just—"

"Yep. Insurance."

"You're blackmailing a teacher."

"Motivational leverage. I prefer to think of it as trust-building."

"I'll have you expelled."

Hinata was already typing. "If I go down, you go down with me. Should I quote paragraph three? 'She moaned like a violin in heat'—?"

Kakashi groaned and sank lower in his chair.

Kakashi covered his face with his book.

Kakashi blinked. "You've read it?"

"Twice. Also, you're right before the rainstorm scene, yeah? Where she confesses in the music room during a thunderclap and they almost kiss but then the fire alarm goes off because of the candle she lit during her 'emotional ceremony'?"

Kakashi lowered the book slowly.

Hinata's grin widened. "Oh! And don't get your hopes up for the mystery subplot—her dad's not the criminal. It's the vice principal. He fakes a stroke to get out of it later."

"You are a menace."

Hinata took out his phone. Clicked another photo

"You just took a picture of me, again."

"Yep. More insurance. Also, your face when I spoiled the candle scene? Iconic."

"That was a pivotal emotional moment."

"Sure was," Hinata chirped. "Too bad you'll never feel it now."

Kakashi slumped in defeat.

Hinata leaned against the wall. "And don't even get me started on the final chapter. Everyone thinks she goes to Paris to study violin, but she's actually following him to Rome for the underground teaching exposé thing."

"You're ruining everything."

"Motivational leverage, Kakashi-sensei. Some kids bring apples. I bring spoilers."

Kakashi closed the book. "You know the last kid who tried blackmailing me?"

"What happened to them?"

"They ended up passing the final with honors and accidentally becoming my favorite."

Hinata's eyes sparkled. "Then I'm right on track."

Hinata held up the flyer again. "Practice. Tomorrow. After school. Back gym. Bring your whistle. And snacks. Or this photo hits the bulletin board."

He was gone before Kakashi could throw anything.

A minute passed.

Kakashi's phone buzzed.

[1 New Message – Unknown Number]
Pervy Coach aesthetic unlocked. Might post to bulletin board. Depends on how tomorrow goes :) – S. Hinata

Another buzz.
Bring snacks or I send it to Tsunade.

And then:
Also—enjoy chapter fifteen. The storm metaphors get spicy.

Kakashi stared at the screen.

Then replied with one finger:
Blackmailing faculty already? You're going to be a menace on the court.

Immediately:
That's the plan :) See you at practice, sensei.

Kakashi exhaled, flipped the book face-down, and muttered to no one:

"…Great. I've been adopted by a gremlin."

But he didn't delete the photo. Or stop reading.

Tsunade was buried in paperwork, pen tapping against the edge of her desk like she was seconds from setting it all on fire.

"I don't coach," she said flatly, not looking up. "I barely supervise."

Hinata, unfazed, slid a flyer across the desk. "Just come to one practice. You don't even have to yell."

She took the flyer, glanced at it once, then handed it off to Shizune like it was a legal liability.

Shizune read it in silence, then immediately pulled out a clipboard. "You're starting a volleyball club?"

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

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

"…We don't even have practice yet."

"Exactly. You're already behind."

Tsunade leaned back with a sigh. "We'll watch your first practice."

"Both of you?"

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

"And if it is?"

"Then I'll start with you."

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

Hinata nodded, then paused at the door. "Before I forget… quick favor-slash-confession."

Tsunade looked up slowly. "Now what?"

Hinata pulled out his phone, thumbed through a few photos, then flipped the screen toward them.

There, in all its blurry, incriminating glory: Tsunade mid-rant, bottle in hand, yelling at a vending machine outside the pachinko parlor like it owed her money.

"I call this one 'The Betrayal of Snack A4.' Very moving."

Tsunade's eye twitched. "You little—"

"Hang on—there's more."

Swipe.

Next image: Tsunade slumped half-off a kotatsu table, sunglasses crooked, arm draped over a sake bottle like it was a childhood friend. A half-solved sudoku rests by her hand. Captioned: "She fought bravely. She lost."

Shizune gasped. "Oh my god, that was yesterday!"

Hinata beamed. "What can I say? Right place, right time, deeply cursed instincts."

Tsunade stood slowly. Towering. Dangerous.

"You realize this is blackmail."

"I prefer to call it strategic persuasion."

"You're worse than Kakashi."

Hinata brightened. "He said the same thing."

Tsunade rubbed her temples. "If this club implodes, you're running stairs until graduation."

Hinata pointed at her dramatically. "Also! One more thing! The rumor. The Madara one. It's gone, right? Please tell me it's gone."

Tsunade blinked. Then smirked. "You mean the one where you made out with him in front of your homeroom class?"

"That's not what happened!" Hinata cried. "It was a physics-induced face collision!"

Shizune bit her lip. "It was... a very detailed rumor. Someone made a haiku."

Hinata groaned. "Why is that everyone's first reaction?"

Shizune pulled a folded slip of paper from her planner like she'd been saving it. "It's posted in the art room. Under a drawing of you two. Holding hands. In front of a chalkboard."

She read aloud:

Fate chose to collide,
Two hearts in a silent war—
Love wins in homeroom.

