The playground swing had become Ryu's throne of misery over the past three weeks, its rusted chains protesting his weight every morning as he settled into what had become his daily routine of spectacular volleyball failure.
Twenty-one days since he'd fled Sunflower Children's Home. Twenty-one days of sleeping in convenience store bathrooms, stealing food when his pride couldn't handle another day of hunger, and practicing volleyball with a half-deflated ball he'd found in a dumpster behind the local sports store.
The irony wasn't lost on him that he'd escaped from institutional care only to become completely obsessed with the sport his tormentors had tried to steal from him. But volleyball was all he had left now - the only connection to his father, the only skill Kenichi had tried to teach him, the only dream that still felt worth pursuing.
Even if he was absolutely terrible at it.
"Alright, Ryu," he muttered to himself, bouncing the sorry excuse for a volleyball against his palm. The leather was cracked, the air leaked out slowly over the course of each day, and it had a suspicious stain that he'd decided not to investigate too closely. "Today's the day you finally get a serve over that net without hitting a pigeon."
The makeshift court he'd discovered was nothing more than a chain-link fence strung between two trees in the abandoned lot behind the ramen shop, but it was regulation height - he'd measured it with his shoelaces - and it gave him something to aim for besides his own disappointment.
He'd been practicing here every morning for two weeks, ever since the nice convenience store owner had stopped chasing him away and started leaving day-old onigiri on the back step instead. Ryu suspected the man had figured out his situation but was too kind to say anything directly.
"Focus on form," he reminded himself, setting up at what he'd designated as the service line. "Kenichi always said technique beats power."
His first serve of the day sailed majestically over the fence, over the alley, and directly through the open window of someone's apartment. A few seconds later, a very angry voice shouted something about "delinquent children" and "calling the police," followed by the volleyball bouncing back out the window and landing with a wet splat in a puddle.
"Well," Ryu said philosophically, wading into the puddle to retrieve his ball, "at least it had good distance."
The apartment window slammed shut with enough force to rattle the building.
"Sorry!" Ryu called up hopefully, but the only response was what sounded like furniture being moved to barricade the window.
Attempt number two went significantly better - the ball cleared the fence, stayed within the general vicinity of the neighborhood, and only bounced off three different surfaces before coming to rest in the ramen shop's dumpster.
"Progress," he declared, climbing into the dumpster with the practiced ease of someone who'd been doing this for weeks. "Yesterday it was four surfaces."
The ball was nestled between a bag of expired vegetables and what appeared to be a failed experiment in noodle preparation. Ryu grabbed it quickly, trying not to think about what the sticky substance coating it might be.
"You know what your problem is?" he said to the ball as he climbed back out, wiping it clean with his increasingly grimy shirt. "You're not taking this seriously. We're trying to honor my father's memory here, and you're acting like a delinquent."
The ball, being an inanimate object with questionable origins and several structural defects, did not respond to this criticism.
Ryu had taken to talking to the volleyball during his practice sessions, partly because it helped him process Kenichi's lessons and partly because three weeks of near-total isolation had made him desperate for any kind of conversation, even one-sided ones with sporting goods.
"Let's try the float serve," he said, positioning himself for his third attempt. "Remember what Kenichi taught us about minimal spin and unpredictable movement."
He tossed the ball up with what he hoped was the right amount of wrist snap, stepped forward with his left foot, and swung his arm in what felt like a decent approximation of proper technique.
The ball went backward.
Ryu stared in fascination as his serve traveled in the completely wrong direction, cleared the playground equipment behind him, and landed somewhere in the residential area beyond the park.
"How?" he asked the universe in general. "How is that even physically possible? I was facing forward! The ball was in front of me! What law of physics did I just violate?"
A dog started barking in the distance, presumably having discovered the wayward volleyball in its yard.
"Great," Ryu sighed, hoisting himself over the playground fence to begin another retrieval mission. "Now I owe an apology to someone's pet."
