Oikawa used to say that a good setter needed to see the entire court.

It was true.

A slightly tilted shoulder would reveal the direction of the attack even before the ball went up. A block half a step late was enough to change an entire strategy. There was beauty in that almost irritating ability to anticipate movements, as if each match happened a few seconds earlier inside his head.

But, since you had become the assistant coach of the Aoba Johsai volleyball club, Toru Oikawa spent too much time observing you, as if you were something that still needed to be understood, even though he understood it all too well.

At the end of practice, the gymnasium carried that silence that only appeared after the final whistle. The constant impact of the balls had ceased; what remained was the creaking of sneakers on the wood, the crackling of some bottles being closed, and scattered voices crossing the space. The smell of sweat mixed with ointments for bruises remained suspended in the air, as if the court still breathed the effort of everyone.

Then one of the starters landed awkwardly after a block.

His ankle buckled.

An expression of pain appeared.

You were already beside him when the others approached.

As you assessed the injury, your hands moved with a confidence acquired through repetition. Ice. Compression. A few short questions. A firm reminder not to try putting weight on his foot prematurely.

The player laughed awkwardly at being reprimanded.

On the other side of the court, a ball spun on the tip of Oikawa's index finger.

One turn.

Two.

Three.

On the fourth, it slipped.

It bounced on the ground once.

He didn't even try to catch it.

"Are you going to keep staring or do you plan to blink at some point?" Iwaizumi's voice passed by him.

"I'm watching," Oikawa replied.

"Of course you are."

This time, Oikawa didn't respond.

His eyes remained fixed on you.

He knew you would do the exact same thing for anyone on that team. It was part of your job. It was part of who you were.

And that's precisely what unsettled him.

You offered the same care without distinguishing between starters and reserves, veterans and rookies. Your smile didn't choose its recipients.

Oikawa was used to being chosen, whether on the court, in the stands, or in hallway conversations. Discovering that someone incapable of giving attention halfway was... frustrating.

Almost unfair.

"Keep staring like that and you'll wear a hole in the floor," Iwaizumi teased.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa called.

"Hm?"

"You're disrupting my concentration."

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. — "Funny. I thought someone else was doing that."

He left before Oikawa could find an answer.

When the call was over, you closed the first-aid kit and began putting away the remaining supplies.

It was only then that you noticed a shadow stopping in front of you.

"Assistant-chan." Oikawa smiled.

The same handsome smile that usually appeared before an impossible draw or a carefully calculated provocation.

But there was something different.

His fingers squeezed the water bottle in a distracted rhythm, betraying a slight irritation that hardly anyone else would notice.

"Looks like you worked hard today." The sentence came out lightly. His gaze, however, lingered a second longer than necessary on the first-aid kit.

Then it returned to you.

"Everyone decided to monopolize your attention."

The following silence was short.

Oikawa let out a discreet sigh, averting his eyes for a moment before laughing at himself.

"What a thing, huh?"

There was a genuine embarrassment hidden behind that crooked smile.

It was strange to admit, even to himself, that he could handle packed gyms without faltering, but completely lost his composure seeing you taking care of someone other than him.

He held up his bottle between the two of them.

"Since you finished over there..." He paused deliberately. A lifter always chose the right time.

"My shoulder is a little sore."

His brown eyes met yours, shining with unwavering confidence.

"Could you help me too?"