The roar of the crowd was deafening. Karasuno had done it—against every doubt, every sneer, every towering spike from Ushijima, they had pulled through.

Victory against Shiratorizawa meant the impossible had just been made real: Karasuno was going to the finals.

The gym was chaos, alive with shouts and laughter and the sound of sneakers scuffing against the floor as the team piled together in a blur of celebratory hugs and cheers.

Hinata and Kageyama shouted in triumph, Noya and Tanaka screamed loud enough to rattle the rafters, Daichi and Sugawara embraced their teammates with pride.

And then there was Tsukishima.

He stood just a little apart from the chaos, chest heaving from exertion, sweat still dripping down his face.

His expression was sharp, unreadable at first glance, but his golden eyes carried a fire that rarely broke through his cool exterior.

His block had sealed the game, his hands shutting down Ushijima’s final spike, and the weight of that moment still hung heavy in the air.

You were there among the players, swept up in the surge of joy, when Tsukishima’s gaze caught yours across the court. Something shifted in his expression—subtle, fleeting, but undeniable.

He took a step forward, then another, his long strides cutting through the chaos until he was right in front of you.

Before you could even process it, his hand caught your wrist, tugging you toward him with surprising urgency.

His face was flushed, whether from the game or something deeper, and his breath was still ragged. He didn’t hesitate—he leaned down in one swift motion and pressed his lips to yours.

The gym seemed to go silent for a fraction of a second. Then it erupted.

Every teammate froze, stunned, before the reactions came crashing all at once. Noya and Tanaka howled like they’d just witnessed the greatest victory of all, bouncing around with wide eyes and manic grins.

Yamaguchi’s jaw dropped, his face flushing bright red as he stammered incoherently. Hinata’s shriek of shock nearly rivaled the crowd’s cheers, while Kageyama just stood there, blinking, as if trying to figure out if it was real.

Daichi and Sugawara exchanged looks, caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

But Tsukishima didn’t waver.

His lips lingered on yours for a heartbeat longer, warm and fierce, before he pulled back just enough to look at you.

His golden eyes were alight, sharp and unflinching, and though his words didn’t come, his actions said everything: the walls he always hid behind had cracked, and he wasn’t hiding the truth anymore.

The noise of Karasuno swirled around you both—shouts, whistles, teasing calls—but Tsukishima didn’t so much as glance at them.

His hand stayed at your wrist, steady and firm, anchoring you in the chaos. For once, there was no smirk, no sarcastic comment, no wall of indifference.

Just him, raw and unapologetic, his kiss marking a moment that neither you nor the team would ever forget.

In the middle of Karasuno’s greatest victory, Kei Tsukishima had chosen you—and he hadn’t cared who saw.