Haikyuu!!: Raising Crows

The noise of casual conversations and ringing phones filled the small break room as I adjusted my jacket, glancing at the time.

"Hey, Takumi," a voice called from behind me. I turned to see one of my coworkers leaning against the doorframe, sipping from a can of coffee. "You heading to the Seiryuu match today? I heard their libero's got real promise."

I gave a small nod. "Yeah, I was planning to check it out, but I heard he's moving overseas soon."

"Seriously?" My coworker let out a low whistle. "That's a shame. Thought we might see him in our volleyball team next year."

"Yeah, but I'll go watch anyway," I replied, rolling my shoulders. "Got some free time."

He shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. "Alright, have fun then. Tell me about it tomorrow."

"Sure will." I gave a small wave before stepping out of the break room. Still, as I walked toward the exit, I sighed inwardly.

It's probably going to be a boring game anyway.

A glance at the tournament records told me everything I needed to know. Seiryuu's libero was the only name worth remembering. The opposing team? Yukigaoka. A school I had never even heard of.

No coach. No real history. Nothing to suggest they'd put up a fight.

With that in mind, I made my way to the gym, already expecting a forgettable match.

The gym was small, the kind of place where sound carried easily, every movement echoing off the walls. A few spectators had gathered, mostly students and some school staff, chatting amongst themselves. It was clear that most were here for Seiryuu, the favorites to win. Their players were already warming up on the court, moving with crisp precision, their spikes powerful, their footwork polished. They looked exactly as I had expected—a well-trained team.

Yukigaoka, however, was nowhere to be seen.

I checked the time and exhaled through my nose. Typical. A team like that, with no coach and no proper reputation, probably didn't even take warm-ups seriously.

Then, a few minutes later, they arrived.

My first impression? Small. Aside from two older-looking boys—probably third-years—the rest of them were undersized compared to Seiryuu. Their movements seemed casual, lacking the sharp discipline of a well-drilled team. They looked like amateurs, plain and simple.

I let out a quiet sigh, already regretting coming. This is going to be a one-sided slaughter.

The match began, and as expected, Seiryuu took control early, their movements fluid, their structure intact.

But then—

Yukigaoka scored the first point.

I straightened slightly. Lucky break? A fluke?

But the attack I just saw—

That wasn't luck.

I muttered to myself, analyzing the play. The movement had been sharp, the execution near-perfect. The timing, the set, the spike—it all flowed together in a way that I hadn't anticipated from such an unremarkable team.

Maybe this won't be as boring as I thought.

As the match continued, the more amazed I was by Yukigaoka. The three smaller players were clearly beginners, their movements rough and unrefined, but the ginger-haired one and the setter—now they were promising.

The orange-haired kid had raw physical ability that was impossible to ignore—his jumps, his speed, the sheer energy in every movement. And the setter? His sets were genius. Even from up here, I could see how perfectly he placed the ball, making it almost effortless for his spikers to attack.

But that wasn't even the most notable player on the court right now.

There was another. The black-haired kid.

He hadn't done anything as flashy as the others, but the way he carried himself—

He was good. Really good.

Curious, I glanced down at the tournament info on the clipboard I held, scanning the names until I found it—Tenzuki Keiji.

I barely had time to process his name before he stepped up for the serve. His approach was fluid, controlled, and the ball launched off his hand with a sharp crack. A spike serve—not unusual, but still impressive. Clean execution, plenty of power.

Then came the second serve.

My brow furrowed. Wait… was he actually aiming for that? The ball had landed in an impossibly tight spot, threading between defenders with precision.

No way. That had to be a fluke.

But then came the third serve. Just as fast. Just as controlled. Just as perfectly placed.

This kid… he's amazing.

The more I watched him, the more something stood out. It wasn't just his serves or his attacks—it was the way he moved, how he constantly scanned the court. The way he positioned himself was too deliberate, too efficient.

Wait… is he—?

The thought hit me like a ton of bricks. But no, that was impossible. Volleyball was too fast-paced, especially this match. There was no way—

Yet every play reinforced it. He wasn't just reacting. He was predicting.

