Chapter 4: The One Who Didn't Need a Crown
There are rulers.
There are conquerors.
There are monsters who crush everything in front of them like storms swallowing coastlines.
And then,
there are those who stand beside chaos…
and make it dance.
The scoreboard flickered, almost bored of repeating itself.
50 – 0
Karasuno's gym echoed with the hollow sound of a match that never truly began.
The opposing team stood there, stunned.
Not broken.
Not overwhelmed.
Just… outpaced.
Saeko Tanaka stretched her arms lazily, rolling her shoulders like she'd just finished a warm-up instead of a complete dismantling.
"Man," she yawned slightly, "you guys didn't even take off."
No mockery.
No arrogance.
Just an honest observation.
Because to Saeko,
this wasn't domination.
It was flow.
A game where everything simply… worked.
She glanced at her teammates.
They were smiling.
Laughing.
Still buzzing from the match.
Every spike had landed clean.
Every receive had found its mark.
Every play had felt,
right.
Not perfect.
But guided.
And that was the strange part.
Saeko didn't play like someone forcing the game to bend.
She played like someone who already knew…
where it was going.
Her fingers tapped lightly against her thigh.
A rhythm.
A signal.
A conversation,
that only she could hear.
"…You're quiet today," she muttered under her breath.
"I don't need to talk when they're this predictable."
The voice answered instantly.
Smooth.
Calm.
Almost amused.
Saeko smirked slightly.
"Yeah, yeah. Guess you're bored."
"I'm not bored."
A pause.
"I'm efficient."
Saeko laughed.
Soft.
Unbothered.
That was the difference.
She didn't question it anymore.
Didn't resist it.
Didn't try to understand it beyond what she already knew.
Because unlike others,
Saeko had never needed an explanation.
She noticed early.
Back when the voice first appeared.
Back when that other her started stepping in.
It wasn't dramatic.
No confrontation.
No identity crisis.
Just…
a shift.
Her movements became smoother.
Her timing sharper.
Her instincts,
unnaturally precise.
And at first,
yeah.
It was weird.
"...You're not me," Saeko had said once, staring at her reflection.
The reflection smiled.
"Correct."
"…You gonna explain?"
"No."
Saeko stared for a second longer.
Then shrugged.
"Aight."
That was it.
Because Saeko didn't care what it was.
She cared about why.
And the answer came quickly.
"Your brother," the voice said one day.
Saeko blinked.
"…Ryu?"
"Yes."
"What about him?"
A pause.
Then,
"He needs to fly higher."
Saeko leaned back, arms crossed.
"…And you're gonna help with that?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Saeko stared for a moment.
Then,
"…Huh."
And that was enough.
Because she understood something important.
This thing,
this other version of her,
wasn't trying to take over.
Wasn't trying to change her.
It had a purpose.
And that purpose,
aligned with hers.
"…Then do whatever you want," Saeko said.
A small grin.
"Just don't make it boring."
The voice didn't respond.
But from that day on,
everything changed.
Not in a way that crushed others.
Not in a way that dominated the court like a tyrant.
But in a way that…
lifted everything around her.
Her teammates improved.
Quickly.
Naturally.
Not because they trained harder.
But because every ball they received…
was exactly what they needed.
A set that matched their rhythm.
A pass that matched their instinct.
A play that matched their potential.
It was like,
she saw them.
Fully.
Completely.
And gave them the perfect moment to shine.
Even her brother.
"AGAIN!"
Ryunosuke Tanaka slammed another spike.
Hard.
Fast.
But this time,
it was cleaner.
Higher.
Sharper.
Saeko watched from the side.
"…Better," she said casually.
Ryu wiped his face.
Grinning.
"Of course it is!"
But then,
he paused.
"…Wait."
He looked at her.
Narrowed his eyes slightly.
"…Since when did you get this good at feeding me?"
Saeko shrugged.
"Since you stopped sucking."
"HEY"
She laughed.
Loud.
Carefree.
But behind that laugh,
something else observed.
Measured.
Adjusted.
"His timing improved," the voice noted.
Saeko hummed.
"Yeah, yeah."
"You should push him further."
"I know."
That was their relationship.
Not control.
Not conflict.
Agreement.
A shared understanding that didn't need to be spoken out loud.
And somewhere along the way,
others started noticing.
Not just her.
But what happened around her.
"That's weird…"
A player muttered during one match.
"They're not even that strong individually…"
Another shook their head.
"Then why does it feel like we can't stop them?"
Because every play,
every movement,
every touch,
Was being guided.
Not forced.
But… fed.
That's when the nickname appeared.
"Karasuno's Izanami."
Not a ruler.
Not an empress.
Not a destroyer.
But something deeper.
The one who governs the unseen.
The one who guides the flow of life,
and death.
Saeko didn't care much for it.
"…Izanami, huh?"
"Fitting."
She rolled her eyes.
"Sounds dramatic."
"Is it wrong?"
Saeko smirked.
"…Nah."
Because deep down,
she understood.
This wasn't about power.
It was about control without force.
And somewhere beyond that,
something even stranger existed.
A space.
Not physical.
Not real.
But shared.
A place where thoughts drifted like pages of a manga flipping endlessly.
And in that space,
two figures stood.
Saeko's other self,
and another.
Small.
Compact.
Radiating something absurdly intense.
"The timing was off," he said.
"It wasn't," she replied calmly.
"You adjusted mid-play."
"Of course I did."
A pause.
Then,
a grin.
"Heh. You're interesting."
"And you're predictable."
The boy laughed.
Not offended.
Excited.
They stood there,
like equals.
Like monsters who didn't need to prove anything.
A world only they could enter.
A conversation no one else could hear.
Back in reality,
Saeko stretched again.
"…You done talking to him?"
"Yes."
"…He still annoying?"
"No."
A slight pause.
"He's improving."
Saeko chuckled.
"Figures."
At first,
she was surprised.
That something inside her…
could stand on equal ground with someone like him. The Little Giant.
But over time,
She got used to it.
Because the truth was simple.
This wasn't normal.
And it never would be.
But it worked.
And that was enough.
The whistle blew.
The match officially ended.
Another 50–0.
Another silent statement.
Saeko picked up the ball.
Spun it once in her hand.
"…We're kinda broken, huh?"
"Yes."
She grinned.
"Nice."
And as she walked off the court,
her teammates laughing behind her,
her brother shouting something loud and stupid,
Something deep within her stirred.
Not just the voice.
Not just the presence.
But something else.
Faint.
Watching.
The same thing that had begun to appear,
in others.
A fragment.
A piece of something larger.
Something that didn't belong to just one person.
Saeko didn't notice.
Didn't care.
Because right now,
The game was simple.
Feed them.
Lift them.
Let them fly.
And watch the world struggle,
to keep up.