Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Rubens, look! Your papa’s on TV again!” Juliana Romero calls, her voice echoing through the house. Rubens looks up from his phone, briefly, grunts in acknowledgement, and promptly goes back to his game.

“Rubens! Don’t you want to see your papa?” He doesn't respond. His dad was an athlete, sure, but volleyball wasn’t a cool sport. Not like football or basketball. Rubens prefers to be outside, playing with his friends, not dodging five other people on air-conditioned wood.

His phone buzzes in his hand at the same time as the announcer on the television shouts And Romero does it again! He blasts through a three-man block as though they weren’t even there! Rubens smiles at that. The sport isn’t super cool, but his dad sure is. He just thinks that he’d personally never want to play.

Antonio
yo we’re gonna hang out on the beach today, you down?

Rubens
yeah sounds great where?

Antonio
we’ll come get you theres something i think you should watch

Rubens
aight cool
lmao if u don’t come get me i’d have to watch volley

Antonio
volley ain’t boring tho! and Brazil always does super good!
didn’t a whole bunch of other countries try to get people on our nat team on theirs?

Rubens
yeah they did… my dad’s playing for Japan rn

Antonio
oh i forgot your dad was NICOLAS ROMERO u need to remind us u turd
ask him for an autograph for me i keep forgetting to tell you to do that

Rubens
volley isn’t my thing… i’ll ask my dad the next time he comes home ig

“Mama, Antonio and them wanna go to the beach” Rubens looks at his mother, trying to make his expression say something other than I am bored. His mother looks back at him for a second, as if she was going to refuse his unspoken request, but then she sighs.

“Go on, then. I can’t make you enjoy what your dad does, but at least pretend to care!” She smiles, taking out the sting from the words. Waving a hand, she shooes him off the couch. “Come back before it gets too dark!”

“Thank you mama!” Rubens presses a quick kiss to her cheek, then dashes out the door. He sees Antonio at the end of the street, who jogs over to Rubens. Behind him, Sebastián and Paolo walk more slowly, talking excitedly to one another.

“Where are we going?”

“Okay, first, I know you don’t like volley but” Rubens stops walking and sends him an offended look.

“You said we were going to the beach.”

“We are! There’s this new dude playing beach volleyball and he’s super fun to watch!” Incredulously, Rubens starts walking again as Antonio babbles on.

He can hear his other friends behind them, also talking about volleyball. Rubens' mouth twists downward– he just escaped from his mother’s inevitable questions of whether he wants to play (the answer has always been an adamant no) and now he’s going to have to fend off more volleyball nerds.

“Anyways this guy’s insane! He’s like, foreign, and also really short, but I’ve heard stories…” Antonio continues, but Rubens has stopped listening. There is a crowd of people next to the beach, and they are dead silent for a moment, before simultaneously cheering and shouting as they watched… something.

“That’s gotta be him!” Antonio grabs his hand and they elbow their way through the crowd. Sebastián and Paolo have climbed a nearby lamppost, not bothering to deal with the throng of bodies.

They squeeze through to the front, just in time for one of the players to jump in the air. Rubens doesn’t even want to call it “jumping”, because he watches as this guy– hardly taller than his thirteen-year-old self– launches himself a full meter into the air. He hangs there, as if on wings, before he connects with the ball and slams it into the ground. The bam! of the impact is hardly muffled by the sand, and is greeted by the crowd’s cheers.

The jumper lands, straightening from a crouch, and waves at the crowd, smiling brightly. The setting sun is directly behind his head, and it gives him a blood-red halo and casts his face into shadow. His teammate, someone local, gives him a high five, and that’s when Rubens notices just how short this guy is. He stands at least two heads smaller than his partner, and a solid head and a half shorter than both his opponents.

Yet, when he jumped, Rubens couldn’t help but think that this guy felt just as large as his father did.

Antonio digs an elbow into his side. “See? I told you it’d be worth watching! Still think volleyball sucks?”

