Reiya Chisaki’s Junior High Backstory (First Year)
Start of a New Chapter: Moving to Japan
Reiya Chisaki’s life in Brazil had been beautiful on the surface but chaotic beneath. Born to a wealthy and influential family, she grew up surrounded by lavish dinners, high society gatherings, and constant expectations to be “perfect.” Her mother, a strict and demanding woman, was obsessed with appearances and molded Reiya into the "ideal daughter" from a young age—piano lessons, etiquette classes, and a carefully curated public image. Her father, while less domineering, was emotionally distant, focused on managing the family business.
Because of her wealth and mixed heritage, Reiya became a target of bullying during elementary school in Brazil. Her classmates mocked her for being "different" and "privileged," assuming her life was perfect because of her family's money. The bullying made her self-conscious and lonely; she kept a bright and bubbly personality on the surface but internalized a deep-seated fear of rejection. Volleyball became her solace. She discovered the sport through her older cousin, who played for a local club, and quickly fell in love with the game. It was the first activity where she felt alive and free from expectations—here, it didn’t matter who her parents were, only what she could do with the ball. She dreamed of becoming a skilled setter, someone who could orchestrate the court and bring out the best in others, just as volleyball brought out the best in her.
At 12 years old, her parents announced their plan to send her to Japan for junior high, primarily so she could “connect with her Japanese roots.” In truth, her parents believed the move would "refine" her in ways that Brazil hadn't. Reiya was nervous but excited. Japan became a symbol of hope—a way to start fresh where no one knew her as the wealthy girl from a toxic home. What she didn’t realize was just how isolating it would feel at first.


Adjusting to Kitagawa Daiichi
Reiya enrolled at Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High, known for its competitive volleyball program. Being new to Japan, she faced challenges that went beyond normal teenage struggles. Her Japanese, while fluent thanks to her mother's rigorous tutoring, had an awkward formality to it, making her feel out of place. Her classmates initially treated her as a curiosity—a rich, half-Brazilian transfer student wasn’t something they saw every day. Some admired her exotic background, but others were distant or even subtly rude, which triggered memories of being bullied.
Despite her determination to stay upbeat, Reiya struggled with loneliness during her first weeks at school. She tried to make friends with her natural enthusiasm, but many classmates either didn’t know how to relate to her or assumed she was “too different” to be worth the effort. To cope, she threw herself into volleyball, hoping the team would be a place where she could finally belong.
Joining the Volleyball Club
Reiya was thrilled to join Kitagawa Daiichi’s volleyball team, which had a reputation for being one of the strongest in the region. She declared herself a setter, confident in her skills but well aware she had a lot to learn. The high-intensity practices pushed her limits in ways she hadn’t experienced before, especially because many of her teammates were incredibly skilled. She felt a mix of inspiration and pressure—this was where she wanted to be, but she worried her cheerful, talkative personality wouldn’t fit into the competitive atmosphere.


Enter: Kageyama Tobio. A naturally quiet and serious boy, Kageyama was nothing like her at first glance. He rarely spoke outside of volleyball and had a laser focus during practices, leading Reiya to mistakenly believe he’d see her as an annoyance. But once they were paired for drills, she was surprised to find that Kageyama treated her with the same bluntness and intensity as everyone else. He didn’t view her as "the foreign transfer student" or "the rich girl." To him, Reiya was just a fellow setter.
For Reiya, that was everything she needed.


Forming a Friendship with Kageyama
Reiya quickly gravitated toward Kageyama, who became her first real friend in Japan. She admired his talent as a setter and often asked for advice, despite his blunt way of explaining things. For his part, Kageyama found her energy refreshing—her enthusiasm balanced his more stoic personality, and she was one of the few people who didn’t pressure him to lead the team (a struggle he would deal with later). Though Kageyama wasn’t one to get close to others easily, Reiya’s persistence and positivity gradually broke through his walls. Soon, they developed an unusual but comfortable dynamic—Kageyama’s straightforwardness helped Reiya temper her insecurities, while Reiya’s excitement reminded Kageyama of the joy of volleyball.
Reiya loved how Kageyama didn’t treat her differently, which was a stark contrast to the way others often handled her wealth or background. She began to open up around him in ways she hadn’t before, even confessing her struggles with being “different” in school. To her surprise, Kageyama simply shrugged and reminded her to focus on volleyball: “If you’re good on the court, nothing else will matter.” Reiya took that advice to heart.
The two often stayed after practice to work on perfecting their sets. Reiya considered him a rival in the best sense of the word—not because she wanted to outshine him, but because his talent motivated her to improve. She even started picking up some of his techniques, like his precision tosses and sharp instincts. Kageyama, meanwhile, appreciated how Reiya’s bubbly personality lightened the mood during tough practices.


Defining Herself on the Team
While Reiya’s connection with Kageyama became a source of stability, earning the trust of the rest of the team took longer. Though her skills as a setter were solid, her style was very different from Kageyama's. While Kageyama excelled at sharp, pinpoint-accurate tosses, Reiya focused on intuition and adaptability, often adding flair to her sets. Her Brazilian volleyball background came through in her style, which some teammates initially saw as "flashy" or "unnecessary." She worked hard to prove that her plays weren’t just for show but rather a reflection of her creative approach to the game.
Reiya’s turning point came during a practice match early in the first term. Paired with players who were struggling to keep up with Kageyama’s fast-paced sets, Reiya took a different approach. She adjusted her tosses to match their individual rhythms, creating opportunities for them to succeed. Her willingness to adapt and her ability to encourage her teammates earned her their respect, and slowly but surely, she became an integral part of the team.


The Growing Internal Conflict
Despite these victories, Reiya’s struggles didn’t completely disappear. Her parents’ expectations weighed heavily on her, even from afar. They constantly reminded her to excel—both academically and socially—calling weekly to critique her performance or her appearance. At school, though she was friendly and outgoing, there was a gnawing fear that her classmates only saw her wealth and background, not her true personality. It wasn’t until much later that Reiya would begin questioning her parents’ toxic control, but the seeds of discomfort were already there.
By the end of her first year, Reiya felt a sense of belonging that she hadn’t experienced before. Though she still carried self-doubt, volleyball gave her purpose, and her friendship with Kageyama grounded her during difficult moments. Despite her challenges, she began to see Japan as more than just a place for a "fresh start"—it was slowly becoming her home.


Reiya Chisaki’s Junior High Backstory (Second Year)
A Year of Increasing Pressure
Reiya Chisaki’s second year at Kitagawa Daiichi brought challenges that were far more complex than she had anticipated. By now, her initial excitement about living in Japan had eroded under the weight of relentless expectations from her parents, her school, and even herself. Her parents, convinced that Reiya’s focus on volleyball was a distraction, had grown more controlling. While their calls were frequent during her first year, now they became incessant—and worse, they were no longer just verbal check-ins but harsh reminders of all the ways Reiya was "failing."
Her grades, which were passable in her first year, had begun to slip. The pressures of competing on a top-tier volleyball team, maintaining appearances for her family, and balancing expectations left her mentally and physically drained. Reiya found it harder to concentrate in class, especially on subjects she wasn’t naturally good at, and falling behind academically made her parents livid. They imposed strict rules to “restore discipline”: Reiya was forbidden from hanging out with friends, participating in club excursions, or even staying late after practice. Her once-bubbly personality began to dim, replaced by a quiet frustration she couldn’t voice.
Volleyball, her one sanctuary, now felt like a fleeting escape. Every time Reiya set foot in the gym, she gave it her all, even if it meant staying late against her parents’ wishes to work on drills with her teammates. Yet, the sport could no longer shield her entirely. The pressure to be perfect hung over her like a dark cloud, and the cracks began to show.

New Emotions and a Complicated Bond
Amid the chaos of her second year, Reiya’s life took an unexpected turn when Oikawa Tooru, a third-year and the captain of Aoba Johsai Junior High’s volleyball team, entered her world. They crossed paths at a joint training camp between Kitagawa Daiichi and <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_PERSON>, and Reiya was immediately drawn to Oikawa’s charisma. To her, Oikawa represented everything she admired—he was confident, skilled, and commanded attention effortlessly. His radiant public persona seemed to juxtapose the storm brewing in her own life, and she found herself enraptured by his charm.
To her surprise, Oikawa seemed equally taken by her. He teased her about her Brazilian-style sets, called her “Chisaki-chan” in his melodious tone, and once told her that her adaptability on the court reminded him of himself. Oikawa’s ability to mask his own vulnerabilities with wit and brilliance resonated with Reiya. The two began a subtle, flirtatious relationship that soon evolved into something more.
Dating Oikawa was exhilarating at first. He added a spark of excitement to Reiya’s life that she desperately needed, pulling her out of her misery—even if only temporarily. But being with Oikawa wasn’t without complications. Reiya’s time was already stretched thin, and sneaking out to spend time with him only worsened her conflicts at home. Her parents, noticing her decreasing focus on studies, heightened their restrictions further, leading to many sleepless nights of whispered phone calls and hurried text messages. As much as Reiya loved being with Oikawa, the stress of juggling her double life began to take a toll.
Meanwhile, her growing closeness to Oikawa created friction with Kageyama. He wasn’t just displeased—he was furious. Though Reiya didn't know it at the time, Kageyama admired her deeply, not only for her ability to brighten his usually stoic world but also for her determination on the court. To see someone he cared for gravitate toward Oikawa, a player who was everything he wanted to be but couldn’t yet achieve, filled Kageyama with a confusing mixture of jealousy and hurt.
Their once-easy friendship became strained. Kageyama avoided her outside of practice, and during matches, his irritation frequently bubbled over in the form of curt remarks or overly sharp corrections. Reiya felt torn—she missed the comfort Kageyama gave her but didn’t know how to bridge the growing divide between them. What’s worse, deep down, she feared that Oikawa’s affection for her wouldn’t last. Her bubbling insecurities whispered that he only saw her as a fleeting distraction, and the thought terrified her.

