Because It’s Embarrassing
I hate getting tired.
I don’t slack off during practice, but once I’m done, I head straight to the bath and then to bed. That’s how I spent the training camp.
Most of the guys from the Fukurōdani group are familiar faces, but I’m not great with crowds. Being around so many people is just exhausting. On top of that, Sinzen High’s classrooms don’t have air conditioning, which, honestly, makes it hard to call the place comfortable. Sure, the abundance of greenery keeps the air cool, but it also attracts a ton of bugs. Leaving the windows open at night? A terrible idea. I learned that the hard way on the first night—it was a disaster.
In this kind of environment, where a fan is the only thing keeping us alive, I’m pretty sure just existing here drains my stamina. I guess I have slightly more stamina than someone who doesn’t exercise at all, but if staying awake or even sleeping makes me this tired, it’s better to just crash early and prepare for the next day.
It was a noisy night. As usual.
The constant chirping of bugs, the occasional bursts of laughter from distant classrooms—the air never really settles, even at night.
Not that it was all because of that, but I was lying there, unable to sleep. Everyone else hadn’t come back yet. Some were probably doing extra practice, while others were hanging out or messing around in other classrooms.
It was just me and Fukunaga here. He was probably already asleep, so that left me alone, wide awake. I blinked slowly. The classroom was dim, like a poorly lit stage. The single fluorescent light in the corner stood out, glaring and out of place.
The lukewarm air swirled as the fan struggled to stir it. The dull vibrations of the fan mixed with the faint sense of people nearby, numbing my mind. My body wanted to sleep, but my brain refused to shut down. Maybe I’d overused my head today. I really needed to sleep, or tomorrow morning would be hell.
Just as I exhaled deeply and shut my eyes, I heard the door creak open, followed by the sound of small footsteps. Someone probably came to grab something they’d forgotten. I didn’t think much of it. But then the presence kept getting closer. And closer. Right when I was about to open my eyes, feeling like I was being watched, a soft voice spoke from above me.
“Kenma, are you asleep?”
It was Shoyo.
His voice was hushed—maybe he didn’t want to wake Fukunaga, or maybe he didn’t want to disturb me if I’d already drifted off. Either way, it was such a quiet whisper, so unlike his usual volume, that it almost didn’t sound like him.
It was lower, raspier, and yet the tone he used to call my name was unmistakably Shoyo. The contrast felt strange, almost surreal.
I had a pretty good idea why he was here. He probably wanted me to toss for him.
Apparently, Shoyo and Karasuno’s first-year genius setter have been doing their own individual practice. They’re trying to start something new, and to do that, they’re working on building their overall skills.
That’s fine and all, but the problem is that Shoyo has no one to toss to him when he’s desperate to hit spikes. Since it’s training camp, I’ve been drafted as a stand-in. The last time he roped me into this, I told him to ask their third-year setter instead. But he said the guy was also busy with his own individual practice, so that wasn’t an option.
Technically, there are plenty of other setters around if you’re not picky about schools, but apparently, he feels awkward asking them. For someone who’s usually so unreserved, Shoyo has these moments where he hesitates, where he acts just like a regular person. I mean, even for him, it would feel awkward to go up to a setter he barely knows and just ask, “Hey, can you toss for me?”
The fact that I’m not in Shoyo’s mental category of “awkward to ask for help” didn’t feel too bad. But that doesn’t change anything. Sure, I’m awake right now, unable to sleep. But that doesn’t mean I want to toss for him. It’s exhausting. I’m sorry, Shoyo, but I’m going to keep pretending to sleep.
With that decided, I kept my awareness outward but continued my act. For a while, Shoyo seemed to be watching me, gauging my reaction. Then I heard a small sigh and the sound of fabric rustling.
Maybe he’s given up. I feel a little bad about it—I hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. But my thoughts vanished the next second, replaced by blank shock.
Something touched my hair. The fact that I didn’t flinch deserves some credit. Actually, I think my body just froze, unable to figure out how to react.
It was soft, and I immediately realized it was Shoyo’s hand. Quiet panic set in. He was stroking my hair. Gently, repeatedly, as if handling something fragile.
He didn’t say anything, and with my eyes shut, I couldn’t see his expression. I had no idea what he was thinking or why he was doing this.
The question “What?” echoed in my mind over and over as my heartbeat began to pound loudly, almost as if it were spinning in reverse.
Shoyo once mentioned how he couldn’t grip a volleyball with one hand, something that bothered him. His hands are probably smaller than mine. But sometimes, the fingers brushing against my forehead felt sturdy, their strong bones noticeable beneath the surface. Through my hair, I could sense their warmth—almost too warm.
My fingers, resting against my chest, felt like they were on the verge of trembling. If they did, it would give me away. All I could focus on was keeping my fingers from trembling.
The moment felt like it stretched on forever, though in reality, it probably only lasted a few seconds. Just as abruptly as it started, Shoyo pulled his hand away and quietly left the classroom.
I opened my eyes and shot up. There was no way I could stay lying down after that. Pressing my hands against my face, which was tingling for some reason, I took deep breaths to calm myself.
