#ujishima x reader
A/N: (Please do let me know if you want to be tagged in this series!)
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Act 1.1: Satō (Y/N)
Your transfer into Karasuno High School comes a week and a half late.
It comes to no surprise to you—your surname change and school transfer took a good three weeks to occur. Fast, apparently. You had, after all, been informed of the possibility that it would take longer to process through. And you knew that if that was the case, you would refuse to attend school at all… Only travelling back and forth after hours to collect any homework and textbooks required.
For some reason, the Vice Principal had permitted you to do so for the week you were absent.
(You think it’s because he’s a closeted fan of your aunt’s—the person who had been taking you to and from school during your week of absence. You’ve seen the lingering gazes and maybe the magazine stuffed haphazardly under a pile of paperwork and books on his table in his office. You hope he doesn’t attempt to garner any favours for you by allowing you to do this.)
So the first time you turn up to class—you don’t show your face at all. You don’t particularly consider yourself a goody-two-shoes, but you’re dressed elegantly for class, clothes ironed out and crisp against your skin. Your hair is neat, and you turn up 20 minutes early to class. Your seat, labelled, is in the third row of the classroom and by the window facing the courtyard. It’s clichéd, but it works for you because the view beyond the window isn’t spectacular, but it’s incredible all the same.
(It’s easier to imagine everyone as ants—insignificant, until they bite. The view from the window only helps to prove your point.)
Academically, your grades are only slightly above average—excelling in only two classes aside from Phys. Ed, as expected from a volleyball nerd.
One by one, your classmates trickle in, finding their seats and preparing for the day. You’re glad they don’t notice you. Or maybe they do, but they’re refusing to approach you, given that you’re wearing a Calvin Klein cap and a black Adidas mask—Not your choice of clothing, but you unfortunately had nothing else less illustrious. You had only been in Miyagi for less than three weeks after all.
(You had purposely selected something less pricey to wear—You clearly had other expensive clothing from more expensive brands, given the black Balenciaga sneakers you had worn on the way to school. Not that anyone needed to know, of course.)
You dreaded the lone self-introduction that came with new beginnings. Words didn’t come easy to you—it never had. And it was even more difficult now that you were forced to hide your identity. Nevertheless, when the bell toils to indicate the beginning of class and your name is called to the front, you immediately remove your cap and set it down on your table, rising to introduce yourself. The stares of your class are unnerving, and you take several moments to ground yourself before speaking up in your usual, quiet voice.
“Satō (Y/N). 15. From Osaka.”
And you promptly sit back down, not willing to interact with any of your classmates. You hope your somewhat cold attitude brings a sense of “please don’t talk to me” to your peers. Your time in high school would pass by much quicker if they did so. But it’s unfortunate that not everything goes your way. In fact, it’s safe to say that barely anything does, and you wonder how long you’re able to keep up the facade you’ve put up: You’re wearing contacts. Purple ones that make you stand out amongst your classmates. Your face mask. Your unwillingness to speak.
It’s really only a matter of time before they find out who you are.
So when lunch rolls around after a handful of classes, you’re not surprised to suddenly find yourself surrounded by your classmates. They’re loud, and your introverted self can’t handle them, slowly shrinking into yourself as they continue to bombard you with questions.
There are some you’re willing to answer, and there are some that you can’t.
“You’re from Osaka, right? Why don’t you have the accent?”
“Why the contacts, and why purple?”
You don’t mind the questions, but—Your breaking point is when one of the boys attempts to tear your mask off. And the change is instant. You immediately slap his hand away and rise abruptly, taking your packed bentō with you to somewhere much more quiet.
The rooftop.
Technically, you’re not supposed to be there—the door was locked, after all. But you’re more than experienced in picking locks: you used to do it all the time to enter your middle school’s gym early in the morning, until the supervising teacher was fed up with you and gave you your personal key.
(You still have that key—It’s a good luck charm of sorts now.)
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The rooftop is silent.
The gentle Spring breeze of mid-April brushes through your hair, carrying the sounds and scents of your classmates and fellow school students as it brushes past. You take a seat on the edge of the building, legs swinging over the side despite the existing railing. You’re well aware that you’re bound for trouble, but the thought flies directly over your mind as you uncover your bentō and relish in the ‘silence’. The little plastic lunchbox carries your favourite dish, spread neatly over rice and you unhook your face mask.
You devour the meal at a leisurely pace, savouring the taste with a slight hum and watching a certain pair pass a volleyball to one another in a set-receive motion.