Rubens doesn't respond, his eyes fixed on the quicksilver form of the man. As the sun sets, it filters through his orange hair, catching the golden grains of sand as they fly off the ball. What countries had red hair? Scotland? Ireland? But this guy’s face didn’t look European, as tanned and round as it seemed.

He watches as the man seemed to appear in the opposite corner from where he stood a heartbeat ago, sending the ball high into the sky. A blink, and he’s airborne again. The crowd sucks in a collective breath as the tall guy tosses the ball frighteningly fast towards the redhead, whose hand connects solidly and shoots the ball towards the other side, bouncing just inches inside the white lines with the speed of a gunshot.

The whistle blows, and for the first time Rubens turns to look at the scores. His jaw drops, and he rubs his eyes. The game is currently at 20 to 12– match point for the shortie.

Rubens turns to Antonio, a spark in his eyes. “I still think regular volleyball is boring, but this, this is absolutely insane! Beach volleyball is way cooler!” His heart pounds in a way that the sport never before elicited. “I want to be like that redhead!”

“I told you so!” Antonio grins back. “Did you see how fast that dude moved?”

Rubens nods furiously. He opens his mouth to talk again, but is interrupted by the whistle. The short guy’s up to serve, and Rubens's mouth snaps shut as he forgets what he was going to say.

The redhead swings the ball a few times, shaking off the sand. He walks a few paces back, then, turns around and launches the ball high into the air. And then he is flying again. The ball whistles as it flies through the air, precisely between the two people on the other side.

The other team hustles under the ball, receiving it shakily. With a shout, the guy who received it runs forward, trusting his teammate to toss it to him. Rubens holds his breath as he spikes the ball, sending it rocketing past the tall blocker diagonally across the court, to the corner where no one is. Then, out of nowhere, there is a flash of ginger hair, and the ball is in the air again.

Incredulous shouts fill Rubens's ears. Where had the guy appeared from? How did he move so fast?

“Where even is he from? Who is he?” he asks out loud.

The tall guy, once again, sets the ball next to the net.

One of the men next to them looked over and laughed, eyes sparkling with pride. “Don’t let the hair fool you, he’s actually from Japan!”

The redhead jumps, higher than he had before, meeting the ball at the peak of its high, high arc. When his hand hits the volleyball, it is solidly over the hands of the blockers, who look shocked at just how high this tiny foreigner can fly.

“He recently started playing beach, and he’s already made a name for himself.”

The ball slams into the sand, leaving a perfectly circular imprint. The whistle blows, marking a victory for the short man.

“We call him Ninja Shouyou.”

Chapter Text

Nicolas Romero steps into the Guarulhos airport, breathing in the humid air of his home country. The Schweiden Adlers are on a break for the spring, which means that he can finally go home to his beautiful Juliana and adorable Rubens.

He scans the airport for them, spotting his wife’s bright orange sundress. His son is next to his mother, waving happily when he sees his father. Nicolas quickly makes his way over to them.

He leans down and kisses Juliana soundly on the lips, then ruffles Rubens's hair. Rubens, curiously, is full of excitement, nearly vibrating with words that he has not yet said.

The Romero family walks out of the airport, and Nicolas watches his son, knowing that he wants to say something but is yet unsure of what it might be. Perhaps Rubens got himself a girlfriend and didn’t tell him?

“What’s been going on with you, squirt?” He finally asks.

Rubens bites his lip, looking conflicted. Juliana steps in, laughing. “Nicolas, meu amor, he’s finally found a sport that he wants to play.”

Nicolas, shocked, can only blink at the two of them. Finally, he finds his voice again.

“Well, son, I’m happy for you. Is there any way you could also play volleyball with your old man while you-”

“I do want to play volleyball!” Rubens's voice cracks halfway through the phrase, but he plows forth, undeterred. “But not the lame kind of volleyball that you play!”

“What?”

“I’m gonna play the cool kind of volleyball! Beach volleyball!” At this, Nicolas can only shake his head in disbelief. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Rubens continues.

