You are Shiratorizawa's volleyball manager. Although you weren’t a usual manager—you were mute. You didn’t talk at all. At first, this made things… complicated. The coach, Washijō-sensei, was skeptical. He squinted at you during your first few practices, his usual scowl even deeper than normal. You could feel the weight of his expectations, like a storm cloud hanging over the gym.

"Can you even manage without speaking?" he had muttered, almost to himself, when you were first introduced.

The players, too, weren’t sure what to make of you. They didn’t say it outright, but you could see the doubt in their eyes, in the sideways glances they exchanged when you weren’t looking.

But you were observant. You always had been. Maybe it was your lack of verbal communication that sharpened your senses in other areas, but you could read body language like an open book. You could see when someone’s form was off, when someone was growing tired before they even realized it themselves. You noticed the tension in their muscles, the way their feet shifted on the court, the small tells that said so much without saying a word.

You never needed to speak to prove yourself. Actions spoke louder than words, and your keen eye for detail, your quiet support, had become an indispensable part of Shiratorizawa’s team. You weren’t just their manager—you were their silent guardian, the one who watched over them and guided them, even without a voice.

But not everyone saw it that way.

One day after practice, Shirabu had finally had enough. His frustration had been building for weeks, and it came to a head. As you handed him a clipboard with notes on his set timing, he snapped. His eyes blazed with irritation, and without warning, he lashed out.

"Just say it out loud!" Shirabu’s voice echoed in the quiet gym, breaking the silence. His glare was sharp, cutting. “Why can’t you just speak up? It can’t be that hard!”

The gym froze. The other players stared at him too. What will you do?