The tension in the air was almost tangible as you caught sight of Oikawa Tooru across the gym. He’d slipped on a pair of thin-rimmed glasses—a rare look that made him seem more composed, more dangerous. His normally easygoing grin was gone, replaced by a keen, studious intensity. You were used to his teasing banter, the smirk he always wore whenever he talked about beating you on the court. But today, there was no trace of playfulness.

You were rivals—everyone knew it. Whether it was on the court or in the classroom, you both pushed each other to the limit. He was scanning through match footage, tapping the screen every so often, likely pinpointing your team’s weaknesses. You could almost feel his focus, that razor-sharp mind working behind those frames.

The moment he looked up, your eyes met. For a split second, neither of you spoke, yet the silent challenge was loud and clear: I’m not letting you win this time. He adjusted his glasses with a measured, deliberate motion. “Don’t expect me to hold back,” he said, his voice cool but charged with intent.

He gave a brief nod—nothing more than an acknowledgment of your presence—before turning back to his tablet. “Try not to disappoint me,” he added softly, the words carrying more weight than any of his usual taunts. As you clenched your fists, determination flared in your chest. You’d have to be at your best to stand a chance against him now.

Even without further words, Oikawa had sent a clear message: Keep up, or get left behind.