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Shirabu first meets the other setter at the vending machine in front of the gym. It's rejecting all of his coins, even though he checks all his coins when he first gets them. The last coin rolls out at the reject slot, and he has to will himself to be calm.
Today is the first day of volleyball practice at his new school. His dream school. He needs to remain calm and make a good impression in order to make the starting team.
He contemplates trying an old coin again while quashing down his emotions.
"That vending machine doesn't work," A voice behind him says, light and friendly.
He turns, pocketing the last coin (a real coin, he's one hundred percent sure). The man behind him wears a Shiratorizawa volleyball club jacket. "Thank you for telling me," he says, inclining his head politely.
The man smiles, and it strikes Shirabu how easy on the eyes he is. "Are you here to try out for the volleyball club?"
"Yes," he replies tersely.
"What position do you play?"
"Setter."
"...I see," the man says. His expression tightens, just a little, but Shirabu notices all the same. "Me too."
So he was a competitor. A member already, too. Shirabu narrowed his eyes. "If you will excuse me," he says, keeping his polite tone, "I would like to arrive for tryouts on time." He bows politely and moves past him.
"Wait," the other man calls out. "What's your name?"
"Shirabu Kenjirou," he says, not looking back.
He passes tryouts with flying colors, as expected. The coach also seems to have taken a liking to him, as have the third-years.
He learns that the man he met outside the gym was last year's starting setter, Semi Eita. A second year. Currently suspended from the team for discourse with the coach. Another second-year, Tendou (who was already calling him Kenjirou-kun), willingly answered all his questions about him.
"He's fussy and gets angry easily," Tendou said.
"He's a lot bolder. Tries to stand out. The coach doesn't like that, since Wakatoshi-kun is supposed to be the star of the show."
"We lost in the quarterfinals of nationals last year after he refused to toss to Wakatoshi-kun, then argued with the coach. That's why he's suspended right now."
"He's got four siblings, the oldest three years younger than him."
"He's in class 4B."
With his roommate, Kawanishi, he begins adjusting his style, making it subtle. Simple. Fully dedicated to accommodating the spiker.
"You're trying really hard to make the starting team," Kawanishi comments after another late-night practice.
"I worked hard to come to Shiratorizawa," Shirabu says. "I wasn't scouted by the coaches, you know."
Kawanishi, who was scouted by the coaches and would definitely make at least a frequent sub, shrugs. "You haven't really got competition. The only setter up to shape is suspended right now."
"There's still another setter." Not really. The other setter is a third-year who drops the ball from nerves every other set. That doesn't mean Shirabu isn't going to work any less. He needs the coach to choose him, not because he is the only setter up to shape, but because he is the best-fit setter for the team. He needs to be good enough that even if a prodigy setter comes along, he can stay a starter.
His fingers cramp while writing in class. He spends the rest of the day tugging and massaging them, trying to get them back into shape before volleyball practice in the afternoon. By lunchtime, he's still only capable of using his left hand.
It hurts.
His fingers trouble him so much that he forgets the vending machine outside the gym doesn't work, and is inserting a coin when the voice speaks from behind him again.
"Didn't I tell you it's broken?"
The coin clatters into the rejected slot. Shirabu flexes the fingers of his right hand experimentally before reaching out to take back the coin. "I forgot," he says coldly, feeling foolish.
Semi gives him a long look. "Is it the nerves?" he asks. "Because you don't need to worry--you'll make the starting team." He says this with a strange sort of resignation, as if he's acknowledged that a first-year is going to take his place and come to terms with it.
"There's no way to be sure, Semi-san," Shirabu says, and he isn't even sure why he's saying it like this, like he's comforting Semi as if there's any hope the other will be starting setter.
Semi laughs. "No, coach already told me I won't be starting setter," he says. "Try icing your hand. It'll relieve the cramps faster."
"Thank you," Shirabu says, with a polite bow.
"You don't always have to be so formal," Semi says.
"I choose to be this formal," he answers. Do you have a problem with my attitude?
Semi shrugs, as if he can't feel the iciness in his voice at all. "Suit yourself." He walks away with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, cheerful and carefree, and Shirabu wonders how someone like him ever got kicked off the team for his pride and anger.
He looks down at the coin in his hand again, and turns it slowly in his fingers.