Chapter 6: The Sixth Q

“Oikawa-senpai?” Kuroko looked on in confusion as Tetsurō Oikawa held his face, clearly on the verge of collapse.

Startled by Kuroko’s call, Oikawa snapped back to reality. “Uh, how about we go next door…”

Trying to back out, Oikawa attempted to lead Kuroko away from this unsettling court.

But it was already too late.

A disjointed voice came from below: “Please take care of us!!!”

“Ah, it’s starting,” Kuroko said with curiosity.

Oikawa gazed expressionlessly at Tobio Kageyama, who was about to serve first from below, a strong sense of foreboding gripping him.

“Is the serving order decided by a draw?” Kuroko Tetsuya, trying to understand the rules, asked Oikawa at an opportune moment.

“Yes, the serve order is decided by drawing lots, and the player serving first stands in that corner…” Oikawa resignedly slipped into focus.

The referee blew the whistle to signal the serve.

Kageyama stood at the baseline, calmly observing the glaring gaps in Snow Hill’s formation, then tossed the ball forward.

A textbook three-step approach, then a high leap, his movements precise and fluid, as if drawn from a volleyball manual—sheer delight to the eye.

The ball was struck hard, like a small cannonball crashing into the back row of the opposite court.

Snow Hill’s first-year player didn’t even react, only scrambling after the ball after it bounced.

The referee waved the flag and blew the whistle, and the scoreboard at Kitagawa Daiichi changed from 00 to 01.

“A jump serve? And this kid’s only in middle school?” someone from Karasuno High beside them remarked in astonishment, full of admiration.

Hearing this, Kuroko asked Oikawa, “Was that serve really that impressive?”

It certainly looked cool.

“Yeah, it’s an advanced serving technique—more powerful and harder to defend. Usually, players start practicing this after entering high school. Kageyama managing such a serve at this stage is rare.” Oikawa didn’t hold back his praise, even though Kageyama was right in front of him.

He wasn’t the immature boy he had been back then; no reason to pick fights with Kageyama now.

However!

Oikawa wore a proud expression. “I’m still better, though. I was the one who taught him how to serve!”

Kuroko stared at him, seeing straight through the lie. “Really?”

He didn’t mean anything by it; after hearing about Kageyama twice from Oikawa, he sensed that Oikawa wouldn’t openly teach him everything.

After all, he didn’t think they got along that well.

Under such scrutiny, Oikawa’s energy deflated. “Okay… actually, he just… watched me practice… and learned it himself…”

His voice grew quieter, almost inaudible at the end.

He wanted to avoid digging up his middle school mistakes—he had started things wrong, and then stubbornly turned himself and Kageyama into rivals.

If only he could do it all over…

Looking at Kageyama’s scowl on the court, Oikawa shook his head decisively.

Genius types… were just so annoying!

Sure enough.

Kuroko turned his gaze back to the court. Kageyama stepped up to serve again.

“Can you serve consecutively after scoring?” Skipping the obviously uncomfortable topic, Kuroko asked about volleyball rules.

Oikawa, relieved to dodge that question, continued explaining the rules of volleyball to Kuroko—serving regulations, rotation mechanics, and scoring procedures.

---

After Kageyama’s serve secured the fifth point, his sixth serve went out of bounds, granting Snow Hill a point.

Kuroko imagined himself as one of Snow Hill’s players and felt a faint sense of suffocation.

This level of pressure…

Snow Hill visibly hesitated, then their front-row orange-haired player suddenly shouted, “Alright! We got a point!”

“Keep it up!”

His energetic spirit startled the few spectators above. This player had been the one cheering on the struggling back-row teammates.

Oikawa muttered doubtfully, “Their mindset’s really something…”

As someone who hadn’t had the strongest mental fortitude in middle school, he found Snow Hill’s captain truly remarkable.

Snow Hill’s serve was also from a complete beginner. Though the ball sailed over the net cleanly, the opponents received it with remarkable ease.

After the initial reception, Kageyama, already positioned near the net, decisively set a quick ball, but the attacker was a step late and awkwardly sent the ball over the net.

Though the spike was ugly, Snow Hill still failed to receive it.

The player previously mistaken for a basketballer stretched out to touch it, but the ball bounced off his hand and went out of bounds.

The score jumped to 6:1, and Kitagawa Daiichi regained the serve.

“No worries, no worries. Don’t mind that. We’ll take the next point back…” Shoyo Hinata, Snow Hill’s captain, clapped and encouraged his teammates.

But before Hinata could finish, a shout came from across the net.

“Follow through and spike properly!!”