The dog turned out to be a small, elderly dachshund who seemed less angry about the volleyball invasion and more confused about how a round object had appeared in his otherwise orderly backyard. He sniffed the ball suspiciously while Ryu climbed over the fence, tail wagging with cautious optimism.
"Sorry about that, little guy," Ryu said softly, approaching slowly. "I'm still working on the whole 'directional control' thing."
The dog tilted its head, apparently deciding that any human who apologized to animals couldn't be entirely bad. He picked up the volleyball in his mouth and trotted over to Ryu, tail wagging more enthusiastically.
"Oh, you want to play?" Ryu knelt down as the dog dropped the ball at his feet. "Well, you can't be worse at volleyball than I am."
For the next ten minutes, Ryu found himself playing fetch with a dachshund who showed considerably more athletic ability than he did. The dog could jump surprisingly high for his stubby legs, had excellent timing for catches, and never once sent the ball flying in the wrong direction.
"You know what?" Ryu said as the dog successfully caught the ball for the seventh consecutive time. "I'm starting to think you might have more natural volleyball talent than me. Want to be my training partner?"
The dog barked approvingly and promptly demonstrated a near-perfect dig, using his nose to pop the ball straight up into the air.
"Show off," Ryu muttered, but he was smiling for the first time in days.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of a sliding door opening behind him.
"Pochi! What are you doing out here?"
Ryu turned to see an elderly woman stepping onto her back porch, wearing a floral apron and carrying a dish towel. She spotted him immediately, and her expression shifted from confusion to maternal concern.
"Oh! Hello there, young man. Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Ryu said quickly, scooping up the volleyball. "I'm really sorry about disturbing your dog. My serve went a little off-course."
"Off-course?" The woman looked from him to the fence he'd obviously climbed, then to her dog, who was still wagging his tail enthusiastically. "Dear, that fence is at least six feet tall. Where exactly were you serving from?"
"The... park?" Ryu pointed vaguely in the direction he'd come from. "Over there. Kind of far over there."
The woman's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. "You served a volleyball from the park, over my fence, into my backyard?"
"It was an accident," Ryu said quickly. "I'm still learning. Well, still failing, really, but with good intentions."
"How long have you been practicing?"
"About five years, give or take. But only seriously for the last three weeks."
"And you've been practicing in the park this whole time?"
Ryu nodded, suddenly aware of how he must look - dirty clothes, tangled hair, clutching a half-deflated volleyball that looked like it had seen better decades.
The woman studied him with the kind of perceptive gaze that suggested she'd raised children of her own. "When did you last have a proper meal, dear?"
"I... yesterday. Or maybe the day before. Time gets a little fuzzy when you're focused on volleyball improvement."
"Mmm." The woman's expression grew more concerned. "And where are your parents?"
The question hit like a spike to the chest, unexpected and devastating. Ryu felt his carefully constructed emotional walls wobble dangerously.
"They died," he said quietly. "Car accident. Five years ago."
"Oh, sweetheart." The woman's voice filled with immediate sympathy. "I'm so sorry. Are you staying with family? Friends?"
Ryu shook his head, not trusting his voice.
"Where have you been sleeping?"
"Around. Parks, mostly. Sometimes convenience stores let me use their restrooms." He straightened up, trying to project more confidence than he felt. "I'm managing fine on my own."
"No child should have to manage on their own," the woman said firmly. "Come inside. Let me make you something to eat."
"I can't - "
"Of course you can. Pochi likes you, and he's an excellent judge of character." She gestured toward the dog, who had settled beside Ryu's feet like a furry bodyguard. "Besides, anyone who apologizes to a dachshund for accidentally including him in volleyball practice is welcome in my home."
The kindness in her voice nearly broke what remained of Ryu's composure. He'd grown so used to suspicion and hostility that simple maternal warmth felt overwhelming.
"I don't want to be any trouble," he said weakly.
"Trouble would be letting a hungry child leave without feeding him properly." The woman held open her sliding door. "I'm Mrs. Watanabe, and this is Pochi. What's your name, dear?"
