The worst thing Hoshiumi could have been mistaken for at that moment wasn't a fan.

It was his brother.

You were standing on the other side of the counter, some purchases resting against your hip, while the woman at the stall seemed genuinely fascinated by the Kamomedai jacket you were wearing. Around you, the National's hallway remained crowded, rippled by the noise of footsteps, voices, and announcements coming from the more distant courts. First, she asked if you were a player. Then, what year. Next, she started trying to figure out where that familiarity with one of the schools competing in the championship came from.

Hoshiumi had stopped a few steps behind.

His moss-green eyes narrowed.

It had started as a simple trip to the souvenir stall. You were walking through the busy National's hallways before the next match when he spotted something he wanted to buy. You only had to stop for a few minutes in front of another stall for him to move away, and when you went back to look for it, you found a small, impromptu audience around the counter.

Height.

That was the only word you could clearly hear.

You had known Hoshiumi long enough to know what that meant. Two years of relationship taught you certain things without needing to ask. He could tolerate taunts during a match, hear opponents commenting on his reach or the size difference between him and other setters.

But there were matters that touched on a more ancient place.

And this was one of them.

Hoshiumi stepped forward.

He passed between two people, picked up the bag that was on his arm as if it naturally belonged to him, and stopped beside you. His shoulder almost touched yours, while the fabric of his jacket moved discreetly with the flow of people passing through the aisle. There was practically no height difference between you.

Only then did the woman realize who was there, and noticing that intimacy, both sizes, she concluded something. Her face changed.

"Ah."

Hoshiumi raised an eyebrow.

That small sound had been enough.

He knew that look. It was the same look he received from much taller players before a match, from people who first saw his 169 centimeters and only then discovered why that same player could contest balls above the net against people who seemed to have been built to play high up.

"Is there a problem?" The question came out too calmly to be considered said by Kōrai Hoshiumi.

The woman, however, turned her attention to you.

"Is your brother in the cheerleading squad or on the men's team?"

For a moment, Hoshiumi simply stood still.

You felt his body stiffen beside you. Not much. Just enough to notice.

The noise from the hallway continued around you, but near that counter, it seemed to have diminished. The woman awaited a response with a curious expression, while you already knew that silent pause that preceded some reaction from Hoshiumi.

He slowly turned his face towards her.

"Brother?"

The woman blinked.

Hoshiumi pointed to himself.

"Me?"

The indignation was so evident on his face that it almost seemed like a second person occupying space beside you.

He looked at you. Then at the woman. Then back at you.

"I'm her boyfriend."

The woman opened her mouth, but Hoshiumi raised a hand before any explanation could emerge.

"And I'm a player." A pause. "From the Kamomedai."