Tsunade snorted. "It's got better structure than Kakashi's lesson plans."

"I thought Konan and Pein killed that thing!"

"They tried," Tsunade said. "But Uchiha rumors are like roaches. You can't kill the last one."

Hinata slumped against the doorframe. "This school is cursed. I'm the curse."

"You're also the club president," Tsunade said. "Which means if you fall on me, I'll end your bloodline."

"Copy that. No falling. No kissing. Definitely no face-based incidents."

Shizune handed him a protein chart. "And no skipping meals."

Hinata saluted. "Got it. Fuel up, train hard, avoid lawsuits."

He was halfway out the door before he called back, "Oh, and if you see Kakashi — ask him about the smut novel. Page 87. Paragraph three."

Tsunade's eyes narrowed. "He's in this?"

Hinata grinned. "Congratulations. You're all part of the same chaotic staff now. See you Friday!"

The door shut behind him.

Shizune turned slowly. "He just blackmailed two teachers today."

Tsunade sighed, looking at the flyer on her desk. "I think we've just been recruited."

Shizune muttered, "Do we have anything on him?"

Tsunade scowled. "No. He's too good."

A pause.

Shizune blinked. "He kissed an Uchiha, though."

Tsunade groaned. "That's not leverage. That's a liability."

They both stared at the door like it might explode open again.

"...We're doomed, aren't we?" Shizune whispered.

"Damn it"

Hinata hadn't meant to walk this far.

He was just chasing a rumor from a second-year about an abandoned gym storage shed. Twenty minutes later—sweaty, mildly lost, and clutching a half-crumpled map drawn on notebook paper—he found himself outside the local hot spring.

He paused in the gravel lot, breathing hard. The sun was low, casting long shadows, and the cicadas were screaming like they'd been wronged by the universe.

Then he heard it.

"Ahh, youth! Passion! Curves like poetry!"

Hinata blinked. Hard.

A man was lounging on the hood of a car—shirt half-open, sandals on, white hair wild and sun-bleached, a towel draped across his shoulder like he thought he was starring in a shampoo commercial.

A small paperback rested in one hand. The cover read:
Make-Out Tactics Vol. 3: Special Onsen Edition.

Hinata squinted. "…Jiraiya?"

The man turned, sunglasses slipping down his nose.
"Well, well. Look who's interrupting my moment of inspiration."

"I—uh, sorry. I didn't know anyone was—"

"You're that volleyball gremlin, right? The one who kissed an Uchiha in broad daylight?"

Hinata nearly choked on air. "WHAT?! How do you know?!"

Jiraiya smirked. "Please. That rumor made it to the faculty group chat by lunch. Tsunade's still laughing. Someone animated it."

Hinata slapped both hands over his face. "It wasn't a kiss! It was a physics accident!"

"That's not what the haiku says."

Jiraiya cleared his throat with theatrical flair:

Fate chose to collide,
Two hearts in a silent war—
Love wins in homeroom.

Hinata dropped to a squat like his soul had left his body. "I'm going to transfer again. To the sea. I'll become a barnacle."

Jiraiya chuckled. "Relax. Everyone needs a little scandal to spice up their legacy."

"It's not spice. It's social arson."

"You're more infamous than me, and I wrote an entire chapter about forbidden love at a sports festival."

Hinata looked up slowly. "…Please don't make this weirder."

"No promises."

Hinata sighed. "Anyway, I came here because someone said there was an abandoned storage shed."

"There is," Jiraiya said, waving vaguely. "But the universe clearly wanted you to find me instead."

"I think the universe needs to mind its business."

"Too late. You're here now. So—why the desperate hiking trip?"

Hinata straightened up. "I'm recruiting. For volleyball."

Jiraiya raised an eyebrow. "And you're asking me?"

"I'm out of options and dignity," Hinata said. "You're here. You've got strong opinions. You look like you've played something dangerous. Maybe professionally. In sandals."

Jiraiya shrugged. "Danger's my middle name."

Hinata pulled out a flyer. "Come to one practice. You don't have to coach. Just show up, observe, and wear clothes."

Jiraiya took the flyer, scanned it, then glanced at Hinata. "And if I say no?"

Hinata didn't hesitate. He pulled out his phone. Swiped. Held it up.

The image lit up in the fading sunlight: Jiraiya mid-sprint, completely naked, towel flapping dangerously, shampoo bottle in hand like a trophy. Someone (maybe Hinata, maybe not) had added dramatic motion blur and a caption:

UNSOLICITED RUN: ONE MAN. ONE TOWEL. ZERO SHAME.

Jiraiya stared. "...You took this."

"Yep," Hinata said. "Yesterday. I was looking for volleyballs. You were returning to nature."

"That was artistic freedom! A hawk stole my clothes!"

"I'm sure it did."

"You're blackmailing me."

"Recruiting," Hinata corrected cheerfully. "Strategic persuasion."

Jiraiya narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't post that."

Hinata tilted his head. "Local student forum gets a lot of traffic. Especially the 'Unconfirmed Faculty Sightings' thread."

"You're bluffing."