The Breaking Point: The Finals Match
By the time the finals of their regional tournament arrived, Reiya was a tightly wound spring on the verge of snapping. The mounting expectations from her parents, her rocky academics, and the unresolved tensions boiling within her relationships all came to a head. Volleyball had always been her escape, but now even the court felt heavy with the weight of her own perfectionism. This match meant everything to her—winning would prove to her parents, her teammates, and herself that she was more than just a weak link struggling to maintain control of her life.
The match was grueling. Reiya’s team faced off against a fast, highly coordinated opponent, whose setter had a cocky confidence that rubbed her the wrong way from the start. Reiya, usually an optimistic and adaptable player, found herself losing patience each time one of her teammates missed a spike or failed to receive properly. She shouted instructions, louder and harsher than usual, her frustration bleeding into her voice. Gone was her usual supportive demeanor, replaced by someone she barely recognized.
When Kitagawa Daiichi began falling behind on the scoreboard, Reiya’s anxiety skyrocketed. Her hands started to shake during timeouts, and her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to think of ways to turn the game around. When a key teammate missed a spike during a critical rally, Reiya lost control. She shouted at them loud enough for the opposing team to hear, her words sharp and uncharacteristically cruel. Her teammates stared in shock, and the gym fell silent for a moment before the game resumed.
Things only spiraled from there. Reiya’s usual fluidity and awareness of the court were clouded by anger and frustration. Her own sets became inconsistent, and when a smug comment from the opposing team’s setter reached her ears, she snapped. In front of the packed gymnasium, Reiya charged the opposing setter after a heated exchange at the net, tears streaming down her face as she lashed out. The referees quickly intervened, but the sight of Reiya—sobbing uncontrollably, her face twisted in anger—left the audience and her teammates stunned.
Kitagawa Daiichi lost the match. Reiya stumbled out of the gym with her head bowed, the jeers and whispers of the crowd echoing in her ears.

Aftermath
The fallout was swift and unforgiving. At school, rumors spread like wildfire, labeling her as unstable and dangerous. Some teammates avoided her, unsure of how to approach the girl who had always been their cheerful mediator. Her parents were livid, berating her for “ruining the family image” and threatening to pull her out of volleyball entirely. Even Oikawa began to distance himself, his airy texts turning into curt replies. To Reiya, the silence from the people she relied on most was overwhelming.
The only person who didn’t turn away was Kageyama. Despite their recent tension, he was quietly, deeply worried about her. He didn’t know how to handle her tears or comfort her pain, but he stayed anyway, his presence solid and unwavering even when words escaped him.

Two Weeks Later: Losing Oikawa
Two weeks had passed since the finals, but the sting of failure hadn't faded for Reiya. Her life, once precariously balanced on a thread, seemed to unravel entirely. The once whispering voices in the school halls—about her public breakdown during the match—grew louder. Her teammates, unsure how to approach her, mostly kept their distance. Reiya wasn’t just isolated now; she was branded as a problem. The weight of humiliation pressed down on her more heavily with each passing day.
At home, her parents relentlessly reminded her of her mistakes: her bad grades, her “disgraceful” behavior on the court, and her inability to meet their expectations. For Reiya, every message from them reinforced the growing belief that she wasn’t good enough and never had been. What remained of her fragile sense of self hung by a single, tenuous thread: Oikawa.
But Oikawa, who she’d held onto like her last hope, also became distant. Their interactions were shorter, the warmth in his text messages all but gone. Reiya tried to convince herself that he was just busy—after all, as the captain of Kitagawa Daiichi’s volleyball team, he had plenty of other concerns. Maybe that’s all it was… Until the day he finally broke her heart.
It happened during a brief moment between classes. Oikawa intercepted her on the edge of the school grounds, pulling her aside to talk. He didn’t drag it out—polite phrasing and an impassive expression were all that shielded the truth. Oikawa explained he wasn’t in a position to maintain their relationship anymore, citing his responsibilities as captain and his future priorities. He even reassured her that it wasn’t her fault, though his words were hollow to Reiya’s ears. She could hardly hear him over the crushing sound of her fears becoming reality.
She didn’t beg him to stay. She didn’t cry, not in front of him. She only nodded, her expression wooden, as tears threatened to spill over. And then, as he offered one last empty apology, Oikawa walked away, leaving her standing alone in silence.
For Reiya, it felt like her world shattered in an instant.

Kageyama Overhears
Unbeknownst to Reiya, the breakup wasn’t entirely private. Kageyama, who had been lingering nearby, overheard enough of the conversation as he walked by. Though he hadn’t spoken much to Reiya since Oikawa entered her life, that didn’t mean he’d stopped watching out for her—or stopped caring about her.
The image of her hunched frame, frozen in place long after Oikawa had left, seared into his mind. Kageyama didn’t need the full story to understand what had just happened. Hurt flared in his chest—not as a rival to Oikawa, but as someone who couldn’t stand seeing her like this.
Though banished from her home and unsure how to even approach her after their recent tensions, Kageyama couldn’t get rid of the gnawing worry inside him. He had to check on her, no matter what.

The Recording: Reiya’s Breaking Point
That night, the emptiness inside Reiya reached a boiling point. Her parents berated her during dinner as usual, but this time, she barely responded. Their sharp words rolled over her like distant thunder, failing to penetrate her blank, hollow state. Afterward, she excused herself, retreating to the en-suite bathroom of her spacious yet cold, sterile room.
There, she stood in front of her camera—a small device she used to record herself when her emotions felt too large for her to understand. At first, it seemed like just another venting session. She hit record and sat down on the bathroom floor, trying to form coherent thoughts. Her voice was calm at first, though thick with exhaustion.
“Am I just… not enough?” she asked, speaking to no one in particular as she stared directly into the lens. Her hands trembled as she hugged her knees to her chest. “Was I ever enough for anyone?”
Her words soon turned into broken sobs. The questions—the same ones that haunted her daily—crescendoed into cries of anguish: “Why doesn’t anyone care!? Why can’t I—why can’t I just…be good enough, for once?!”
The camera continued to roll as she reached for the blade hidden behind a shelf of toiletries. Her tears fell freely as she lifted her shirt and dragged the cold metal across the fragile skin of her stomach. At first, the sensation brought a dark kind of numbness, something to distract from the storm inside her mind. But it wasn’t long before the blood flowed freely, the physical pain blending into her broken emotions.

Kageyama Bursts In
Meanwhile, Kageyama had already made his way to Reiya’s family mansion. He ignored the fact that the household staff were under strict orders to deny him entry. His worry outweighed his fear of reprimands, and before long, he found a way inside. Climbing to her second-story balcony, a feat fueled by pure adrenaline, he slipped into her room, where the faint sound of sobs and muffled shouting led him to the bathroom.
He burst in just as Reiya was folding over herself, blood tracing jagged lines across her skin. Her face jerked up in surprise, eyes full of tears and a mix of fury and despair. “Get out!” she screamed through gritted teeth, her voice hoarse. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
But Kageyama didn’t care. Not about the rules, not about the danger of getting caught. All he cared about was stopping the bleeding and pulling her back from the precipice she was standing on. “What the hell are you doing, Reiya?!” he shouted, his voice cracking under his own panic.
Reiya, still lost in her haze of emotions, twisted and fought against him as he knelt close, grabbing at her arms to halt her desperate movements. “Leave me alone!” she cried, struggling to pull herself free of his grasp. “Just go! Just—just leave me, like everyone else!”
Her accusations struck deeply, but Kageyama didn’t let go. “I’m not leaving!” he yelled back, his voice trembling as tears threatened to spill. “I’m not leaving you like this!”
For a moment, her resistance faltered. Her gaze shifted toward the camera still recording on the counter, and with the last of her strength and clarity, she swiped at the button, shutting it off before collapsing into Kageyama’s arms. Despite her clouded state of mind, one thought flashed through her: if her parents ever saw his face in that recording, it would ruin him, and she couldn’t let that happen.

Chaos in the Mansion
From the hallway outside, the commotion had caught the attention of the household staff. The butlers and maids burst into the bathroom, their panic evident as their collective gaze landed on the blood pooling on the floor. Reiya’s parents arrived soon after, surveying the scene with an unnerving sense of calm.
“Call emergency services,” her mother instructed one of the maids in a clipped, unbothered tone, completely ignoring Kageyama, who was holding Reiya against him in tears. The staff scrambled to obey, but her parents didn’t so much as kneel or ask Reiya if she was okay—they simply watched with cold detachment.
“Get him out of here,” her father added, gesturing vaguely to Kageyama. “The last thing we need is more trouble.”
But Kageyama refused to leave her side, clutching her limp frame tightly as if letting go would shatter her entirely. Only when the paramedics arrived did he relent, stepping aside but staying close by as they carried her away. He didn’t care what her parents thought of him in that moment—he only cared that Reiya lived.

Reiya Chisaki’s Junior High Backstory (Second Year into Third Year: The Aftermath)

Critical Care & Diagnosis
After the events that led to Reiya's collapse, she was rushed to the hospital, where she was placed in critical care. The blood loss had left her body frail and weak, her emotional state completely unmoored. The doctors stabilized her, but it was clear to everyone involved that her struggles were not purely physical. Months of psychological evaluation and observation led to her diagnosis: bipolar disorder, anxiety, ADHD, and depression. The diagnoses were overwhelming, and though they provided an explanation for much of the emotional turbulence, instability, and struggles Reiya had experienced over the years, they also felt like additional weights strapped to her already burdened shoulders.
Reiya was admitted for long-term hospitalization, scheduled to stay under constant care for at least a year. The hospital staff hoped to work closely with her, offering therapy, medication for mood stabilization, and a structured environment to help her regain a sense of control. But Reiya resisted every attempt at treatment.
She couldn’t bring herself to take the pills prescribed to her. Even just looking at them stirred a rising panic in her chest—the idea that a small tablet could have so much control over her body terrified her. It didn’t help that, deep down, she didn’t really want to get better. She didn’t see the point. This wasn’t just a low in her life; it was rock bottom. Every day felt like an uphill battle she didn’t want to fight. She felt hollow, like a shell of her former self.
The bubbly, enthusiastic Reiya that Kageyama once knew was gone.

