Hinata woke up before his alarm.
That alone told him something was wrong.
His body felt heavy. Not the usual soreness from training, but something deeper. His legs resisted when he tried to move. His arms ached even when he was still.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment.
Then sat up anyway.
No hesitation.
No second thoughts.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood.
Pain shot through his calves.
He winced.
"…It is fine."
It was always fine.
He changed quickly, grabbed his bag, and stepped out into the early morning air. The sky was still dark, the streets quiet. His breath fogged in front of him as he walked.
No running today.
His legs would not allow it.
But that did not matter.
He was still moving forward.
That was enough.
---
When he reached school, the gates were barely open.
The janitor noticed him immediately.
"You again," the old man said.
Hinata gave a small nod. "Morning."
"You look worse."
"I am fine."
The janitor raised an eyebrow. "You always say that."
Hinata did not reply.
Because there was nothing else to say.
The gym door opened.
Hinata stepped inside.
The silence greeted him again.
Familiar.
Comforting.
And a little suffocating.
He dropped his bag and pulled out the volleyball.
No warm-up today.
He went straight into practice.
Toss.
Jump.
Swing.
The first spike felt off.
His timing was late. His jump was lower. The ball clipped the net and dropped back.
Hinata frowned.
Again.
Toss.
Jump.
Swing.
Better.
But still not right.
His legs felt slow. Heavy. Like they were dragging him down instead of pushing him up.
He clenched his jaw.
Again.
He repeated the motion.
Over and over.
Ignoring the strain.
Ignoring the stiffness.
Ignoring the warning signs his body was sending.
Because stopping was not an option.
---
By the time classes started, his hands were shaking slightly.
He hid it by gripping his pencil tighter.
Focus.
Listen.
Take notes.
But his mind drifted.
Back to the gym.
Back to the court.
Back to the feeling of being just a little too slow.
Not enough height.
Not enough control.
Not enough.
The teacher called his name.
"Hinata."
He looked up.
"You are not paying attention."
"…Sorry."
A few students snickered.
Hinata looked back down at his notebook.
The page was blank.
He had not written anything.
He swallowed.
I cannot fall behind here too.
But the thought felt distant.
Unimportant compared to everything else.
The bell rang.
Relief.
---
Practice started the same way.
But something was off.
Hinata noticed it immediately.
His reactions were slower.
His footwork less sharp.
His calls came a fraction of a second late.
"Mine."
Too late.
The ball dropped.
Fukuda frowned. "You are off today."
"I am fine."
"You missed that."
"I said I am fine."
The sharpness in his voice surprised even him.
Silence followed.
The boy with glasses looked down.
The new player crossed his arms.
Hinata exhaled slowly.
"…Sorry."
Fukuda shrugged. "Just saying."
They reset.
Again.
The ball came toward Hinata.
He moved.
Too slow.
It slipped past him.
Another miss.
His chest tightened.
Why?
Why now?
We were improving.
We were getting better.
So why am I getting worse?
He clenched his fists.
Focus.
Move faster.
React sooner.
He forced himself forward.
Again.
Again.
Again.
But the more he pushed, the more his body resisted.
His legs felt heavier.
His timing slipped further.
His frustration built.
---
"Stop."
The new player's voice cut through the gym.
Hinata froze.
"We need a break," the new player said.
"No," Hinata replied immediately.
"Yes," Fukuda added. "We do."
"We just started."
"You are already messing up," Fukuda said bluntly.
Hinata flinched.
"I said I am fine."
The boy with glasses spoke softly.
"You are not."
That hit harder than anything else.
Hinata turned toward him.
"What?"
"You are slower today," the boy continued. "And your timing is off."
Hinata's jaw tightened.
"I just need to adjust."
The new player shook his head.
"No. You are tired."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I said I am not."
Silence.
Tension filled the space again.
Hinata's breathing grew heavier.
His hands trembled slightly.
Not from effort this time.
From frustration.
From pressure.
From something he did not want to admit.
The new player stepped forward.
"When did you last rest?"
Hinata did not answer.
Because he did not remember.
"Exactly," the new player said.
Fukuda sighed. "You are overdoing it."
"I have to train."
"Not like this."
"Yes, like this."
"No," Fukuda said firmly. "This is making you worse."
Hinata shook his head.
"That is not true."
But even as he said it, doubt crept in.
Because he could feel it.
His body was not responding the way it should.
His movements were off.
His timing broken.
Something was wrong.
And he knew it.
He just did not want to accept it.
---
They sat down.
Hinata reluctantly.
The others watched him carefully.
"You are pushing too hard," the new player said.
Hinata stared at the floor.
"If I do not push, I will fall behind."
"You are already falling behind like this."
That stung.
Fukuda leaned forward.
"You think more practice always equals more improvement."
"It does."
"Not if your body cannot keep up."
Hinata clenched his fists.
"I do not have time to slow down."
The boy with glasses looked at him.
"We all started late," he said quietly. "Not just you."
Hinata froze.
That thought had never crossed his mind.
He always felt like he was chasing something.
But they were too.
They were all behind.
They were all struggling.
They were all trying to catch up.
The weight in his chest shifted slightly.
Not lighter.
But different.
The new player spoke again.
"You are not alone in this."
Hinata looked up.
Their expressions were tired.
Frustrated.
But still there.
Still trying.
Still showing up.
For the team.
Not just for themselves.
Hinata swallowed.
"…I just do not want to waste time."
Fukuda smirked faintly.
"Then do not waste it by breaking yourself."
Silence.
Then Hinata nodded.
Slowly.
"…Fine."
---
They ended practice early.
Earlier than usual.
It felt wrong.
Incomplete.
Hinata walked home slower than normal.
Each step heavy.
Not just from fatigue.
But from thought.
He replayed the day in his mind.
The mistakes.
The tension.
The argument.
The truth.
He was pushing too hard.
Not just physically.
Mentally too.
Trying to force progress.
Trying to close the gap too quickly.
But the gap was still there.
Wide.
Unforgiving.
He stopped walking for a moment.
Looked up at the darkening sky.
"What am I supposed to do?"
The question hung in the air.
Unanswered.
For now.
He exhaled slowly.
Then started walking again.
Tomorrow…
He would adjust.
He had to.
Because this path…
Was not sustainable.
And if he broke now…
He would never reach the court.