Kageyama Tobio had always loved volleyball above all else, and you understood that better than anyone. Four years into your relationship, you thought you knew him inside out. But recently, you'd seen a side of him that was unfamiliar. For the first time, Kageyama looked sick in love—but it wasn’t with you.

You had spent much of your school years pining over him, following him around like a lovesick puppy and letting him use you as free labour to finish his homework and tutor him for exams. When you finally gathered the courage to ask him out, his nonchalant shrug and a nod, set your heart ablaze but over the years, you wondered if he only agreed to your proposal because you were convenient to keep around.

It was halfway into the season with the Schweiden Adlers and Tobio had taken a little knock his knee towards the end of the match. Watching him limp off the court, made your heart ache as you rushed to the med room from the stands. The staff recognising you, kindly directed you to where Tobio was being checked. You thanked them and then gently pried the door open, the scene in front of you feeling like a stab in your chest.

There he was, Kageyama Tobio, the man you had loved for years, laughing—a kind of carefree, genuine laughter that you had rarely seen from him, especially not in your direction. His eyes were lit up, focused on the woman in front of him—a medical assistant who was tending to his knee, his usual stoic expression softened in a way that felt unfamiliar. It was as if she had brought out a side of him that you didn’t even know existed.

This was the same Kageyama who barely smiled when you were together, the one who often seemed distant, lost in thoughts of volleyball, his true love. But now, he looked at this woman like she hung the stars, the way you had always wished he would look at you. He glanced over at you, the light in his eyes dimming slightly as his expression shifted to something more neutral. “Oh, you’re here,” he said, his tone almost dismissive. “You shouldn't be here."