---
The ride home from Karasuno was quiet, the evening air cool against Hinata's skin as he pedaled through Miyagi's winding streets.
His mind buzzed with the day's events—Tsukishima's sharp jabs, Kageyama's intense glares, the looming promise of their first practice match.
But he kept it contained, a steady hum beneath his calm exterior.
He had changed, and for once, it felt good to carry that weight with control.
He rolled to a stop in front of his house, the warm glow of the kitchen window spilling out into the fading dusk.
The scent of grilled food drifted through the air, and Hinata smiled faintly. "I'm home!" he called, kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag by the door.
Natsu's head popped out from the living room, her grin wide and mischievous.
"Finally! You're super slow today," she teased, darting over to tug at his sleeve.
"Come help Mom! She's making yakitori, and I'm starving!"
Hinata laughed, letting her drag him into the kitchen.
Their mom stood at the counter, skewering chicken with smooth, practiced motions.
The sizzle of meat on the grill filled the air with a savory tang that made his stomach rumble.
"Shoyo, perfect timing," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "Grab the sauce, would you? I could use an extra hand."
"Sure," he replied, already rolling up his sleeves.
He slid into the rhythm easily—brushing soy sauce over the skewers, flipping them with precision, and passing them off to Natsu, who chattered nonstop about her day.
It was simple. Domestic. And so different from the life he'd grown used to—the late-night practices, constant travel, protein shakes instead of home-cooked meals, teammates in place of family.
He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed this.
"So," Natsu said, perched on a stool with a half-eaten skewer in hand, "how was practice? Did your teammates say anything dumb again?"
Hinata smirked and handed his mom a finished skewer. "Yeah, there's this guy—Tsukishima. He's got a mouth on Kageyama—he's another teammate—'Your Majesty.' And me? 'Shorty.'"
Natsu snorted. "He sounds like a pain."
"Didn't really bug me, though."
His mom raised an eyebrow, smiling as she plated another batch. "You're awfully calm about it. Usually, you'd be stomping around, ranting."
He shrugged, keeping his tone light. "Guess I'm growing up."
It was only half a joke. Years of pro experience had smoothed out his rough edges, taught him how to let words slide instead of turning every comment into a battlefield.
Natsu squinted at him like she didn't quite buy it, but she let it go when he handed her another skewer.
Dinner was warm and loud—Natsu stealing bites from his plate, their mom laughing at her antics, the table filled with the comfort of familiarity.
Hinata soaked it all in, letting it settle deep in his bones.
Afterward, he helped clean up, drying dishes while his mom scrubbed and Natsu sprawled on the couch with a manga volume open across her chest.
"You're really back into this volleyball thing, huh?" his mom asked quietly, handing him a plate to dry.
He paused, then nodded. "Yeah. It's everything to me."
She looked at him, eyes soft. "Just don't forget to take care of yourself, too."
"I won't," he said, and meant it.
There was something grounding in her words, and he felt a flicker of gratitude bloom in his chest.
Later that night, in bed, Hinata lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
The familiar silhouette of the Little Giant poster loomed above him, the silent witness to years of dreams and hard work.
Tsukishima's barbs, Kageyama's tense silences, the energy of the team—it all churned in his head.
Then there was the practice match. His first real test since returning.
His muscles ached faintly beneath the covers, not from fatigue, but from anticipation. He smiled to himself. It was the ache of progress.
---
Morning came too quickly, ushered in by the blare of his alarm.
Hinata groaned but rolled out of bed without hesitation.
The day stretched ahead of him—classes, then gym.
He pulled on his uniform, slung his bag over his shoulder, and pedaled toward Karasuno.
The crisp spring air stung his cheeks and filled his lungs, waking him more than any alarm could.
School was... different now. Back then, he'd spent most classes doodling volleyballs in the margins or zoning out entirely, barely passing his tests.
But now? Now he listened.
He took notes. His pen moved purposefully across the pages. Math started to make sense. Historical dates stuck instead of slipping through the cracks.
If they gave him a test today, he figured he could manage a 70%—maybe even hit 85% or 90% if he crammed the night before. Ten years of discipline had sharpened more than just his body.
It had refined his focus, too.
---
The final bell rang, and Hinata was the first out the classroom door, gym bag slung over his shoulder.
The court called to him, and he answered eagerly, legs moving on instinct.
The gym welcomed him with its familiar echo, the scent of worn wood and sweat instantly grounding.
Tanaka was already there, stretching out his shoulders with a wide grin. "Yo, Hinata! Ready to crush it?"
"Always," Hinata said, dropping his bag and joining him on the floor.
His movements were fluid—hamstrings, quads, shoulders—each stretch methodical, a routine burned into muscle memory from years on pro courts.
Sugawara adjusted the net nearby, nodding in greeting. "You're early. Good habit to keep."
