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When Yachi catches Kageyama alone in his classroom at lunch, she pokes her head in and waves at him.
“Kageyama-kun!”
She doesn't wait for his answer to approach him. He lifts his head and only gives a short nod, before returning to his notebook and scribbling down something. Yachi notices that this is the notebook he uses for formations and new synchronized attacks, already filled with a dozen pages of ideas; she tried to take a look at it once, but unfortunately for her still-not-used-to-volleyball-strategy brain, she couldn't understand half of the theory behind the plays.
“What are you writing so intently?” she asks, taking the seat in front of his desk. “The school year has barely started!”
“We have a bunch of new teammates, I'm trying to see how they can fit into our playstyle.”
Kageyama's eyes never waver, focused on the words he's jotting down and the shapes representing the different positions. He's always been very meticulous about that, saying that even if he can perfectly picture the court in his mind, he needs to compare the multiple approaches he has for a specific attack, and drawing them is easier. Yachi agrees; visual is key to get a clear idea about something as important as this, especially since she knows that volleyball constitutes at least ninety percent of Kageyama's being (she can't really judge, she's never been that passionate about something).
She looks up, studying the way his brows furrow in concentration and his lips purse.
“Shouldn't you be discussing it with Ennoshita-senpai?”
“I could, but as the setter I have to assess their skills first,” Kageyama answers. Then he frowns, and looks back at Yachi. “Well I mean, if I don't have anything to suggest when we start adjusting formations, that would be kind of bad.”
Yachi hums. “I see what you mean. You're really hard-working, Kageyama-kun.”
He bristles a bit, surprise visible on his face. Yachi backpedals immediately, alarms ringing in her head—what if she's been insensitive again?!
“I already knew you were hard-working, but not to that extent!” she stammers. “No, wait, that sounds even worse! You're always doing things for the club, and you practice a lot, and you're very serious about volleyball, so I just want to say that it's remarkable! And honorable!”
She's gesturing and flailing a bit, with her arms that would have smacked someone in the face if they were near her. She knows that she's rambling, but as usual her brain doesn't catch up fast enough with her logic to stop her mouth from spouting more nonsense, and with each passing second she's feeling more and more mortified. Kageyama, on the other hand, simply stares, not commenting or expressing any sort of confusion. He slowly blinks.
“I'm just doing what I have to do for the team,” he says, his tone flat as if it's the most natural thing to say after hearing such a speech. And his gaze is sharp, the blue gleaming with what Yachi assumes is determination. She suddenly drops her arms.
“Yes, you know exactly what you have to do to help the team! And it's just... you're just so passionate, and I can't help but admire that about you, or Hinata-kun.”
She's already had a similar conversation with Hinata shortly before she became the manager, but even after a year, she still doesn't feel that her passion is on par with everyone's else—they're all giving everything they have to bring victory and to prove they are strong, and she's just on the sidelines supporting them, although she knew next to nothing about volleyball a year prior. It's all so dizzying and a bit frustrating.
Kageyama pinches his chin between his fingers, tilting his head.
“I can't really say about being passionate,” he muses. “I just know that if I don't play volleyball, I don't feel I'm doing anything in my life.”
It takes a few seconds for Yachi to process Kageyama's words, and when she does, she softly laughs. “Coming from you Kageyama-kun, it makes sense.”
“What?”
“W-Well, you've been playing volleyball for a long time, even I can't picture you doing anything else!”
“...I guess so.”
“Most of the time, developing a passion is easier when you start it young, but that doesn't mean we can't find one when we're older!”
She thinks about the fire burning in her friends' eyes during a match, she thinks about Kiyoko-san who went for sports medical school, she thinks about anyone who found a new way to look at the sports they've been playing for years. Passion doesn't have a strict definition, maybe. Some people devote their soul to it, like Kageyama, and others are more quiet, less obvious about it.
“I just hope that I'll be able to be a good manager, now that Kiyoko-san is gone,” she sighs.
“You've already done a lot,” Kageyama asserts. “You help me and Hinata practice, you bring us medicine, and without your poster last year we wouldn't have been able to go to the training camp. That was also when you officially accepted joining the club, I think.”
It was. For the first time, she could do something by herself for others, and she invested herself into it. It was thrilling, made her feel proud and accomplished, when her efforts resulted in creating opportunities. She smiles at the memory.
“Yes, that's right. And you know, I think we could do more of these posters to help fund the club, or to simply encourage people to join.”
That might have been a one-time event, and people were feeling particularly proud of the volleyball club for getting a trip invitation to Tokyo, but maybe if they promote regularly, it will help making the club even more popular. They've been to Nationals, after all, that's their biggest achievement and worthy of attention. Yachi thinks that knowing there are people out there encouraging them is more than beneficial to the players; she still has chills from remembering Saeko-san's taiko team showing up to cheer on Karasuno.
Kageyama shrugs. “I don't know much about this stuff. If you think that's nice, then do it. You're good at it.”
Yachi chuckles. “Thank you, Kageyama-kun. I appreciate it.”
Kageyama nods, and looks back at his notes. Something must have flashed in his mind because he's suddenly scribbling another formation, and Yachi can only observe his hand furiously writing. His quiet confidence and assurance are something that she never thought to be so calming and anchoring—his imposing presence on the court is much more noticeable, and off the court he's a good friend she's helping studying. So many sides of one person she's known for almost a year, now, but his passion is unmistakable, never sways, not even when he realized past faults could be repeated; this strength and this fire burning steadily every day wrap Yachi's entire being with wonder.
“I'll do my best! I think I've taken a liking to taking photos of you and Hinata-kun playing. It's always so thrilling to capture how beautiful your attacks are!”
There is a tiny smile at the corner of Kageyama's lips, a sight that she doesn't see often. Unsurprisingly, it puts her in a cheerful mood.
“You could make that your job. You said you didn't know what to do after high school.”
“Oh.” Then, a grin blossoms on her face. “That's not a bad idea.”
She can't fully project herself into this new future, but it's feasible; she can work her way up, and she helps the club while nurturing her own hobby—a hobby that's taking the edges of a passion she didn't suspect.
“I'm not a professional and I still have to get more information on this field, but—I like the idea. Taking photos, I mean.”
“Well, we never have enough sports photographers, in my opinion.”
“Your simple way of thinking is kind of refreshing.”
She then realizes what she said, and while Kageyama's blank face doesn't mean he took offense to her words, her mind is racing and, again, starts apologizing in every possible way she can find, until Kageyama has to stop her (again). That's not with this attitude she'll be able to land a job and keep it—maybe she should channel her rampant imagination for worst case scenarios towards creative photography instead.
Just a few more months, maybe another year at most, and she will show the world what she's made of.