resonantrhyme

Tooru paused in front of the gym doors, taking a deep breath as he closed his eyes. It was sudden enough, that Arturo and Marco, his teammates, bumped into his back. As Marco was ready to scold him, Arturo held up a hand.

He and Tooru had played together since Tooru first came to Argentina. If there was anyone on their team that knew the routine, it would be him.

Marco opened his mouth to question them, but the moment had already passed, "Vamos! Vamos!" Tooru threw open the doors and the Argentina National Men's Volleyball Team advanced.

Unlike yesterday, they would play in the main gym of the recently-opened Ariake Arena.

This time, there was only one court, in the middle of a crowd numbering in the tens of thousands. This being both the twelfth day of the 2021 Olympics and the men's volleyball semifinal, the sight didn't faze Tooru as he and the rest of his teammates made their way to the benches.

He wouldn't lie and say he wasn't a little rattled, though. Theirs would be the first game of the day and the most challenging. And that was after taking down powerhouse Italy in the quarterfinal.

This was another beast altogether. Argentina versus Japan. Both teams with something to prove, and everything to lose.

Another deep breath, a nudge from Arturo, and everything faded away.

Then he saw a face.

And a short distance behind that face, another face.

Two very, very important faces. Faces he couldn't believe slipped his mind.

He cleared his throat. Arturo stepped to the side. Fernando on the bench covered his ears. Coach Blanco shook his head, ever knowing, while Marco only looked confused. Tooru cupped his hands around his mouth.

"IWA-CHAAAAAN! SHOOOOYOOOOOO!"

At first, he had no idea if they heard him over the volume of the arena, but then he heard it, like music to his ears.

"OIKAWA-SAAAAAN!"

"SHOOOUUUYOOOUUUUU!"

"OIKAWA-SAAAAAAN!"

Iwaizumi looked surprised, and then his face broke out into a smile. Tooru wished he could savor the moment, but Shouyou was running at him full-speed. The smaller man near tackled him, and it took everything he had to stay upright.

He swung the younger man around in a circle before setting him on his feet. They hadn't seen each other in person since Shouyou's return to Japan, and before that, only once more. They kept in touch via social media, but there was no replacement for the real thing.

"We made it!" he said, finally releasing him from his embrace.

"Did you see the last match? Versus Poland?"

"Every minute. Your receives are looking sharp, Ninja Shouyou!"

"Thank you, Grand King! I feel bad, I only caught the tail of you guys and Italy... How are your jump floaters, do you think you can--"

"What's all this about a Grand King?" Arturo asked in accented English, draping one arm off Tooru's shoulder. There was a teasing glint in his eye, and Tooru felt his eye twitch.

"Oikawa-san... Kageyama is King of Court, and Oikawa-san is.. senpai.." Shouyou struggled to respond, and Tooru chuckled at his effort.

"Ah, so that's what that tattoo is about!" Arturo said, slapping Tooru on the back where they both knew his "Rule the Court" tattoo was under his jersey.

"Tattoo?" Shouyou asked, but the whistle blowing saved Tooru at that exact moment.

The referee waited until the first string players took their positions. Tooru walked to the endline while Arturo went to shake hands with the other team's captain, Kiryu something-or-other.

He held the ball to his forehead, in wait.

I'm trusting you guys.

Elsewhere in Tokyo, four of Aoba Johsai High School's 2012 Volleyball Club gathered around the television. Hanamaki had agreed to host, being the only one with an apartment in the city. That is, after they agreed on a BYOB policy.

The boys, now men, waited, tense, for the start of the Olympic semifinal. Every one of them had the Argentine flag on their cheek, in support of their former captain. Though no one pretended they weren't also proud of their former ace. The camera panned over him guiding Ushijima and Kiryu through warmup and cooldown stretches respectively.

"I'll have to tell Iwaizumi-san little Hajime made it on TV," Matsukawa joked, but Hanamaki waved him off. Oikawa was on, now, walking onto the court with the rest of Argentina's starting lineup.

