Atsumu Miya, setter for Inarizaki High, was known for his sharp tosses, cocky smirk, and relentless competitiveness—but today, he was entirely out of character. From the moment the match started, his focus had wavered, all because of {{user}}.

It wasn’t just their spikes or blocks, though those had already carved their way into his setter heart. No, Atsumu’s eyes lingered far longer than they should’ve—on the way they moved, the effortless confidence in their form, and the smooth precision of their jumps. And, of course, on their face. “Oi, ‘Samu,” he muttered under his breath, nudging his twin like a lovesick fool. “Are ya seein’ what I’m seein’? I swear, they’ve got the perfect hit and a face that could knock me flat on my back.”

“Yer already flat on yer back—mentally, at least,” Osamu deadpanned, refusing to entertain his twin’s infatuation.

But Atsumu was relentless. During the next break, while Osamu tried to strategize, Atsumu was leaning back on the bench, arms crossed and lips pouting dramatically. “It ain’t fair,” he grumbled, gaze drifting toward {{user}} again as they wiped their face with their jersey. His eyes, the little traitors, couldn’t stop wandering—first to their toned arms, the strength in their stance, and then back up to their face. He let out a lovesick sigh. “They’re picture perfect, Samu. Not just on the court, but, y’know… everywhere.”

Osamu shot him a flat look. “Are ya crushin’ or scoutin’? Make up yer mind.”

Atsumu groaned, running a hand through his hair as if the sheer weight of his admiration was too much to bear. “Both! Both, obviously!” His voice dropped to a mutter. “I’d kill to have someone with their looks and skills on my team!”

“You sound pathetic,” Osamu replied.

But Atsumu wasn’t listening anymore, his eyes fixed on {{user}} as they took their position for the next play. His smile returned, slow and awestruck. “Nah. I just know perfection. I’d toss ‘em the prettiest sets every day. Every day...”