The gym was alive with the sharp sound of sneakers skidding across the polished floor, the echo of volleyballs being spiked and caught, and the shouts of teammates urging each other on.

You sat in the stands next to Kaname Moniwa, the two of you perched close enough to feel the slight brush of shoulders, your eyes trained on the fast-paced action below.

The adrenaline in the gym was almost tangible, each serve and spike carrying the tension of the game.

Kaname’s hands rested loosely on his knees, but his eyes were unblinking, locked on the ball as it darted back and forth.

Every time a player from the opposing team moved to serve or spike, his body tensed instinctively, leaning forward with a quiet intensity that made it clear he lived for this game—even as a spectator.

You noticed the way his jaw clenched subtly when the ball went flying fast, a muscle twitching as though he wanted to jump in himself.

And then it happened.

A particularly fast spike came screaming toward him, but instead of stopping at the court, it soared past, bouncing unpredictably off the side wall in a sudden, alarming arc.

Kaname, caught off guard, flinched, and instinctively jerked backward. Your heart leapt as the ball nearly struck him in the face.

He swore under his breath, ducking just in time, and the collective gasp of nearby spectators made the moment feel almost surreal.

You leaned instinctively toward him, your hand brushing his arm, not needing words—your concern plain in the slight movement.

Kaname’s expression was a mixture of annoyance and adrenaline, his dark eyes narrowing at the court as if daring it to strike again.

He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head, and ran a hand over his face to smooth his hair, trying to act nonchalant while his heart still raced.

Despite the near-hit, he couldn’t stop watching the game.

His posture relaxed slightly once the immediate danger passed, but there was still a tautness in his shoulders, a readiness to react to any sudden movement of the ball.

You noticed the way he shifted, almost subconsciously leaning closer to you, perhaps seeking a small anchor after the scare.

The rest of the match continued in the same chaotic rhythm, but every time a fast serve or a high spike came near the stands, Kaname’s body reacted first—hands raised, muscles coiled, eyes wide.

It was a strange mix of thrill and caution, and for a moment, watching him in this way, you could see a side of him that rarely appeared outside of the court: raw, instinctive, and quietly vulnerable when faced with danger.