Work Text:
“Will you take the offer?”
“No.” Tenma’s tongue felt heavy when he said it. The black letters on glossy, opal paper printed his name at the top, the bottom, even in the middle of the paragraphs. The “congratulations” was the best part—thick and embossed with an exclamation mark. Whoever read it could feel the gravity of such a letter, its self-importance stamped and then hand-signed by the university dean himself.
He should’ve felt honored.
But the longer it stared back at him from across the desk, the more ill he felt. He couldn’t meet the two pairs of eyes from his homeroom teacher and coach.
With a heavy sigh, Coach Ukai Ikkei stirred. “Would it be too much if you gave us a moment, please? I’m sure you’re busy, anyway.”
“Sure thing. Take as much time as you need.”
The warm hand of his teacher met his stiff shoulder, giving it a squeeze before leaving him alone. And as soon as the door closed, Coach Ukai replaced the seat easily. It gave the faintest squeak as he cleared his throat.
“Udai… What do you want here? You’ve never mentioned anything besides volleyball at practice.”
Tenma loosened his balled fist and finally looked up to see a smile on his Coach’s face. It took him back for only a moment before he realized it was supposed to be encouraging. There weren’t wrong answers here—not that Tenma believed that.
“A school.”
“Gimme a real answer here. I just want to help, you know that? Is it the offer? Do you not like the team?”
Tenma shook his head slowly. Ukai was asking him questions he hated thinking about, each one new to his mind, each one a little more confusing than the last as he realized he didn’t know the answer to any of them.
“Hmm…” Ukai propped an elbow on the desk, leaning on it as he stared across the desk. “Do you want to keep playing volleyball?”
Tenma scowled. “I…”
He leaned in, interested in this answer in particular. “Do you like playing volleyball right now?”
“I love volleyball.”
Defensive. It came out quick and defensive. Tenma took a deep, shaky breath.
“Alright…”
They sat in silence a while longer, and Tenma’s eyes drifted back to the paper in front of him. It was a decent school; he’d heard of the name at least. But not of their volleyball team. It had the money to sponsor his tuition, but that was it. It wouldn’t cover everything like the bigger schools—not the room and board, not the food, and no allowance fees. It wouldn’t be enough.
He wasn’t enough.
“You got another offer too, didn’t you? Was it better or worse than this one?”
“Worse.”
Ukai didn’t ask for more information, not that Tenma was sure he’d give it. The other school would cover his room and board, his tuition, and food. But he’d never go there, he’d never find a major at a technical school like that, and he’d be across the country. He’d have no one, he’d have nothing, and he’d learn to hate playing volleyball. They called to request him as a libero with just enough enthusiasm to mean they thought he was great for someone so short but could never be their ace.
He couldn’t do that. Never. It was the worst offer he could imagine.
Tenma begrudgingly accepted that it was pride.
“You have about a month left, Udai. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
“Time’s running out and I don’t want you to leave here with big regrets. I can make a few phone calls, if you like. But you have to decide that now.”
Phone calls from Coach Ukai might give him more opportunities—opportunities he clearly wouldn’t deserve on his own merits. More chances to fail the better his opponents got—stronger, taller, but just as dedicated. At least the other schools had been honest enough to tell him that upfront.
They were honest enough to not bother sending a letter. There was no one like him in the pro leagues or universities, why should he be the first? He’d started watching tapes of college volleyball champions—all tall, all muscular, all doing the things he did but better.
Anyone else might think he was looking for a way out, or perhaps pitied his lack of opportunities due to height.
But Tenma knew better. Tenma knew it didn’t matter how tall he was, deep inside.
His heart wasn’t in it.
There was only one thing with a level-playing field he could think of. Tenma sighed and bent over to open his backpack. He pulled out his sketchbook and dropped it on the desk wordlessly—yellow pages, bent cover, and all.
Ukai didn’t ask questions, just slid it towards himself and began thumbing through. It wasn’t a particularly beautiful or organized sketchbook, but Tenma wasn’t a person who made excuses for himself. Ukai took in the details on a few of the messy pages, attempts at paneling the same story quip in different ways. Some were just studies of his favorite Shonen Vie series, copied with personal notes. Some pages were just bored doodles of wherever he was—at lunch or in parking lots or in class. Ukai stopped the longest on a page Tenma was pretty indifferent of. It was just the volleyball court, several identical balls floating off the ground and in-motion as if an invisible team was practicing serves and receives. At the time, he’d done just that. He’d snuck in the school gym because he didn’t want to face his parents.
No one had found out, but he’d still been grounded for breaking curfew.
“A mangaka?” Ukai murmured. He closed the sketchbook but didn’t slide it back, looking him over. Tenma waited for the disapproval, but Ukai just chuckled. “That’s a hard path.”
“Yeah.”
He smiled. “You sure don’t like picking easy things to be good at.”
Tenma never thought of it that way. Volleyball was hard, but it was also easy. It was fair, but so unfair. It was a constant challenge and climb to the top, but he’d found it. Somehow, he’d seen the view he dreamt of since his first year, even if it was only in high school, even knowing he had to be faster, jumping farther, and thinking harder than everyone else just to keep up.
Maybe he was okay with that. Ukai had never shared his concerns. Ukai looked at him as if he was excited.
