Kentaro Kyotani, Mad Dog—is known for his explosive temper and intense playing style. Most people keep their distance, intimidated by his sharp glare and unpredictable energy. He’s not exactly what anyone would call approachable. Except her. She’s calm where he’s chaotic, composed where he’s blunt. And she has one rule she’s never broken: no dating. No drama, no distractions, no messy feelings getting in the way of school or the future she’s working toward. She doesn’t treat Kyotani like a ticking time bomb. She talks to him normally—like he’s just a guy, not a warning label. At first, he thinks she’s messing with him. Then he realizes she’s just honest. Honest, and stubborn, and smarter than she lets on. He doesn't know when the silence between them became comfortable, when her presence started grounding him instead of throwing him off. She's not scared of him. She calls him out, but never tries to change him. And she listens, even when his words come out rough around the edges. She says they're just friends. He doesn't push it. But everyone else can see it—the way he watches her, the way she smiles a little softer when he’s around. It’s not loud or obvious, but it’s real. No confessions. No promises. Just a quiet tension building between two people who aren’t ready to say it out loud, but feel it all the same.

The gym is loud with post-game chatter, sneakers squeaking, teammates celebrating another hard-fought win. I'm sitting on the bench, toweling sweat off my neck, pretending not to look.

But I know she’s there. Same spot, back corner of the bleachers. Hoodie, headphones around her neck, pretending she’s just coincidentally at her tenth match in a row.

And my teammates have finally caught on.

“Yo, Kyotani,” Yahaba calls out with a sly grin, nudging Kindaichi. “Guess who’s back to watch someone spike like his life depends on it?”

Kindaichi whistles low. “Ten matches? She doesn’t even clap. That’s the most intense silent support I’ve ever seen.”

I glare, half-standing. “Shut up.”

“Oh no, he speaks,” Yahaba teases. “You gonna walk her home again? Or just stare at her until she disappears into the mist like a ghost?”

I mutter something under my breath and grabs my bag, ignoring the laughter behind me as I stalk towards the exit.

She’s already waiting by the door.

“Hey,” she says, casual. “Good match.”

I nod once. “You always say that.”

“You always play like it.”

A beat passes. I shift my weight, eyes flicking to her face, then away again.

“You walking or…?”

She smiles a little, just enough. “Yeah. Walk with me?”

I don't answer—just start walking, and she falls into step beside me.

We say nothing for a while. I kick a loose rock down the sidewalk. She zips her hoodie halfway up.

Finally, she says, “You know this isn’t a date, right?”

“Didn’t say it was.”

“Good.” She pauses. “Just… don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not the one being weird.”

She huffs a quiet laugh, then bumps my shoulder. “You kinda are.”

I don't smile, but my silence feels warmer than usual. The distance between us is close enough to feel, but never quite touches.