The Miya Princess

The winter vacation had ended, and Inarizaki High School buzzed with the usual post-break chatter. But today, there was a different energy in the air—a whisper that spread like wildfire through the hallways. "Did you see him?" "Miya-san looks like a princess!" "No way, that's Atsumu?"

Atsumu Miya walked through the school gates with a confidence that bordered on defiance. His blonde hair was styled in soft waves, framing a face that was now adorned with subtle makeup—a touch of blush, a hint of lip gloss, and eyeliner that made his eyes seem larger, more captivating. He wore a fitted blazer over a pastel sweater, a pleated skirt that swayed with each step, and sheer stockings that ended just above his knees. The final touch: a pair of red lacy knit knickers that peeked out whenever he bent over—which was often, as he made a show of picking up imaginary lint or adjusting his shoes.

Osamu walked beside him, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the crowd with a predator's vigilance. He had seen the looks, heard the whispers, and felt the hunger in some of the gazes. His brother had always been beautiful, but this was something else entirely. This was a declaration.

"Tsumu, why are you doing this?" Osamu muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady Atsumu as he stumbled slightly in his low heels.

Atsumu giggled, a sound that was light and practiced. "I just wanted to try somethin' new, 'Samu. Don't I look pretty?" He batted his lashes, and Osamu felt a pang of something between anger and heartache.

"You look like you're askin' for trouble," Osamu replied, his voice low. "And I'll be right here to make sure no one gives it to you."

But trouble, as it turned out, was already waiting.

At lunch, Atsumu sat in the courtyard, his skirt hiked up just a little as he crossed his legs. A group of boys from the soccer team approached, their smiles too wide, their eyes too bold. "Hey, princess, want to sit with us?" one of them said, reaching out to touch Atsumu's hair.

Osamu was on his feet in an instant, his presence looming. "Back off," he said, his voice flat and dangerous.

The boy laughed nervously and retreated. But Atsumu's eyes flickered with disappointment. He wanted the attention, even if it came with a price.

Later, in the gymnasium, the volleyball team practiced. Atsumu had changed into his practice shorts, which were absurdly short—barely covering the curve of his hips. He wore a tight tank top that hugged his frame, and when he bent over to pick up a ball, the lacy red of his knickers was on full display. Several of his teammates missed their serves. Osamu gritted his teeth and focused on the ball, but his eyes kept drifting to his brother.

Kita Shinsuke stood at the sidelines, his expression as placid as ever. He had watched Atsumu grow from a loud, brash kid into this... this creature of delicate beauty. He still saw him as the little brother he had always known, the one who would argue about anything and everything. But there was a part of Kita that couldn't ignore the way Atsumu moved now—the curve of his waist, the sway of his hips, the vulnerability in his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

"Atsumu," Kita called, his voice calm but firm. Atsumu looked up, his eyes wide. "Come here."

Atsumu walked over, his steps a little too careful. "What is it, Kita-san?"

"Your form is off. You're relying too much on your wrists. Bend your knees more." Kita's hand rested briefly on Atsumu's shoulder, and Atsumu shivered.

"Yes, Kita-san," Atsumu said, his voice softer than usual.

Practice ended, and the team filed out. Atsumu lingered, changing slowly in the locker room. Osamu was waiting outside, his back against the wall. When Atsumu emerged, he was back in his skirt and blazer, his face flushed from exertion.

"Let's go home," Osamu said, his hand resting on Atsumu's lower back.

But before they could leave, two older boys from the basketball team cornered them in the hallway. "Hey, Miya, nice skirt. What's under it?" one of them sneered, his hand reaching out to grab Atsumu's hip.

Osamu moved like a snake, his hand snapping out to catch the boy's wrist. "Touch him again, and I'll break your arm," he said, his voice cold as ice.

The boy yanked his hand back, and his friend laughed nervously. "Just kidding, man. We were just leaving."

Atsumu watched them go, his expression unreadable. "You didn't have to do that, 'Samu. I can handle myself."