Hinata grinned. "Oh, I already drafted the post. White Beast of the Onsen: Mysterious Figure Discovered Near Hot Springs. Is it Art? Is it Crime? You Decide."

Jiraiya groaned into his hands. "You are a tiny monster."

"I'm club president," Hinata said. "And motivated."

Jiraiya scoffed. "You really think this is how a team gets a coach?"

Hinata shrugged. "Desperate times. Also—at least I kissed something."

Jiraiya blinked. "Excuse me?"

Hinata smirked. "Meanwhile, you're out here getting kicked out of spas and beaten up by women twice a month."

Jiraiya gasped. "Hey! I'll have you know, I am beloved by women."

"They love to beat you up."

"That is slander."

"That is pattern recognition."

Jiraiya threw a hand to his chest, deeply offended. "I'm a romantic! A poet! A man of culture!"

"You're a shampoo ad with unresolved lawsuits."

"I'll sue you for emotional damage."

Hinata grinned. "Friday. Gym. Wear pants."

Jiraiya grumbled, but tucked the flyer into his book with wounded pride. "This is harassment."

"This is team-building."

Jiraiya pointed a dramatic finger at him. "I'm coaching under protest. You better win something, or I'm writing a whole new novel and naming the idiot protagonist after you."

Hinata laughed as he turned to leave. "Make sure he has good hair."

Jiraiya called after him, already walking toward the hot spring. "Oh—and for the record? That Madara kiss? You two had real chemistry."

Hinata shouted back: "IT WAS A FOREHEAD COLLISION!"

From inside, Jiraiya's voice floated back:
"That's what all the great romances say!"

Hinata slumped to the gravel and groaned into his hoodie.
"This school is cursed. And I am the curse."

He stood, dusted himself off, pulled out his phone, and added one final note aloud—just loud enough for Jiraiya to hear:

"And if you don't show up Friday… I post it to the national board of education."

There was a sharp clang from inside the hot spring.

A beat of silence.

Then:

"YOU WOULDN'T DARE!" Jiraiya's voice boomed from behind the door. "I HAVE A REPUTATION!"

Hinata shouted back, completely unfazed, "AND I HAVE UNLIMITED DATA!"

From inside came a furious shuffle of footsteps—then a loud, wet SLAP, followed by the unmistakable sound of a wooden bucket skidding across tile.

A beat.

"OH DID YOU JUST SLIP?!" Hinata yelled, eyes wide with fake innocence. "HAHA—COACH DOWN! COACH DOWN!"

"YOU LITTLE GOBLIN!" Jiraiya howled from the floor. "I'LL SUE FOR EMOTIONAL WHIPLASH!"

Hinata was already walking off, victorious, arms raised like he'd just won a tournament.

"FRIDAY! GYM! WITH PANTS!"

Behind him, Jiraiya shouted:

"YOU LITTLE GOBLIN—"

Hinata turned, cheerful as ever, and walked off down the gravel path.

"See you Friday, Coach!"

Behind him, Jiraiya's voice rang out in anguish:

"I'LL WRITE YOU INTO A TRAGEDY!"

Hinata grinned to himself.

"Make it a sports anime."

Later

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 followed her to the threshold, arms crossed, looking deeply, comically serious.

"Did you know our entire coaching staff is wildly unfit?"

Konan didn't turn. "Define 'unfit.'"

"Kakashi reads borderline erotica in broad daylight like it's a history book. Tsunade drinks before noon, gambles with the PTA's emergency fund. Jiraiya writes smut under three pen names and forgets to wear shirts half the time."

Konan stopped walking.

"...Excuse me?"

Hinata held up his phone. "Captioned: UNSOLICITED RUN — ONE MAN. ONE TOWEL. ZERO SHAME. We're running a club with a roster of criminals and delinquents. And that's just the staff."

Konan stared. "You blackmailed all of them?"

"I prefer to think of it as crisis management."

"You're sixteen."

"And apparently the only person here with a risk assessment strategy."

Konan sighed. "You realize if this goes wrong, I'm the one they'll interrogate."

Hinata patted her shoulder. "Then don't let it go wrong."

She gave him a look like she was already planning her legal defense, then turned and walked off.

Hinata shut the door behind her, turned to the table full of chaos, and muttered:

"Okay. Just get through week one without getting sued. Or arrested. Or exorcised."

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—well, where center court would be, if someone had actually set up the net.

The gym was still half-dark, half-dusty. Mats leaned against the far wall like sleepy giants. A ball cart sat sideways near the door, missing two wheels and all its dignity. The volleyball net lay coiled in the corner like a forgotten snake.

Hinata bounced a ball between his hands anyway. The echo was too loud. The air smelled like dust, old sweat, and something like potential. Or maybe adrenaline. Or maybe just nerves.

He looked around at the scattered equipment, the mismatched cones, the taped-up scoreboard.

No net. No players. No lines taped down.

Not yet.

But the court was there. Underneath it all. Waiting.

Hinata smiled to himself.

"Okay," he whispered. "Let's build something."

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.

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: Thank you for reading this chapter 2. I know it's exhausting to read this many words, so thank you for genuinely taking your time to get through this chapter! See you in the next chapter!

Suggestions or theories are welcome for future chapters