“I’m gonna be just like Ninja Shouyou!”

Nicolas holds up a hand. “Hold on a minute Rubens. Let your poor old man process this for a minute.”

Shouyou? Isn’t that a Japanese name? Why would his own son take a liking to a foreigner’s volleyball when there are dozens of brilliant Brazilian players? For that matter, where would he even see Japanese beach volleyball?

By the time they’re at their own front door, Nicolas has collected himself. He asks Rubens, “So who exactly is this Ninja Shouyou?”

His son lights up. “He’s only the coolest volleyball player ever!” And wow, if that didn’t hurt Nicolas in his very soul. Rubens doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s super fast and can get anywhere on the court and can jump really high and can hit the ball really hard and can run super fast and he’s from Japan and he’s also my height!” Nicolas blinks, looking down at his son again. Rubens had grown in the months that he’d been gone, but he was still barely 160 cm. He lifts a doubtful eyebrow.

Rubens pouts. “Okay, maybe he’s a little taller than me. But he’s still way shorter than everyone else!”

At this point, Nicolas kind of doubts this Ninja Shouyou exists. Beach volleyball is even harder to play for short people, because the sand makes jumping very difficult and unstable. If you were tall and you slipped, you could probably still get your hands over the net. If you were short, you were screwed.

Then, Rubens seems to remember something. He darts away from Nicolas, into his room, and is in there for nary a second before dashing back out, a ball clutched in his hands.

“He signed this ball for me! It was the first game of his that I watched, and he won by nine points.” Whatever shock Nicolas was feeling before, he was feeling tenfold now. Nine points– in any kind of volleyball– was bordering on ridiculous, especially in a sport where the wind could take and grant points based solely on the whims of the ocean breeze.

He accepts the ball from Rubens, and looks at the writing. It is written with black marker, in very sloppy, childlike writing. It is clear to him that the Portuguese characters were still unfamiliar to the writer, but it is still legible.

The ball reads Don’t be afraid to follow your dreams! and is signed Ninja Shouyou in both English and Portuguese, followed by a smiley face.

Nicolas looks at the ball for a while longer, noticing the fine grains of sand still in the seams of the ball and the soft wear on the surface. “I think I should see how this Ninja Shouyou plays.”

Rubens beams at him. “You’re lucky! He’s got a game tomorrow afternoon! I’ll take you with us when we go watch!”

Nicolas smiles indulgently, and secretly just wants to see the man that sparked such passion in his son. He kind of doubts that there is a person for whom everything Rubens claimed was true, but that enthusiasm warmed his heart. It doesn’t matter if this Ninja character is just a poser, as long as Rubens finally found something to fight for.

...

The jet lag from Japan to Brazil leaves Nicolas blinking away sleep to the smell of Juliana’s cooking. He groggily opens his eyes to find Rubens standing in his doorway.

“Izzit breakfast?” He slurs, hazy with sleep. His son laughs, a pure, high sound that Nicolas so dearly missed while he was away.

“No, papa, it’s lunch! You slept all morning!” His son drags away his blanket, tugging at it until Nicolas stumbles out of bed. “We’re gonna miss the match if you keep sleeping!”

Nicolas allows his son to pull him out of bed and towards the bathroom, where he brushes his teeth and showers because “you still smell like airport, papa.”

When he finally walks out, dressed in shorts and a tee, he finds that Juliana had made a whole host of his favorite foods. He isn’t ashamed to say that he nearly cries at the taste of real Brazilian food– as good as Japanese cuisine is, it can never beat Juliana’s cooking.

Rubens, impatiently, scarfs down his lunch and even puts his dishes away, then vibrates near the door while Nicolas finishes his nostalgia food. Finally, when he’s had his fill, he kisses Juliana again and turns to his son.

“So where are we off to, kiddo?”

“We’re gonna get Antonio first, because he wants an autograph from you.” Rubens's tone of voice is mildly bewildered and very proud all at once. Nicolas, already close to crying from the food, nearly bursts into tears at how much pride suffuses Rubens, though he doesn’t exactly understand his father’s passion.

