The commotion started as muffled noise, a ripple of voices threading through the quiet of the dorms. At first, it sounded like chatter, but then came the sharper tones—groans, exclamations, even a half-yelled laugh.
When you stepped into the hallway, the reason for it became obvious.
Almost everyone from the training camp was gathered in a tight cluster outside one of the dorm rooms. Kageyama stood rigid, his eyes wide and uncertain, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or just confused.
Atsumu was laughing far too loud, clutching his stomach while still keeping his distance. Hoshiumi had scrambled onto a chair dragged from the lounge, pointing toward the room like it was a battlefield.
Komori was pale, his hands covering his mouth in disbelief, while Chigaya just stood with his arms crossed, unimpressed but not volunteering to go near the chaos either.
The door in question was wide open, and inside, Sakusa was pressed against the farthest wall, his usually calm, meticulous composure fractured into raw disgust.
His face was tight, pale with strain, and his gloved hands were held stiffly in front of him as if the very air around him had been contaminated.
And then came the source: a massive rat scuttling across the floor of his dorm room. Its body darted under his neatly folded bag, tail flicking as it disappeared briefly before reappearing near the corner.
The sight alone had Sakusa’s shoulders jerking back, his entire posture screaming revulsion.
“Get it out,” he hissed, voice sharp but trembling at the edges, the tone more demanding than his usual clipped calm.
His eyes followed every movement of the rat like it was a live grenade. Sweat beaded at his temple—not from heat or exertion, but from sheer horror.
Atsumu was doubled over now, wheezing through his laughter. “Yer face—holy crap, Sakusa! I’ve never seen ya like this—” But even he refused to step across the threshold, his shoes planted firmly in the hall.
Hoshiumi, still perched high, shook his head violently. “No way, I’m not touching that thing! It’s huge! It’s disgusting!”
Komori muttered, almost to himself, “Of all the rooms, why did it have to be Sakusa’s…”
The rat made another dash, this time scrambling up against the leg of Sakusa’s desk. Sakusa recoiled instantly, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud.
His jaw clenched so tight his teeth could’ve cracked. His entire frame seemed wound, as though he might bolt if it came closer.
He looked nothing short of cornered—like the very thought of something so filthy existing in his carefully kept space was unbearable.
The players hovered, debating and groaning, everyone too unsettled or entertained to take action.
The rat twitched, its tiny claws scratching on the floor, and Sakusa exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes narrowing with sheer disgust. His voice came again, low and forceful, each word bitten out.
“Somebody. Remove. It.”
But even with his demand hanging heavy in the air, nobody stepped forward. The hallway buzzed with nervous laughter, protests, and whispered commentary, while Sakusa’s stare never left the vile creature scurrying through the sacred cleanliness of his dorm.
He stood frozen, caught between his loathing of the animal and the sheer impossibility of letting himself get close enough to deal with it.
The training camp, built to sharpen discipline and skill, now found itself at a complete halt—over one massive rat and a player whose greatest weakness wasn’t on the court, but crawling across his pristine floor.