Hinata did not run to the gym the next day.
That alone felt strange.
His body wanted to move, to rush, to start hitting balls as soon as possible. But he forced himself to slow down. The janitor's words from the night before still lingered in his mind.
Effort without direction will only tire you out.
So instead of sprinting, he walked.
His notebook was already open in his hands.
He had spent the morning before class writing down everything he could think of. Strengths. Weaknesses. Things he had seen in videos. Things he had felt during practice.
It was messy.
But it was something.
By the time he reached the gym, Fukuda and the others were already there.
"You are late," Fukuda said.
"I am not late," Hinata replied. "I am thinking."
Fukuda blinked. "That is new."
Hinata ignored him and placed his notebook on the floor.
"We are changing practice today."
The boy with glasses looked nervous. "Changing how?"
Hinata pointed at the court.
"We stop doing random drills. We focus on what we actually need."
The new player crossed his arms. "Which is?"
Hinata hesitated for a second.
Then answered clearly.
"Keeping the ball in play."
Silence.
Fukuda scratched his head. "That sounds… basic."
"It is," Hinata said. "And we cannot do it consistently."
No one argued.
Because it was true.
Hinata stepped onto the court and picked up the ball.
"Today, we focus on three things. Passing. Calling the ball. And not letting it drop."
He tossed the ball lightly and caught it again.
"No spikes. No fancy plays. Just control."
Fukuda groaned. "That sounds boring."
"It will help us win longer rallies."
"We cannot even start a rally."
"Exactly."
That shut him up.
Hinata nodded once. "We begin."
---
They started with simple passing drills.
Two players on each side of the net.
No jumping.
No attacking.
Just passing the ball back and forth.
At first, it was a mess.
The ball dropped constantly. Calls overlapped or came too late. Players hesitated, unsure who should move.
"Call it earlier," Hinata said.
"Mine."
"Louder."
"Mine!"
"Before it gets to you."
They repeated it.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The rhythm came slowly.
Very slowly.
But it came.
Fukuda managed a clean pass.
The boy with glasses called "Mine" before the ball reached him and actually moved in time.
The new player adjusted his position without being told.
Small changes.
But real ones.
Hinata watched closely.
This is better.
Still weak.
But better.
They kept going.
Minutes turned into an hour.
Sweat built.
Legs grew heavy.
Voices grew hoarse from constant calling.
But the ball stayed in the air longer.
Three touches.
Four.
Five.
A short rally formed.
Then broke.
Hinata felt something shift inside him.
This is what we need.
Not power.
Not speed.
Control.
He stepped in and joined the rotation.
"Keep it up," he said.
The ball came toward him.
"Mine."
He moved quickly, adjusted his stance, and passed it cleanly.
Fukuda received next.
Then the boy with glasses.
Then back again.
For a moment, everything worked.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
The ball moved between them without dropping.
A real rally.
Short.
Fragile.
But real.
When it finally fell, no one spoke.
They just looked at each other.
"That… worked," Fukuda said.
Hinata nodded.
"Again."
---
They pushed through fatigue.
Every time the ball dropped, they reset.
Every time someone hesitated, Hinata corrected it.
"Move your feet first."
"Do not wait."
"Trust your call."
His voice stayed steady, but his mind raced.
We are improving.
It is slow.
But it is happening.
After another round, the new player wiped his face with his sleeve.
"This is harder than hitting."
Hinata nodded. "Because it requires everyone."
The boy with glasses looked down at his arms. "It hurts."
"It will."
"Will it stop?"
Hinata paused.
He looked at his own arms.
Red.
Sore.
Still shaking slightly.
"No," he said honestly. "But you get used to it."
Fukuda laughed. "That is not comforting."
Hinata smiled faintly. "It is reality."
They rested briefly.
Then Hinata stood up again.
"One more drill."
Fukuda groaned loudly. "We just did one more drill."
"This is different."
Hinata walked to the center of the court.
"We try a real rally."
The others stiffened.
"With four people?" the boy with glasses asked.
"Yes."
"That is not normal."
"I know."
The new player narrowed his eyes. "What is the goal?"
Hinata looked at the net.
Then back at them.
"To keep the ball in play as long as possible."
No spikes.
No complex plays.
Just survival.
They took their positions.
It felt strange.
Unbalanced.
Incomplete.
But it was still a court.
Still a net.
Still a game.
Hinata tossed the ball lightly.
"Ready?"
No one answered.
But they did not need to.
He served.
The ball cleared the net.
Fukuda received.
Messy, but playable.
The boy with glasses scrambled and sent it back.
Hinata moved under it.
"Mine."
He passed it cleanly.
The new player reacted late but managed to keep it in play.
Back and forth.
Slow.
Unsteady.
But moving.
Hinata's heart started to beat faster.
This is it.
This is real.
The ball came toward him again.
He adjusted.
Passed.
Fukuda moved faster this time.
The boy with glasses called earlier.
The new player positioned himself better.
The rally stretched.
Five touches.
Six.
Seven.
Then the ball dropped.
Silence.
Everyone breathed heavily.
Fukuda bent over. "That felt… different."
Hinata nodded.
"Because it was a real exchange."
The boy with glasses looked surprised. "We actually played."
"Yes."
Not well.
Not cleanly.
But they played.
Hinata clenched his fists.
"We do it again."
---
By the end of practice, they were exhausted.
Completely drained.
But something had changed.
They were not just hitting balls anymore.
They were starting to understand the game.
Even if only a little.
As they packed up, Fukuda glanced at Hinata.
"So this is the plan now?"
"Yes."
"Less flashy. More basics."
"Yes."
Fukuda smirked slightly. "It is working."
Hinata allowed himself a small smile.
"I know."
The boy with glasses adjusted his sleeves carefully. "Do you think this will help us in the tournament?"
Hinata looked at the court.
At the net.
At the space they had just filled with effort and mistakes and small progress.
"It will help us last longer," he said.
The new player nodded slowly. "And lasting longer means more chances."
"Yes."
More chances to learn.
More chances to fight.
More chances to grow.
They left the gym together.
This time, quieter.
More thoughtful.
As Hinata walked home, his body aching in a familiar way, he replayed the practice in his head.
The passes.
The calls.
The rally.
It was not impressive.
It would not scare any opponent.
But it was real.
And that mattered.
He looked up at the darkening sky.
The tournament was getting closer.
They were still weak.
Still inexperienced.
Still far behind.
But now they had something they did not have before.
Direction.
Hinata tightened his grip on his bag.
"One match," he whispered to himself.
That was all he needed.
One real match.
One chance to stand on the court and face a real team.
One chance to see how far he still had to go.
And once he saw it…
He would chase it.
No matter how far away it was.