Haikyuu: Reborn in Karasuno

"Look, that's Karasuno over there."

"Karasuno?"

"You don't know them? They pushed Aoba Johsai to three full sets during the Inter-High. Nearly pulled off the upset."

In the Karasuno team's designated corner, the players were seated barefoot on a mat, carefully prepping their kneepads, elbow pads, and jerseys. Around them, curious bystanders exchanged observations in hushed excitement.

"They've got The King of the Court from Kitagawa Daiichi."

"And Nishinoya from Chidoriyama."

"The libero? Wasn't he ranked the best in middle school?"

"Yup. But that's not all. There's another one. He can receive Oikawa's jump serves—cleanly. He's their captain now."

"I thought Karasuno was mostly short guys, though?"

"That was before. See that tall guy with black hair over there?"

One of the onlookers flipped open a match program and pointed to a photo.

"Hayato Kuroha. Second-year. Supposedly became a starter the moment he joined."

"Seriously? He's gotta be over 190 cm. That's insane."

Despite the growing chatter, Karasuno remained unfazed. The team had unofficially divided into three mental states: the Nervous Group, the Calm Group, and the Too-Excited-to-Sit-Still Group.

Hinata, leader of the Nervous Group, predictably vomited again—though this time, he heroically waited until after they got off the bus, sparing Tanaka's pants.

"Honestly… I feel like throwing up just from watching Hinata," Yamaguchi muttered, looking a bit green.

Asahi, hair tied back with a headband, clenched his fist over his mouth. "I… I'm not nervous. I'm… just focused."

"You mean focused on not puking?" Sugawara deadpanned.

Meanwhile, Nishinoya, bouncing with energy, asked, "When's our match? Are we next?"

"Because of the bye, yeah. We're up next," Daichi replied, snapping his kneepads in place.

"Let's do this!" Tanaka grinned, eyes burning with anticipation.

"Karasuno, let's move!" Daichi called.

"YES!" The team roared, pushing the ball cart onto the court.

Players slipped on their official black-and-orange jerseys. Hayato tugged on his #13 uniform and adjusted the wristbands on both arms. Across the court, Ohgiminami High's team was already warming up—and they had the unmistakable air of troublemakers.

"Ugh. They look like delinquents," Tanaka growled.

"You don't get to say that," Sugawara muttered. "Fix your face, delinquent #2."

Asahi spiked during warm-ups, and the Ohgiminami High players wasted no time provoking them—mocking haircuts, clicking tongues, and shooting smug looks.

"That monk's head is hilarious. Who even cuts their hair like that?" one snickered, eyeing Tanaka.

Hands together in mock prayer, Tanaka deadpanned, "This humble monk has come to offer enlightenment."

Then he launched a terrifying spike that cracked like thunder on the floor. "And this is divine punishment!"

He turned to Kageyama, still in prayer mode. "Forgive this humble monk's crude hospitality."

Kageyama blinked. "…Okay."

Hayato chuckled internally. Typical Tanaka. But when his turn came, Hayato's spike thundered past the boundary line—clean and vicious. The Ohgiminami High players froze. The jokes stopped.

"Woah. What the hell…"

After warm-ups, both teams lined up. The ref's whistle blew.

"Please take care of us!"

Karasuno's first match of the Spring High prelims had begun.

Coach Ukai gathered the team. "Their third-years might be gone, but their core players are still intact—and they crushed their first match. Don't get cocky. Watch their #1 on the left. He's quick."

Takeda-sensei stepped in next. "Since Inter-High, we've pushed ourselves—through practices, defeats, and more than forty matches against tough Kanto teams. We've gotten stronger. Now it's your turn. Fly, crows!"

"YES!!"

"Karasuno, fight!" Hitoka yelled from the stands, standing just behind the banner with a tight fist of hope.

Not far off, Grandpa Ukai had arrived with a group of elementary school kids. The same ones Hinata trained with.

"Karasuno's got a scary first-year pair… and a new second-year ace," Grandpa commented, arms folded. "They've got a real shot this year."

"There are no guaranteed wins—or losses," another coach nearby said. "One mistake, one weak moment, and the match tilts. Let's see what Karasuno brings today."

First Set Line-up:

Front row: Tsukishima, Kageyama, Tanaka

Back row: Hayato, Daichi, Hinata (Nishinoya subbing in)

Nishinoya shouted, "Hayato, open strong!"

Hayato closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tossed the ball high into the air.

BOOM.

Service Ace.

He raised his hand, pointed at the other side, and muttered coolly:

"Electromagnetic Cannon: Direct hit."

A beat passed.

"Let's GO!" Hinata shouted from the bench.

"THAT was the Electromagnetic Cannon? That was SICK!" Nishinoya cheered, fist-bumping Hayato.

"I know," Hayato smirked.

Hayato continued his serve run. One. Two. Three. Four. Five consecutive aces.

Gasps echoed from the crowd.

"Who is that guy?!"

"Karasuno has a monster server!"

The sixth serve barely missed, sailing out. Hayato clicked his tongue and bowed. His teammates patted his back reassuringly.

Up in the stands, Hitoka's eyes widened.

"Hayato-senpai… just now… looked terrifying."

Despite the small setback, Karasuno was untouchable. Ohgiminami High's feints were predictable. Daichi read their movements like a book, and Hayato's spikes were devastating—so much so that one bounce-off launched the ball into the crowd.

The scoreboard ticked upward: 16–3.

Time-out. Karasuno jogged to their bench.

"Excellent," Coach Ukai praised. "You've all improved—serve power, spike velocity, defensive reads—keep pushing. This match is yours to win."

"YES!!"

After the break, Hinata executed his newly polished freak quick, earning another point and screaming joyfully.

The set closed at a brutal 25–10.

Ohgiminami High's captain stood in stunned silence, the sound of Hinata's yell still ringing in his ears.

He remembered Hinata's eyes from earlier in the restroom—eyes that declared, I'm going to Nationals. I'll beat Ushijima.

Now, as he looked at the scoreboard and the grinning Karasuno players, he realized something:

They weren't joking.

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