Kageyama: The Devoted Visitor
Kageyama visited as often as he could. He didn’t care that her parents were cold and dismissive toward him or that they occasionally hinted that his visits might be disruptive to her recovery. He wanted to see her, to keep an eye on her, even if it sometimes felt like she didn’t notice or care.
At first, he didn't know how to approach her. Reiya, who had once been loud and full of energy, now lay silent most of the time, staring out the window or into nothing at all. Her responses to him were distant and flat, as though she were miles away even when sitting beside him. Kageyama didn’t know what to say, so he mostly stayed quiet, keeping her company in silence. If she would let him, he’d sit near her bed and talk about trivial things: volleyball practice, the weather, stories from school. He hoped, somehow, that hearing his voice might remind her of the world waiting outside.
But her lack of response only made the ache in his chest grow heavier. Kageyama couldn’t help but feel helpless. He wanted to pull her out of the darkness she was trapped in, but he didn’t know how. Every time he thought about the Reiya he’d first met—the one whose smile lit up the volleyball court—he felt a crushing pang of guilt. He wondered constantly if there was something he could’ve done to stop her from ending up like this.
Despite the silence, Kageyama kept coming back. He wasn’t going to leave her, not again, not when she needed someone to stay—even if she didn’t realize it.

The Start of Third Year: Kageyama’s Transformation
As third year began, Kageyama found himself leaning into volleyball more than ever. It became his escape, the one thing in his life where he felt like he had control. But volleyball wasn’t the same as it had been before. A heavy weight hung over him every time he stepped onto the court—the image of Reiya lying pale and lifeless in that hospital room, the memory of her tears, and the unshakable knowledge that she wasn’t there to cheer him on.
Driven by worry and stress, Kageyama’s personality began to undergo a transformation. Where he had once been quiet, a bit socially awkward, and a player who largely followed the lead of others, he became hyper-focused on taking control. He threw himself into volleyball with a new intensity, determined to succeed not just for himself, but for Reiya. He wanted to prove something—not only to her, but to himself. He wanted to show that he could become someone strong, someone capable, someone she might be proud of.
But the intensity began to affect his relationships with his teammates. Kageyama started to demand perfection, unwilling to accept mistakes or compromise his vision for the game. His sets were fast, precise, but also difficult to handle, and when players struggled to adapt to his pace, he grew impatient. Frustration boiled over in his demeanor, and his blunt remarks alienated his teammates one by one.
It wasn’t long before Kageyama earned a nickname: “King of the Court.” At first, he thought it was a mark of respect, a recognition of his skills as a setter. But it quickly became clear that the name was more of a jab than a compliment. His teammates, unable to connect with his demanding style, saw him not as a leader, but as a dictator—someone who ruled the court without listening to the people around him.
The title stung more than Kageyama would admit, but he didn’t let it stop him. He told himself none of it mattered. What mattered was winning. What mattered was being good enough—for himself, for the team, and most importantly, for Reiya.

Reiya’s Unawareness
Back in the hospital, Reiya had no idea what was happening to Kageyama—or to the outside world in general. Her days blurred together amid the suffocating monotony of therapy sessions, nurses’ check-ups, and sleepless nights. Volleyball felt like a lifetime ago. She hadn’t touched a ball since the finals match, and part of her didn’t want to. Thinking about the game only resurfaced memories of her breakdown in front of the team, the physical fight on the court, and the way everything spiraled out of control from there.
Even Kageyama’s visits, which should’ve been a source of comfort, left her feeling conflicted. As much as she appreciated his presence (even if she didn’t often show it), she also wished he’d stop coming. A part of her believed that he would be better off if he didn’t waste his time with someone as broken as her.
The thought of watching any of Kageyama’s matches never crossed her mind. She didn’t belong in a gym anymore, and the idea of cheering someone on from the sidelines—when she was too shattered to help herself—felt unbearable. If Kageyama had begun to lose himself in volleyball for her sake, she didn’t realize it. And if he was carrying the weight of her struggles on his own shoulders, she had no idea.

Two Lives Diverging
Reiya and Kageyama, despite their connection, were on separate paths that seemed to drift further apart with each passing day. Kageyama, desperate to become someone stronger, had thrown himself into volleyball at the expense of his relationships. Reiya, meanwhile, was trapped in a cycle of apathy and self-doubt, unable to see a future for herself.
For now, they lived in parallel worlds—unable to fully reach one another, yet still bound by the silent tether of their shared history. Both were fighting battles shaped by the other, neither fully understanding the toll it was taking on them.

Reiya Chisaki’s Junior High Backstory (Third Year: The Turning Point)

Watching the Finals
Reiya’s days in the hospital were often blurry and repetitive, but every so often, something would pull her attention just enough to remind her of the life she had left behind. On the day of the junior high volleyball finals, one of the nurses had casually switched the TV on, filling the room with the familiar sound of squeaking sneakers and the low hum of the crowd.
At first, Reiya had turned away, unwilling to watch. Volleyball was a painful reminder of everything she had lost: the friends she pushed away, the joy she abandoned, the way her life had unraveled because of one disastrous match. She didn’t deserve to enjoy the sport anymore, not after what she had done. But there was something about hearing his name—Kageyama Tobio—that made her pause.
She found herself staring at the screen, unable to look away. Kageyama was there, just as focused and intense as she remembered. But something about him felt… off. He didn’t look like the same boy she had once practiced long hours with. His movements were sharp, precise, almost mechanical. His form was flawless as always, but there was a tension to him that hadn’t been there before—a rigidity that sent shivers down Reiya’s spine.
As the match went on, her dread only grew. Kageyama shouted commands at his teammates, barking orders with an almost desperate edge to his tone. His amazing sets—perfect and undeniably skillful—were at odds with his complete inability to connect with the team. It was clear, even to Reiya from behind the television screen, that there was no unity on the court.
When things inevitably broke down, Kageyama’s teammates turned against him. The title of "King of the Court" was spat back at him with venom, and Reiya’s heart broke as she watched him grow stiff, the hurt on his face barely hidden behind his stoic expression. Shortly after, Kageyama was benched. The camera panned to the sidelines, where he sat, silent and motionless, his fists clenched on his knees.
Reiya couldn’t watch anymore. She turned off the TV, but the images stayed with her, replaying in her mind like a broken film reel. Kageyama hadn’t always been like this—this cold, controlling, and isolating version of the boy she knew. The realization hit her like a freight train: he became this way because of me.
The guilt was suffocating. She had been so consumed by her own despair that she hadn’t even considered the weight Kageyama was carrying. She thought back to all of his visits, to the worried look in his eyes every time he sat by her bed, to the subtle tremor in his voice when he tried to sound normal. He had been breaking himself apart while trying to keep her together, and now she had ruined him too.
Her breathing quickened, the room spinning around her as she struggled to catch her breath. Her chest grew tight, and her trembling hands clutched at her blanket. Every thought in her head spiraled: This is your fault. He’s like this because of you. You can’t even save yourself, and now you’ve destroyed him too.
The nurses rushed in when they heard her gasping for air, but Reiya waved them off. She couldn’t bear to explain, couldn’t let anyone know what she was thinking. Instead, she forced herself to breathe and pleaded with the staff to leave her alone. Eventually, they did, but her panic stayed with her long after the episode passed.

Putting on the Act
That night, Reiya made a decision. If Kageyama had thrown himself into volleyball because of her—if he was suffering because he was trying to carry the weight of her pain—then she had to do something about it. Not for herself, but for him.
The next time Kageyama came to visit, Reiya greeted him with a smile. Not the weak, broken smile she had forced for weeks during his visits, but a bright, bubbly grin that mimicked the girl she used to be. Her voice was livelier, her words casual and almost cheerful as she asked him about his day and how school was going. She even joked about missing the food from the cafeteria, something so ordinary it might've been believable if not for the emptiness behind her eyes.
Kageyama stared at her, unmoving. His sharp eyes, trained to notice the slightest shifts in motion and expression on the court, caught the cracks in her act almost immediately. She wasn’t laughing because she was happy; she was laughing because she was hiding. He had seen Reiya when she was genuinely bubbly and full of life, and this wasn’t it.
“Why are you lying?” he asked abruptly, his blunt tone breaking through her attempt at casual conversation.
Reiya froze for a moment before recovering, tilting her head with exaggerated confusion. “What are you talking about? I’m not lying, Kageyama. I’m getting better!”
He didn’t buy it for a second. “No, you’re not,” he said firmly. “This isn’t you. You’re pretending.” His voice softened slightly, but his intense gaze didn’t falter. “Why?”
She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep the mask in place, but her fingers tightened around the edges of her blanket. “I’m not pretending,” she said weakly, though there was no conviction in her words.
“Stop lying,” Kageyama insisted again, taking a step closer to the chair beside her bed. His hands were clenched into fists, frustration barely held in check. The tension filled the space between them as he waited for her to say something—anything.
But Reiya didn’t answer. All of the words she wanted to say—about how it was her fault, about how he didn’t deserve to worry about her, about how she had seen the finals and finally understood the toll she had taken on him—stayed lodged painfully in her throat. If she admitted it, if she told him the truth, she was terrified it would only make things worse.
After what felt like an eternity, Reiya looked away, her fake smile fading into a hollow expression. “It’s nothing, Kageyama. Really,” she muttered softly. “I just don’t want you to worry so much. That’s all.”
Kageyama silently stared at her, his jaw tightening. He wanted to push further, to demand why she wouldn’t open up to him, why she felt like she had to hide behind this fake persona. But seeing her like this—her shoulders shaking slightly as her hands gripped the blanket tighter—stopped him. He realized that she wasn’t ready to talk, and if he forced her, it might only make her retreat further into herself.
“I’m not gonna stop worrying,” he said quietly after a long pause. Even as he turned to leave, his voice was steady with determination. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, Reiya’s carefully constructed façade crumbled. She curled into herself, her legs tucked tightly against her chest, and for a moment, she let herself cry.