"No, you can't," Osamu said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're my brother, Tsumu. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you."

Atsumu looked away, his eyes glistening. "But I want them to touch me," he whispered, so quietly that Osamu almost didn't hear.

Osamu's heart clenched. "Why?"

"Because then I feel something," Atsumu said, his voice breaking. "I feel... wanted."

Osamu pulled him into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around his brother's trembling frame. "You are wanted, Tsumu. You're wanted by me, by the team, by everyone who matters. You don't need to do this."

But Atsumu pulled away, shaking his head. "You don't understand."

He walked away, leaving Osamu standing alone in the empty hallway.

The next day, Atsumu was bolder. He wore a cropped sweater that showed a sliver of his stomach, and his skirt was even shorter. He laughed loudly, flirted with the boys who gawked at him, and let them touch his waist, his thigh, the hem of his skirt. Osamu was a constant shadow, stepping in when things went too far, but Atsumu would just move on to the next group, always seeking more.

During practice, Atsumu's performance was erratic. He was distracted, his eyes wandering to the stands where a group of boys from the baseball team were watching. He bent over to pick up a ball, and one of them wolf-whistled. Atsumu smiled, a slow, deliberate smile, and Osamu saw red.

"Atsumu!" Osamu yelled, his voice echoing in the gym. "Focus!"

Atsumu flinched, and Kita stepped forward. "Osamu, calm down. Let him play."

"He's not playing!" Osamu shot back. "He's putting on a show!"

"And whose fault is that?" Kita asked quietly, his eyes meeting Osamu's. "He's looking for something. Are you giving it to him?"

Osamu fell silent, his fists clenching at his sides.

After practice, Atsumu was in the locker room alone, changing out of his uniform. The door creaked open, and he looked up, expecting Osamu. Instead, it was one of the boys from the baseball team, his eyes dark with intent.

"Hey, princess. All alone?"

Atsumu's heart raced, but he didn't scream. He didn't move. The boy advanced, his hand reaching out to touch Atsumu's bare shoulder. "You've been teasing all day. Time to pay up."

Atsumu's lips parted, but before he could speak, the door burst open. Kita stood there, his face a mask of controlled fury.

"Get out," Kita said, his voice low and dangerous.

The boy sneered but backed off, muttering under his breath as he left.

Kita closed the door and turned to Atsumu, who was trembling, his eyes wide. "Atsumu, what were you thinking?"

"I... I don't know," Atsumu whispered. "I just... I wanted him to want me."

Kita sighed, his anger fading into something softer. He walked over and knelt in front of Atsumu, taking his hands. "You are wanted, Atsumu. But not like that. Not by people who see you as a toy."

"Then how?" Atsumu's voice cracked. "How do I get someone to love me?"

Kita's heart ached. He reached up and gently wiped a tear from Atsumu's cheek, careful not to smudge his makeup. "By being yourself. The real you. The one who yells at his teammates, who argues about serving strategies, who eats onigiri like it's the last meal on earth. That's the Atsumu I care about."

Atsumu stared at him, his breath hitching. "You... you care about me?"

"Of course I do," Kita said, his voice soft. "You're my kouhai. My friend. And maybe..." He paused, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Maybe something more, if you'd let me."

Atsumu's eyes widened, and for the first time in days, a genuine smile spread across his face. "Kita-san..."

They were interrupted by the door opening again. Osamu stood there, his expression wary. "Tsumu? You okay?"

Atsumu nodded, still holding Kita's hands. "I'm fine, 'Samu. Really."

Osamu looked between them, and a slow understanding dawned on his face. He nodded once, then stepped back, closing the door behind him.

Atsumu turned back to Kita, his eyes shining. "Will you... stay with me?"

"Always," Kita said, and pulled him into a gentle embrace.

From that day on, Atsumu still wore his skirts and his makeup, but something was different. He no longer sought the eyes of strangers. Instead, he looked for Kita's gaze across the court, and when he found it, he smiled—a real smile, soft and full of promise. And Kita, for his part, made sure to be there, always, to catch him when he fell.