Haikyuu: Nah, I'd Adapt!

Tsuna then sat down beside the others, catching his breath.

"They look tense..." Tanaka muttered, his eyes fixed on the Aoba Johsai players.

He saw Aoba Johsai's players were looking their way, their gazes locked on a single target—someone on Karasuno's bench.

Daichi noticed it too. He clenched his fist slightly, understanding what their opponents were feeling. He glanced at Suga and Asahi, they'd been dominated a lot in the past too as he mumbled, "...They haven't given up yet."

Back then, before the first years arrived, Karasuno's volleyball club was more like a casual gathering than a real team. In every tournament, they were crushed—easily overpowered by any half-decent opponent.

Tanaka had been a great addition. And with Nishinoya, they finally had a proper libero—a solid backbone for the team.

But it was Tsuna...

Daichi's gaze shifted to their number #9 player, who was accepting a drink from Shimizu with an easy smile as he mumbled, "...a monster that came out of nowhere,"

Tanaka and Nishinoya had given them hope that they wouldn't be trampled anymore. But with Tsuna on their side, everything had changed.

They weren't just surviving—they were dominating.

'...just a single player, that's ridiculous.'

Daichi felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead as he remembered the first time Tsuna joined their club.

It hadn't even been during the usual recruitment period at the start of the semester.

They were mid-practice with their few new recruits, Tanaka and Nishinoya, still struggling to fill out the roster. Most of the second-year members had quit, leaving the team desperately short on players for the upcoming preliminaries.

Then, out of nowhere, the gym door burst open.

A tall boy stood in the doorway, looking around with a curious expression. Without any introduction, he blurted out, "Does anyone know that pretty girl who showed up here a few times?"

Suga, who was closest, hesitated before answering.

"You mean Shimizu? She's... our new manager."

"Huh? Manager? Hmm..."

The stranger nodded as if he'd just solved a puzzle. "So that's what Dad meant... Love really does work in mysterious ways. Uhh what did he say again, you just have to be persistent, right?"

"...What?"

The entire team stood frozen, staring at him in complete confusion. But the boy seemed unbothered, like he was oblivious to how bizarre his entrance was.

With a carefree smile, he said, "Well, nice to meet you all! My name's Tsunayoshi Matsumoto. I'm joining your... uh, basketball—no, wait—volleyball club!"

'Did he just get the sport wrong...?'

Beads of sweat appeared on everyone's foreheads as they exchanged bewildered looks.

'Is he... Shimizu's stalker?'

That was their first impression of Tsuna as Daichi shook his head while gulping down the drink in his hand.

"Kiyoko, um... do you like sushi?"

Tsuna asked suddenly while taking the last sip of his drink before she grab it back.

Shimizu paused, blinking at him. Her expression, as always, remained calm and unreadable, making it difficult for Tsuna to gauge what she was thinking.

Finally, she shook her head and said, "No."

"No? Really?" Tsuna blurted out with surprise. "But... doesn't every Japanese person eat sushi, like, every day?"

"...?"

A wave of silence fell over the team.

Everyone turned to stare at him with identical, deadpan expressions. Tsuna immediately coughed to cover his awkwardness, "Ahem, well, I'm Japanese, so I can say that."

'I'm definitely not racist,' he thought, glancing away to avoid their skeptical looks.

"I like ramen."

Unexpectedly, Shimizu spoke up, her voice soft but clear.

Tsuna's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't expected an answer. Slowly, he turned to look at her as their gazes intertwined.

For a brief moment, time seemed to slow, and his heart skipped a beat.

He swallowed nervously, trying to sound smooth. "Ah, I see... you know, I actually know a good ramen shop nearby. Want to check it out with me?"

Tsuna kept his gaze on Shimizu, waiting for her response.

But before she could answer, he suddenly felt an arm wrap around his shoulder. Tanaka had appeared out of nowhere, grinning wildly as he leaned in to whisper, "Hey, hey, newcomer! I'm invited too, right? Right?"

"No way, you're not—"

Tsuna began, but he was cut off.

"Of course we are!"

A second arm hooked around his neck, and Tsuna glanced to the side to see Nishinoya, who had stealthily stepped onto a small bench to reach his height.

Tsuna blinked at this and muttered, "...I can't decide if I should be impressed or annoyed, Nishinoya."

"Ha! You little punk! Since when did you start calling Shimizu-san by her first name?" Nishinoya growled, his eyes narrowed.

Tanaka chimed in, looking equally outraged, "Yeah! Who do you think you are, trying to ask her out without us?" 

Both of them were fuming. Tanaka, despite his bravado, still couldn't manage to talk to Shimizu directly. This was his way of expressing his jealousy. Nishinoya, just as fierce, wouldn't let this challenge slide either.

Tsuna also noticed the intense stares from the senior members sitting on the bench. He let out a long sigh, realizing he'd unintentionally attracted more trouble.

Meanwhile, Shimizu, cool as ever, simply grabbed the drink and walked away, leaving the three of them to their bickering.