……Which reminded you that you were supposed to go to Shiratorizawa—the school your parents had a share in finances in…
…And a building, you sigh to yourself. One of the five gyms on campus, named after my family from their sponsorship.
And naturally, you refused, knowing that your fame would never dissipate if you ever went there. After all, Shiratorizawa was a prestigious school known for both it’s sports and academics. You had no interest in prestige—which is the sole reason why you had selected Karasuno over even Aoba Josei.
(Totally not because of some guy named Oikawa Tooru. Nope. You refused to even become acquainted with him. You’ve heard the rumours and you flat out refuse.)
Sighing, you take a sip of your water bottle and close the lid of your bentō. And—
—The rooftop door swings open with a bang.
“What are you doing here?!”
It’s the vice principal and you baulk, face paling slightly. But all you do is rise to your feet and bow. The vice principal stares back and pales slightly, not expecting you to immediately wordlessly request for forgiveness. And he panics.
(It’s admittedly amusing.)
“Alright, alright! I get it. I won’t punish you for sneaking up here.”—was he trying to gain favour from you?—“Instead, I will say that you must sign up for a club by the end of tomorrow. Submissions end this week for the beginning of year applications, but I can make a special exception for you.”
Club activities at Karasuno were compulsory for half a year, at least. But applications received at the beginning of the year tended to indicate some kind of semi-permanent position. Permanent, unless something serious occurred.
Like the events that led to your downfall in your final year.
The vice-principal gives you no other options. You sigh dejectedly, despite knowing your ability to seek trouble accidentally, and shut your bento. You follow the vice principal down the narrow stairwell and into his office, receiving the application paper and the booklet with the list of available clubs.
Instinctively, you seek for the volleyball clubs.
The vice president, well aware of your identity, grins slyly and taps the space between the two volleyball teams.
“The girls team is seeking for more members, and the boys team is looking for another manager to take over from their third-year when the year is over.”
You deadpan and shut him down immediately, leaving the room.
“I’ve given up on volleyball.”
He visibly deflates at the tone of your voice, wig almost slipping from his head.
(Silently, you wonder how it stays on his head in the first place.)
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In the end, you wander outside during the free study line you’re given and into the crowd of clubs seeking their final applicants. Accidental, of course, but you’re caught up in the crowd anyway. And after several moments of being jostled and shoved around, you end up in front of the school gym—a place you had yet to explore. But you pause for several minutes, listening to the sounds arising from the gym in curiousity. And it barely takes you 30 seconds before you sigh once again.
(Fate was cruel to you, wasn’t it? Because the thumping sounds you could hear from outside the gym didn’t belong to the basketball club. They belonged to the volleyball club—the boys one, because you could hear the deeper voices call “alright!” from within.)
You do, however, linger at the entrance, mostly because you have no idea of the direction back to your classroom or the library—another place you have yet to explore—and partially out of curiosity. And as it goes, you get caught by a grey-haired upperclassman who approaches you with ease.
“Are you…. maybe looking for the girl’s volleyball club?” he questions you with an air of friendliness, unlike those you had experienced in your classroom, and a smile, “Sorry, but you’ve just missed their captain.”
You shake your head gently, nervous beneath the mask.
(Nervous, because you hadn’t expected him to appear from behind you. Nervous, because he was holding a pair of red and white volleyball shoes. Nervous, because he was obviously a member of the boys volleyball team.)
“I, um,”—was caught up by the crowd of people looking for members to their clubs, swallowed up by them, spat back out and—“got lost.”
“I see.” The pretty male chuckles politely, taking note of your dishevelled appearance and taking a polite assumption of your situation, “They do become quite ravenous when it comes to the last few days. I’m glad you got out of there safely.”
He’s kind, you notice, and you relax slightly. You also notice he’s about to say something else, when—
—“Suga! You’re finally here!”
The voice comes from the barred window just behind the silver-haired senpai and he jolts with a loud “Geh!”, face paling in shock. The corner of your lips curl upwards ever so slightly. It’s somewhat nostalgic, you suppose, that excitement that comes with playing the sport you love.
Mr. Kind steps to the side and turns to Mr. Head-in-Window.
“Daichi! Don’t scare me like that!”