They stop by Antonio’s house, who gets Nicolas to autograph his volleyball magazine. He then insists on coming along when Rubens tells him that they’re going to see Ninja Shouyou.

They walk to the beach, and there is already a sizeable crowd of people there. Nicolas doesn’t remember there being this many people interested in beach volleyball when he was still in Brazil.

The boys break into a run. “Hurry papa, otherwise we won’t get a spot to see!”

By some miracle, Nicolas finds himself squeezed in between the two teenagers, up against a railing, with a clear view of a guy who couldn’t have been much taller than 170 cm tossing a ball with a guy who was surely over 2 meters.

The man is wearing a cap, underneath which ginger hair peeks out. This man’s partner is very tall, taller than Romero himself, but clearly a Brazilian. He looks at the other team, but sees yet another local, and a guy wearing a sun visor with dark hair.

“Which one is the Ninja?” Nicolas asks. It wouldn’t be either of the Brazilians, he couldn’t see the one with the visor, but red hair really isn’t a common characteristic of the Japanese.

Antonio pipes up. “The orange one!” Nicolas really had to stop doubting this man, because this Ninja was proving him wrong with every passing second. With any luck, he thinks, he’ll prove me wrong about doubting his skill too.

And that’s exactly what Ninja Shouyou does.

Right off the bat, the Ninja serves a wicked curving ball that glances off the visored man, out of bounds. Another service ace later, his partner picks up a chance ball and the redhead is able to slam a powerful direct into the sand.

Time and again, Nicolas finds himself speechless with how high Ninja Shouyou jumped. Though only a head or so taller than his prepubescent son, the redhead jumps even higher than some of Nicolas's associates who are well over 200 cm tall. Even a full foot below the other players, he blocks and spikes just as high. Still, he thinks, this doesn’t explain the “Ninja” part of his name.

As if the universe had heard his doubt, the opposing team spikes a devastatingly fast ball into the open court. But, it doesn't hit the sand. Nicolas yells in astonishment, while the two boys flanking him cheer in excitement. Because Ninja Shouyou just appears in the path of the ball and receives it, sending it into the sky just in front of the net.

Nicolas feels chills run down his spine, despite the warm sun. That was… right where a setter would need it to be. He clutches the railing in front of him. He needs to know if Ninja Shouyou would be willing to play a game of indoor volleyball, if only to see if that precision and speed could be used on a court as well as on the sand.

“That’s why he’s a ninja!” Rubens yells. He cast a sly look at his father. “That’s also why he’s the coolest volleyball player ever!”

Nicolas swats Rubens gently on the shoulder. “I’m one of the world’s top aces, you know! Your old man is plenty cool!” Still, he can't help but watch as the Ninja seemed to flicker around the court, inhumanly fast and terrifyingly precise.

While the boys cheer at every spike that the redhead made, Nicolas quietly loses his mind with every impossible dig that the Ninja made. He seems to appear out of thin air wherever the ball is going, and is able to perfectly send the ball to where it needs to go. He sets high enough that his very tall partner is able to use the full length of his arms, while not setting too high as to be unreachable.

By the end of the match, Ninja Shouyou had won in straight sets, each set beating the opposing team by a significant margin. Antonio and Rubens dart off, hoping to talk to the foreigner, but Nicolas stays where he was.

He revises his earlier opinion that Ninja Shouyou should play indoor volleyball. Frankly, he was so much honed skill in such an unassuming body that, if he ever switched to indoor, Nicolas could only hope that he wouldn’t be on the opposite side.

Chapter Text

Under the bright lights of the Kamei Arena in Sendai city, Nicolas Romero breathes in the distinctive smell of the center court. He knows what to expect– the MSBY Black Jackals have been on the Adlers’ radar for years, especially now that half of both teams’ starters were in the same monster generation of high school.