A Connection Left Untouched
Though the conversation was brief, it left both Reiya and Kageyama with heavy hearts. Reiya struggled with the guilt and shame of knowing that she had caused Kageyama’s shift into someone he wasn’t. Kageyama, meanwhile, wrestled with the frustration of being unable to reach her—unable to protect her from herself.
Their bond remained strained, a connection filled with unspoken words and fragile emotions. Yet, deep down, both of them carried a sense of hope, even if they didn’t recognize it themselves. For Reiya, it was the realization that Kageyama still cared, even when she pushed him away. For Kageyama, it was the unwavering belief that Reiya would come back—the real Reiya, the one he knew was still there, buried beneath the pain.

Reiya Chisaki’s Junior High Backstory (Third Year: The Turning Point)

Watching the Finals
Reiya’s days in the hospital were often blurry and repetitive, but every so often, something would pull her attention just enough to remind her of the life she had left behind. On the day of the junior high volleyball finals, one of the nurses had casually switched the TV on, filling the room with the familiar sound of squeaking sneakers and the low hum of the crowd.
At first, Reiya had turned away, unwilling to watch. Volleyball was a painful reminder of everything she had lost: the friends she pushed away, the joy she abandoned, the way her life had unraveled because of one disastrous match. She didn’t deserve to enjoy the sport anymore, not after what she had done. But there was something about hearing his name—Kageyama Tobio—that made her pause.
She found herself staring at the screen, unable to look away. Kageyama was there, just as focused and intense as she remembered. But something about him felt… off. He didn’t look like the same boy she had once practiced long hours with. His movements were sharp, precise, almost mechanical. His form was flawless as always, but there was a tension to him that hadn’t been there before—a rigidity that sent shivers down Reiya’s spine.
As the match went on, her dread only grew. Kageyama shouted commands at his teammates, barking orders with an almost desperate edge to his tone. His amazing sets—perfect and undeniably skillful—were at odds with his complete inability to connect with the team. It was clear, even to Reiya from behind the television screen, that there was no unity on the court.
When things inevitably broke down, Kageyama’s teammates turned against him. The title of "King of the Court" was spat back at him with venom, and Reiya’s heart broke as she watched him grow stiff, the hurt on his face barely hidden behind his stoic expression. Shortly after, Kageyama was benched. The camera panned to the sidelines, where he sat, silent and motionless, his fists clenched on his knees.
Reiya couldn’t watch anymore. She turned off the TV, but the images stayed with her, replaying in her mind like a broken film reel. Kageyama hadn’t always been like this—this cold, controlling, and isolating version of the boy she knew. The realization hit her like a freight train: he became this way because of me.
The guilt was suffocating. She had been so consumed by her own despair that she hadn’t even considered the weight Kageyama was carrying. She thought back to all of his visits, to the worried look in his eyes every time he sat by her bed, to the subtle tremor in his voice when he tried to sound normal. He had been breaking himself apart while trying to keep her together, and now she had ruined him too.
Her breathing quickened, the room spinning around her as she struggled to catch her breath. Her chest grew tight, and her trembling hands clutched at her blanket. Every thought in her head spiraled: This is your fault. He’s like this because of you. You can’t even save yourself, and now you’ve destroyed him too.
The nurses rushed in when they heard her gasping for air, but Reiya waved them off. She couldn’t bear to explain, couldn’t let anyone know what she was thinking. Instead, she forced herself to breathe and pleaded with the staff to leave her alone. Eventually, they did, but her panic stayed with her long after the episode passed.

Putting on the Act
That night, Reiya made a decision. If Kageyama had thrown himself into volleyball because of her—if he was suffering because he was trying to carry the weight of her pain—then she had to do something about it. Not for herself, but for him.
The next time Kageyama came to visit, Reiya greeted him with a smile. Not the weak, broken smile she had forced for weeks during his visits, but a bright, bubbly grin that mimicked the girl she used to be. Her voice was livelier, her words casual and almost cheerful as she asked him about his day and how school was going. She even joked about missing the food from the cafeteria, something so ordinary it might've been believable if not for the emptiness behind her eyes.
Kageyama stared at her, unmoving. His sharp eyes, trained to notice the slightest shifts in motion and expression on the court, caught the cracks in her act almost immediately. She wasn’t laughing because she was happy; she was laughing because she was hiding. He had seen Reiya when she was genuinely bubbly and full of life, and this wasn’t it.
“Why are you lying?” he asked abruptly, his blunt tone breaking through her attempt at casual conversation.
Reiya froze for a moment before recovering, tilting her head with exaggerated confusion. “What are you talking about? I’m not lying, Kageyama. I’m getting better!”
He didn’t buy it for a second. “No, you’re not,” he said firmly. “This isn’t you. You’re pretending.” His voice softened slightly, but his intense gaze didn’t falter. “Why?”
She bit her bottom lip, trying to keep the mask in place, but her fingers tightened around the edges of her blanket. “I’m not pretending,” she said weakly, though there was no conviction in her words.
“Stop lying,” Kageyama insisted again, taking a step closer to the chair beside her bed. His hands were clenched into fists, frustration barely held in check. The tension filled the space between them as he waited for her to say something—anything.
But Reiya didn’t answer. All of the words she wanted to say—about how it was her fault, about how he didn’t deserve to worry about her, about how she had seen the finals and finally understood the toll she had taken on him—stayed lodged painfully in her throat. If she admitted it, if she told him the truth, she was terrified it would only make things worse.
After what felt like an eternity, Reiya looked away, her fake smile fading into a hollow expression. “It’s nothing, Kageyama. Really,” she muttered softly. “I just don’t want you to worry so much. That’s all.”
Kageyama silently stared at her, his jaw tightening. He wanted to push further, to demand why she wouldn’t open up to him, why she felt like she had to hide behind this fake persona. But seeing her like this—her shoulders shaking slightly as her hands gripped the blanket tighter—stopped him. He realized that she wasn’t ready to talk, and if he forced her, it might only make her retreat further into herself.
“I’m not gonna stop worrying,” he said quietly after a long pause. Even as he turned to leave, his voice was steady with determination. “You don’t have to pretend for me.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, Reiya’s carefully constructed façade crumbled. She curled into herself, her legs tucked tightly against her chest, and for a moment, she let herself cry.

A Connection Left Untouched
Though the conversation was brief, it left both Reiya and Kageyama with heavy hearts. Reiya struggled with the guilt and shame of knowing that she had caused Kageyama’s shift into someone he wasn’t. Kageyama, meanwhile, wrestled with the frustration of being unable to reach her—unable to protect her from herself.
Their bond remained strained, a connection filled with unspoken words and fragile emotions. Yet, deep down, both of them carried a sense of hope, even if they didn’t recognize it themselves. For Reiya, it was the realization that Kageyama still cared, even when she pushed him away. For Kageyama, it was the unwavering belief that Reiya would come back—the real Reiya, the one he knew was still there, buried beneath the pain.
Their paths were still tangled, still uncertain. But for now, all they could do was take one small step at a time.

This chapter highlights the emotional toll of watching each other struggle in ways they can’t fully express. Reiya’s sense of guilt and Kageyama’s frustration at being shut out set the stage for potential healing and personal growth in the future. Let me know how you’d like to continue their story!
reiya was finally discharged after a while, and she was wheelchaired, being extremely weak after being hospitalised and the damage her self harm and mental health had done to her body. she returned to the mansion but had strict orders from the nurses for her parents to not have contact with her, and was placed in a room with one of her favorite maids, shiori. kageyama had been asking her when she wanted to get back into volleyball and that he would help her, but she had lost all hope and had brushed it off, saying it was impossible.
Reiya Chisaki’s Junior High Backstory (Third Year: The Return Home)

Discharged, but a Shadow of Herself
After nearly a year of hospitalization, Reiya was finally discharged from care, though the fragile girl who left the hospital was far from the vibrant individual who had once lit up volleyball courts and dominated conversations with her infectious energy. The damage her self-harm and disconnection from the world had done to her body was severe. Physically weak and emotionally fragile, Reiya had to be supported in a wheelchair, her steps too unsteady to take on her own.
The hospital had been isolating, but there had been at least some sense of structure and protection—frequent check-ups, quiet therapy sessions, and the distance from her toxic parental environment. Returning home, to the cold, sprawling mansion she had been raised in, felt like stepping into a familiar yet suffocating cage. It was a reminder of all the pressures that had broken her to begin with, and the thought of reliving it paralyzed her.
However, the nurses who accompanied her back to the estate were firm: Reiya could not return to her previous routine under her parents’ control. Her care plan demanded strict boundaries, including limited or no contact with them. While her parents were indifferent—viewing her hospitalization and subsequent condition more as a family inconvenience than a crisis—they complied, though not without visible annoyance.
Reiya was placed in the care of Shiori, a kind and compassionate maid who had long been one of her favorites. Shiori had always treated Reiya like a person, not a symbol of her wealthy family’s status. In many ways, she felt more like family than Reiya’s parents ever had. Shiori helped Reiya settle into a smaller, quieter part of the house, ensuring it was a safe and peaceful space. She always stayed nearby, taking care of Reiya’s needs, supporting her through bad days, and keeping a close eye on her for any signs of danger.
For Reiya, the walls of familiarity were both a comfort and a painful reminder of what she had been before she entered the hospital—and of how far she had still to go.