"The biggest topic coming into this game has to be Argentina's starting setter, Tooru Oikawa."

Watari squeezed himself between Hanamaki and Yahaba. He set a bowl of chips on the table in front of them, and took a swig of his beer.

"Born in Japan, he followed his mentor, Coach Blanco, to Argentina after graduation, and eventually became a naturalized Argentinian citizen."

Yahaba grabbed a fistful of chips and shoved them into his mouth as Oikawa moved to the endline. They were all thinking of the last time he'd shouldered such a crucial moment.

"I wonder if he'll buy them lunch," Matsukawa mused, a faint smile on his face from where he reclined.

"Oikawa was virtually unknown as a player during his school years in Japan, having never made it to a national tournament in either middle or high school."

Hanamaki leaned his cheek on his palm and flicked a chip at the television. "Oh, shut up."

"What of it, huh?" Yahaba seethed, clutching his beer a little too tightly.

Matsukawa swished the melting ice in his own drink. "There's a difference in scale here, y'know. A biiiiig difference."

Ever the optimist, Watari nodded, "Yeah, it's pretty incredible."

"Seems like after a rather grueling game against Poland, Wakatoshi Ushijima, a familiar face to volleyball fans and casuals alike, will be taking over for co-captain Kiryu Wakatsu. Having Ushijima and Hinata--two drastically different players--playing opposite for Japan must be a point of concern for Argentina. They won't be happy to see either on the court."

Hanamaki tuned out the chatter about opponents they were all too familiar with. "Anyone want a refill, I'm going to the kitchen." Without looking, Yahaba held up his beer, and Hanamaki took it. "Anyone else?"

"Don't drink so much, don't you have work tomorrow, Hanamaki-san?" Watari asked, fishing in the bowl for more chips.

Hanamaki grinned. "Oh, don't worry. I got fired today. Anyone else? Going once?" Yahaba choked and Watari grimaced.

"You can't just say things like that so casually!" Yahaba yelled at his retreating figure.

Matsukawa waved a hand at his former underclassmen. "Shhh! Oikawa's serving! Hiro, hurry,you'll miss it!" Hanamaki grabbed two drinks from the cooler on his counter and raced back to the living room. This time, he took up a seat next to Matsukawa, resting his hand on his shoulder as they watched Oikawa spin the ball in his hands.

With a restrained sigh, Matsukawa reached up and squeezed the hand that was on his shoulder. Hanamaki squeezed back. They could talk later. Right now--Oikawa.

Yahaba leaned forward as their friend dribbled the ball a few times. Watari worried at his nails.

The referee blew the whistle, and within seconds the ball was airborne, Oikawa running to chase it down. He jumped, and slammed the ball into Japan's court. The broadcast didn't capture the sound, but they all could hear it anyhow.

Like a gunshot, Matsukawa thought with a shiver.

It all happened so fast, they almost missed Kiyoomi Sakusa dig the ball and get it up in the air for the freak duo. One toss from Kageyama and a spike from Hinata and the ball broke through Argentina's defense. It was almost like it wasn't there.

The LatinAm team was more than ready, though, with number 7 only just receiving the quick. The ball soared at an awkward angle, but Oikawa was right there. There was some shouting, and--

"Ow, Hiro, I need that shoulder,"

Hanamaki relaxed his grip long enough for everyone to catch Oikawa's set to Argentina's captain, who slammed the ball in a nasty line shot at such an angle and speed--it was obvious how they had made it this far.

"Ooh, and it's in! First point to Argentina, though Japan didn’t make it easy! Let's rewind that."

Yahaba leaped to his feet, and Watari high fived him like they were the ones to score that crucial tone-setting point. In a way, Hanamaki and Matsukawa supposed they had.

“Come on, Hanger!” Hanamaki yelled, as Oikawa’s set was replayed. It looked perfect--and it probably was. “I bet he’s all ‘was that too high?’ Even now!” He leaned against Matsukawa, face pulled into a pout. Watari smothered a laugh.

Argentina got back into position for the next rally, Oikawa up to serve once more.

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