Haikyuu: Crimson Ascent

Chapter 7 – Back to the World

The train left the rural station on time.

He sat by the window, observing still fields and scattered houses slide by. Spring green was more vibrant now—full grown, no longer timid. It seemed odd, watching it recede behind him.

His grandparents had dispatched him without ado. No sobbing goodbyes, no lingering hugs. Simply a straightforward send-off, warmth staying behind more in gesture than word. That was their style. And that sufficed.

As the train chugged along, he rested his head against the window and breathed softly. The last month had been slow, soft—nearly as if living outside of time. But now he was coming back. To the city. To reality.

He returned in early afternoon.

The apartment welcomed him with quiet and stale air. The kind that gathers when nobody's been around for a while. He opened the windows, letting sunlight and the far-off hum of the city in—cars, footsteps, a siren somewhere in the distance.

His steps were subdued. Slowly, he unpacked, showered quickly, and padded around the block out of habit. The same corners, the same stores. Familiar, but not comforting. Not yet.

He retired early that night, programming an alarm to get him up the following morning.

His first day of college dawned under a blue sky and a biting wind.

He departed his apartment shortly after seven, dressed modestly but neatly. The trip on the train was not interesting, with students and workers crowding it and half-dozing faces. By the time he arrived on campus, walkways were starting to get crowded.

The Commerce building was on the east side of campus—high, sleek, glass-lined. Students stood at the entrance, talking anxiously or reading from their phones. He edged between them, looking at the room number on his phone.

Room 3-203. First class: Introduction to Accounting.

He ran up the stairs, entered the room, and sat near the middle. Not too far forward, not lost in the back.

The room hummed quietly—pages rustling, chairs scraping, pens clicking. Everyone appeared just as new, just as unsure. That comforted him, somehow.

And within a few minutes, the professor entered. Middle-aged, with a dark blazer, he wore a folder in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other. He dumped them both onto the podium and took a circuitous glance over the room in relaxed eyes.

"Welcome," he said. "You're all stepping into a world of numbers, shape, and drill. I wish you understood."

Several students nervous-laughed.

He did not.

He only gazed up at the board, regarding.

The professor started at the bottom—what accounting is, why it's important, and how it's the basis of all business. He described assets, liabilities, equity, and the balance thereof. Ideas the boy had glossed over in high school, but never really felt before.

There was something about the simplicity of it—the neatness of a ledger, the beauty of credits and debits mirroring each other—gently reached out to him.

He caught himself scribbling notes with no pause.

About midway through the lecture, a dull weight settled behind his right eye. It wasn't hurting—just there, like a held breath. He rubbed his temple once, quietly, and continued writing. The sensation went away.

As the professor dismissed the class, the students dispersed in a hurry, some anxious to go, others already attempting to group themselves. He packed at a leisurely pace, not hurrying. The next lecture was not until the afternoon.

As he stepped out into the hallway, a blast of warm air greeted him through the open windows. He walked over to the campus courtyard, sat under a sakura tree, and closed his eyes for a moment.

So far, so good.

He didn't feel thrilled. But he didn't feel lost either.

Perhaps that was something.

The rest of the day was uneventful. After his last class, he went back to the apartment. It still seemed a bit hollow, a bit too sterile. But it was his.

He prepared a quick supper—simple and comforting—and sat at the little table by the window. For a time, he simply stared out at the city skyline. Distant lights flashed between buildings. The sky was growing soft with twilight.

For no reason, he opened his laptop.

The home page was still littered with videos from old volleyballs—national championships, pro games, training sessions. He hadn't seen them in weeks. Months, perhaps.

He opened one. Let it run in the background while having tea.

The beat of the game resonated throughout the room. The crackle of shoes on the court, the thud of a well-timed spike, the referee's whistle.

It didn't affect him anymore.

But it didn't hurt either.

That evening, he rested in bed, hands cradled behind his head, eyes staring at the ceiling. Outside, the city rumbled on, constant and uninterested.

His head ached once—distant and weak.

He ignored it.

He didn't know what would happen tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.

But this was what he'd set out to do.

And for the moment, that was okay.

(END OF CHAPTER)