Drifting Further from Volleyball
Kageyama, ever loyal in his concern for Reiya, continued his frequent visits, often stopping by after school or volleyball practice. Though his third-year struggles had taken their toll on him—earning him the title of "King of the Court" and leaving him at odds with teammates—Reiya’s well-being remained his primary focus. Every time he came to see her, he asked, “When do you want to come back to volleyball?”
He asked it quietly but insistently, as though the answer would mean something not just to Reiya but to him as well. For Kageyama, volleyball had always been more than a game—it was where he had bonded with Reiya in the first place. It represented a connection between them, a place where her talents and energy shone brightly.
But now, Reiya couldn’t see the same light in the game that she once had. Volleyball had been her sanctuary, but it was now tinged with bitter memories of her failures, her breakdown, and everything that had followed. Just hearing Kageyama talk about it was enough to make her stomach coil with dread.
“C’mon, Reiya,” Kageyama said one day, his voice almost pleading as he sat beside her. “You’ll get back. I’ll help you. We’ll take it slow. You don’t have to—”
“It’s impossible,” Reiya interrupted, her tone flat and matter-of-fact. She didn’t look up from her trembling hands, clasped tightly in her lap. “Look at me, Tobio. I can’t even walk right now, let alone play volleyball. I’d just embarrass myself.”
“You won’t,” Kageyama responded immediately, almost stumbling over his words. His hands fidgeted slightly, his frustration simmering under the surface. “It’s— it’s not like that. You’re good at it. You’ve always been good at it. You can—”
“I can’t,” she cut him off again, sharper this time as her calm façade wavered. She didn’t mean to snap at him, but the weight of his words—his insistence—felt overwhelming. She couldn’t handle the thought of trying. Not when she already felt like a failure. “Just... stop asking, okay? I’m not going back. Ever.”
The finality in her voice left Kageyama speechless for a moment. His hands clenched tightly into fists, his lips pressing into a thin line. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the defeated look in her eyes stopped him. He stayed silent, unable to meet her gaze, though the tension between them lingered heavily in the air.
For the next few visits, Kageyama didn’t bring up volleyball again, though it was clear the topic hung unspoken between them.

Reiya’s Struggle to Reconnect
Even with Shiori’s care and the presence of someone like Kageyama, Reiya found returning home to be overwhelming. Her room became her sanctuary, but also her prison. She spent much of her time sitting by the window, staring outside without really focusing on anything. Days passed in a haze, her routine revolving around eating small, meager meals, sleeping in fits, and trying to navigate the world in her fragile, wheelchair-bound state.
Though Shiori encouraged her to join her outside, even for just a little fresh air in the garden, Reiya rarely accepted. She told herself it was because she was too tired, too weak, or too embarrassed to be seen, even by the people who worked at the estate. But deep down, it was more than that. She felt as though she didn’t deserve to face the world—not after everything she had been through, not after the burden she had placed on others.
Volleyball, in particular, felt like a distant dream, something that belonged to another life. She couldn’t bring herself to even look at the photo albums of her old matches. The thought of stepping onto a court again, of picking up a ball, was too daunting. Every time Kageyama mentioned it, she wanted to tell him that even if she could stand and play again, she didn’t think she should. Volleyball had taken so much from her, or so she believed.
But there was a small, flickering part of her that wanted to believe Kageyama—that she might be able to find that spark again. Yet that small part was quickly drowned out by her fear.

Kageyama’s Quiet Determination
Though Reiya shut him down multiple times, Kageyama wasn’t someone who gave up easily. He could see through her walls, through her attempts to push him away. He knew Reiya was scared, and he knew she felt defeated. But more importantly, he knew that the person she once was—the girl who loved setting impossible tosses and lighting up the room with her energy—was still there, buried beneath everything she had gone through.
For now, though, he didn’t push. Kageyama had learned to be patient in his own way. If there was one thing he could do, it was wait for the moment she was ready.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he had told her quietly during one of his earlier visits. And in his own quiet, stubborn way, he meant it.

Reiya Chisaki's Junior High Backstory (Third Year: Finding Strength Again)

Taking Her First Steps
After months of being confined to a wheelchair, Reiya was finally strong enough to start physical therapy. Her body, already weakened from hospitalization and malnourishment, was unsteady, and each attempt to stand felt like an uphill battle. She hated the helplessness that came with being unable to rely on herself, but Kageyama’s presence became a constant source of both comfort and stubborn irritation.
He was there for every session, guiding and encouraging her, refusing to let her give up even when she wanted to quit. Kageyama wasn’t someone who used warm, comforting words—instead, he spoke with a bluntness that somehow hit the right note every time.
“You’re not going to get anywhere giving up every time it gets tough,” he said during one of her early attempts. He stood by her side, holding out his hand, patient yet firm, waiting for her to grab it.
“Shut up, Tobio,” she muttered through gritted teeth, clutching his hand tightly as she attempted to stabilize herself. She stumbled, nearly falling, but his grip remained steady, and he caught her before she hit the ground.
“You didn’t fall,” was all he said, guiding her back to her feet. “Do it again.”
As much as Reiya hated how difficult it was to regain mobility, she hated letting Kageyama down even more. And so, she tried again and again until, finally, the weight on her legs didn’t feel impossible anymore. Eventually, with his help, she was able to take a few steps.
And then a few more.
By the end of the month, Reiya had taken her first steps independently. Despite her lingering doubts, Kageyama’s pride in her was clear. “Told you,” he said with a faint smirk when she finally walked across the room on her own.

Returning to Volleyball
After Reiya regained some of her strength, Kageyama began pestering her again about volleyball. It was something she had long avoided thinking about—it felt like another life, another version of herself that had disappeared forever. The idea of facing the sport again left her stomach in knots, but Kageyama had never been one to take no for an answer, and he wasn’t about to start now.
"Just try. You don’t have to do anything crazy. Just play with me for a little," he said one day, setting a volleyball in her lap. She stared at it, the familiar texture bringing a flood of memories she wasn’t sure she wanted to face.
“This is stupid,” she muttered but didn’t push the ball away.
“It’s not stupid,” Kageyama replied simply, backing up a few paces and tossing the ball toward her. “Just play.”
Reluctantly, she got to her feet and took the ball into her trembling hands. Her first attempt to toss it was a mess, little more than a weak, wobbly swing that felt foreign and wrong. She tried setting it, but the release was awkward, and the ball barely made it to Kageyama.
“This is pointless, Tobio,” she snapped after a particularly bad attempt. She dropped the ball, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m not who I was, okay?”
Kageyama caught the ball before it hit the ground. “You’re not going to get it back in a day,” he said firmly, throwing it back to her. “You’ve been out for months. It’s going to take time.”
“I don’t have time,” she argued, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I don’t even want to play anymore.”
Kageyama’s sharp gaze softened slightly. “You used to love it,” he said, his voice quieter. “You don’t forget something like that. Just try again later. You’re not done yet.”
Reiya didn’t respond, but she didn’t walk away either. And at Kageyama’s insistence, she picked up the volleyball the next day.

The Perfect Set
The breakthrough came unexpectedly, during one of their casual practice sessions. They had been tossing the ball back and forth for days, with Reiya’s frustration growing louder each time she miscalculated or fumbled. She thought about quitting for good so many times, but something about the quiet persistence in Kageyama’s voice kept her going—like he believed she could reclaim what she thought she had lost, even if she didn’t believe it herself.
And then, it happened.
Without thinking, her hands instinctively shifted into the familiar motion of a setter. Her arms moved fluidly, her wrists snapping just right, and the ball sailed in a perfect arc toward Kageyama. He didn’t hesitate, leaping into the air and spiking the ball with his signature force, the impact echoing across the backyard like a lightning strike.
For a moment, both of them stood frozen. Reiya’s hands were still raised, trembling slightly, as her mind flooded with memories—her old matches, her teammates laughing and cheering, the adrenaline surging through her veins as she crafted perfect plays. For the first time in what felt like forever, she remembered why she had loved volleyball so much.
The smile that broke across her face was hesitant at first but soon turned into something genuine, something Kageyama hadn’t seen in far too long. “That felt…”
“Good?” Kageyama finished for her. She nodded, her lips quirking up further as the memory of her love for the sport reignited.

The Road to Recovery
From that moment on, things began to change. Reiya agreed to throw herself back into volleyball, though it wasn’t easy. Her body still struggled to keep up with the rigorous demands of the game. Her stamina was shot, and her movements were slow and clumsy at first, but Kageyama stayed by her side every step of the way. He altered his own training runs to match her slower pace, never once complaining as she tried to build herself back up.
She started joining him during gym sessions too, where he guided her through exercises that would help her regain the strength and endurance she had lost. With his help—and the occasional teasing push from him—she began to see real progress. The support was unrelenting but never forceful, and the trust they had built over time allowed her to lean into the process without feeling overwhelmed.
By the time summer break arrived, Reiya had made a remarkable recovery. Though far from perfect, her sets were sharp again, and her love for the game had returned. The nurses gave their cautious approval for her to fully continue volleyball but with the restriction that she couldn’t play in official matches for at least a year—too much pressure could send her into a downward spiral again, they warned. Reiya begrudgingly accepted the restriction but silently vowed to grow stronger in the meantime.
Her stamina still flagged behind what it once was, and her diagnoses—bipolar disorder, ADHD, and anxiety—remained persistent, requiring careful management. But she was learning to live with them. For the first time in a long time, she had hope for herself, a hope she hadn’t believed possible.

