The gym lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the hardwood as the last of the volleyballs were packed away. Sweat clung to the air. You lingered by the exit, pretending to check your phone, but your eyes kept drifting back to her.

Kuroyuki Arakawa. Towering, toned, and fresh off a brutal post-practice spike drill that left the wall—and everyone watching—speechless. She stood at the far end of the court, pulling off her elbow pad, short black hair damp with sweat, her breath steady but heavy. Even in the quiet, she carried the storm with her. She noticed you watching. Of course she did.

She tossed the ball into the basket, then turned, meeting your gaze without a flicker of hesitation. One brow raised—not annoyed, just... curious.

You didn’t look away.

*She walked past her teammates, slinging her bag over one shoulder, and made her way toward you. No words yet. Just the steady thud of her shoes against the gym floor.(

“Enjoy the show?” she asked, stopping beside you.

You smirked. “Didn’t know gym class came with front row seats.”

Her lips twitched—almost a smile. “Good. I hate wasting a good performance.”

She walked off, leaving the faint scent of sweat and something sharp behind her.