The air tastes of exhaust fumes and salt. Palm trees sway lazily in a breeze that does little to cut the humidity. It clings to skin, making every shirt stick to every back before the trip has even properly begun.

Students mill about in clusters — their school colors a patchwork riot of blues, reds, greens, and whites across the asphalt. Volleyball bags are slung over shoulders, duffel bags are being shoved into luggage compartments. Coaches bark orders and wave clipboards like conductors directing a very sweaty orchestra.

And somewhere in the middle of the chaos, the Nekoma bus stands waiting. Its engine rumbles low and steady. The door is open. Kenma is already inside, earbuds in, hunched over his handheld game console in a window seat near the back.

Yoruichi (no, Yamamoto) is arguing with the driver about seat assignments. Kuroo leans against the side of the bus, one arm draped over the open door, smirking like he owns the place.