Her Smile Returns
As the summer passed, Reiya slowly began to feel like herself again. Her personality returned in bits and pieces—quiet laughs, sarcastic jabs at Kageyama, and the occasional burst of energy when they played volleyball together. She wasn’t entirely the same girl she had been before, but in many ways, that was okay. She was growing into something new, something stronger.
Kageyama loved seeing her smile again. It wasn’t just because she was getting better physically—it was the way her confidence seemed to radiate brighter with each step she took toward recovery. Every time she landed a perfect set during practice, every time she joined him on a run without hesitation, it was like watching her rebuild herself piece by piece.
“You’re getting annoying again,” he teased after another backyard session, watching her grin creep up as she landed another perfect toss.
“Good,” she shot back, her tone filled with the warmth of the old Reiya he remembered so well.
For Kageyama, there was nothing better than seeing that. Seeing her genuinely happy—seeing her strong—made every struggle along the way worth it.
Reiya Chisaki's High School Backstory (First Year: Becoming a Part of Karasuno)

Joining Karasuno High
Reiya Chisaki had always called Karasuno a fresh start when she thought about it—a new school, new opportunities, and maybe even a chance to find herself again. She stepped onto campus alongside Kageyama, her closest friend and support pillar throughout her long recovery. Without saying much, Kageyama had made sure she knew she wasn’t alone—through her worst moments, he had stayed, and just his consistent presence gave her strength.
Although her love for volleyball had rekindled during her recovery, Reiya chose not to join the girls' volleyball team immediately. Not yet. After everything that had happened, she didn’t feel ready to jump straight into competition, to stand in the spotlight and return to the pressure of official matches. She had decided to wait until after Interhigh to build herself back up at her own pace, to train slowly so when she finally returned, she could truly feel like herself again.
For now, she blended into the quiet hum of school life, focusing on her classes, spending time during lunch breaks with Kageyama, and quietly watching from the sidelines. Her past—her mental health struggles, wealthy background, and setbacks—was something she didn’t think she had to share. She wanted people to get to know her as Reiya, not the fragile girl from a mansion or the volleyball star haunted by failure.

The Idea to Join the Team—As a Manager
Weeks passed, and during one of their usual lunch breaks together in the courtyard, Kageyama hesitated before speaking, an unusual event for someone who always spoke so bluntly. Reiya noticed his fidgeting but didn’t comment.
“You’re still not going to play yet?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“No,” Reiya replied matter-of-factly. “Not until after Interhigh...” She trailed off before raising a brow. “Why do you ask, Tobio?”
Kageyama fidgeted again before finally blurting it out. “You should… become a manager.”
Reiya blinked, surprised. “A… manager? But you have one already, don’t you? Shimizu-san?”
“Shimizu-san is our only manager,” Kageyama clarified, clearly trying to sound casual, but the stiffness in his voice betrayed his awkwardness. “The team’s had up to three before, and it would help... You’d get to stay around volleyball without having to play yet.”
The suggestion caught her off guard, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Being a manager would allow her to be part of the team environment without the pressure—and without having to explain to a girls' team why she wasn’t competitive-ready just yet. Plus, she trusted Kageyama to have thought this through (as much as he could think things like this through).
“All right,” she said finally, her lips tugging up into a small but challenging smile. “But if your team is as chaotic as you described, you’d better not leave me to babysit them.”
“They’re not that bad,” Kageyama muttered, brushing off the comment—though the faint flush on his cheeks said otherwise.

Meeting the Team
Kageyama brought Reiya to the gym after school later that week to introduce her as Karasuno’s second manager. As they stepped inside, practice was already in full swing, the sound of sneakers squeaking on the court mixing with volleyballs being spiked and laughter echoing across the gym.
The introduction didn’t go as quietly as Kageyama probably hoped. The second the gym doors opened, the unassuming chaos erupted.
“WOAH—WAIT—WHO IS SHE?!” Tanaka practically sprinted across the gym, bouncing on his heels as his attention locked fully on Reiya. “KAGEYAMA! YOU KNOW HER?!”
“She’s—” Kageyama began, but didn’t get to finish.
Nishinoya shot forward like lightning, skidding to a stop inches away from her with his hands pressed together reverently. “An ANGEL! Kageyama, you brought us an ANGEL!”
Reiya blinked, caught completely off guard by the immediate intensity. To her left, Kageyama groaned audibly, pulling a hand over his face in what was clearly sheer embarrassment. “Ignore them,” he muttered to her, his voice low and defeated.
But Reiya only smiled, her amusement growing as she glanced at Kageyama. This must be what he deals with every day.
“Hi, I’m Chisaki Reiya,” she introduced herself directly to the group, her voice light but confident. “Kageyama asked me to help out as one of your managers. Let’s work hard together!”
“Manager?! REALLY?!” Tanaka and Nishinoya practically shouted in unison.
“Amazing,” Nishinoya said, beaming at her. “Our team just got ten times better!”
“Stop embarrassing yourselves!” Daichi groaned, stepping forward with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about those two—I’m Daichi, the captain. It’s nice to have you with us!”
Kiyoko approached next, her serene expression as welcoming as ever. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Shimizu Kiyoko, the team’s current manager,” she said, her voice calm and warm. “I’ll help you adjust to the role, so let me know if you have any questions.”
“Thank you,” Reiya replied, feeling genuinely reassured by Kiyoko’s quiet confidence.
If she thought the introductions were over, she was sorely mistaken, as Hinata bounded up next with wide eyes and an incredulous grin. "Wait—you’re friends with Kageyama? How did Kageyama manage to bring someone this cool here?”
“Hinata,” Kageyama snapped, his face turning red. “Shut up.”
“But it’s true!” Hinata grinned before quickly turning back to Reiya. “I’m Shoyo Hinata! You’ve gotta tell me, what’s it like hanging out with someone as weird as him?”
Reiya burst out laughing at the sheer enthusiasm and energy of Hinata’s questions. “It’s definitely an experience,” she answered slyly, making Kageyama groan again while clutching the bridge of his nose.

Showing Her Skills
It didn’t take long for Reiya to settle into her role as a manager, working closely alongside Kiyoko to help Karasuno’s practices and team dynamic run smoothly. But while she was focused on assisting the team in her official capacity, it was only a matter of time before her volleyball skills came to light.
One afternoon during practice, Hinata tossed her a volleyball on a whim. “Reiya, c’mon! Play with us just a little!” he begged, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Oh, I don’t know…” she started hesitantly, glancing at Kageyama, who raised a brow at her.
“Let’s see what you’ve got!” Nishinoya cheered, clapping his hands together.
Reluctantly, Reiya stepped onto the court, brushing the dust off her hands as she lined up for a serve. With a quick motion, she sent the ball sailing across the court, spinning sharply in midair with a wicked curve.
“WOAH!” Hinata shouted, his eyes nearly bugging out as he watched the ball spin. Nishinoya made a diving attempt to catch it but missed by a mile.
“That spin’s incredible!” Daichi said, impressed.
“And she’s just wearing these?” Tanaka muttered, picking up one of the black bracelets Reiya had taken off before serving. He furrowed his brow. “Are these weighted?!”
“Yeah, only one kilogram,” Reiya said nonchalantly, adjusting her sleeves.
“One kilo—wait, you train with these on?” Nishinoya shouted, absolutely dumbfounded.
“Well, it’s good for practice,” she replied casually, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her pride.
From the sidelines, Kageyama smirked faintly, watching the reactions around her. “She’s strong,” he said simply, as if it explained everything.

Fitting In
The team quickly grew to adore Reiya—not just as a manager but as someone who truly understood volleyball and fit seamlessly into their group. She was calm and level-headed but approachable, making it easy to connect with everyone. Her natural charisma and easygoing nature even managed to soften Nishinoya and Tanaka’s over-the-top antics, while her quick humor made her fast friends with Hinata.
Kageyama, despite his efforts to stay quiet, felt a sense of pride seeing her fit in so well. Seeing Reiya surrounded by laughter and chaos but smiling through it—like the girl he had first gotten to know—meant the world to him.
For Reiya, stepping into Karasuno’s gym felt like reviving something she hadn’t thought she would get back. Though she didn’t share her struggles with her mental health or her wealthy background with anyone, they didn’t seem to matter here. Her identity wasn’t defined by her past—it was about the person she was with them, in this moment.
Quietly, Reiya started thinking that maybe, just maybe, she was ready to start truly healing.

Reiya Chisaki’s High School Backstory (Post-Interhigh: Seeking Closure)

After Karasuno’s Heartbreaking Loss
The cheers of Aoba Johsai’s supporters rang triumphantly through Sendai Gym, but to Reiya, they sounded distant—muted against the dull ache that throbbed in her chest. Karasuno had lost, and the atmosphere around the team was heavy. Hinata stared blankly at his hands, and Kageyama sat in stunned silence, his expression a mixture of frustration, defeat, and something deeper that Reiya couldn’t quite discern.
She hadn’t spoken since the final whistle blew. She stood off to the side in the shadows, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, her focus anywhere but on the team packing up their things or on the celebrations of Aoba Johsai’s players.
And she hadn’t looked at him.
Oikawa Tooru.
Throughout the match, her gaze had barely even lingered on his figure. Every time the announcer called his name, every time he delivered his flawless serves or shouted commands to his team, her stomach twisted in knots. And when Karasuno’s momentum crumbled under his overwhelming presence, she wasn’t even surprised—Tooru, more than anyone, knew how to destroy a team piece by piece. He was composed, confident, everything she expected.
But Reiya couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Not even for a second.
Back in junior high, Tooru had been her anchor—the boy who, despite everything, stayed close when most others kept their distance. But she had taken advantage of that kindness. She had drowned him in her storm of grief, leaned on him too heavily when she should’ve stood on her own. And when things had reached their breaking point, when she had been at her most desperate and selfish, she had pushed him too far.
After her breakdown on the court, everything had spiraled out of control—on the court, at school, and between them. Rumors about her had spread viciously, isolating her further, and though Tooru had tried to stay, she had become too much, and he had no choice but to distance himself. But even as he pulled away, Reiya had clung to him. Even when she knew it was wrong, she had reached out with trembling hands and begged him to give her a fleeting moment of comfort.
The gym felt suffocating. The ache in her chest was no longer just for Karasuno’s loss but for the wreckage she had left behind years ago. The guilt she had carried for so long was unbearable, and she knew—she knew—she couldn’t leave tonight without doing something.
Without another word, she slipped out of Karasuno’s group, disappearing into the maze of hallways beyond the main gym. Her legs moved on their own, shaky but resolute, her hands trembling at her sides. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but her guilt wouldn’t let her back out now.