Speaking of starters, Romero looks over at the Jackals’ lineup, only for his gaze to shoot right over the opposite hitter’s position. He expects to see the over two meters of Oliver Barnes, the American cannon with a spike more powerful than a projectile launcher, but sees nothing. He looks again, but that space is empty.

Romero looks down, and forty centimeters below where he expects, there is a mop of orange hair. Number 21.

Vaguely, he can hear the announcers naming off the visiting Jackals’ team. Their starting Number 21, the newcomer Hinata Shouyou…

Romero feels a prickle of recognition in the back of his mind. Orange hair… Shouyou… where had he heard that before? Still, he can’t help but think that the Jackals’ coach was just a little insane. No matter who you were, if you were shorter than the libero, you couldn’t match the sheer power of a giant like Oliver Barnes. You couldn’t afford to give that kind of strength up, especially against a team like the Schweiden Adlers.

He watches as the young ones on his team all seem to be fixed on the little redhead, especially his surly setter, Kageyama.

The whistle blows, and the match starts.

…

Kageyama sends one of his infamous serves across the court, and Romero is almost sad to see that service ace. He kind of wants to play for points. But, before the ball touches the ground, that little Number 21 retrieves it, sending the ball cleanly back into play. That prickle of recognition in Romero’s mind grows more insistent, even as he readies himself for the block. He knows that even he would have been hard-pressed to retrieve one of Kageyama’s serves, especially one that fast. They all saw what he did to France, after all. Number 21 got under it like it was nothing.

And then, the Jackals’ setter, Miya, gets his hands on the ball, and that tiny ginger darts forward, and jumps.

Actually, to call what he did "jumping" is misleading. The only other person who even comes close is Hoshiumi, on Romero’s own team. Number 21 flies upwards, far higher than what seems to be humanly possible, and slams the ball straight past Hoshiumi, onto the back corner of the court.

Romero can hear the shock ripple through the entire stadium, with the enthusiastic owlish wing spiker on the Jackals’ own team incredulously questioning the newcomer.

A failed serve from Miya Atsumu later– and isn’t that a relief, to not have to deal with that for the time being– and it’s time for Romero to serve. He gets it cleanly between the newcomer, Hinata, and the tricky championship MVP, Sakusa. He watches with a warm, bubbling sense of pride as the Jackals’ youngest team members exclaim in what sounds to be admiration.

He serves the exact same ball again, but Sakusa seems to have learned his lesson, and receives the ball.

In the span of time that it takes Romero to blink, the ball is set and spiked towards his end of the court. He almost doesn’t have time to turn his head and track the ball, but luckily, Kageyama looks to have been expecting that ridiculous quick.

He receives it, but it lands out of the court. Point for the Jackals.

That attack… is freakishly terrifying. Romero looks back at Kageyama, who is exchanging a rather competitive, offended glare with Miya. That redhead ran and hit a set faster than most people could track.

“That was the attack that Kageyama used to do with Hinata, the Jackals’ 21. I think it’s faster now than it was back in high school.” Ushijima’s expressionless voice holds a tinge of… respect? So this Hinata character was part of that generation of high schoolers.

Of course, Ushijima follows that statement by sending a bruising spike straight towards the libero, who fumbles the receive. Hirugami’s serve is sent straight towards the redhead, who barely manages to make an upperhand receive, inches from his face. Sakusa takes the point from Kageyama. They’re tied up, 4 to 4.

It’s Hinata’s time to serve, and his preserve routine includes a curiously familiar shake of the ball. He doesn’t bounce it on the ground, only shakes it twice, as if trying to dust something off of it. The serve goes out, and Kageyama shoots the redhead a smug look.

Romero thinks its time to step up his game while they have the point advantage. When Hoshiumi’s serve turns into a desperate rally, Romero looks at that ball, flying towards the Jackals’ court, and interrupts its course, swatting it down. The next ball forces him to receive the ball, but Kageyama is already there for him, earning Romero back-to-back points.

“Nice one, Tobio!” he ruffles Kageyama’s hair, who glows with pride.

