The can of strawberry milk is cold against my hand.
"Thanks for the bribe," I say, opening the can with a satisfying clack.
Marin Kitagawa laughs, leaning against the vending machine with an elegance that seems rehearsed, though I know it's natural. We're in a rarely used hallway of the main building.
"It's not a bribe, it's an offering to the Emperor," she jokes, taking a sip of her iced tea. "Besides, I needed an excuse to escape my friends for a bit. Sometimes they're... intense with the gossip."
I take a long gulp of the strawberry milk. Sweet. Maybe too sweet, but energy is energy.
"So," Marin plays with a lock of her blonde hair, and her tone changes. It becomes a bit more cautious. "What are you into, Hinata? Besides hitting balls, obviously. Do you play video games? Watch anime?"
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Not really," I admit. No point in lying. "Between training, studying just enough not to fail, and sleeping, I don't have much time left. I watched Dragon Ball and One Piece when I was a kid, I guess."
Marin makes a funny face.
"Basics. You're a total normie."
"Normie?"
"Normal people. Boring." She sticks her tongue out at me, but there's no venom in her words. Then, she takes a deep breath, as if she were about to jump into a cold pool. "Hey, look at this."
She pulls out her phone, unlocks the screen with fast fingers, and shoves it practically up my nose.
"Tell me what you think. Honestly."
I lean back a bit to focus.
On the screen is an illustration of a girl. Black hair, straight bangs, a somber and dominant expression. She's wearing a maid outfit, but it's not the typical cafe outfit. It's gothic, full of chains, black lace, and quite... revealing.
I look at the image. I don't focus on the exposed skin. I focus on the character's eyes. They have a heavy intensity.
"She looks strong," I say finally.
Marin blinks, surprised.
"Strong?"
"Yeah. She has presence. Like she could walk into a room and everyone would have to shut up." I look up at Marin. "Is it from an anime?"
Marin bites her lip. Her cheeks are a little red.
"It's from a video game. An... adult game. Her name is Shizuku-tan. And a lot of people think it's gross or weird for a girl to like this."
I wait for the punchline, but it doesn't come. She's looking at me, waiting for me to laugh or make a disgusted face.
I shrug.
"People tell me I'm weird for wanting to be an ace spiker at 1.64m tall. They tell me I should be a libero and shut up." I take another drink of milk. "If you like the game and the character excites you, who cares what anyone else says?"
Marin's shoulders drop three centimeters. The tension vanishes from her body.
"I want to be her," she confesses, and her eyes shine with that light I recognize. It's the same light I have when I watch a Nationals match. "I want to cosplay Shizuku-tan. I want to put on that outfit and feel that intense."
"Then do it," I say, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You have the height and the attitude. It would suit you."
Marin lets out a frustrated groan and covers her face with her hands.
"That's the problem! I tried! Look."
She swipes on the screen and shows me another photo.
This time it's not a professional illustration. It's a photo taken in her bedroom mirror. Marin is wearing... something.
I squint.
It's black fabric, yes. But the seams are crooked. There are threads hanging everywhere. The lace looks glued on with desperation. One sleeve is visibly longer than the other.
Honestly, it looks like she fought a curtain and the curtain won.
"It's..." I search for the diplomatic word, but I can't find it. "It's a disaster, Marin."
"I know!" she yells, but she's laughing. "I'm useless at sewing! My sewing machine hates me! But I really want to do this. I have the wig, I have the contacts, I have the fabric... but I don't have the hands."
I stare at the photo of the textile disaster.
I don't have the hands.
That phrase resonates in my head.
I think of the old gym. I think of the net untangled with surgical patience. I think of long fingers full of band-aids and paint stains, holding a ball as if it were glass.
A slow smile spreads across my face.
"I know someone," I say.
Marin lifts her head.
"Huh?"
"I know a guy." I toss the empty can into the recycling bin with a perfect shot. "He has surgeon's hands. Hands of someone who can paint eyelashes on a thing this size," I make a tiny gesture with my fingers. "If anyone can fix that fabric disaster, it's him."
"Seriously?" Marin grabs my arm, excited. "Who? Is he in the sewing club?"
"No. He's my new middle blocker."
I start walking toward the gym.
"Come on. I'll introduce you. But I'm warning you one thing, Marin."
I stop and look at her seriously.
"He's shy. For real. Don't run him over, okay? He's a good guy and he's doing me a huge favor by joining the team."
Marin nods, giving an exaggerated military salute.
"Understood, Emperor! I'll be gentle."
I shake my head, laughing, and resume walking.
Marin follows me, talking a mile a minute about fabrics and wigs. I only half-listen. In my mind, I'm visualizing the play.
Marin needs a costume. Gojo needs to know that his talent isn't "weird," but incredible.
If I can get these two to connect, I kill two birds with one stone. Gojo gains confidence (and maybe a friend, which he needs) and Marin stops torturing innocent fabrics.
I open the gym door. The sound of a ball bouncing against the wall welcomes me.
"Gojo!" I shout, interrupting his solitary practice. "I have a mission for you!"
Wakana Gojo turns around, ball in hand and a startled look on his face. Behind me, Marin peeks out, curious as a cat.
Operation "Forced Recruitment" has just entered Phase 2.