For the first time Daichi is experiencing life out Torono. He visited Tokyo, though only stood within the confines of the suburbia far from the busy city life of central Tokyo. Thus, the bustling mass of people is intimidating to say the least. So far he has seen people, creatures that could only appear in manga. He has yet to find himself within a dangerous situation, however that is soon to change.
His second day within the day was just as eventful as the first. His exploration of the city continues, observing that passersby and establishments. There were few shops, restaurants that seem familiar, but he has yet to find a place that could relieve his homesickness.
"Pl-please leave me alone.”
A terrified voice interrupts Daichi’s trek. He looks to his right, peering within the tight alley. Two large men corner a young boy, their large arms, they block his escape and their free hands tug at his backpack, his shirt, forcing him to accept their advances. This sort of incidents never happen in his small town, and he is naive enough to think that Tokyo rejects such ill manners.
One of the men catches Daichi’s stare, he sneers and barks at him, “What are you looking at!? Get lost!”
Daichi tightens his grip on the volleyball, his foot lifting up to continue onward -- there’s no way he can take them on alone. He closes his eyes tightly, feeling the horrible wave or regret washing over him already. Black hues suddenly snap open and he jerks his chin back towards the alley, revealing his most intimidating gaze.
Slowly, Daichi’s body turns to face the three, he approaches with a strong stance and intense gaze. The two peel from the young boy, turning to accept Daichi’s challenge; the young boy runs towards the back of the alley, pressing against the brick wall before forming into a ball. There’s no way he could take them on without receiving a vicious beat down -- he accepts his fate. He takes a slow, steady breath in before releasing it through his lips.
“You going to fight us, punk?”
Daichi grips the volleyball in between his fingertips and lifts it up to his chest. His eyes glance in between the two men, deciding which one to attack first. Left. He suddenly lowers his stance into a crouch and thrusts the volleyball at the left man’s face; the volleyball collides with a loud sound, it ricochets off his nose and falls back into Daichi’s hands. His ball had enough velocity to snap the cartilage within his nose; blood gushes from his nostrils and streams down his chin and onto his shirt.
“You little bastard!!” the afflicted one cries, grasping his nose, “you’re going to pay for that!” with his pointer finger, he juts it towards Daichi, signaling his partner to attack.
You messed up big time, Daichi.
He has no other option: Daichi turns on his heel and runs out of the mouth of the alleyway, darting down the sidewalk. He uses his shoulders to push his way past people, refusing to look back at the chasing, vicious adults. Suddenly he feels his ankle throb, his balance wavers for a second and he stumbles forward; it isn’t like him to sprain a muscle, yet it isn’t like him to walk nearly four miles within a day.
A large hand grips his jacket collar, jerking him back. It’s over, he thinks; he closes his eyes and lifts the ball over his face to use as a shield. He wonders what would Ukai and sensei would think of his actions. Would they admire him, or call him foolish for not contacting the appropriate authorities? What would his team think of him? Would they too see him as foolish or would they stand by his side. The mere thought of Karasuno in a fist fight brings a smile to his face; to avoid imagining the pain, he thinks about Tanaka and Nishinoya dominating the brawl.
