The Miya Princess

The first day back after winter break, Inarizaki High School buzzed with a new kind of energy. It wasn't just the usual post-holiday chatter; it was a wave of whispers, gasps, and stolen glances that followed a single figure down the hallway. Atsumu Miya, the team's star setter, had returned transformed.

He wore a soft pink sweater that hugged his frame, a pleated skirt that swayed with each step, and sheer stockings that caught the light. His face was artfully made up—foundation, blush, eyeliner, and a glossy pink lip. His blonde hair was styled in loose waves, and he walked with a deliberate, swaying gait. The entire school was talking about the Miya princess.

Osamu walked a step behind him, his jaw tight. He had seen the transformation happen over break—Atsumu experimenting, buying clothes, practicing makeup. Osamu had said nothing, just watched with a knot in his stomach. Now, as they passed clusters of students who stared and snickered, Osamu's hands clenched into fists. He stepped closer, his presence a shield. 'Brother's here. Nothing can happen,' he murmured, low enough for only Atsumu to hear.

Atsumu glanced back, a flicker of something—gratitude? longing?—in his eyes. Then he laughed, a higher pitch than usual. 'Don't worry, Sammy. I'm fine.' He turned and continued down the hall, hips swaying.

At practice, the gym fell silent when Atsumu walked in. He had changed into the team's practice uniform—but with modifications: the shorts were cut shorter, tight against his thighs. Under his jersey, the outline of a sports bra was visible. His movements were softer, more deliberate. When he bent over to pick up a ball, he did so slowly, arching his back, and the boys on the team exchanged looks.

'Keep your eyes on the ball,' Kita said, his voice calm but carrying. He stood at the net, arms crossed, watching. He had seen Atsumu grow up, watched him evolve from a scrawny kid into a powerhouse player. Now he saw something else—Atsumu's curves, the way his body moved, the vulnerability in his eyes. Kita felt a pang of something protective, but also something he couldn't name.

During drills, Atsumu flirted openly. He brushed against Aran's arm, giggled at Suna's dry comments, and winked at the libero. When a first-year fumbled a toss, Atsumu walked over, leaned close, and said, 'Need a hand? I'm very good with my hands.' The boy turned red. Osamu growled from across the court.

After practice, a group of boys from the soccer team cornered Atsumu near the lockers. One of them reached out, fingers brushing the hem of his skirt. 'Nice legs, Miya,' he said.

Atsumu didn't flinch. He smiled, a practiced, empty smile. 'Thanks. You can touch if you want.' He let them. Hands on his waist, his thighs, one even slid under his skirt to snap the elastic of his knickers. Atsumu's expression didn't change. He felt nothing—no pleasure, no disgust. Just a hollow acceptance. This was attention. This was what he wanted.

Then Osamu was there, shoving the boys back. 'Get your hands off my brother.' His voice was a growl, his eyes blazing. The boys scattered.

Atsumu looked at Osamu, then away. 'I didn't need you to do that.'

'Yes, you did,' Osamu said, grabbing his arm. 'We're going home.'

Kita watched from the doorway. He had come back for his bag and seen everything. The way Atsumu let them touch him. The way Osamu protected him. And the way Atsumu's eyes had gone dead—until Osamu stepped in. Then, just for a moment, there was a spark.

---

Weeks passed. The rumors grew. 'Miya princess' became a taunt and a title. Atsumu embraced it, wearing makeup to practice, skirts to school, and short shorts that left little to the imagination. Boys continued to approach him, and he continued to let them. They'd touch his chest, comment on his 'tits' (muscle shaped by hours of training), run hands over his hips. Atsumu would smile, laugh, and let them. But when they tried to kiss him, he'd turn away. 'Not that,' he'd say, and they'd leave, confused.

He craved attention, but he didn't want to be close. Not really.

One afternoon, practice ended late. Osamu had a meeting with the coach, so Atsumu stayed behind, idly stretching on the gym floor. The door opened, and Kita walked in.

'Shouldn't you be heading home?' Kita asked, sitting on the bench.

Atsumu shrugged. 'Samu said to wait.'

Kita watched him for a long moment. Atsumu lay on his back, legs bent, skirt pooling around his hips. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. He looked peaceful, but Kita noticed the tension in his jaw.

'How are you, really?' Kita asked.

Atsumu's eyes opened. He turned his head to look at Kita. 'I'm fine, Kita-san. Why does everyone keep asking?'

'Because you let people touch you like you're nothing.'

Atsumu sat up, crossing his legs. 'I'm not nothing. I'm the Miya princess. Everyone wants me.'

'I don't think that's what you want.'

Atsumu stared at him. For a second, his mask slipped. Then he laughed, a bitter sound. 'What do you know? You're just my senpai. You see me as a little brother.'

Kita stood and walked over, kneeling in front of Atsumu. 'I see you as someone who's hurting.' He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Atsumu's ear. 'I've watched you grow up. I've seen you fight, win, lose. I've seen you shine. This—' he gestured at the skirt, the makeup '—isn't you. It's a costume.'

Atsumu's lip trembled. 'What if it is me? What if I like being pretty?'

'Then be pretty. But don't let people treat you like a toy.'

'They don't—' Atsumu stopped. His eyes welled up. 'It's the only way anyone notices me.'

Kita's heart ached. He pulled Atsumu into a hug, careful not to smudge his makeup. 'I notice you. I've always noticed you. And I don't need you to dress up for that.'

Atsumu clung to him, shaking. 'Kita-san...'

'Shinsuke,' Kita said softly. 'Call me Shinsuke.'

They stayed like that until Osamu found them. He stopped at the door, saw his brother in Kita's arms, and for once, he didn't interfere. He just nodded at Kita and waited.

---

The next day, Atsumu came to school in jeans and a t-shirt. No makeup. No skirt. The whispers started again, but different this time. 'Is the princess gone?' someone said.

Atsumu walked past them, head high. Osamu walked beside him, but Atsumu wasn't looking at him. He was looking ahead, where Kita stood by the gate, waiting.

Kita smiled. 'Good morning, Atsumu.'

Atsumu smiled back, small and real. 'Morning, Shinsuke.'

And for the first time in a long time, he felt seen.