Perfectionist ✺ Sakusa Kiyoomi

Prologue

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 - 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐊𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐲𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐦

One: He was truly exceptional at volleyball.

During the latter half of Chiharu's second year, he was pleased to learn that he'd been invited to the All-Japan Training Camp for volleyball players in their first and second years of high school. Having attended the previous year's camp as a freshman, he took pride in maintaining the coaches' interests enough to secure a second invitation.

Chiharu had heard the praise surrounding Sakusa, the nationally ranked Ace that was only a first year, but Chiharu had to see it in person to comprehend the extent of Sakusa's ability.

It was at this camp that he first saw the neat black curls sitting on top of elegantly contoured features. He was tall and slender, clearly having hit his growth spurts in recent years. But he managed to maintain an lean, athletic build. One could figure out that Sakusa was highly skilled just from the way he carried himself. Even as a scrawny first-year, his movements were methodical, and he paid attention to intricate detail on and off the court. He seemed like a seasoned pro even with just the way he taped his fingers or tied his shoelaces.

Often his face was covered by a neat, white mask. Covered in a way that was almost mysterious, offering only glimpses of Sakusa's sunken dark eyes, sharp brows, and distinctive moles in the arrangement of a semi-colon. But whenever he was playing volleyball, the mask would be neatly secured on the handle on his water bottle.

Sakusa's face, in all its glory, was almost intimidating. It was striking— a sharp jaw, angular nose, and well-sculpted mouth. Although, Chiharu snickered to himself whenever he realized that this tough, formidable Ace still had baby-fat on his cheeks. He was only fifteen after all.

His skill certainly didn't reflect his young age. His serves, delivered with calculated force, struck the court in the most inconvenient spots, leaving his opponents scrambling to respond. Chiharu was a consistent, reliable libero, but Sakusa had managed to score a service ace on him in scrimmage. A service ace against six All-Japan players on that side of the court, for that matter. His defense was equally formidable. His swift blocks were like an imposing wall. Even when they weren't shutting out attacks entirely, he'd managed to get a one-touch on almost every spike that came his way.

And ultimately, his spikes had what could only be described as clinical precision. Chiharu prided himself in being able to read his opponents quite well, so he would typically end up right behind they chose to place their attack. The reachability was not the problem here.

The first time Chiharu found himself under one of Sakusa's spikes, he found himself utterly off balance under the ruthless spin. Countering the whirlwind of rotations that the ball made as it contacted his forearms, his arms burned from the friction and impact, ultimately causing him to lose his footing and tumble to the ground.

The reverberation of Sakusa's spike lingered in Chiharu's muscles long after he'd regained his footing. As Chiharu dusted himself off, he couldn't help the swirl of awe and admiration in his stomach. Sakusa wasn't just any formidable opponent; he was scary because Chiharu saw himself in him. He saw, in Sakusa, the embodiment of dedication and hard-work, and countless repetition of practice and refinement that have pushed him beyond his limits because that was the only possible explanation to how he ended up with his skillset. In that moment, Chiharu swore an oath that he was going to play a real match against Sakusa one day. It transcended his usual fixation on victory. All he wanted to do was play a match to the fullest extent of his ability, to see what it was like at the pinnacle of volleyball excellence.