I don't own Haikyuu!

This is very OC-centric and may be very slow burn.

Just keep going.

Running, jumping, reaching—it feels like that's all she can do at this point. Her vision blurs periodically, her legs threaten to collapse on her, and her arms feel like they can crumble into pieces any minute, but she continues. She continues moving, pushing herself past a limit that ceased to exist long ago.

Keep the ball up.

The captain's shouting an incoherent command and the coach's yelling at them—it's all too much, but she struggles forward anyway. The crowd screams, the ball flies back and forth, and her abdomen protests weakly at the pressure.

We can do this.

"Toss it here!" the ace calls. The setter performs a messy toss that falls halfway, but she jumps in to send it the right way. The ace spikes and gets one-touched. The ball's still on the other side of the court and the opponents are getting ready to send it back their way.

This is my chance!

It's coming her way and she has ample time to prepare. She knows its trajectory; this is her chance to save the match—this is the moment she'd been waiting for, the moment to prove the skills she'd worked so hard to perfect.

She jumps and suddenly, she's flying through the air. The shackles holding her legs down break as she jumps the highest she has ever jumped. She swings her arm down with all the power she has left.

The ball flies and stops.

"Match end."

The first game of Nationals, at the third set, score 25-27, Hayama Yua was blocked. Niiyama Joshi wins 2-1 and proceeds to the second match.

Seiho is eliminated.

If she closes her eyes, she can still see the harsh ceiling lights of the gym and the way the bleachers were lined perfectly around the courts. She can see her team's court stretching before her and the way the net stretched tightly across the middle.

If she looks closely, she can remember well every position her own teammates and opponents were in, and every expression on their faces.

And best of all, she can remember the way her hands clenched around the edge of the bench she sat on. It's this position that she knows herself best in—this position that she'd spent most of her high school volleyball career in.

Hayama Yua started playing volleyball when she was six and quickly proved to be exceptionally talented in the sport. She was already tall for her age and only grew much taller as the years passed until she stood almost a head above most of her classmates. It wasn't surprising when she was able to get a starting position immediately upon entering her junior high's volleyball team.

By her third year, she was the ace and captain and on her way to obtaining a sports scholarship to Seiho High, whose girls' volleyball team is the top one in Tokyo.

She worked hard. She ran until her lungs felt like they would burst. She hit ball after ball until her hands turned a dark red and threatened to change into a bright purple. She worked herself into the night and broke past limits that ceased to exist long ago.

Still, it wasn't enough—she wasn't enough.

For her first two years of high school, she found herself occupying the bleachers and the bench more than anywhere else.

Then, in a sudden stroke of luck, she was given her opportunity to prove herself when a starting member injured her ankle in the middle of a game. Taking it greedily, Yua went onto the court and showed exactly how much work she'd put into this sport.

Seiho won that match, 2-0, and soon proceeded to nationals, with her staying on as a starting member.

She was happy—exhilarated, excited, proud—she had been working for this. All those nights where she'd practiced so hard and so long, she thought she wouldn't be able to wake up for school the next day, all those times when her body was on the verge of shutting down from the pressure she put on herself—all for this and she knew, at that moment, this is my life.

And nothing will change that.

"Match end. Niiyama Joshi wins 2-1."

Seiho was crushed. At the last moment, at a moment so crucial, she was blocked. They were eliminated and the third years retired with heavy hearts full of what ifs and unfinished plans. No one blamed her.

The third years gave her tips on what to improve on and encouragement for what's to come next year. The first and second years complimented her for even being able to participate at nationals. The coach told her to work harder.

It's not the end. She played well and gave it her all. Even if she's not enough now, she'll just have to practice more and do more. She'll improve and come back stronger to take back every point Niiyama stole from them.

She still has next year.

"We're going to Miyagi Prefecture."

If she closes her eyes, she can still see the court stretching before her. She can see the bleachers, the lights, her teammates, and her opponents.