"Those idiots are really having a good time..." someone from Aoba Johsai's bench muttered, unable to hide the irritation in their voice.

The contrast between the two teams was quite visible to see.

'Hmm, now what should we do?' 

A middle-aged man in an Aoba Johsai tracksuit pondered silently.

This was Nobuteru Irihata, the current head coach of the team.

"Karasuno's #9... he's playing at the same level as Wakatoshi Ushijima from Shiratorizawa, don't you think?" said Coach Sadayuki Mizoguchi, glancing down at the stats sheet in his hand. "He scored 18 points in the last set and 17 in this one. It feels like we're up against him alone."

"That's an impressive stat line," Irihata murmured, rubbing his chin in thought.

Shiratorizawa was always a powerhouse. With Wakatoshi Ushijima as their ace this year, they were heavily favored to win the preliminaries—his skill put him in a league of his own. Irihata understood why Mizoguchi would make the comparison.

Karasuno's #9 was clearly carrying his team, much like Ushijima did for Shiratorizawa. But as much as #9 stood out, Irihata knew they were nowhere near Shiratorizawa's level.

"If only his teammates are good enough to back him up," Irihata said, shaking his head.

Karasuno's players were solid, but Shiratorizawa's lineup was stacked with stronger individuals. Even Aoba Johsai had an edge in terms of individual talent. Yet here they were, struggling against Karasuno.

It didn't add up.

Irihata's gaze drifted to Karasuno's #9 on the other side of the court. Tsuna was in the middle of a heated discussion with his teammates, his presence was heavy even in the middle of a dispute.

"He's a game-changer," Irihata thought, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "It's a shame he's not on our side."

"I think... he's better."

A voice cut through the tense atmosphere, and all eyes turned toward the source. But seeing Oikawa was the one saying that caught everyone off guard.

"Oikawa?"

Iwaizumi was surprised. The rest of the team shared his surprise. It wasn't like Oikawa to admit defeat—especially not to someone else's skill.

With his teammates' stares on him, Oikawa shook his head. "That Karasuno #9... he's better than Wakatoshi."

His words hung in the air. Oikawa's gaze dropped to his own hands, which were trembling.

"Wakatoshi's spikes... the raw power, the heavy thud as the ball hits the court—yes, they're maybe on the same level," he said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But there's something more with that #9."

He looked back at the court, almost as if searching for the reason behind his own unease. Memories of last year flooded back—facing Shiratorizawa, seeing Wakatoshi Ushijima for the first time as he dominated the game.

Oikawa had felt frustration back then, pure and simple.

But this time was different.

"When we lost to Shiratorizawa last year, I was just frustrated," Oikawa admitted. He clenched his fists, "But today... I felt scared."

A ripple of shock spread through his teammates.

Even their head coach, Irihata, who had been standing quietly to the side, raised his eyebrows in surprise. He exchanged a look with Coach Mizoguchi, who gave a slight nod and an understanding smile.

To feel fear was a sign of true respect. It wasn't the fear of weakness—it was the fear of facing someone who made you question your own limits.

Sometimes, knowing you're afraid can save you from danger. And right now, Oikawa knew that Karasuno's #9 was a threat like no other.

"Well, I understand your concern, Oikawa," Irihata said, his voice calm but firm. He glanced at Mizoguchi beside him, his expression asking for more detail. "Coach Mizoguchi, can you break down his points for us?"

"Ah, yes," Mizoguchi responded, flipping a page in his stats book. He scanned the numbers before reading, "He scored 20 points from serves alone, and the rest came from spikes."

"As you can see, Wakatoshi might have a powerful serve, but he doesn't have the control that Karasuno's #9 does." Irihata nodded, absorbing the information. "That kid can aim his spikes anywhere he wants. It doesn't matter what defense we throw at him—he still finds a way through."

Oikawa's eyes darkened, and Irihata could tell that Oikawa's fear was justified. The precision of those attacks, combined with their sheer power, was something Wakatoshi Ushijima didn't possess.

Karasuno's #9 had a serve that combined force and control in a way that could break even the most solid formation.

'That serve is ruthless,' Irihata thought, understanding why Oikawa was rattled. It was like meeting a version of himself who was two steps ahead—a player who had already mastered the moves Oikawa was yet to perfect.

Irihata turned to the team and instructed, "Spread out your defense at the back..."

"Show your resolve. If you push him enough, you'll start to see where he aims." He knew what he was asking of them.

Karasuno's #9 was not just strong—he was prideful, and Irihata was quite sure that #9 would take the bait to prove himself the best.

That could be their only opening.

The players nodded, a fierce resolve building in their eyes. They knew what they had to do, and with a powerful shout, they roared in unison, "Yes, sir!"

"Whoaa! Let's fucking go, Seijoh! You got this!"

The cheer echoed through the stadium as the crowd erupted. The spectators could feel that the team they had come to support still had fight left in them as the players stood up from the bench.