The Miya Princess

Winter break had ended, and Inarizaki High School buzzed with the usual post-holiday chatter. But today, the whispers were different—louder, sharper, tinged with disbelief. Atsumu Miya, the team's star setter and notorious loudmouth, walked through the gates looking like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. Or rather, like a princess from a shoujo manga.

His hair, usually tousled and spiky, was now longer, falling in soft waves around his face. A touch of shimmer on his eyelids, a hint of gloss on his lips—makeup that accentuated his features without being overdone. He wore a pastel pink sweater, a pleated skirt that swayed with each step, and thigh-high knit stockings. On his feet were dainty ankle boots, and over his shoulder hung a small handbag.

Osamu, walking a few steps behind, kept his hands shoved in his pockets, his jaw tight. He'd seen Atsumu transform over the break, had helped him order clothes online, had even driven him to the salon. But seeing him now, under the harsh morning light, surrounded by gawking students, made his stomach churn.

"Miya-senpai looks like a girl!"

"Is that really Atsumu?"

"He's so pretty..."

Osamu's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, his presence a silent wall between his twin and the world. "Keep walkin'," he muttered, low enough for only Atsumu to hear.

Atsumu's lips curled into a sweet smile. "Aww, 'Samu's worried about me?" His voice was lighter, more melodic, deliberately feminine. He'd been practicing.

"Shut up," Osamu growled, but there was no heat in it. He was too focused on the stares, the whispers. He'd always been protective of his brother, but this was different. This was new territory.

At practice, the team did a double-take when Atsumu walked in. He'd changed into his volleyball shorts—the shortest pair he owned, barely covering his thighs—and a tight jersey that hugged his waist. His legs, now smooth and toned, drew eyes like magnets.

"Oi, Miya! What the hell are you wearin'?" Suna raised an eyebrow.

"Practice clothes," Atsumu said, batting his lashes. "Got a problem?"

Ginjima choked on his water. Aran looked away, ears red. Osamu grabbed a ball and slammed it into the floor. "Focus."

Coach Kurosu cleared his throat. "Alright, enough gawking. Let's warm up."

But it was impossible to ignore. Every time Atsumu bent over to pick up a ball, every time he jumped for a set, the shorts rode up, revealing the curve of his hips. The team stumbled, missed spikes, fumbled receives. Osamu's sets grew sharper, angrier.

After practice, Atsumu lingered, hoping to catch the attention of some boys from the soccer team who were also in the gym. He laughed, tossed his hair, touched his neck. Osamu watched from the doorway, fists clenched.

"Let's go, 'Tsumu."

"In a minute, 'Samu."

"Now."

Atsumu pouted but followed, his skirt swishing. Back home, Osamu cornered him in their shared room. "What the hell are you tryin' to do?"

"Nothin'. Just havin' fun."

"You're gonna get yourself hurt."

"Or kissed," Atsumu shot back, eyes glittering. "Isn't that what you're afraid of? That someone might actually want me?"

Osamu's face went pale. "That's not—"

"It's fine. I know you just wanna protect me. But I'm not a kid anymore, 'Samu. I want to be seen. I want to feel... desirable."

Osamu's throat tightened. He wanted to say, "I see you," but the words wouldn't come.

A few days later, Kita Shinsuke, the team's captain, returned from a family trip. He walked into the gym and stopped short. There, on the court, was Atsumu Miya—but not the Atsumu he remembered. This version was soft, delicate, almost ethereal. His blonde hair caught the light, his lips were pink, and his uniform seemed to hang differently on his frame.

"Kita-san! Welcome back!" Atsumu chirped, bounding over. The movement made his skirt flare, revealing a flash of thigh. Kita's eyes flickered, then steadied.

"Miya. You've changed."

"Do you like it?" Atsumu asked, tilting his head.

Kita smiled, the same warm, brotherly smile he'd always given him. "You look happy. That's what matters."

Atsumu's heart sank. Happy. Not pretty, not beautiful, not desirable. Just... happy.

But Kita wasn't unaffected. During practice, he found his gaze drifting to Atsumu's legs, the curve of his waist, the way his hips moved when he served. He'd known Atsumu since they were kids, watched him grow from a bratty middle-schooler into this... captivating creature. But Atsumu was like a little brother to him. He shouldn't be noticing these things.

Yet he did.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, Atsumu stayed behind to practice serves. He missed again and again, frustration building. The gym was empty except for Kita, who was doing a cool-down routine.

"You're overthinking," Kita said, approaching. "Relax your shoulders."

Atsumu sighed. "I just want to be good. Good enough for someone to notice."

Kita's hand landed on his shoulder, warm and steady. "You're already noticed, Miya. By everyone."

"But not in the way I want," Atsumu whispered, turning to face him. "Not by you."

Kita's breath caught. The gym lights softened the edges of Atsumu's face, made his eyes look huge and pleading. Kita's hand slid from his shoulder to his cheek before he could stop it. "Atsumu..."

"Don't treat me like a kid," Atsumu said, leaning into the touch. "I'm not your little brother."

"I know," Kita said, his voice rough. "Believe me, I know."

He pulled away, stepping back. "But this isn't right. You're young, and I'm your captain."

"So what?" Atsumu's voice cracked. "You think I care about that? I care about you."

Kita closed his eyes, fighting himself. "Give me time."

"Why?"

"Because if I kiss you now, I won't stop."

Atsumu's breath hitched. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. "Then don't stop."

But Kita shook his head. "Not yet. When you're sure this is what you want, when you're not just craving attention... I'll be here."

He left Atsumu standing in the empty gym, heart pounding, hope blooming.

Osamu found him later, sitting on the steps outside, still in his practice clothes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Atsumu said, voice soft. "I think I will be."

Osamu sat beside him, didn't say anything. Just stayed, a silent promise that he'd always be there.

And somewhere across town, Kita stared at his ceiling, replaying the feel of Atsumu's skin under his fingers, and wondered how long he could wait.