The moment the game's tempo surged, his team scrambling to keep up, he adjusted. When they rushed their plays, he gave them space to breathe with a high, controlled receive.

Great play.

I realized, somewhere along the way, I had leaned forward, my grip tightening on my clipboard. I wasn't just watching anymore—I was invested.

If only we were born in the same era, I thought. I'd kill to play against him.

Then came match point.

And Keiji pulled off a play so incredible that for a moment, the entire gym fell silent.

The ball hit the floor, and before the ref could even speak, I already knew where it had landed.

The whistle blew, the call was made, and I groaned.

No… so close.

I caught myself, exhaling sharply. When had I started rooting for them?

I shook my head, but I couldn't deny it—I was enjoying every second of this match. And I couldn't wait for the second set.

During the break, something caught my eye. Yukigaoka's team wasn't huddled together discussing strategies or catching their breath. They were arguing. No—fighting. My gaze locked onto the black-haired captain, Keiji, gripping the setter by his collar.

What the hell is going on?

I stood and moved closer to the railing, trying to hear. Tensions were high, voices sharp, but there was something else in Keiji's tone—something commanding. He wasn't just scolding his teammate. He was forcing them to wake up.

I listened closely as his words cut through the heated air. And then I saw it—the shift.

The frustration on their faces didn't break them; it reignited them. The players who looked like they were drowning in the pressure just minutes ago were now standing taller, fire returning to their eyes.

Not bad, I thought. Not only did he lift their spirits, but he pulled them back from the edge before they fell. That's a rare quality in a captain.

That's right. They hadn't lost yet.

The second set began, and this time, I was watching more than just the gameplay. I glanced at my clipboard, scanning for two more names—

Shigeo and Shoyo.

The setter and the ginger-haired kid.

They weren't bad. Far from it. Both had raw talent. Shigeo's sets were something special—precise, deceptive, almost effortless—but his stamina was clearly an issue. The longer the match dragged on, the more sluggish his movements became. Meanwhile, the orange-haired spiker had insane athleticism but lacked polish. With proper training, though… I exhaled. They could be dangerous.

But it all came back to Keiji.

As the match progressed, I noticed him commanding the blockers, shifting their movements like chess pieces. And just like that, the last of my doubts vanished.

He's not just reacting.

He's reading the game.

My grip tightened on my clipboard. I'd heard the setter call him something earlier. A nickname.

And now, watching him control the court, orchestrating every move, I understood.

I muttered under my breath. The Maestro.

The way he conducted his team—every movement, every shift—it was like an orchestra playing the exact symphony he envisioned.

I needed to make sure he entered our academy.

The match resumed, and just when I thought I had seen all there was to Yukigaoka's playstyle, Keiji and Shigeo pulled off a textbook first-tempo attack.

I felt the cheer leave my mouth before I could stop it. "Yes!"

Heads turned in my direction, and I quickly cleared my throat, gripping my clipboard like it would make me look more professional. Not very scout-like… I thought, a little embarrassed. But I couldn't help it. That attack had been near-flawless.

Then I caught the expressions on Keiji and Shigeo's faces.

Wait. They just improvised that.

My stomach twisted—not with disbelief, but something closer to excitement. They weren't just executing plays; they were creating them, adapting on the fly like it was second nature. That kind of instinct was frightening.

It wasn't an easy feat, though. Their next few attempts weren't as clean—Keiji missed a couple of times. Any normal player would hesitate, maybe even doubt themselves after those mistakes.

But Keiji? He didn't even flinch. He kept asking for more.

What confidence. What nerves. Even with the odds stacked against him, even when it would have made sense to play it safe, he pushed forward without hesitation.

Then suddenly, he didn't move.

I stiffened.

The ball was coming, but Keiji remained rooted in place. He saw it—he had to—but his body refused to react. My first instinct was exhaustion. Had he burned out?