"Ryu," he said, following her into the house with Pochi trotting beside him. "Miyamoto Ryu."
"Well, Ryu-kun, I hope you like katsu curry, because I just made a pot large enough to feed a volleyball team."
The kitchen was warm and filled with the kind of cooking smells that triggered memories of his mother's Sunday dinners. Mrs. Watanabe moved around the space with practiced efficiency, setting out plates and bowls while keeping up a steady stream of gentle conversation.
"So you're learning volleyball?" she asked, ladling curry over rice with generous portions that suggested she'd noticed his thinness. "That's wonderful. My grandson plays for his middle school team."
"Really?" Ryu's eyes lit up despite his exhaustion. "What position?"
"Libero, I think? He's always talking about 'receives' and 'digs' and showing me these sliding moves across my living room floor." She set the plate in front of him with a smile. "Drives his mother crazy but makes me proud. There's something beautiful about dedication to a sport."
Ryu took his first bite and nearly cried. The curry was perfectly seasoned, the rice was fluffy and warm, and the katsu was crispy in a way that reminded him of every comfort food fantasy he'd had during the past three weeks of convenience store meals.
"This is amazing," he said around a mouthful that was probably too large for politeness. "Thank you so much."
"When did you last have a home-cooked meal?" Mrs. Watanabe asked gently.
"Not since..." Ryu paused, calculating. "Not since I lived with my parents. The orphanage had institutional food, and since I've been on my own, it's been mostly onigiri and whatever I could afford."
"Orphanage?" Mrs. Watanabe's expression grew more concerned. "Ryu-kun, did you run away?"
The direct question hung in the air between them. Ryu could lie, make up some story about visiting relatives or staying with friends. But Mrs. Watanabe had fed him without asking questions, welcomed him into her home because he'd apologized to her dog, and her curry was the best thing he'd tasted in years.
"Yes," he said quietly. "Three weeks ago. From Sunflower Children's Home."
"Oh, sweetheart." Mrs. Watanabe sat down across from him, her expression full of compassion. "What happened?"
The whole story came spilling out - his parents' accident, the years at the orphanage, Kenichi's friendship and departure, the systematic bullying, the destruction of his father's volleyball, and finally his desperate escape. Mrs. Watanabe listened without interruption, occasionally refilling his plate or offering encouraging nods.
"So now I practice volleyball every day," he concluded, "because it's the only thing I have left of my father, and it's the only thing that makes me feel like I'm working toward something instead of just surviving."
"And how is the volleyball practice going?" Mrs. Watanabe asked with gentle curiosity.
Ryu's face fell. "Terrible. Really, really terrible. I think I might be cursed. Or volleyball might hate me personally. I can't serve over the net without hitting something inappropriate, my receives go in random directions, and today I somehow managed to serve backward."
"Backward?"
"I was facing forward, the ball was in front of me, and somehow it went behind me. I may have broken physics."
Mrs. Watanabe's lips twitched with suppressed amusement. "That does sound challenging."
"I keep telling myself that practice makes perfect, but I'm starting to think I'm just practicing imperfection really, really well."
"Show me," Mrs. Watanabe said suddenly.
"What?"
"Show me your serve. Here, in the kitchen." She stood up and moved the chairs out of the way, creating a small open space. "Pretend I'm the net."
"You want me to serve a volleyball at you? In your kitchen?"
"Not at me, over me. And we'll use this instead." She picked up a small decorative pillow from a nearby chair. "Much safer for my dishes."
Ryu looked around the kitchen, then at Mrs. Watanabe's expectant face, then at Pochi, who had positioned himself like an eager spectator.
"This seems like a bad idea," he said.
"Most of the best ideas seem bad at first," Mrs. Watanabe replied cheerfully. "Go on. Show me what you've been practicing."
Ryu accepted the pillow, which was embroidered with a pattern of cherry blossoms and felt considerably more civilized than his usual practice ball. He positioned himself at one end of the kitchen, took a deep breath, and went through his serving motion.
