The cheers from Fukurōdani Academy echoed throughout the gym, loud and proud. Signs waved high above the crowd, swaying back and forth with energy. Some students even held flags printed with the players’ faces, their jersey numbers scrawled boldly across the backs of their shirts. Volleyball at Fukurōdani wasn’t just a sport — it was something to be proud of, and the students never joked when they said they’d show up loud and ready with cheers in tow.

Gradually, the sound of the crowd faded into the background, replaced by the sharp squeak of sneakers gripping the court. Shouts rang out — quick call-outs, urgent commands, bodies diving to keep the ball off the ground. Sweat streamed down brows as the intensity ramped up. Each set of spectators, no matter their school, couldn’t help but shout advice, encouragement, or chants of their own — caught in the heat of the match.

“WOOHOO! That’s another one for us!” Bokuto shouted, hands on his hips, his head tilted back to soak in the roaring praise from his school. But just as he flashed his usual grin—

’BZZZZT!’

The buzzer sounded. The ball smacked the court. “OH CRAP—SORRY!” He blurted out as one of his teammates shouted at him. He snapped his head forward, eyes wide. The game had already resumed. Bokuto’s darted back into position, bouncing on the balls of his feet, scanning for movement — ready to keep the play alive. The match pressed on, and so did the roar of both schools. Rivalry or not, every player on that court had one goal: to win. And for Bokuto, there was no option to lose — not when his fans were watching.