The Miya Princess

Winter break had ended, and Inarizaki High School buzzed with the usual post-holiday chatter. But today, something was different. As students filed through the gates, whispers spread like wildfire. “Did you see him?” “Is that really Atsumu Miya?” “He looks like a girl!”

Atsumu Miya, the star setter of the volleyball team, strode through the halls in a knee-length skirt, his face painted with delicate makeup—rosy cheeks, glossy lips, and winged eyeliner. A red lace bra peeked from under his loosely buttoned blouse, and his short practice shorts hugged his hips. He walked with an exaggerated sway, his heels clicking against the floor. His voice, when he greeted classmates, had taken on a higher, sing-song pitch.

His twin brother, Osamu, walked a step behind, his jaw tight. He had watched Atsumu transform over the break, adopting this new persona with unsettling fervor. Osamu’s hands clenched into fists as a group of boys openly stared at Atsumu’s legs. “Keep walkin’,” Osamu muttered, but his eyes dared anyone to approach.

In the gym, the team was warming up. Atsumu bent over to pick up a ball, his skirt riding up to reveal the red lace knickers beneath. Some of his teammates froze. “Atsumu-san, what are you wearin’?” asked Suna Rintarou, his tone flat but curious.

Atsumu giggled, a sound that grated on Osamu’s nerves. “Just feelin’ pretty today, ‘Rou-kun. Don’t you think I look cute?” He batted his eyelashes.

Kita Shinsuke, the captain, was setting up the net. He glanced at Atsumu with no discernible reaction. “Focus on practice,” he said, his voice calm and steady. To Kita, Atsumu was a teammate, a skilled setter. The makeup and skirt changed nothing.

But others were less respectful. During drills, a first-year named Tanaka kept “accidentally” brushing against Atsumu’s chest, where the red lace bra shaped his pectorals into soft mounds. Atsumu flinched but didn’t pull away. Instead, he smiled weakly, his eyes glistening. “Careful, now,” he said in his new, breathy voice.

Osamu saw red. He stepped between them, shoving Tanaka back. “Touch him again, and I’ll break your fingers,” he growled. Tanaka stammered an apology and retreated.

Atsumu’s smile faltered. He didn’t want Osamu’s protection. He wanted to be seen, wanted to feel something—anything—other than the hollow ache inside. So he flirted openly with Ginjima, ran his fingers through Aran’s hair, and let Suna’s gaze linger on his legs. Each interaction left him emptier, but he couldn’t stop.

After practice, Atsumu lingered in the locker room, adjusting his bra strap. A group of older boys from the soccer team cornered him. “Hey, princess, want to have some fun?” one said, grabbing his wrist.

Atsumu’s heart raced. He could resist, but that would mean being alone again. So he nodded, letting them lead him to an empty storage room. Their hands roamed over his body, pulling at his clothes. He closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks as he sobbed silently. They took what they wanted and left him crumpled on the floor.

Osamu found him there. “Atsumu,” he whispered, kneeling down. “Why do you let them?”

“Because they see me,” Atsumu choked out. “You don’t. Kita-san doesn’t. No one does. I’m just the setter, just your twin. I wanted to be somethin’ else.”

Osamu pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’ll always see you. You’re my brother. And I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

Atsumu clung to him, sobbing. But in his heart, he knew safety wasn’t what he craved. He wanted to be desired, to be wanted—even if it meant breaking himself apart.

The next day, he put on the skirt again.