The pillow sailed gracefully through the air, cleared Mrs. Watanabe by a comfortable margin, and landed softly on the kitchen counter behind her.
"Oh!" Mrs. Watanabe clapped her hands together. "That was lovely! Perfect arc, good distance, very controlled."
Ryu stared at the pillow in confusion. "But... it worked. It went where I wanted it to go. That never happens."
"Perhaps your volleyball is the problem, not your technique."
"My volleyball?"
"The one you retrieved from my yard looked rather... well-traveled. How long have you been using it?"
"About two weeks. I found it in a dumpster."
Mrs. Watanabe's expression suggested she was trying very hard not to laugh. "Ryu-kun, a good volleyball is essential for proper practice. Using a damaged ball is like trying to learn calligraphy with a broken brush."
"But volleyballs are expensive," Ryu said helplessly. "And I don't exactly have a steady income."
"Hmm." Mrs. Watanabe tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I may have a solution for that."
She disappeared into another room, leaving Ryu alone with Pochi, who seemed to be judging him for not realizing sooner that his equipment might be part of the problem.
"Don't look at me like that," Ryu told the dog. "You try learning volleyball from a dumpster ball and see how well you do."
Pochi tilted his head and made a small huffing sound that somehow managed to convey both sympathy and gentle mockery.
Mrs. Watanabe returned carrying a pristine white and blue volleyball that looked like it had never been used.
"My grandson left this here last month," she explained, holding it out to Ryu. "He got a new one for his birthday and forgot to take this one home. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you borrowed it for your practice."
Ryu accepted the volleyball with reverent hands. It was perfectly inflated, properly weighted, and had the kind of grip that suggested quality construction.
"I can't take this," he said weakly. "It's too valuable."
"Consider it a loan," Mrs. Watanabe said firmly. "You can return it when you've mastered your serve. Or when you join a proper team and get your own equipment."
"What if I never master my serve?"
"Then I suppose you'll have to keep practicing until you do."
The simple faith in her voice - the assumption that improvement was inevitable rather than impossible - made Ryu's chest tight with emotion.
"Why are you being so kind to me?" he asked quietly.
Mrs. Watanabe reached out and gently ruffled his hair, the gesture so maternal that it nearly broke his composure entirely.
"Because every child deserves someone to believe in their dreams," she said simply. "And because Pochi likes you, which means you have a good heart."
As if summoned by his name, Pochi trotted over and sat directly on Ryu's feet, apparently claiming him as his new favorite human.
"Besides," Mrs. Watanabe added with a twinkle in her eye, "anyone determined enough to practice volleyball alone in a park for three weeks despite being spectacularly bad at it clearly has the kind of persistence that eventually leads to success."
"You think I'll actually get better?"
"I think you'll surprise yourself with what persistence can accomplish."
____________________________________________________________________________
[Current Status:]
[Host: Yukitaka Izumi (Soul: Ryu Miyamoto)]
[Level: 1 (29/100 XP)]
[Skill Points Available: 1]
—
[Stats:]
- Serving: 2/100
- Receiving: 1/100
- Setting: 3/100
- Spiking: 0/100
- Blocking: 0/100
- Stamina: 15/100
- Jump Height: 28/100
- Game Sense: 15/100
—
[Abilities:]
- Empathic Connection (Level 1) - Active
- Critical Strike (Level 1) - Temporarily Unlocked (Remaining Uses: x2)
—
[Active Quests:]
- Daily: Complete 1 hour of focused volleyball practice (COMPLETE - Reward pending)
- Tutorial: Successfully receive 10 serves in a row (Progress: 0/10 | No deadline)
- Main: Find Your Team (Deadline: 29 days)
—
[Status Effects:]
- Soul Integration (90% Completed) - (Processing transmigration events)
- Family Bonding - Enhanced emotional connection, +10% XP gain from family activities (42 hours remaining)