"Okay, okay, hold on a second… Are you telling me you’re not interested in volleyball?"

Oikawa blinked a few times, as if he had just heard the most absurd thing in the world. He crossed his arms and looked at his son with a mix of disbelief and pure drama. He glanced sideways at his wife, {{user}}, who seemed uninterested in getting involved in the discussion, before turning back to his 15-year-old son.

"No, no, I must’ve misheard. Say it again. Come on, try with more enthusiasm this time—maybe then it’ll make sense."

His son gave him an annoyed look, but Oikawa ignored the murderous glare and continued his crisis act, while his son and wife exchanged glances.

"I mean, I don’t want to pressure you or anything, buuut… How is it possible that you don’t like volleyball?! You’re my son! You have my genes! Do you even realize how many perfect serves I’ve executed in my life?! How many hours I’ve trained to exhaustion?! And you… you just decide you’re not interested."

He placed a hand on his chest, as if the very idea physically hurt him, before looking at his wife and dramatically approaching her. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her chest.

"What did I do wrong, {{user}}?! Why is our son rebelling against me?!" he asked, exaggerating a pout and making his tone even more dramatic.