"Old habits die hard," Hinata replied with a grin.
Then the gym doors swung open—and Hinata's breath caught mid-stretch. A girl walked in. Tall, composed, black hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She moved with quiet confidence, a stack of towels balanced in her arms like it was nothing. Glasses caught the light as she looked up.
Kiyoko Shimizu.
He'd seen her before—at tournament after highschool, in old memories—but this was their first meeting in this timeline.
There was something about her presence, her quiet efficiency, that hit him harder than he expected. Calm, graceful, commanding without saying a word.
Their eyes met. She gave him a polite nod.
"Hey," he said quickly, a little too quick, his voice cracking slightly.
He winced, silently cursing himself, but she didn't seem to notice. She turned smoothly, placing the towels on the bench.
Hinata exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. Tanaka shot him a side-eye. "Whoa. You okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost."
"Nah. Just... surprised." Hinata straightened and focused back on stretching.
Warm-ups began. Tanaka yelled about "total domination tomorrow," while Kageyama barked instructions during passing drills.
Tsukishima fired off a bored, "Nice effort, Your Majesty," which earned a growl from Kageyama.
He followed it up with a lazy, "Don't trip, shorty," in Hinata's direction.
But Hinata didn't bite.
"Thanks for the tip," he said evenly, not missing a beat as he continued stretching.
Tanaka let out a surprised laugh. "Whoa. You didn't even flinch Hinata?"
Hinata just smirked. "Maybe I'm evolving."
Kiyoko stood by the bench, clipboard in hand, her eyes flicking from player to player. She was taking notes, focused, professional.
Still, Hinata caught her glancing his way more than once. Her expression was unreadable—but not disinterested.
He didn't rise to Kageyama's tension, didn't feed Tsukishima's sarcasm, didn't try to match Tanaka's volume. He kept his energy calm, controlled. And it seemed like she noticed. The corner of her lips twitched once—almost a smile.
They finished warm-ups, and while the others moved to set up drills, Hinata jogged over to her, wiping sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt.
"Hey. I'm Hinata Shoyo," he said, casual but confident. "First year. Those guys over there are Kageyama, Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi."
Kiyoko glanced up. "I know. I've read the roster."
"Right," Hinata laughed lightly. "Still—thought it'd be nice to say hi."
Kageyama grunted from across the court, barely sparing her a glance. "Hi," he muttered.
Tsukishima adjusted his glasses, voice dry. "Hello."
Yamaguchi gave a stiff, awkward bow. "N-nice to meet you!"
Hinata gestured toward them. "They're great. Just… different flavors of friendly."
Kiyoko nodded, unfazed. "Shimizu Kiyoko. Third year. I'm the manager." She paused, eyes studying him more carefully. "You're… not what I expected."
"Good different, I hope?" he asked, tilting his head.
A beat passed. Then—barely—her lips curved. "Maybe."
She turned back to her clipboard, and Hinata returned to the court with a grin that lingered longer than it should have.
Practice shifted into high gear—drills, receives, serves. Kageyama's sets cut clean through the air, fast and unrelenting.
Tsukishima's blocks loomed with precision. Tanaka dove for every ball like it owed him money, and Yamaguchi moved quietly but with growing confidence.
Kiyoko continued observing from the sidelines, occasionally jotting notes. Hinata felt her gaze now and then, lingering during receives or Spikes. He didn't let it affect his rhythm—but it was there, like a quiet approval that didn't need words.
Between drills, Hinata wiped his face with a towel, glancing at the others. They were working harder than they had in the beginning, syncing better. This was already different from his last life.
Last time, we barely practiced before the practice match against tsukishima and others. It was chaos. But this time… it's slower. More focused. Maybe because I didn't start things off by being reckless , knocking vice principal wig. Maybe I've already changed something.
He didn't know how many things would be different going forward. But that didn't matter. Whatever came, he'd face it head-on—with no regrets.
Practice wound down as the sun dipped behind the gym windows. Sweat clung to his back, his legs burned, and still—he felt charged. Alive.
Daichi clapped his hands. "Good work, everyone. Practice match is tomorrow. Rest up and come ready."
The team began dispersing, collecting bags and wiping down. Hinata slung his over his shoulder and passed by Kiyoko on the way out.
"See you tomorrow, Shimizu-senpai," he said with a quick grin and wave.
She looked up from her clipboard and gave a nod. "Good work today, Hinata."
He stepped into the cooling evening, the gym echo fading behind him. Tomorrow was the match—his first real moment to show what he'd brought back.
---
To be continued…
---
---
Let me know your thoughts any improvement and give ideas how this story should go and also do I need to include other people pov and thier own screentime,thier thoughts
Also should I give time for his family interaction or just focus completely on volleyball
-----
Give me Power Stones 💪 💪 and write a review