Finding Tooru
Reiya found him in one of the quieter preparation rooms. Tooru stood alone near the window, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, his volleyball bag slung lazily over one shoulder. His posture was relaxed, but the tension in his frame was unmistakable. He looked tired, his curls sticking slightly to his forehead, though the energy of victory still glimmered faintly in his sharp brown eyes.
Hearing the soft creak of the door, Oikawa turned, his gaze landing on her. For a brief moment, his cool, composed smile faltered, replaced by something unreadable—surprise, perhaps. But he quickly recovered, straightening up and letting his signature, effortless smirk tug at his lips.
“Reiya-chan,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and laced with its usual teasing lilt. “What a surprise. What brings you here? Come to congratulate me on my win? Or is this about cheering up Kageyama-kun?”
His words weren’t sharp, but there was an edge of tension beneath them, and it made Reiya flinch. She clutched the hem of her jacket tightly, her nails digging into the fabric as she stared at the ground. “I…” Her voice cracked slightly as she stepped into the room, heart pounding violently against her ribcage.
“I needed to talk to you.”
Oikawa blinked, his teasing façade slipping just a little. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with an expression of quiet curiosity. “Oh?”
Her throat burned. Everything she had been holding back for years bubbled up inside her, threatening to drown her. “I…” She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to speak. “I wanted to apologize.”
Tooru frowned, his brow furrowing slightly as he fully turned to face her. “Apologize? For what?”
“For everything,” she said, her voice trembling as the weight of her sorrow poured into every word. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to steady herself, but the memories came rushing in like a tidal wave.

The Flashback: When She Broke Too Far
The memory hit her like a knife to the chest. The night she had gone to him, trembling and desperate, still raw from the humiliation and loneliness she had carried from the rumors at school. Tooru had always been her comfort, even as he began to drift away, unable to bear the weight of her struggles alongside his own. But Reiya hadn’t cared—she hadn’t let him leave.
She remembered standing outside his house late one evening, her hands clenched tightly into fists as she begged him to let her in.
“Reiya-chan,” he had said, his voice softer than usual, tinged with hesitance. “You’ve been crying again. Are you okay?”
She wasn’t okay. She had never been okay. Her words had tumbled out fast, desperate. “Stay with me,” she’d whispered, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Please, Tooru. Just… just stay with me tonight. I need this. I just want to forget everything. Please.”
Tooru had hesitated. She remembered the way his face tensed, the way his hands hung limply at his sides as he stared at her tear-streaked face. He hadn’t known what to do—he was a boy, no older than fourteen, and the weight of the moment was far too much for him to process. But he hadn’t had the heart to deny her.
That night, she had curled into him with trembling hands, tears silently falling from her eyes through the entire thing. She had known, deep down, that she was destroying what little they had left between them. And yet, she hadn’t stopped. She hadn’t let him go.

The Apology
Reiya’s knees shook violently as the memory faded. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, and she finally met Tooru’s cautious, concerned gaze. “I was selfish,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “So selfish, Tooru. I dragged you into my mess, and I didn’t care what it did to you. I used you—I used you to make myself feel better because I didn’t know how to deal with myself.”
“Reiya, I—”
“No!” she interrupted, her tears spilling over in earnest as her voice rose. “I knew what I was doing, Tooru. That night… I should have stopped. I should’ve let you walk away, but I didn’t. I was too scared, too desperate, and I kept pulling you back in even though I knew it was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”
Before she knew it, her legs buckled, and she dropped to her knees in a deep dogeza bow. Her shoulders trembled violently as her forehead touched the floor, her voice breaking as sobs overtook her. “I’m so sorry, Tooru. For everything. For being so selfish. You didn’t deserve to deal with my pain, and I… I’m so sorry.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for her quiet sobs. And then, his footsteps cautiously approached. Tooru knelt beside her, resting a hand gently on her shoulder to pull her up. “Reiya-chan,” he said softly, his usual cocky tone replaced entirely by something gentle, steady. “Stop. There’s no need for this.”
Her tear-streaked face turned up toward him, her lips trembling. “But I—”
“Reiya-chan, listen.” He sighed, running a hand lightly through his hair as he composed himself. “I’ll admit, it wasn’t easy. But I stayed that night because I cared about you.”
Reiya choked out another sob. “You didn’t—”
“No,” he cut her off firmly but not harshly. “Maybe we weren’t perfect, and yeah, we both made mistakes. But back then, I didn’t hate you for it—not then, not now.” He paused, his expression softening further. “But I need to say I’m sorry too.”
Her eyes widened as she stammered, “What? Why?”
“I pulled away from you,” Oikawa admitted, his tone quieter now. “Even when I could see how much you were hurting, I distanced myself. Maybe it was self-preservation, maybe it was cowardice, but I should’ve been clearer with you. And for that, I’m sorry.”
Reiya trembled, her tears spilling once again. “Tooru…”
“We both messed up,” he said, his hand reaching out to ruffle her hair in a familiar way. “But it’s in the past now, yeah? We don’t have to keep holding on to it forever.”

Moving Forward
As Reiya left the room, her heart heavy but a little freer, she finally felt the weight of her guilt begin to ease. Oikawa’s forgiveness couldn’t erase everything, but it gave her something she hadn’t dared to hope for: closure.
For the first time in years, she could take a step forward.





Reiya Chisaki’s High School Backstory (Preparing for Spring Tournament: The Camera)

A Revelation of Wealth
The weeks leading up to the Spring Tournament were buzzing with excitement and nerves for Karasuno. Reiya, ever the supportive manager, had been helping the team prepare—organizing schedules, hauling water bottles, and even deciphering Tsukishima’s cryptic comments before Daichi could get too annoyed. Her personality, once dulled by years of struggle, was finally shining again, vibrant and full of light. She had truly found a place within Karasuno.
But there was one thing she had kept from the team, something she wasn’t sure how to explain. While she had shed much of the guilt about her past, she wasn’t ready to face the judgment her wealth might bring. She didn’t want to be seen as “the rich girl” but rather Reiya, their manager, their friend.
Then one day, as enthusiasm for the upcoming tournament reached its peak, Hinata was going on about team bonding, excitedly suggesting hikes, overnight training trips, or maybe even a junk food marathon. It was in the middle of Hinata’s stream of ideas that Reiya hesitated before awkwardly clearing her throat.
“Well… if you all are interested,” she said slowly, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks, “you could just come to my place.”
Predictably, the gym fell silent. All eyes turned to her.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Tanaka thundered, standing up straight and pointing an accusatory finger. “You’ve been hiding this from us?! Where do you live?”
“It’s… nothing fancy…” Reiya trailed off, awkwardly scratching her neck. Kageyama frowned beside her.
“That’s a lie,” Kageyama deadpanned. “She has a literal mansion.”
“WHAT?!” Hinata exploded, nearly falling over. “A MANSION?!”
“What kind of mansion?” Nishinoya began bouncing in place, wide-eyed. “Like the ones from TV? With, like, fancy gates and gardens?!”
“Well…” Reiya looked helplessly at Kageyama for support, who shook his head, clearly resigned to the chaos. “It’s not that ridiculous… I mean, it’s—well, okay, maybe there’s an indoor court.”
“AN INDOOR COURT?!” Hinata and Nishinoya shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the gym.
“We’re going,” Daichi declared, trying to rein in the overwhelming excitement but failing to suppress a grin. “If you’re offering, we’re going.”

Touring the Mansion
The day of the visit to Reiya’s mansion was one of those rare, perfect fall afternoons, the sky a soft blue with golden light filtering through the trees. Karasuno’s boys huddled outside the towering gates, jaws collectively dropping as they caught sight of the sprawling estate beyond.
Reiya and Kageyama greeted them at the entrance after their driver opened the gates. “Don’t freak out,” Reiya called, but it was too late.
Hinata froze mid-step. “This… this is a HOUSE?!” he shouted. “This is, like, three houses!”
Nishinoya crouched low, gripping the ground as if steadying himself. “Reiya, are you secretly a princess?!”
“Well, uh…” Reiya blushed furiously. “It’s not as big as it looks once you’re inside.”
It was not only as big “inside” but far bigger than they could have imagined. Wide corridors lined with elegant tapestries, gleaming chandeliers, a swimming pool visible through double glass doors, and, of course, the promised indoor volleyball court. The team practically swarmed through the estate, in awe of every little detail. Even Tsukishima, who wasn’t one to openly show much emotion, raised an eyebrow at the sheer extravagance.
Eventually, after lots of noise and wild antics, Reiya guided them to her private room on the second floor—a massive, beautifully decorated space filled with soft lighting, an impressive book collection, and, most importantly to Hinata, snacks.
“Help yourselves!” Reiya said, grinning at their eager faces.

