Tied by Red Strings | T. Kageyama

Chapter 4: "The Wind's Silent Message"

"...Maybe I am."

Yachi's eyes widened, her mouth forming a small "o" of surprise. "Wait, really? Spill, spill!"

I shook my head, trying to play it off. "Not today. I've got a lot on my mind."

Yachi eyed the milk carton in my hand, her expression turning mischievous. "That's, like, your third milk this week. What's up with that?"

I shrugged. "Milk helps me think."

"Sounds like Kageyama."

I blinked. "He drinks milk too?"

Yachi nodded vigorously. "Oh yeah. It's practically his brand. I swear it's a personality trait."

I couldn't help but laugh softly, thinking about the time I saw him with that milk carton. Somehow, I wasn't surprised.

But my mind wandered again to the note in my pocket. To Kageyama. To the strange wind.

Yachi nudged me, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Hey, speaking of volleyball, I heard you used to be a manager?"

My eyes snapped back to her, and I blinked. "Yeah, back in New York."

"That's so cool! Why didn't you join the team here?" she asked eagerly. "We need a new manager. Shimizu-senpai is graduating soon, and Coach Ukai's been saying they want someone new. You'd be perfect!"

The idea of being the team manager again was oddly appealing. The thought of being involved without the pressure of being on the court. But...

"I haven't even seen the team practice yet."

"Doesn't matter," Yachi said with a grin. "You're halfway there. You sit next to the king himself."

I blinked. "The king?"

Yachi winced. "Oh, right, that nickname—he hates it. Kageyama, of course. He's the one you sit next to."

I couldn't help but laugh softly at that. "He doesn't seem like a king."

"No, he definitely doesn't act like one," Yachi said thoughtfully. "But sometimes I wonder if he's still figuring out who he is. He's.. different. But you'll see."

I couldn't deny that. There was something about him that made me feel like there was more beneath the surface. Like there was a story waiting to unfold, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for it.

But at that moment, I realized something. Kageyama was never far from my thoughts. Whether it was the way he moved or the strange energy that always seemed to follow him, I couldn't ignore it. The sense that there was more going on than I could understand.

⸻

After lunch, I wandered around the school grounds again, my feet carrying me through hallways and courtyards without much direction. The quiet had settled back over the campus, and I found myself at a bulletin board filled with flyers for clubs, announcements, and lost items. One flyer caught my eye.

Karasuno Volleyball: Looking for New Manager!

I stopped for a moment, eyeing the paper, but didn't linger. My thoughts drifted back to Kageyama, to the strange connection I felt when I saw him, when I felt the air shift around us. I wondered if he felt it too.

But I didn't know how to ask him. I didn't know what to say.

⸻

After school, I stayed a little longer. Not because I had to, but because I wasn't ready to leave.

The halls were quieter now, the noise of students fading as everyone else went home or headed to after-school activities. I wandered past the gym, hearing the faint sounds of volleyball practice—a distant echo of shouts, the thud of a ball, the squeak of sneakers on the floor.

I stopped by the vending machine outside the gym and bought another milk, letting the cool carton ground me for a moment. I leaned against the wall, sipping slowly, my thoughts swirling like the wind.

The note in my pocket felt heavier now, like it was pressing against me.

"You were there, too."

I closed my eyes, trying to bring the memory forward, to grab onto something that made sense. But all I could feel was the wind again. It brushed across my skin like a reminder, a whisper of something long forgotten.

And then I heard it.

The gym doors creaked open slightly, just enough for me to hear the sounds of practice. I looked up, noticing Kageyama standing there, his figure outlined in the doorway. He was focused, as always, his posture rigid, but I could feel something shift in the air again. Like there was a connection between us. Like the wind had carried us to this point.

For a moment, our eyes met—his dark, intense gaze locking with mine. I didn't look away.

But then, just like that, the moment passed, and he was gone, slipping back into the gym with the same quiet intensity as before.

I stood there for a moment longer, milk carton in hand, unsure of what to do with the storm brewing inside me.

I didn't know what any of it meant.

But I knew one thing:
whatever this was, it wasn't over.