But ‘Daichi’ no longer pays attention to ‘Suga’. Instead, his intense expression is directed to you—the you who’s slowly yet subtly withering beneath his intense gaze. Naturally, Daichi notices and relaxes, lowering himself from the window quickly. He disappears for several moments, before the door to your left swings open to reveal the said senpai.‘Daichi’ greets you, an expression now equally as kind as ‘Suga’ who was still recovering from his shock. You pat the grey-haired senpai on the back, silently amused. ‘Suga’ tenses from your touch, however, but says nothing and turns to watch your interaction with the captain.
“Can we help you?”
You tilt your head slightly, violet eyes glinting in the shadow of the alleyway. “Sorry. I got lost.”
Suga chuckles at your blunt statement and decides to elaborate in your place. “She got caught up in the crowd of people recruiting for clubs and found her way here.”
Like Suga, Daichi laughs. “I should’ve known,” he teases, “your hair is quite a mess—“
You panic. Scrambling to fix your hair using the glass screen of your phone. And it takes you several moments before you freeze and flush in embarrassment, realising you don’t even know their names properly and they’re already teasing you. And even then you can think of nothing more to do than to deadpan at his words, running your fingers through your hair to calm it down.
But Suga just stares at you. Your violet contact lenses and face mask intrigue him. It wasn’t everyday that someone adamantly went out of their way to break the school rules, and violet wasn’t a common colour for contact lenses anyway—the main reason why it intrigued him in the first place. But the grey-haired male seemed to understand that if he were to question your reasons for wearing them, that it would result in you promptly leaving.
And something told him you didn’t want to leave.
The two third-years had heard of the rumours, of course. Rumours that had spread rather rapidly within the two hours between the time you had left your classroom indignantly and now. They were rumours that spoke of a rich girl. Haughty and rude.
But watching you adorably and frantically fix your hair in the screen of your phone made them think otherwise.
(It was painfully obvious that the rumours were about you. After all, there was only one person in the school now who would constantly be wearing a face mask, had violet eyes, and wore a pair of black Balenciagas outside of the school building. And the rumours weren’t kind either. Suga hopes the rumours don’t bother you at all.)
Suga glances at Daichi, catching his eye. The taller of the two nods, and turns to talk to you once more. He smiles warmly.
“Would you like to come inside? We’re just having ordinary practice, and those guys,” he points over your shoulder at the cord behind you, “won’t be done for another two hours at least.”
There is no judgement in his voice. You know of the rumours and they downright terrify you. But you can’t help but maintain that hope that it wouldn’t move past just that. Rumours.
Your hesitation is obvious but you nod anyway, knowing that you were taking up their precious practice time.
(You knew there was another way to get into the school without passing through that crowd, but you can’t help but be curious anyway.)
Suga senses your hesitance and he, too, smiles at you brightly. “You won’t be imposing or anything if you sit on the sidelines and spectate, you know? The only thing you might have to watch out for is flying balls.”
Your hesitation ceases. You nod once again and follow them inside.
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“So….” you begin nervously, “S-Suga-san and Daichi-san, was it? You’re both third-years.”
Daichi flushes bright red and Suga just laughs at his expense, completely unfazed by the fact you’ve just called him by an affectionate nickname of his. He slaps Daichi heartily on his back. You, however, begin to wonder if you’ve done something wrong, given the bright flush on his cheeks. And as you open your mouth to ask, Suga beats you to it.
“That’s right,” he grins brightly, “I’m Sugawara Koushi, a third-year setter for this volleyball team. You can call me Suga though. And this is Sawamura Daichi, our captain.”
Your face, or at least what was visible of it, flushes equally as red as the third-year captain almost immediately. Flustered, you promptly bow at 90-degrees, stuttering out apologies at the fastest possible pace you could manage.
“I’m so sorry Sawamura-senpai—“
The male in question holds out his hands and waves it around frantically.
“There’s no need to apologise—“ he begins, only to be cut off by another voice. The voice is gravelly, teasing and very much rough. In a yankee-street gang-yakuza style. You don’t particularly hate it though—it’s a change from the two kind ones that you had spoken with.
—“Oya?” The voice begins, the sound nearing with every millisecond, “What’s this? Daichi has made a kouhai apologise to him?”
You rise and promptly point your gaze at the newcomer. Yankee, indeed…. Or perhaps not, but his appearance certainly gave the impression of one. With a buzzcut and an aggressive-yet-teasing look on his face. And that saunter too. But the expression of curiosity and the saunter disappears a split second later however, when the male in question realises that you’re of the opposite gender to him. And he comes practically crying to Suga, pulling him away so you can’t hear him.
…. Except that you can, because he’s not exactly the quietest of people, so you can hear every word he’s saying.