Kageyama instantly turned his head toward Hideyoshi Kunimi, who had just attempted the spike, his face full of displeasure, nearly ready to grab Kunimi by the collar and question him.

Kunimi, startled by Kageyama’s sudden outburst, complained, “Why so serious? Suddenly setting a quick ball like that… the other side can’t receive it anyway.”

“Then you hit like that?! Every ball, spike seriously! This is a match, not a game! Show some respect to the opponents!!” Kageyama’s voice trembled with anger. All he wanted was for every ball to be fought for with everything.

—Every opponent deserves respect; every ball should be given your all.

Kuroko straightened himself, gripping the railing.

Listening to the near argument below, Oikawa seemed ready to stop watching.

To be honest, when he graduated, Kageyama was quite reliable. Even when he had a bad attitude from pressure, he always behaved like a good underclassman. He hadn’t expected this sharpness.

Seeing Kuroko react, Oikawa instinctively tried to defend, “Listen to my excuse! The team atmosphere is usually pretty good.”

“Thank you for showing me something good, Oikawa-senpai,” Kuroko said, with a faint, nearly imperceptible smile. “Kageyama is a good kid. Maybe his personality’s a bit rough, but… I quite like him.”

Oikawa was stunned. “Huh?”

He and Kuroko had known each other a while, but this was the first time he’d heard Kuroko express such direct admiration for someone.

For some reason, it made him like Kageyama even less.

But then he figured it didn’t matter. Most likely, Kageyama would come to Aoba Johsai to take over his spot in the future.

Kuroko quietly watched Kageyama question his teammate below, then glanced at Hinata comforting everyone, and finally exhaled deeply.

Win without arrogance, lose without discouragement.

This was the true kind of match he longed for.

Oikawa and Kuroko didn’t watch the entire match; since Kuroko had to catch the Shinkansen back, they left near the end of the second match.

The game was hardly suspenseful, as the score gap was too wide for a comeback.

Just as they reached the gym’s entrance, a burst of exclamations echoed from inside.

---

“What was that last play?!”

“That orange-haired guy is so fast—”

Oikawa glanced back at the gym. “Ah, looks like we missed a great ball.”

“There’ll be chances to see it next time,” Kuroko waved down a taxi. “It’s almost time. I’ll head off first. The match was really exciting. Also, I want to invite Oikawa-senpai to watch Teiko’s games in Tokyo. I’ll send you the schedule once it’s out.”

“Alright, I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

Kuroko’s good mood rubbed off on Oikawa, easing the bad feelings he had about Kitagawa Daiichi’s internal chaos.

Watching the taxi disappear, Oikawa’s smile faded bit by bit.

He rubbed his temples wearily.

Kitagawa Daiichi…

#

Not long after boarding the Shinkansen from Sendai to Tokyo, Kuroko received a call from Seijūrō Akashi.

“Is it over there?” Akashi’s voice sounded like he was out with someone.

“Yeah, I should be home around eight,” Kuroko replied, checking the time.

“Send me your train number. I’ll pick you up, and we’ll have dinner at Satsuki’s,” Akashi said.

“Huh? Momoi cooking herself?” Kuroko was startled.

Momoi’s cooking skills…

“Shirabu’s cooking. Don’t worry,” Akashi chuckled on the other end.

Kuroko thought he misheard. “Akashi-kun?”

“Nothing much. Just look for my car after you get out,” Akashi said softly, his crimson eyes reflected in the store windows nearby.

“小 Akashi! What are you doing? Leaving all this for me to carry?” Ryōta Kise called back in exasperation, lugging multiple bags.

Atsushi Shirabu, clutching a huge bag of popcorn, showed no intention of helping. “I’m picking up Midorima and Aomine later. Let them carry theirs. I’m busy…”

His voice was lazy.

Kuroko sighed over the phone. “Akashi-kun, don’t bully Kise-kun.”

“Nope, just Shirabu and I have no hands free,” Akashi said without offering to help.

Kise continued to groan, “Aomine and Midorima!? So I’m stuck carrying everything myself!”

Of course, those two wouldn’t help!

“You could ask Satsuki to help carry…” Shirabu suggested.

Kise gave up, bearing all the food and equipment at the front. “Forget it, I’ll carry it myself. Having girls carry things goes against my principles…”

“So what’s the occasion for tonight’s dinner?” Kuroko relaxed.

Akashi gave an answer Kuroko hadn’t expected. “Celebrating the regional championship.”

Though they thought it unnecessary, finding a reason to make Kuroko happy for their gathering was a nice gesture.

Kuroko’s eyes curved in a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”