It doesn’t matter who that orange one is. He'll figure it out later.

His job, right now, is to be the best player that he can be.

Of course, the very next ball forces Romero to look at Number 21 again. There are three blockers in the way of a cross, and the short redhead is in the path of the line shot. Hinata moves back, expecting one of Romero’s powerful hits, and he is struck by inspiration.

Softly, he taps the ball over the heads of the blockers.

A blur of orange, and Number 21 is there, bumping the dink high into the air. How did he get there so fast? Thomas scores the point for the Jackals, and Romero is left with a sense of deja vu. Has he seen this before?

Sakusa gets a service ace, but Romero bumps the next one. Hoshiumi takes the spike, but then, out of nowhere, that Number 21 appears under it again, an upperhand receive taking the ball high, right above the setter who gets it under Bokuto’s hand.

Upperhand receives… appearing anywhere on the court… Shouyou… terrifying speed... orange hair… precise sets... shaking the ball… monstrously high jumps...

Suddenly, Romero remembers, and that prickle of recognition in the back of his mind turns into a torrent of ice down his spine.

“Hey,” he says to his team, briefly forgetting to speak Japanese. “I thought that guy looked familiar.” He hesitates, but then renews his conviction.

“Is it me, or is that Ninja Shouyou?” He is met with a trio of confused faces.

“What? You haven’t heard of Ninja Shouyou? How do you not know him when you’re Japanese?” When did he start playing indoor volleyball?

“My son is saying that he wants to play beach volleyball now, all because he watched him!” The confusion in Kageyama, Ushijima, and Hoshiumi’s faces does not abate. Too late, Romero realizes that he wasn’t speaking in a language they understood.

Luckily Kageyama had learned enough English to figure out what he was saying.

“By Ninja, did you mean that last dig of his?” Kageyama’s face holds a steely resolve, but also a glimmer of pride for that Number 21.

“Tobio, you noticed it too?”

Kageyama doesn’t respond, only sends a vicious glare across the court, to where Hinata stands next to Atsumu Miya, a full head shorter.

Romero slings his arm around Hoshiumi, affecting nonchalance. “Ha ha! The Ninja sure got us good, didn’t he Korai?” He can feel the short wing spiker vibrating with displeasure under his arm.

Even as he affects a jovial disposition, Romero can still feel the icy sting of fear lodging into the base of his spine, tempered by the fire-hot eagerness simmering in the back of his throat.

He is very excited to see that talented beach volleyball player show his skills on an indoor court, and very anxious to realize that he has to play against him. Why couldn’t the Adlers have been holding tryouts instead of the Jackals? Why is that tiny monster on the other side of the net?

He wants to see more of what Ninja Shouyou could do, even if he has to go against that ridiculous speed. Paired with Miya Atsumu, Romero thinks that he would be lucky if he sees the ball at all while Number 21 is in front.

Those lightning-quick receives are second only to the heights that he could jump, and Romero realizes very quickly that this game may be far more difficult than any other he’s ever played.

…

When the final whistle blows, Romero is left wondering why Ninja Shouyou ever played beach volleyball. On a steady, consistent surface, those jumps of his could clear the heads of a lot of Rubens's classmates. He’s even faster now that the ground underneath him doesn’t slip and absorb his momentum. He works well with his team, and almost instinctively knows where the ball is and where it needs to be. He flickers around the court, like a true ninja from the legends, as if summoned by the ball to thwart serves and spikes alike.

They shake hands beneath the net, and Romero is startled to see the bright gleam of admiration shine from his eyes. Even after a grueling match, the enthusiasm that Ninja Shouyou shakes his hands with is overwhelming.

This kid has too much energy for his own good.

They move down the line, and Romero hears Kageyama talk to Ninja Shouyou.

“Hey, moron, you wanna grab some dinner after this?” Romero feels offended for Hinata. He glances at the pair, and is surprised to see the sunny smile that Ninja Shouyou gives his setter.