Then the door swung open behind me. The sound made me turn around sharply, almost violently. Standing there were Yaku-kun and Lev. Both of them froze in the doorway, startled by my sudden movement. Once I realized it wasn’t Shoyo returning, the tension drained out of me.
Yaku-kun’s brows furrowed for a moment before relaxing, as if my own release of tension had prompted him to do the same. His expression then shifted to something curious, maybe even slightly concerned.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Huh…?” Before I could ask, What do you mean?, my heart jumped on its own.
Still wide-eyed, Lev tilted his head at me. “Kenma-san, your face is really red.”
“Are you overheating or something?” Yaku-san added.
It wasn’t until they pointed it out that I realized my ears were burning too. I didn’t need anyone to tell me why. The realization made me feel like all my hair was standing on end.
“Ah… yeah… maybe?” I managed to mumble.
“It’s hot in here,” Yaku-kun said. “You’re not feeling sick, are you?”
“No, not really.”
“Go get some air and drink some water. If you start feeling worse, tell someone immediately.”
“Got it.” Not that he needed to tell me—I was planning on doing that anyway.
I left the classroom quickly and headed straight for the water fountain. Splashing cold water onto my face, I tried to shake off the lingering, tingling sensation. It wouldn’t go away. So, I figured my face was probably still just as flushed as before.
I kept slapping water onto my face over and over, trying to calm down. As I kept splashing water on my face, trying to calm myself down, a mix of emotions slowly started bubbling up inside me, becoming clearer with each moment. Anger? Frustration? Confusion? It was all of those things, a little at a time. But the strongest feeling, the one overshadowing everything else, was—
“Kenma!”
I almost jumped out of my skin.
The startled shout stuck in my throat, and my lips just flapped uselessly, trembling as if I’d forgotten how to speak.
I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. I could tell by the sound of his voice, by the way he was running toward me.
So I ran. Without looking back, I bolted.
A loud Huh?! echoed behind me, followed by the sound of Shoyo speeding up.
“Why are you running?! Toss for me! Just a little! Kenma, come on!”
“I’m not running. I’m not tossing.”
“You’re running! Wait up! Kenmaaa!”
Shoyo’s faster than me, so I couldn’t slack off. He’d catch me in seconds if I did.
I hate getting tired.
But letting him see my face right now? That’s even worse.
“Kenmaaa!”
“No way in hell. Not a chance.”
Absolutely not. Never.
----------------------------
written by Kicho
※This fanfiction is originally written by me in Japanese and translated with ChatGPT’s help.
※Do not reupload my fanfiction
I don’t slack off during practice, but once I’m done, I head straight to the bath and then to bed. That’s how I spent the training camp.
Most of the guys from the Fukurōdani group are familiar faces, but I’m not great with crowds. Being around so many people is just exhausting. On top of that, Sinzen High’s classrooms don’t have air conditioning, which, honestly, makes it hard to call the place comfortable. Sure, the abundance of greenery keeps the air cool, but it also attracts a ton of bugs. Leaving the windows open at night? A terrible idea. I learned that the hard way on the first night—it was a disaster.
In this kind of environment, where a fan is the only thing keeping us alive, I’m pretty sure just existing here drains my stamina. I guess I have slightly more stamina than someone who doesn’t exercise at all, but if staying awake or even sleeping makes me this tired, it’s better to just crash early and prepare for the next day.
It was a noisy night. As usual.
The constant chirping of bugs, the occasional bursts of laughter from distant classrooms—the air never really settles, even at night.
Not that it was all because of that, but I was lying there, unable to sleep. Everyone else hadn’t come back yet. Some were probably doing extra practice, while others were hanging out or messing around in other classrooms.
It was just me and Fukunaga here. He was probably already asleep, so that left me alone, wide awake. I blinked slowly. The classroom was dim, like a poorly lit stage. The single fluorescent light in the corner stood out, glaring and out of place.
The lukewarm air swirled as the fan struggled to stir it. The dull vibrations of the fan mixed with the faint sense of people nearby, numbing my mind. My body wanted to sleep, but my brain refused to shut down. Maybe I’d overused my head today. I really needed to sleep, or tomorrow morning would be hell.
Just as I exhaled deeply and shut my eyes, I heard the door creak open, followed by the sound of small footsteps. Someone probably came to grab something they’d forgotten. I didn’t think much of it. But then the presence kept getting closer. And closer. Right when I was about to open my eyes, feeling like I was being watched, a soft voice spoke from above me.
“Kenma, are you asleep?”
It was Shoyo.
His voice was hushed—maybe he didn’t want to wake Fukunaga, or maybe he didn’t want to disturb me if I’d already drifted off. Either way, it was such a quiet whisper, so unlike his usual volume, that it almost didn’t sound like him.
It was lower, raspier, and yet the tone he used to call my name was unmistakably Shoyo. The contrast felt strange, almost surreal.
I had a pretty good idea why he was here. He probably wanted me to toss for him.
Apparently, Shoyo and Karasuno’s first-year genius setter have been doing their own individual practice. They’re trying to start something new, and to do that, they’re working on building their overall skills.
