Haikyuu: Crimson Ascent

Chapter 1: The Whistle

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The last whistle sounded in the gym like a dying heartbeat.

He was frozen, wind trapped in his lungs, knees bent, fingers quivering at his sides. Everything else around him was in slow motion—shoes squeaking, a ball coming to rest, teammates bowing their heads.

13–25.

The scoreboard said it all. That was it. The last game of theirs.

Nobody fainted. No hysterical cries. Only a silence stretched thin across the air. A silence that whispered: We gave it all.

He gazed over the net again, then moved away, exiting the court for the final time.

And so this is how it ends.

The locker room was steamy with sweat and quiet.

Nobody said anything at first. Tape unsticking from fingers, the muted thud of bags dropped to the ground—these little, mundane noises filled the air.

He leaned on the bench, elbows on knees, head down.

"…That last set stung," someone grumbled at last.

"Yeah. We just couldn't get through."

"Still," another voice chimed in, "we battled hard. No regrets, right?"

There were silent nods.

"Coach said we're getting treated after this, right?" the libero asked, voice stretched thin but hopeful.

"Yeah. Ramen. His treat."

That drew a few dry, mirthless chuckles. Almost laughter—but not quite. A common thread tugging them forward.

"I want extra meat. And dessert."

"Save it until we get there, glutton."

They moved slowly, each step slow-moving—like they didn't want to ruin the moment. Not yet. Not the last time.

The ramen shop was abuzz with steam and noise.

The small space barely fit them all, elbows crammed together, bowls arriving in chaotic waves, the air thick with the scent of broth and scorched garlic.

And then—laughter.

Real, loud, unfiltered laughter.

"Remember when our ace spiked the ball into his own foot during warmups?"

"Shut up! That was one time!"

"You missed a toss so bad it hit the referee! You've got no room to talk!"

The jokes shot by quicker than the chopsticks. Someone came close to spitting soda while laughing too intensely. It was awkward, chaotic, and exquisite.

Even he was taken aback at the amount of grinning he was doing. Not the polite smiling—real, genuine, from-the-gut grinning. The kind you got when you were stuffed full of food, surrounded by good friends, and perhaps just desperate to forget that this was going to be the last time.

At some point, he reclined back a bit, eyes wandering across the table. So many memories resided here—in the disarray, the heat, the clamor.

We weren't the greatest. But we were a family. And that was enough.

They walked out into the cold as a unit.

The streetlights hummed quietly above, their halos lighting up the sidewalk. Their breath lingered in the air as they stood outside the shop, not wanting to shatter the moment.

"So," a voice said softly, "winter break begins in three days, right?"

"Yeah."

"Should we go tomorrow? To school?"

"Can we?" one of them asked.

"We still have balls in the equipment room. Let's just get silly for a bit."

"I'm only playing if I don't have to receive."

"Like you ever did."

There was laughter again—this time softer. More gentle.

He nodded in agreement, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's meet tomorrow."

And with it, they went their separate ways, down side streets and station routes, still laughing, still chatting.

He returned home by himself.

The city was quiet now. The sound of footsteps trailed behind him until he took the familiar turn into his neighborhood's street.

The apartment stood in silence, as he had left it. The lights were dark. He didn't even turn them on.

He stepped inside, kicked off his shoes, and paused for just a moment.

His volleyball bag slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thump.

Just one more year, he thought. If only I'd started sooner.

But he smiled anyway—just a little.

Because even starting late, he had still found something worth remembering.

(End of the chapter)