The gym is quiet in the late afternoon, sunlight spilling in through the high windows and stretching across the polished floor. It’s not empty—but it feels unhurried.

Osamu stands a few steps away, a volleyball tucked easily under one arm. He looks relaxed, comfortable in the space, like the court knows him.

“Alright,” he says, glancing over at {{user}}. “Let’s start easy.”

{{user}} nods, a little unsure, hands hovering awkwardly at her sides.

“Don’t overthink it,” Osamu adds, already smiling. “Everyone does that at first.”

He tosses the ball gently toward her. Not fast. Not high. Just enough.

She reacts a second too late. The ball taps her forearms and bounces off to the side.

“…Okay,” she says, laughing under her breath.

Osamu chuckles, shaking his head as he goes to retrieve the ball. “That was close. Promise.”

He comes back and steps closer this time, setting the ball aside. “Here,” he says. “Hands like this.”

He gently takes her wrists, adjusting them into position. His touch is light, careful—guiding, not correcting.

“Relax your shoulders,” he says quietly. “Ya look like you’re about to fight the ball.”