“Sure, Kageyama! I’ll meet you in the lobby?” He still sounds like a high schooler, a shocking pitch in the crowd of barrel-chested baritones that most volleyball players have. It’s less shocking once you consider his height, though, Romero muses.

In the locker room, Romero turns to Kageyama and quietly asks if he can tag along with him and Ninja Shouyou. He agrees, but Romero can’t get a word in edgewise as Hinata babbles to Kageyama all the way to the restaurant where they’ll be eating dinner. Most of Kageyama’s responses seem to be insults wrapped in pride and affection.

Finally, when their food arrives, the conversation slows to a point where Romero can understand and contribute to the conversation. This is in part due to the fact that Ninja Shouyou eats enough for a man twice his size.

When the conversation turns to Nicolas, he finds himself under an onslaught of sunny admiration. Almost too quickly to understand, Ninja Shouyou gushes about games Romero played years ago, talking about how honored he was to be able to eat with him.

“No, no!” Romero cuts off Ninja Shouyou’s rant about the spin he did after a receive. “I’m honored to be sitting with the Ninja Shouyou.”

Abruptly, Hinata chokes on the massive mouthful of rice he’d just shoved into his mouth. He chugs half of his water, then turns to Romero with massive, glimmering eyes.

“You know my beach volleyball nickname? How?” His voice quavers in disbelief.

Romero laughs. He can’t believe just how much of a fanboy this guy was. “My son watched you play, and now he wants to play beach volleyball! He never was interested in volleyball before that, so I just had to see who inspired him so much!”

To his surprise, Ninja Shouyou’s eyes fill with tears. In heavily accented Portuguese, he says, “In high school, you were an inspiration for me. You were the coolest!”

Romero feels his face flush at that, the effusive admiration from Hinata like sitting in the sun for too long. They talk in Portuguese, the language achingly familiar in Nicolas's mouth. He'd missed having someone to talk to in his mother tongue.

Across the table, Kageyama scowls, clearly upset at being left out of the conversation, which has devolved into Romero asking how Hinata managed to pull off some of the stunts he did, and Hinata nearly weeping as he gushed about the Nicolas Romero.

For all his prowess on the court, Hinata is insatiable in looking for ways to improve. After he got over his initial shock, he practically interrogates Romero on how he does certain moves, what his warm-up was, how he was just so cool.

Eventually, Hinata asks for a picture, to which Romero happily obliges. He’s laughing in the picture, and Hinata’s grin is so wide that his eyes are squeezed shut, tears still lingering in the corners. Romero takes a picture too.

He texts it to Rubens.

Nicolas
[img.0384]
Look who I found when I was playing my match today!

Rubens
Is that NINJA SHOUYOU? HE’S NOT PLAYING IN BRAZIL BECAUSE HE WENT BACK TO JAPAN???
YOU HAVE TO GET ME HIS AUTOGRAPH AGAIN! IN JAPANESE THIS TIME!!
PLEASE PAPA

Nicolas
Alright I will! I’m grabbing dinner with him right now! Anything else you want to know?

He looks up from his phone. Ninja Shouyou had gone back to bickering with Kageyama in rapid-fire Japanese, in between mouthfuls of food.

“Ah, Shouyou? My son wants an autograph from you. He already has one, but he wants this one in Japanese…” Romero smiles awkwardly at Hinata, who had gone completely still at his request.

Barely audible over the din of the restaurant, Romero hears Hinata whisper, “Ohmigod NICOLAS ROMERO’S SON wants my autograph.”

Romero’s phone buzzes, and he looks at the message while Ninja Shouyou frantically searches for a scrap of paper.

Rubens
What’s he doing in Japan? The best beach volleyball players are in Brazil?

That’s when Romero realizes it.

The reason why his son wants to play beach volleyball…

Was playing indoor volleyball…

And thought that Nicolas Romero was cool.

He grins, and types out a response.

Nicolas
He’s playing indoor volleyball now!

Serves Rubens right for saying that it was lame!