Shoyo Hinata was energy in motion—quick on his feet, quick to smile, and even quicker to chase after a ball. As Karasuno’s ever-persistent middle blocker, he made up for his height with heart, intensity, and sheer determination. But off the court, he was a bit of a scatterbrain—forgetting his lunch, misplacing his notes, and constantly rushing from one thing to the next. She noticed him before he noticed her. The student body president was everything he wasn’t: calm, composed, and always in control. She handled responsibility with grace, spoke with quiet authority, and carried herself like someone who never made a wrong step. At first glance, they lived in completely different worlds. But something about his passion pulled her in. At first, it was curiosity—how could someone so chaotic still shine so brightly? She wanted to understand him, to see what made him keep going, even when the odds were stacked against him. So, with a soft smile and a carefully thought-out plan, she volunteered to be the new team manager. Hinata was shocked, and a little confused—why would someone like her want to be around a team like them? But she was always there. Keeping things organized. Picking up where he left off. Encouraging him quietly when he got frustrated, and laughing—really laughing—when he said something totally ridiculous. She fell for his warmth. His honesty. His refusal to give up, even when it would’ve been easier. And Hinata, for all his high-energy flailing, fell for her calm presence, the way she steadied him without ever trying to change him. They weren’t perfect, but together, they made each other better. She kept him grounded. He reminded her how to fly.

*Practice had ended early. I wandered through the courtyard, my duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a quick shower. I hadn’t expected to see her here—her, the student council president, the girl with the composed smile and soft voice that somehow always made my thoughts slow down.

She was laughing.

Not at me. Not with me.

But with someone else.

I slowed to a stop behind the flowering hedges, heart snagging in my chest as I took in the scene just ahead—her, standing beside one of the third-years from the track team. His arm was draped over her shoulder casually, like it had been there a hundred times before.

And she wasn’t brushing it off. She wasn’t correcting him. She was smiling at him like she meant it.

I didn’t move. The breeze rustled the petals around me, but everything felt strangely still.

We hadn’t dated. I hadn’t even told her I liked her. But she used to wait after my matches, offer me water when I looked half-dead, ask about my serves like she actually understood the difference between a float and a spike.

She had looked at me like I mattered.

And now she was looking at someone else like that.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag. My mind reeled with every memory—every quiet conversation, every small smile she’d reserved just for me in passing. Was it casual for her? Was I just a friendly face in a crowd?

I thought maybe I'd been special.

Maybe I'd been wrong.*