“Agirl?” he whisper-yells to Suga, “I didn’t know you were bringing one today?!”
And of course, Suga whisper-yells back, slapping the yankee-esque male on the back of the head. “You idiot, Tanaka! Of course not! She got lost and I found her at the door!”
Daichi, also watching them intensely, sighs and apologises for their idiocy. You don’t mind it though–it’s amusing to watch. But Daichi glares at them once again and yells at them to return to practice.
(Your lips are curled up again in response to their terrified reactions. Though you do have to admit that the banter is a heavy reminder of the male volleyball team you were good friends with, back in middle school.)
“Tanaka…-san, was it? He’s very wild.”
Daichi hears you of course, and agrees, though he does mention back that the male in question is a good guy. You can’t help but agree with him too, because he was polite enough to apologise after. Because he was polite enough to pull Suga away before talking to him… Even if you can hear him.
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You take a seat at the edge of the stage watching the boys play in a three-vs-three game. It’s an effective form of practice, you think, as the other second-year students greet you. They’re bench players, but they’re not too bothered by that.
Somehow, you notice, they’re almost relieved. Nevertheless, you greet them in return, introducing yourself politely.
(You realise that Tanaka and the two third-years don’t know your name yet, but you’ll just have to remember to introduce yourself later.)
You’re somewhat hyper-focused on the game in front of you, watching the ball and the player’s movements with interest. Of the six players on court, two are first years—both in your class. You don’t exactly remember their names, but what you do remember is that neither of them had approached you during the lunch break earlier. The only one you vaguely recognise is the one with glasses—because he’s incredibly tall, and because he was the first to arrive in class after you did. The green-haired male, however, is almost equally as tall as his friend. But his timid appearance and freckles leaves very little presence in a social situation.
(You learn, not long after, that their names are Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi respectively, both middle blockers whilst in middle school.)
Mid-game, the gym doors open once more to reveal a pretty, third-year female, obviously the manager of the team. And once more does Tanaka swoon. You chuckle quietly at the disruption of the game, and she hears you, greeting you with a wave
“The vice principal was looking for you, I think,” she mentions after approaching you. And you sigh quietly.
“Did you get in trouble on the first day already?” Suga asks you quietly and you sigh again, feeling exhausted.
“Yes and no.”
(Yes, because you did get in trouble for sneaking out onto the rooftop without permission, but no, because you weren’t being punished. Well, not exactly anyway.)
“Come to think of it,” the blue-haired senpai wonders aloud, “didn’t he ask for you to join a club by the end of tomorrow?”
“Geh.”
You slump on the spot. Too immersed in the earlier game, you had completely forgotten about the not-punishment the vice principal had given you. A troublesome assignment, considering you didn’t exactly like talking. Particularly in front of those you weren’t comfortable with, or if you were forced to begin the conversation first. Your reaction doesn’t deter Tanaka though. His eyes sparkle and your mind instinctively thinks ‘oh no’ and before you can even react properly, he grabs your hands and pleads with you.
“Please be our second manager!”
You pull away almost immediately, dusting your hands against your skirt. “Sorry. I refuse.”
(You’re breaking Tanaka, of course, with your denial. But you’re fleeing from everything volleyball related so your response was only a given.)
And then Tsukishima speaks up, after watching and analysing you for minutes straight.
“Why not?” he teases, “You were watching the game quite intensely only moments ago.”
You realise he’s quite like you in this way. Observant and blunt. Though he’s obviously not quiet and awkward, unlike you. And he’s tall,the perfect height for volleyball… Or at least, that’s what your middle school’s boy’s volleyball coach used to say. Granted, you were at average height for your age—perhaps 159 centimetres tall—and your coach still complained. That still didn’t deter you from becoming the best all rounder in the country though. Not to mention that your team also came second in the middle school regional competition after an incredibly close loss to the Nagano Prefecture middle school.
(The fact that you had even gotten that far was a shock to you. Your team wasn’t exactly the most close knit of them, nor were they particularly skilled. You just like to think that every other school in the prefecture that year sucked because they didn’t take the sport seriously…. Or perhaps your expectations were too high? Who knows.)
Beside you, Suga hums, deep in thought. “Why not though? By this time of the school term, most good positions in the clubs are gone already.”
Your skin visibly pales at the sound of your senpai’s words. This was certainlynot going to your plans. It was also unfortunate that you didn’t have any other plans, and joining the girls volleyball team was not an option at all.
So with great hesitance and much to your displeasure, you’re forced to agree.