That’s fine and all, but the problem is that Shoyo has no one to toss to him when he’s desperate to hit spikes. Since it’s training camp, I’ve been drafted as a stand-in. The last time he roped me into this, I told him to ask their third-year setter instead. But he said the guy was also busy with his own individual practice, so that wasn’t an option.
Technically, there are plenty of other setters around if you’re not picky about schools, but apparently, he feels awkward asking them. For someone who’s usually so unreserved, Shoyo has these moments where he hesitates, where he acts just like a regular person. I mean, even for him, it would feel awkward to go up to a setter he barely knows and just ask, “Hey, can you toss for me?”
The fact that I’m not in Shoyo’s mental category of “awkward to ask for help” didn’t feel too bad. But that doesn’t change anything. Sure, I’m awake right now, unable to sleep. But that doesn’t mean I want to toss for him. It’s exhausting. I’m sorry, Shoyo, but I’m going to keep pretending to sleep.
With that decided, I kept my awareness outward but continued my act. For a while, Shoyo seemed to be watching me, gauging my reaction. Then I heard a small sigh and the sound of fabric rustling.
Maybe he’s given up. I feel a little bad about it—I hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. But my thoughts vanished the next second, replaced by blank shock.
Something touched my hair. The fact that I didn’t flinch deserves some credit. Actually, I think my body just froze, unable to figure out how to react.
It was soft, and I immediately realized it was Shoyo’s hand. Quiet panic set in. He was stroking my hair. Gently, repeatedly, as if handling something fragile.
He didn’t say anything, and with my eyes shut, I couldn’t see his expression. I had no idea what he was thinking or why he was doing this.
The question “What?” echoed in my mind over and over as my heartbeat began to pound loudly, almost as if it were spinning in reverse.
Shoyo once mentioned how he couldn’t grip a volleyball with one hand, something that bothered him. His hands are probably smaller than mine. But sometimes, the fingers brushing against my forehead felt sturdy, their strong bones noticeable beneath the surface. Through my hair, I could sense their warmth—almost too warm.
My fingers, resting against my chest, felt like they were on the verge of trembling. If they did, it would give me away. All I could focus on was keeping my fingers from trembling.
The moment felt like it stretched on forever, though in reality, it probably only lasted a few seconds. Just as abruptly as it started, Shoyo pulled his hand away and quietly left the classroom.
I opened my eyes and shot up. There was no way I could stay lying down after that. Pressing my hands against my face, which was tingling for some reason, I took deep breaths to calm myself.
Then the door swung open behind me. The sound made me turn around sharply, almost violently. Standing there were Yaku-kun and Lev. Both of them froze in the doorway, startled by my sudden movement. Once I realized it wasn’t Shoyo returning, the tension drained out of me.
Yaku-kun’s brows furrowed for a moment before relaxing, as if my own release of tension had prompted him to do the same. His expression then shifted to something curious, maybe even slightly concerned.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Huh…?” Before I could ask, What do you mean?, my heart jumped on its own.
Still wide-eyed, Lev tilted his head at me. “Kenma-san, your face is really red.”
“Are you overheating or something?” Yaku-san added.
It wasn’t until they pointed it out that I realized my ears were burning too. I didn’t need anyone to tell me why. The realization made me feel like all my hair was standing on end.
“Ah… yeah… maybe?” I managed to mumble.
“It’s hot in here,” Yaku-kun said. “You’re not feeling sick, are you?”
“No, not really.”
“Go get some air and drink some water. If you start feeling worse, tell someone immediately.”
“Got it.” Not that he needed to tell me—I was planning on doing that anyway.
I left the classroom quickly and headed straight for the water fountain. Splashing cold water onto my face, I tried to shake off the lingering, tingling sensation. It wouldn’t go away. So, I figured my face was probably still just as flushed as before.
I kept slapping water onto my face over and over, trying to calm down. As I kept splashing water on my face, trying to calm myself down, a mix of emotions slowly started bubbling up inside me, becoming clearer with each moment. Anger? Frustration? Confusion? It was all of those things, a little at a time. But the strongest feeling, the one overshadowing everything else, was—
“Kenma!”
I almost jumped out of my skin.
The startled shout stuck in my throat, and my lips just flapped uselessly, trembling as if I’d forgotten how to speak.
I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. I could tell by the sound of his voice, by the way he was running toward me.
So I ran. Without looking back, I bolted.
A loud Huh?! echoed behind me, followed by the sound of Shoyo speeding up.
“Why are you running?! Toss for me! Just a little! Kenma, come on!”
“I’m not running. I’m not tossing.”
“You’re running! Wait up! Kenmaaa!”
Shoyo’s faster than me, so I couldn’t slack off. He’d catch me in seconds if I did.
I hate getting tired.
But letting him see my face right now? That’s even worse.
“Kenmaaa!”
“No way in hell. Not a chance.”
Absolutely not. Never.
----------------------------
written by Kicho
※This fanfiction is originally written by me in Japanese and translated with ChatGPT’s help.
※Do not reupload my fanfiction
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