“You’re not angry?” he blurted out.
Ukai’s laugh was loud enough to make him lean back with the full force of it. “Angry? Why would I be? You don’t owe anyone volleyball!”
“You don’t… think it’s a waste?”
“If you had fun… If you learned what it meant to try your best… why would it be a waste? I certainly had a nice time. I don’t get mad at people trying their best and doing whatever’s hardest.”
Tenma still thought it was somehow a waste of time, but wasn’t sure how to articulate that.
Ukai shot him a grin and stood up. “Well, then I guess we’re done here, right?”
Tenma, confused, reached for his sketchbook. It was heavier than it was a moment ago. He’d be holding a pen more than a volleyball from then on, right? So, this sketchbook was his new court. He had to give it his all, learn from the best, push his enthusiasm and dedication into a new direction. He’d be seeking a new view, taking on that new challenge.
And his coach was okay with that. He felt himself getting excited, too.
“You’re not excused from practice, though,” Ukai added as he passed him, hand firm as it messed up his hair.
“But you just said I didn’t owe anyone volleyball.”
“Huh. Guess I did. See ya tomorrow,” he laughed again, opening the door and slipping away. Tenma scoffed, a small smile on his lips as he looked back to his book. He opened and flipped to the section Ukai had stared at. It wasn’t a terrible idea or page, maybe even artistic in concept. Already, he could think of three ways to make it better. Perhaps he could spend more detail on the ambiance, make the shadows darker or color the outside world. The volleyballs themselves could use more variance, and the motion could feel a bit more fluid.
Tenma grinned and shoved the sketchbook back into his bag.
The view from the top for a mangaka—why did that look like? He’d find it. But for now, there were even more things he could improve on as an ace. Tenma laughed to himself. A libero, yeah right. But tomorrow, he’d work on his receives, anyway.
“Hey, Coach.”
Ikkei leaned up from his hospital bed, squinting to see his latest visitor, who apparently forgot to introduce himself.
“Come here so I can get a look at ya,” he grinned. If it was one of his previous athletes, he didn’t really care for the pleasantries, anyway.
Ah, even closer, he was having a bad vision day. Ikkei couldn’t concentrate on the blur of a face and settled for looking vaguely in his direction. His former athlete sat on his bed with him—bold, but not unwelcome.
“You look exactly the same,” he chuckled.
“And I’m sure if I could see I’d know you look worse!” Ikkei laughed back.
“Well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” the man mumbled.
An inky black spot, but an easygoing voice and demeanor. The voice didn’t belong to any of his memories, but he supposed that was unreliable these days.
It didn’t matter.
Visitors were nice.
“What are you up to these days? How long ago has it been?”
The man groaned. “Pffft, wow. Uh, it’s probably been almost five years since I’ve seen you, but I graduated long before then.”
“Oh really now. And what brings you to visit this old man alone then?”
“Ah. I’m publishing a volleyball manga. Here…”
Ikkei opened his hand and waited, closing it when a small book settled into it. That was a manga alright, a classically published piece. Real official stuff.
“…Though I guess you can’t read right now, can you?”
He thumbed through the pages. Inky splot after splot, but he could still tell this was an entire volume. Hard work, tough stuff. Hundreds of pages, probably under one of those comic giants.
“You made this? My former athlete?” Ikkei laughed. He coughed a bit and reined it in, knowing a grin was still plastered on his face.
“I-I mean with a lot of help, yeah. I have a good editor and friends.”
“Humble too. Was that me or did you pick that up, old man?”
The man laughed with him before he placed his hands gently over Ikkei’s, guiding him through the pages until they stopped at a certain one.
“You can’t see it, but I based a character off of you. Since it’s about volleyball, I made you a pretty incredible coach.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. Um, do you want me to bookmark the page? I’m sure I can find something unless you’re okay with me folding it.”
“Nah. If it’s based on me, I’ll find it. Am I handsome or did you mess it up?”
“Yeah, you’re handsome. I kept the beard too.”
“Well, it didn’t all have to be accurate.”
The man chuckled more as he moved Ikkei’s hands to flip through a few more pages. His visitor gave an unsteady exhale until they stopped near the back where the pages were mostly white.
“And h-here is my afterword. I t-thank a lot of people, but y-your name is on it near the. T-the top.”
Ikkei stopped him, gentle hands letting the volume fall shut and squeezing his visitor’s. “Hey now. Why’re you crying? Ya come visit me then cry, son? What’s the fun in that?”
“Sorry… I just, you can’t even read it. I feel like maybe… like maybe I took too long to make you proud.”
He had no choice but to laugh at that, too. Ikkei let the silence linger until the man’s hands stopped shaking. “I promise you, I was already proud. People who try whatever’s hardest can’t ever disappoint me.”
After a moment, the man squeezed him back. “I guess I forgot. Yes. Alright. Sorry.”
“Ah, youth,” he murmured, reaching until he felt fine curly hair underneath his palm. Ikkei smiled and patted him. “Are ya having fun at least… Udai?”
“Yeah… Yeah, I am.”
“Then I’m happy, too. Hey. How much time ya got?”
Udai hummed and his head moved around under his touch, probably looking for that wall clock. “Er. I have a few hours.”
“Then,” Ikkei smiled, leaning back against his cushions, “read me a story.”