When she opens her eyes, she sees nothing.

With a loud clang, the bus door slams shut and the vehicle roars down the road and disappears around the curve.

Hauling her bag higher up her shoulder, Yua looks around. The bus stop sits in between thick forests and a poorly illuminated road that's half obscured by low-hanging branches. There's a small, damp bench and a few chipmunks loitering behind it. It's quiet in this spot, save for the chirping of crickets from the woods.

"C'mon, let's go," her mother calls, already ahead of Yua. Pulling two suitcases with her, Yua follows the older woman down the road and turns into a clearing. There are large fields of what she assumes are rice plants surrounding the long dusty path. In the distance are mountains of varying sizes and small houses or farms.

Her mother points to a yellow house right by the foot of a mountain. "That's grandpa and grandma's house."

"I see."

"Grandpa and your uncle have already arranged our furniture. Make sure to thanks them later." Her mother gives her a stern glance.

They pass a vast sunflower field and several farmers heading home on the way. There are small, rundown trucks lining the sides of the path and an occasional dog rummaging through the plants until a farmer starts yelling at it.

Her mother sighs nostalgically and remarks, "I haven't been back in ages. It feels strange walking down this road again. See that tree over there? Your aunts and I used to climb it or drag your uncle with us and…"

Yua tunes her mother out, too busy trying to keep the suitcases away from the mud puddles. She grimaces as a dragonfly whizzes by her face. The wind blows steadily at her back and she starts to regret wearing shorts. It's too cold here, but that's not the only problem.

The mountains and forests are too close, she's starting to notice. The distance, even with the massive ranges, is too empty without the presence of skyscrapers. She doesn't like this heavy smell of foliage and smoke. The houses are too small. The lights are too few and the road is too big. The sky is too open, the space too wide.

This place is too different, and she hates it and everything else going on in her life.

Hayama Yua is entering her third year of high school, almost three hundred miles from home. She is moving in with grandparents she'd never met or even seen before, relocating to some place that barely toes the line between "town" and "dump", and forced out of the life she'd built for herself.

Moving here means better support for her mother and her fragile health, that had rapidly deteriorated in the past few months. Moving here also means a complete throw-away of everything Yua has ever worked for: Seiho High, her team, her success.

It means losing volleyball, the one thing her life had always revolved around.

For nine years, she'd played hard and toned herself into a powerhouse. For two years, she'd struggled among the best for a spot in the starting lineup of a champion team. Right at the pinnacle of this success, in one day, everything was stripped from her the moment "we're moving" left her mother's lips.

Before she knew it, her few belongings were packed, she was on the train, and Seiho was long gone. It'd taken them almost three hours to get to Sendai and another forty-five minutes to get to her mother's hometown, which is nothing short of a country hole.

Tsukima Town is disconcertingly small and dull. The only way to reach it is by trudging through the narrow dirt path, past all the miscellaneous blights on the road that Yua has already stepped on twice. By the time they reach the actual town, her legs are coated in mud and the luggage soaked.

She's said this before, but she hates this place.

A lot.

As they continue traveling uphill, the road evens out to a smooth concrete. Large edifices and hovering trees line the street. Curious kids peek from behind their mailboxes as older neighbors approach Yua's mother tentatively. When they recognize her, they flock around her and Yua, greeting them like old friends.

It doesn't get any better when they arrive at her grandparents' house, and her residence for the rest of the year. They're greeted by cousins, uncles, aunts, several relatives Yua has never even heard of before.

Together, they make her feel like she belongs, like she's returning to her home after a long trip.

But Yua knows better.

Miyagi Prefecture isn't her home, and it will never be.

Thanks for reading! Also, big thanks to Bergliot for drawing Yua on her tumblr (bergliot-manner). This artwork itself is beautiful, but the best part is the shading in my opinion. You guys should follow her for more artwork of other OCs and haikyuu!