The word team still felt unfamiliar.
Hinata thought about it as he stood outside the gym, staring at the door before practice.
Four people.
Four uneven players.
Four completely different levels of ability.
That was all they had.
But it was still more than he had before.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, Fukuda was already there, leaning against the wall. The boy with glasses stood near the net, quietly practicing his passing form without a ball. The new player arrived a moment later, slightly out of breath.
No one said it out loud.
But they all showed up.
That alone meant something.
Hinata stepped forward and clapped his hands once.
"Let's start."
---
Practice began the same way as yesterday.
Passing drills.
Calling the ball.
Movement.
It was not exciting.
It was not fast.
But it was necessary.
Hinata watched closely as they moved.
Fukuda had power but lacked control. His passes often went too far or too high.
The boy with glasses had improved his timing but still hesitated when the ball came fast.
The new player was steady, but slow to react.
And him?
Hinata clenched his jaw slightly.
His receives were still inconsistent. His footwork was not sharp enough. His timing on movement needed work.
He could see it now.
Clearly.
That was the difference.
Before, everything felt like chaos.
Now, he could identify the flaws.
That made them harder to ignore.
"Stop."
The others froze.
Hinata stepped into the center.
"We need roles."
Fukuda frowned. "Roles?"
"Yes."
"We barely know how to play and you want positions?"
"We need structure."
The boy with glasses shifted nervously. "What kind of roles?"
Hinata pointed.
"Fukuda, you take more back court. You have strong arms."
Fukuda shrugged. "Fine."
He turned to the boy with glasses.
"You stay closer to the net. Focus on short passes."
The boy nodded slowly.
Then Hinata looked at the new player.
"You cover gaps. Move where needed."
The new player raised an eyebrow. "That sounds vague."
"It is. But you adjust well."
The boy considered that, then nodded once.
"And you?" Fukuda asked.
Hinata looked at the net.
"I move everywhere."
Fukuda smirked. "Of course you do."
Hinata ignored the tone.
"We try it."
---
They reset.
Same drill.
Different mindset.
This time, there was structure.
Not perfect.
Not refined.
But something.
Hinata noticed the difference immediately.
Fukuda stayed deeper, giving them more coverage on long passes.
The boy with glasses focused on shorter, controlled touches.
The new player shifted positions more actively, filling spaces that would have been empty before.
And Hinata…
He ran.
Constantly.
Forward.
Backward.
Side to side.
Wherever the ball went, he chased it.
"Mine!"
"Got it!"
"Leave it!"
His voice cut through the gym, sharp and clear.
The rally lasted longer.
Not by much.
But enough to feel the change.
The ball dropped.
They reset.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Each time, it improved slightly.
Each time, they moved with a bit more awareness.
Hinata's legs burned.
His lungs tightened.
But he did not slow down.
He could not.
If he stopped moving, the system would fall apart.
That thought pushed him harder.
---
After an hour, they collapsed onto the floor.
No one spoke at first.
They were too tired.
Fukuda finally broke the silence.
"You run too much."
Hinata lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
"I have to."
"You will burn out."
"Not yet."
The new player wiped sweat from his face.
"This is the first time it actually felt like a team."
The boy with glasses nodded.
"Yes."
Hinata sat up slowly.
That word again.
Team.
It still felt fragile.
Like it could break at any moment.
But it was there.
He could feel it.
"We keep building," he said.
Fukuda groaned. "Of course we do."
---
They stood up for one last drill.
A full rally.
Same goal.
Keep the ball alive.
Hinata served.
The ball crossed cleanly.
Fukuda received.
Better.
Controlled.
The boy with glasses passed it forward.
Hinata moved in.
"Mine."
He set the ball lightly over the net instead of spiking.
The new player reacted and sent it back.
The rally continued.
Slower than a real match.
Messier.
But alive.
Hinata's heart pounded.
This is it.
This is what we are building toward.
The ball came toward him again.
He adjusted.
Passed.
Fukuda moved.
The boy with glasses called early.
The new player filled the gap.
The rhythm held.
For longer than before.
Ten touches.
Twelve.
Fifteen.
Then—
The boy with glasses hesitated.
Just for a second.
The ball dropped.
Silence.
Hinata exhaled slowly.
"That was good."
The boy with glasses looked down. "I missed it."
"You improved."
"That does not change the result."
Hinata paused.
That was true.
Improvement did not erase mistakes.
Fukuda stood up and stretched.
"We cannot afford hesitation in a real match."
"No," Hinata said. "We cannot."
The new player crossed his arms.
"So what now?"
Hinata looked at each of them.
Sweat.
Fatigue.
Frustration.
Effort.
All of it was there.
"We keep going," he said.
Fukuda smirked slightly. "Of course."
---
As they packed up, the gym felt quieter than usual.
Not empty.
Just… thoughtful.
They were starting to understand what they lacked.
And that understanding made the gap feel larger.
Hinata stepped outside into the cool air.
The sky was dim, the sun nearly gone.
He adjusted his bag and started walking.
His body ached more than usual.
His legs felt heavy.
His arms throbbed.
But his mind would not stop.
We are improving.
But is it enough?
The question lingered.
He thought about the tournament again.
About real teams.
Players who had trained together for years.
Proper rotations.
Proper systems.
Proper coaching.
He clenched his jaw.
We are not ready.
Not even close.
The thought hit hard.
But it did not stop him.
It pushed him.
If they were not ready…
Then they would get ready.
No matter how much it took.
No matter how far they had to go.
Hinata looked up at the dark sky.
"This is just the beginning," he said quietly.
And for the first time, the words felt heavy.
Not just exciting.
Not just hopeful.
Real.
A team had been formed.
Now it had to survive.