The Camera: An Unintentional Discovery
As the team happily chatted and dug into the snacks, Reiya and Kageyama excused themselves to grab drinks from the kitchen. The air in the room was lighthearted as Hinata and Nishinoya goofed off, Tanaka and Daichi encouraged them, and Yamaguchi laughed along. But their explorations of Reiya’s room soon drew them toward a small desk tucked into the corner, its surface holding a mix of photo frames, notebooks, and a camera.
Hinata’s sharp eyes caught sight of the device almost immediately. “Oooh, check it out—a camera!” he said eagerly, reaching toward it.
“Don’t touch her stuff,” Daichi warned, always the responsible one, though his tone wasn’t harsh. “She invited us here, so don’t mess things up.”
But Hinata being Hinata, his curiosity got the better of him. “I just wanna look!” He picked it up carefully, turning it over in his hands. “It’s already on…”
The camera blipped to life with a faint whir, and suddenly, the group’s playful chatter died as the small LCD screen displayed a saved video. The timestamp was from nearly a year ago. Reiya’s face appeared—not the bright and lively girl they now knew, but a shadow of herself, pale and hollow-eyed. She was sitting on a bathroom floor, clutching a razor blade, her sobs echoing against the tiled walls.
“Oh my god…” Yamaguchi whispered, his hand flying to cover his mouth as his chest tightened. The sight of her shaking, those trembling hands gripping the blade, was almost too much to bear.
“Sh—shut it off,” Tanaka said, his voice faltering as he reached for the camera, but no one moved to comply. They were frozen, wide-eyed and horrified, unable to tear their gazes from the screen.
On the video, Reiya’s broken voice cracked through the silence. “Am I just… not enough? Why can’t I—why can’t I just… be good enough, even once?”
Her tears fell freely as she pressed the blade against her skin and dragged it slowly across her abdomen. The group flinched, Nishinoya letting out a quiet, shaky gasp. The sight of crimson streaking down her torso was too much for Hinata and Yamaguchi, whose tears began to stream. Hinata actually turned away, covering his face, but not before memorizing what he had seen—the despair, the pain, the way she had folded in on herself completely.
The video continued as Reiya collapsed onto the floor, her breathing shallow and strained. Then, in the footage's final moments, Kageyama suddenly burst into the room, panic written all over his face as he rushed toward her. His terrified voice shook as he shouted her name, and then the screen went black.
A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by Hinata and Yamaguchi’s muffled sobs.
“What… was that?” Nishinoya finally croaked, his hands trembling as he clutched the edge of a pillow tightly.
“We shouldn’t have seen that,” Daichi murmured, his voice thick with guilt, but he was unable to shake the image. “God… Reiya…”

Reiya Returns
Moments later, the door opened, and Reiya’s cheerful voice called out, “We’re back! Sorry it took a bit!” Kageyama followed her, carrying several bottles of tea in his arms.
The group scrambled, trying to look normal, forcing nervous laughter and pasting strained smiles on their faces. Hinata rubbed furiously at his eyes, but it was obvious he had been crying. Yamaguchi was doing the same, while Tanaka and Nishinoya averted their gazes, guilt written clearly on their faces.
Reiya, sharp as ever, immediately noticed the uneasy atmosphere. Her smile wavered as she glanced around. “Everything okay?”
“Y-yeah!” Hinata squeaked, his voice unconvincing as his eyes darted to the side. “Totally fine! Nothing happened!”
Kageyama frowned, setting the bottles down. “What… are you all acting so weird for?”
Reiya’s eyes drifted toward the desk—and the camera. It wasn’t in the spot she had left it. Her breath hitched as realization dawned. She froze, her blood running cold.
“No…” she whispered, walking stiffly toward the desk. She picked up the camera, her hands trembling as she checked the screen. Her heart dropped when she realized that video had been played.
Reiya turned back to face the team, her face pale and horrified. “You watched it?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
Nobody answered. Their silence was deafening.
The weight of the moment was crushing. Tears pricked at Reiya’s eyes as shame burned deep in her chest. She clutched the camera tightly, her shoulders beginning to shake. “You weren’t supposed to… That wasn’t…”
“Reiya—” Daichi started, stepping forward cautiously, but she held up a hand.
“Just… stop,” she said, her voice cracking as tears began to fall. “I can’t… I need to be alone.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned and rushed out of the room, leaving the team behind, their hearts heavy with guilt and sorrow. Kageyama, his expression unreadable but his jaw clenched tightly, followed after her without a word.

This moment had shattered something fragile between them, yet it exposed truths that none of them could ignore. It left them all grappling with the complexity of their bond—and what healing would look like from here.


A Fragile Recovery
Reiya fled the room with the camera clutched tightly to her chest, her footsteps echoing through the long, empty halls of the mansion. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, her lungs constricting as if the walls were closing in around her. Shame burned her skin as tears blurred her vision. How could they have seen that? How could they know? That video wasn't meant for anyone to see—it was a raw fragment of her deepest despair, something private, something no one was ever supposed to uncover.
She locked herself in her bathroom, sinking to the cold tiled floor, her back against the door. The camera rested limply in her lap as sobs wracked her body. Her thoughts spiraled uncontrollably. They know… They’ve seen me like that. Broken. Weak. She felt like that version of herself, the one she had fought so hard to recover from, was exposed for the world to see.
Meanwhile, Kageyama trailed after her. He didn’t call her name, didn’t shout after her—he knew her too well to push. Instead, he waited outside the door, leaning his forehead against the wood. His hands hung at his sides, trembling slightly. He could feel her pain, the weight of her emotions leaking through the barrier between them.
“Reiya,” he called softly, his voice low but steady. “Open the door.”
There was no response at first, just the muffled sounds of her crying. His jaw tightened. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “That video—it doesn’t matter to them.”
Still, she said nothing.
After a moment, Kageyama sighed softly. He wasn’t good at words, wasn’t sure what would reach her, but he couldn’t leave her alone like this. “They care about you, Reiya. I keep telling you that… You’ve been so scared people would see you as weak, but they’ve already seen how strong you’ve been. They… We still care about you.”
Her sobbing softened, the sound shifting into shaky breaths. Slowly, the faint creak of the door unlocking echoed through the silence. Kageyama stepped back just slightly as it swung open enough for him to see her, huddled on the floor, her face a mess of tears. She didn’t look up at him.
“I… don’t think I can face them right now,” Reiya said barely above a whisper, her voice raw and hoarse.
Kageyama crouched down to her level, letting out a steady breath. “You don’t have to. Not until you’re ready.”

Back in Reiya’s Room: Heavy Guilt
While Kageyama stayed with Reiya, the Karasuno team remained gathered in her room, the weight of what they had seen pressing down on all of them like a heavy storm cloud. The snacks sat untouched, their earlier excitement and chaos long gone, replaced by quiet whispers and glances of guilt.
Hinata and Yamaguchi still hadn’t fully recovered—Hinata sat silently with his knees pulled to his chest, uncharacteristically quiet, tears trickling down his flushed cheeks. Yamaguchi sniffled softly beside him, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Even Nishinoya and Tanaka, who could usually laugh off anything, sat stiffly, their expressions unusually somber.
“She was in that much pain…” Yamaguchi murmured, breaking the silence. His voice trembled as he spoke. “And we didn’t know. None of us knew.”
Daichi, sitting nearby, rubbed the back of his neck, guilt flashing across his face. “We didn’t even think… I mean, she’s usually so bright, so strong. I can’t believe—no, I don’t want to believe—she went through that.” His voice was steady but heavy with emotion, his usual composure struggling to hold.
“She…” Nishinoya struggled to find his words for the first time anyone could remember. “She almost… really almost…”
“Stop,” Suga said sternly, his voice sharper than the others were used to. His brow furrowed as he crossed his arms. “She didn’t—I mean, Kageyama saved her. She’s here now. That’s what matters, right?” He looked around the room, waiting for someone to agree, but the haunted expressions on his teammates’ faces told him otherwise.
“She’s always so cheerful, though,” Hinata finally said, his voice cracking slightly. He lifted his tear-streaked face to look at the others. “How could she… how could she hide something like that?”
“Because she couldn’t show it. She didn’t want us to see her like that,” Daichi said quietly but firmly. The weight of responsibility was painted clearly on his expression. “And now we’ve seen something we shouldn’t have.”
“I feel sick,” Yamaguchi whispered. He hugged his knees to his chest, his voice barely audible over the sound of the others breathing heavily.
Tsukishima, who had been standing quietly in the corner watching this unfold, adjusted his glasses solemnly. “You should’ve left it alone,” he said curtly, his tone clipped but lacking his usual biting sarcasm. “All you’ve done now is hurt her more.”
Everyone bristled at his comment, but not one of them could argue against it.

Reiya Returns: The Heaviest Silence
After a long absence, the door to Reiya’s room finally creaked open. Her steps were slow but purposeful as she entered, Kageyama walking close behind her like a silent shadow. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, gripping the strap of the camera tightly, color drained from her face. The room’s tension wrapped around her like a vice, suffocating and inescapable.
Karasuno froze at the sight of her, none of them knowing what to say—or even if they could say anything. The weight of their guilt pressed harder on their shoulders as they took in Reiya’s trembling hands, her red eyes, the way Kageyama loomed protectively behind her, glaring warningly at them as if daring anyone to speak.
Reiya slowly raised her eyes to meet the team’s. Her voice was barely steadier than a whisper, but her words cut deep into the silence. “So… you saw it.”
It wasn’t a question, but the team still recoiled at the confirmation, exposed under her quiet gaze. No one said anything. Hinata looked like he was actively willing the ground to swallow him whole.
Her lips twitched into a bitter smile, though no humor touched her eyes. “Makes sense. I wouldn’t expect you to turn it off after finding it… It’s dramatic enough to hold anyone’s attention.”
“Reiya—” Daichi started, his voice remorseful, but she held up her hand to cut him off.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice strained and cracking with emotion. “Don’t apologize. I’m not mad.”
That surprised them, and they stared at her in stunned silence.
“I’m not angry,” she repeated, clutching the camera so tightly her knuckles turned white. “But I’m… humiliated. Embarrassed. That was a version of me—even I didn’t want to see again. It’s what I’ve been trying to get away from this whole time.”
Yamaguchi sniffled again, and Hinata let out another soft, broken sob. “We’re sorry…” Hinata whimpered. His voice was so small that it actually made Reiya wince. “I—We didn’t mean to, but—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Reiya said, forcing her voice steady even as it quivered slightly. “You’ve seen it. You’ve seen how… broken I was.” Her lips trembled for a moment before she managed, “And maybe that’s okay.”
Her words sent a jolt through the team.
“I’m… not proud of what happened. I never wanted anyone to know,” she admitted, her eyes misty again. “But despite all of that, I’m here now. And you’ve all been kinder to me than I probably deserve.”
“You deserve that and more,” Suga interjected firmly, his voice unusually emotional. “You’ve been through hell and back, Reiya. You’re strong to still be standing.”
“Yeah!” Hinata chimed in, wiping some of his tears as fresh determination burned in his voice. “You’re amazing, Reiya! You’re, like, a walking comeback story!”
The laughter that bubbled from Reiya’s chest surprised even her. It was faint but genuine, and she wiped her tears as a small, grateful smile tugged at her lips. “You’re all idiots,” she said quietly, her voice suddenly weighed down with affection. “But seriously… thank you.”