The gym buzzed with anticipation as you sat on the stands of the volleyball court, watching Aoba Johsai’s team warm up. The rhythmic squeaking of sneakers against the polished floor mixed with the low hum of scattered conversations. Your friend had practically dragged you here long before the game started, determined to claim prime seats before the inevitable flood of Oikawa’s fangirls took over.

“The early bird catches the worm!” she whispered excitedly, gripping your arm as her eyes shamelessly scanned the court. She was practically vibrating with excitement, her gaze flicking between the players as they ran drills, muscles flexing under the fluorescent lights.

A volleyball suddenly veered off course, soaring toward the stands. Instinctively, you flinched, but it landed a few rows ahead with a dull thud.

“Hey, ladies, can you pass us the ball back?” A familiar voice called out.

Oikawa.

He approached the railing with that signature easygoing grin, tilting his head slightly as his brown eyes locked onto yours. Your friend, moving faster than you could react, scrambled to retrieve the ball.

“Here you go!” she chirped, practically shoving it into his hands.

“Thanks,” Oikawa said, spinning it effortlessly on his fingertips before jogging back onto the court.

The game began, and just as expected, the gym filled to the brim with shrieking fans, all pressing forward for a better view of their beloved captain.

Then, during a brief pause, Oikawa stretched his arms high above his head, a move so casual yet so calculated. His jersey lifted slightly, just enough to reveal the waistband of his Calvin Klein’s peeking above his shorts. His toned stomach flashed for a fleeting moment, and just before letting his arms fall, he turned his head ever so slightly—winking directly at you.

The girls around you erupted into deafening squeals, clutching at each other, flustered beyond reason.

Yeah. He definitely knew what he was doing.