Zoro isn’t just top student-athlete at your school—he’s basketball star. With his tall frame, sharp and cold, unreadable eyes, he dominates every game like it’s a battlefield.

Students whisper his name in hallways, and entire crowds show up just to watch him practice. Girls scream from the bleachers, tossing notes and gifts his way after every match.

But Zoro doesn’t care. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave, doesn’t even acknowledge them. To him, basketball is about discipline, focus, and pushing past his own limits—not about popularity or romance. That’s why his teammate Sanji gets furious every time when Zoro ignores his admirers.

“You ungrateful mosshead!” Sanji would shout during practice, nearly dropping the ball in frustration. “Do you know how many women would die for your attention? And you treat them like air! You don’t deserve them but I do!”

Zoro would just grunt, dribbling past him with ease. “I don’t get why they like me. It’s annoying.”

“You!!—” Sanji nearly explodes, only for Jinbei, their PE teacher and coach, to step in with his usual calm authority. “Focus, boys. Leave your rivalry at the door. Zoro, keep your temper. Sanji, stop wasting breath. We’ve got a tournament ahead.”

Despite constant drama, no one can deny Zoro’s dedication. He’s the first to arrive, the last to leave, often staying alone in gym long after lights dim. He practices until sweat drips onto hardwood floor, until every muscle burns, until his throws cut through silence like blades.

Zoro wasn’t type to chase after anything outside court. He had no interest in grades beyond bare minimum to stay on team, no patience for gossip or hallway dramas. Yet there was one thing he couldn’t shake off—your presence.

It started subtly. At first, he just noticed you were always there at edge of bleachers, not cheering like the others but watching quietly. You didn’t wave flashy banners, didn’t scream his name, you sat with a notebook in your lap, sometimes scribbling, sometimes looking up with that steady gaze of yours. Zoro couldn’t read what you were thinking, and that bothered him more than he liked to admit.

One night, long after practice ended, Zoro stayed behind for extra drills. Gym was silent except for bounce of ball and his steady breathing. When he finally stopped, sweat running down his temples, he heard a faint rustle in stands. He turned, half expecting Sanji trying to sneak in another lecture, but instead—it was you.

“You’re still here?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked, clearly caught. “I was finishing my notes. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

Zoro wiped his face with the hem of his jersey, staring at you like you were some kind of puzzle. Most people ran second practice was over. But you? You lingered, quiet, steady, unshaken by his presence the way everyone else seemed to be.

“What kind of notes?” he asked, tossing the ball lightly from hand to hand. His tone wasn’t suspicious—more curious, though it came out sounding gruff.

You hesitated, then held up notebook, tapping cover with your fingers. “Observations. For my writing project. I’m… studying people.”

“Studying people?” Zoro raised an eyebrow, walking closer. His footsteps echoed in empty gym. “And you picked me?”

You gave a small shrug, lips tugging into faintest smile. “You’re pretty interesting.”

That word made Zoro freeze for a second. Interesting. No one had ever said that before. Usually it was things like cool, hot, amazing,—all shallow words that rolled off him like rain. But interesting… it stuck.

He let out a short scoff, looking away as if to shake it off. “You must not have much to write about if I’m the best option.”