Haikyu!! · Conversa

The gym's ceiling lights on the TV screen are blindingly white, the commentator's voice squeezing out of the speakers with a bit of static. Figures move across the screen on both sides of the net, and one of them leaps—the number on his shorts is blurred, his arm pulled back like a drawn bow. The ball clears the net and lands inside the baseline, the floor letting out a dull thud. The camera cuts to a close-up as that small figure lands, fist clenched, his jersey soaked with sweat, the word "Karasuno" written on his back. Outside an appliance store window, a boy who looks like a middle school student is standing on his tiptoes, his nose almost touching the glass. He carries a backpack, his school uniform collar askew, his fingers leaving five prints on the glass. The replay of the spike plays over and over, and he doesn't move until the shop owner comes out and taps on the window; only then does he jerk his hand back and run away. He runs for three blocks and skids to a halt in front of a sports goods store. A string of wind chimes hangs from the doorframe, clattering as he bursts inside. The owner peeks out from behind the counter, seeing him head toward the old banner in the corner as if he knows the way by heart. The edges of the banner are frayed, the gold-thread embroidery faded, but he just stands there looking up. After a moment, he crouches down to flip through the photo frames tucked underneath. The corners of the photos in the frame are curled; a group of boys in old-fashioned uniforms are crowded together, and the shortest one on the far right of the front row is grinning, showing a row of teeth. Meanwhile, in another gym within the prefecture, the sound of a volleyball hitting the floor echoes repeatedly. A black-haired boy stands behind the service line, spins the ball half a turn in his hands, tosses it, leaps, and snaps his wrist down the moment his palm makes contact. The ball brushes past the fingertips of a defender and slams inside the sideline. He walks back expressionless and picks up another ball. In the locker room, a brown-haired boy is pulling up his kneepads, muttering, "Today's receives weren't fierce enough." The mirror reflects a training schedule taped to the wall behind him, with the word "Nationals" circled in red ink. The evening breeze pours in through the window, making a corner of the old photo in the sports shop flutter slightly. The boy puts the frame back in its place, his uniform brushing against the edge of the banner with a faint rustle as he turns. He pushes open the shop door and steps out, the wind chimes ringing once more. The streetlights have just flickered on as he tightens his backpack straps and heads up the slope. At the end of the slope, the roof of an old gym can be seen, its gray silhouette emerging in the twilight. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the plot</choice> </choice_group>