A young boy sits by the television, flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch.

"Nee , okaasan?"

("Hey mom?")

He pauses, halting his query upon finding a sports channel. 6 men stood on a court, a net dividing two sides. A scoreboard blares, signaling 6 other men to take their positions on the opposing side. A woman in a white shirt rolls a ball to one of the men who steps off the court, bouncing the ball as he walked out of bounds. "What's this guy doing?" Suddenly the man turns, a whistle is blown and he tosses the ball high into the air. He waits, watching it for only a second, as it arcs downward, the trajectory heading towards the court. The man explodes forward, his arm stretching backward before whipping out, striking the ball and sending it hurdling over the net, hitting the floor with a loud boom. A roar ripped through the gymnasium, the boy's eyes seemed to glisten as he stood up.

"Okaasan, Okaasan! Kono sports no namae wa nani desu ka?"

("Mom, Mom! What's this sport called?")

By now the boy's mother had stepped into the room, she looked at the boy before glancing at the television.

"Sore ga volleyball desu."

("That's volleyball.")

The boy gasped,

"Volleyball? Okaasan! Volleyball wa shi tai!"

(Volleyball? Mom! I wanna play volleyball!")

The boys mother chuckles,

"Ookiku te tsuyoku natsu tara asoberu yoi ne?"

The young boy nods, his smile lighting up the whole room.

Many years later...

A young man sits alone in Haneda International Airport, his lips tucked into his black hoodie as his dark eyes gaze into a phone screen. A white embroidered volleyball displayed at the top left of his chest; some Kanji are written around the top , "両面高校", whilst the kanji for "volleyball" is written in a straight line at the bottom "バレーボール". A flight attendant exits the jet bridge, and begins to board passengers. The teenager receives a notification, a text message, in which he quickly replies to.

 HiltonVB: WYA?

 両面#11: Boarding rn.

The young man sends his message before standing up, causing his hoodie to fall back down to his chest. As he stood up a single kanji rested above a number "痛" (Ita). He approached the flight attendant, showing her his ticket before getting on the plane and taking his seat. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pair of earbuds and placing one in each ear. He looked out the window, watching as the plane finally began to take off, watching everything he'd ever known grow so small, shrinking until it was no longer in view. He muttered something under his breath before the view from the window had turn to white whisps of cloud.

"I'll be back... one day."

Once the plane had ascended above the clouds he closed his eyes, his earbuds blasting pop music into his ears. He sighed as his brow scrunched, recalling fond memories of playing volleyball with his team, recalling his idol's greatest weapon. Yuji could vividly remember the roar of the crowd, the gym shaking with excitement. Yuji could still see it—the explosive approach, the whip-like arm, the ball streaking past the block like a bullet. The ball seemed to disappear and reappear right in front of the opposing left-side hitter who had dropped back in an attempt to cover the attack. Yuji felt a shiver run down his body as he stared in awe. This man was the sole reason he wore number 11, he was Yuji's idol, he was an obstacle for the young man to overcome. Yuji needed to defeat that amazing cut shot.