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The second his fist connects with the ball, Jo knows: it's not going to make it.
He knows, but his eyes don’t stray from its meandering path through the air even so. Ok, so he's failed again. But he can still figure out exactly how it went wrong, learn why he failed, for the next time. So that he doesn't miss again. Doesn't let his team down again.
The volleyball completes its sad, slow, flop into the net and by the time it’s slipped to the ground with a soft thud his eyes are already up in the balcony. In the split second before Koga Yudai looks over to him, Jo can see the tension in his shoulders, the knitted eyebrows, the clenched fists. He braces himself for the look of disappointment that he knows must be coming as their eyes meet - after all, Yudai hasn't spent a month's worth of Wednesday evenings coaching him just for him to fail now. But instead-
“Get ‘em next time Asakura!”
Yudai is pumping one fist in the air, the other pointing a long finger at him. Somewhere behind his sparkling eyes the disappointment of a lost point must linger, but it’s been hidden away for the sake of Jo’s encouragement, just like always. Jo almost wants to sag to the ground and start crying right there.
But he can already see Euijoo headed towards him to retake his place and if his captain sees even a hint of tears.. Jo can picture the intense, wide-eyed look of concern that will overtake his kind face. And he appreciates Euijoo’s steady care, truly he does, but he just… can’t deal with that right now. He knows his team aren't angry, not really, can even hear the murmurs of comfort from those closest to him. But he's mad at himself, and it's making it hard to immediately process much else.
He retreats to the monotonous safety of the bench, suffers through the coach's awkward motivational syllables, and looks back up at the stands. Koga Yudai, exceptional retired senior and Jo's unofficial mentor, is staring intently at the court once more, wrapped up in the action. Yudai has unwavering belief in Karasuno as a matter of course, but he’s expressed that same confidence in Jo too and the first year is grateful for that, even if he's not sure it’s warranted. He’s the first person Jo’s felt brave enough to show his ambition to and, in turn, Yudai has never laughed at him or called him ridiculous for wanting to fly as high as the other first-years do.
When Jo had stood underneath the too-bright lights of a konbini at night and quietly admitted, “I want to be good enough to help them," Yudai had just nodded.
“Ok.” Then, “So how do we make that happen?”
From then on they've been training together. Late nights, early mornings, spare weekend afternoons. Yudai is a patient and detailed teacher and Jo’s breath still catches each time he demonstrates the perfect float serve. He’s received a few ruffled hairs and teasing laughs for the starry-eyed look that sometimes appears as he watches, but who can blame him? Player or not, Koga’s love for the sport is clear and it is infectious. Jo looks at him and feels sure it is ok to love something just for the sake of loving it, whether other people understand or not.
So, practices continue. Long after Yudai goes home Jo stays in the alley, tossing the ball into the air and trying to float it over an imaginary net. Some days, he even succeeds.
But some days aren't enough. Jo has stood and watched Taki throw himself across the court to receive a ball that no-one else can reach, and promised himself that he will become someone just as reliable. A team member that really contributes. That even if he’s not a naturally roaring fire the way the others are, he will stoke his up with sticks and grass. He is determined to become a person fans feel reassured by the moment he steps towards the court, to be the steady warmth of an engine his teammates know will roar to life the moment they call on him.
He’s not there yet though.
Looking back to the court he catches sight of Maki, arms stretched up high to block a powerful spike. His short, blonde hair sticks up around his head and like the overhead lights ignites it like a halo of fire, untouchable. Maybe Jo should feel jealous of him, but he doesn't. He's always known his best friend was better than him, even when they were little. Ask Jo how he feels about him and he’d tell you he's a little in awe and a lot inspired.
In all honesty, he's not entirely sure what Maki likes so much about him either. Tall, intelligent, and powerful as all hell, Maki is a force to be reckoned with. Jo sees how other teams look at his friend when they enter a stadium, and the pride he feels from standing next to him straightens his back a little too.
That’s another thing Jo’s got to start doing differently. It's funny really. He’s been the skinny nervous kid for so many years that he forgets how striking a figure he cuts these days too. Jo might still be shaking the shadows off his back, but his shoulders are just as broad, his stride just as long. He wonders if their rivals look at him in awe too. Maybe not yet, but they will. He's working hard to make it so.
Alright, enough. He can think this over later, channel his disappointment into tonight's round of practice. He'll find Yudai after the match and ask for feedback, figure out where he went wrong. For now though, his team is out there playing and they need his support. One day he'll give it to them on the court, but in this moment he’ll do his best to cheer them on and give them his undivided attention.
A ball hits the far corner of the court with a resounding SLAP! The scoreboard flips over. 1 more point to Karasuno. This time, there’s no difference in their reactions - when Yudai jumps to his feet, Jo is right there with him.
“NICE ONE, KARASUNO!”