Note: As the summary says, this was originally three separate one-shots that were in a series format on Ao3. I'm moving them here as one story just for organization purposes. So if you notice any disconnect between chapters, that's why.

CH 1: The Little Giant's internal musings and memories.

It was the poster that caught his eye.

He had been visiting his grandparents while on break, and had found an old bike while helping them clean out their garage. It was in decent condition, so when he found himself longing and filled with so much nostalgia that he had to look around town once more, he took it on a ride.

He had stopped when he saw the poster, the orange and red colors on it making it particularly eye-catching.

It was definitely made to do that, he surmised, and it succeeded in its task. The lighting, the writing, the quality of the picture - it had to be made by someone professional or at least edited by one.

He had to brush his messy black hair back to look at it properly. He needed to cut it, he knew.

"Karasuno High School Volleyball Club".

He could remember it well. Karasuno. That school, those uniforms, the gym.

The smell of sweat and anticipation. The sounds of heavy breathing and shoes squeaking.

The voices of him and his teammates they praised good moves and the coach yelled at the bad ones.

The feel of the ball - the cherished contact that would last for less than a heartbeat, yet meant everything.

The feeling of jumping higher and higher until you were finally flying.

Coach Ukai. His team. His friends.

No, his family.

"The Crows Head Back Into the National Skies".

He had continued volleyball in college, of course. He found it remarkably different, and he still wasn't sure if he liked it. The stakes in college were even higher, as those who were graduating were either going professional or not, and that was the end of story.

He had always assumed he would be going professional, longing to feel the atmosphere of the court eternally, but recently he found himself more and more interested in medicine, and now it seemed that his future wasn't so assured.

It was soothing, in a way.

Crows are adaptable, he could recall his captain telling them, having been faced with a unique style by a particularly powerful team. We've adapted to genius spikers, unfairly tall blocks, and more. We'll adapt to this too, as long as we keep moving.

That was his second year. The year he had adapted, and subsequently blossomed.

He hadn't talked to that captain in years. Maybe they should reconnect.

"The Little Giant Returns".

He had been called that once. The Little Giant. It had been quite a few years ago since he had been last called that, but the exhilaration that came with the title never left him.

It hadn't been completely pure. The name came with the stress of being the ace. Of being the one everyone relied on. It came with the idea that you'll have to get past their blocks no matter how good they are because you need to support your team. Support them so they can support you.

The realization that he couldn't lose hope in a game, because he had to work with the captain to ensure that they all were looking up and in the present, not being dragged by the failures of the past or the worries of the future.

The exhaustion of always staying late for more practice, because I have to be able to jump higher and move faster. I'm shorter so I have to compensate.

And the understanding that you don't have to worry because the setter will help you overcome that block. The libero has your back. The other spikers will be decoys for you when it's your turn to hit.

You have your team not only behind you but also next to you. The only direction you have to focus on his forwards.

He looked at the poster once more.

The uniforms haven't changed. He offhandedly recognized.

How tall was that spiker?

160 cm? More? Less?

He was definitely shorter than his 170 cm high school form, yet the boy seemed to be soaring incredibly high. His face held an almost childlike joy - one that he also knew well. He knew that just out of frame there must be a ball tossed by a setter. A ball tossed for him and him only, just for you to hit perfectly onto the other side, because the blocks have disappeared.

He imagined the boy hitting the ball with a sizable amount of power, causing it to hit the ground on the other side with a pleasing and loud thud. The boy then would land, setting down gently and neatly on the ground, having flown over there.

Just the thought of it made excitement tingle under his skin like electricity.

The boy was also wearing his number, and he wondered if that had been intentional, a coincidence, or perhaps the hands of fate.

The boy was small enough that he had to be a first year, which struck an even more powerful chord in the twenty-one-year-old.

He was this short, this young, yet he had already found his wings? When?

Had he always had them? Or had he just found them recently?

What caused him to look for them? Look for a way to jump, a way to fly.

What inspired you to stand on that court that I once stood on?

He smiled.

May you never stop moving. Never stop evolving.

He sighed, before removing his foot from the ground and placing it back on the pedal of his bike.

May you overcome their high blocks. Their smart blocks.

He began to pedal, watching as the sun began to set.

May you continue to soar, higher and higher than before.

The sunset here was beautiful, he noticed. The sun seemed brighter, more defiant. Like it refused to go down without a fight.

He thought of that orange-haired boy once more and recognized the streaks the sun made were a similar color to his hair.

And may you continue to be an inspiration for those around you.

Later that week, the Karasuno High School Volleyball Club received a sizable donation from an anonymous source.

For you truly are worthy of the title of the Little Giant.