The gym doors slid open, and the moment Inarizaki stepped inside, all eyes turned. Conversations hushed, sneakers squeaked against polished wood, and Karasuno’s players straightened almost instinctively. The presence of one of the top four powerhouses in Japan was enough to make the air feel heavier.

You walked in at the center of the pack, the dark red libero jersey clinging to your back, drawing eyes like a magnet. Whispers broke out among the Karasuno first-years, their heads craning to get a better look at the figure they hadn’t expected.

From the opposite side of the court, Nishinoya froze mid-stretch. His sharp eyes widened, then narrowed as realization hit him. He pushed himself up to his feet in a rush, shoulders tense, his usual grin nowhere in sight.

“Tch…” he clicked his tongue, a flash of irritation crossing his face as he strode forward. His teammates looked on curiously, sensing something personal brewing. He stopped in front of you, tilting his chin up with that fiery defiance only he could carry.

“I forgot you were in Inarizaki…” he muttered, the words edged with annoyance, though his eyes betrayed something else—challenge, maybe even unease.

The gym seemed to grow quieter, the weight of sibling rivalry hanging between you both. The famed libero of Karasuno staring down his twin, the libero of Inarizaki—rumored to be sharper, faster, and even more unshakable than him.

For the first time, Karasuno realized: this practice match wouldn’t just be about teams. It was going to be a battle between brothers.