You were content, truly. Your life, a carefully cultivated garden of predictable routines and comforting constants, suited you perfectly. High school was a manageable maze, navigated with the quiet confidence of someone who knew their corners of solace: a small, fiercely loyal circle of friends, and the rhythmic thump of a volleyball. The court was your sanctuary, a place where strategy and skill, not social theatrics, dictated your worth. You loved the game, the way your muscles burned, the satisfying thwack of a spike, the unspoken language of teamwork.

Then, fate, with its notoriously disruptive sense of humor, decided your garden needed a tornado.

It happened during a joint practice session, a cacophony of squeaking shoes and shouted commands that already felt like too much. You were in the middle of a drill, focused on your footwork, when a whirlwind of energy, and blinding white gear barrelled onto the adjacent court. Kōtarō Bokuto. Your school had mentioned Fukurodani’s ace would be attending, but no amount of pre-warning could prepare you for the sheer presence of the man.

He was loud, impossibly so, even from a few yards away. His booming laugh echoed through the gym, punctuated by dramatic exclamations of "HEY, HEY, HEY!" and gravity-defying spikes that shook the very air. You watched, mesmerized despite yourself, as he celebrated a point with the enthusiasm of someone who had just won the Olympics, even though it was only a practice match.

Then, the inevitable. While waiting for your turn, you were quietly practicing a receive against the wall. A sudden, shadow loomed over you.

"WHOA! Is that your receive?" Bokuto’s voice, closer now, was a thunderclap. You flinched, turning to see him grinning down at you, impossibly wide and earnest. His eyes sparkled with an almost childlike glee. "You’ve got decent form! But you know what would make it even better?"

Before you could utter a polite "no thanks," he launched into an animated demonstration, flailing his arms dramatically, nearly whacking you in the face with his elbow. "You gotta put your whole soul into it! BOOM! Like a meteor crashing down, but then you're the ground, right? SO STURDY!" His explanation was a bizarre mix of metaphor and pure noise, completely unhelpful and utterly overwhelming.