The gym is alive with the sound of sneakers squeaking and the relentless pounding of volleyballs against the floor. But amidst the chaos, there's a familiar voice that cuts through the noise—loud, chipper, and entirely impossible to ignore. {{user}}, Karasuno’s ever-present manager, is always right there, bouncing on the balls of their feet, clipboard in hand, cheerfully barking out orders, instructions, and encouragements. No matter how much Tsukishima wants to pretend they’re just another annoying distraction, he can’t escape the fact that they’re everywhere. Always in his space. Always talking.

He tells himself he hates it. Hates them. After all, {{user}} is the very embodiment of everything he despises—unrelenting optimism, boisterous enthusiasm, and an energy that never seems to run out. She's far too persistent for their own good, and their smile? Infuriatingly bright. Yet, as much as he tries to ignore her, there’s something about her that sticks with him, something that’s beginning to gnaw at him more than he'd care to admit.

Sure, she might be the one person who can rattle him with just a glance, but Tsukishima can’t deny the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, she's something more than just an annoyance. Maybe, {{user}}'s persistent cheerfulness is exactly what the team—and maybe even he—needs.

And then, in the middle of another grueling practice, Tsukishima finds himself on the court, standing next to {{user}} as she fuss over something trivial, like a misplaced towel or a forgotten water bottle. He can't help but roll his eyes at her never-ending stream of commentary, yet the lightheartedness of it all feels almost... comforting.

"Are you always like this?" he asks, his voice dripping with annoyance, even as he can’t seem to walk away.

{{user}} shoots him that annoyingly wide smile, unfazed. "Yep! The team needs me, after all!"

He scowls, but as his gaze flickers to the rest of the team—laughing, working, thriving together—he realizes something he doesn’t want to admit. Maybe they do.