I studied his form. His build was well-balanced—strong but not overly bulky. His movements had been sharp all match, and he didn't seem to favor any injured areas. Maybe he focused more on power than endurance? Still, his body shouldn't be this drained.

Then it hit me.

The way he positioned himself, the way he commanded his team, the way he scanned the court at all times—it all made sense now.

No wonder…

Keiji wasn't just playing the game. He was reading it, processing it, controlling it.

He wasn't burning out because of physical exhaustion alone. His mind was working at full throttle, predicting the game's flow, adjusting, making decisions in real-time with almost no delay. The mental strain had to be immense.

I let out a slow breath. That kind of playstyle—both physically and mentally demanding—was dangerous.

But for someone like him?

It made him unstoppable.

And now, it was match point.

I could see it in their faces—Yukigaoka's players were crushed. The first-years looked defeated, their shoulders slumped, their gazes stuck to the floor. Shigeo stood still, his chest rising and falling heavily, but his eyes were locked onto Keiji, waiting for his next move. Waiting for direction. The weight of their expectations sat squarely on his shoulders.

Some captains would crumble under that pressure.

But Keiji wasn't one of them.

Even now, despite his exhaustion, despite the intensity of the match, he found the right words. Something short, something strong. And just like that, the fire returned. I watched as backs straightened, eyes sharpened. Even the first-years, moments ago frozen with doubt, clenched their fists in renewed determination.

He's something else.

The match continued, and Yukigaoka finally got a chance for an attack. My grip tightened on my clipboard.

This is it.

In a moment like this, the setter's choice could decide everything. The player he trusted to take the shot could either crumble under the pressure—or rise as the hero.

The ball left Shigeo's hands, and I already knew.

Of course.

The set went to Keiji.

Seiryuu had expected it too—two blockers jumped in front of him, sealing off his angles. It was a smart read, but Keiji didn't hesitate. He just brute-forced his way through. A full-power spike, slamming past their hands with sheer force.

I barely stopped myself from reacting again. The gym seemed to hold its breath—

—but then, the libero I had originally come here to watch dove forward, arms outstretched.

A clean save.

My stomach dropped. No way.

Seiryuu countered instantly. Yukigaoka's blockers moved into position, but my eyes flicked to Keiji.

Good, I thought. That attacker's crosses have been deadly, but Keiji's noticed.

Then, it happened.

The ball hit Hinata's arms at a bad angle, ricocheted into the net, and dropped straight to the floor.

A single whistle cut through the air.

Silence.

Then—

Seiryuu's side exploded in cheers.

I exhaled sharply, my hands clutching my head. No… That was it. The match was over. I was disappointed—not in the team, but that they had come so close. Too close.

I let my eyes wander across the gym. When had so many people gathered? More students had trickled in during the match, drawn in by the intensity. The energy in the room was undeniable—this wasn't just a small tournament match anymore. This was something that had captivated everyone.

And they were all reacting the same way I was.

Frustration. Shock. A sense that the better story had just been cut short.

I sighed and checked the time. Damn. I was supposed to leave already, but I hesitated. I couldn't just walk away.

Instead, I made my way to the gym's entrance, waiting.

A few minutes later, the Yukigaoka players stepped out, their faces still marked by exhaustion and the sting of defeat. Keiji walked at the front, his posture straight but his eyes distant.

I called out.

"Tenzuki Keiji."

He looked up, a flicker of surprise in his blank expression. "You may not have won," I said, my voice steady. "but you sure as hell made people remember your name."

His brows lifted slightly before he forced a small, tired smile.

I stepped forward. "My name is—" I introduced myself fully, making sure he remembered it. "I'm a scout. And I really enjoyed your performance."

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a business card and handed it to him.

"If you're interested in joining Shiratorizawa," I said, "give me a call."

[Author's Note: This chapter doesn't really add much to the story, but I wanted to try something different. It could've been two chapters, but since it doesn't move the plot forward much, I kept it as one. Took me an hour to draft and another to translate... Let me know what you think. Also, I've got exams coming up, so I might not be able to write much for a bit.]