Tetsurou Kuroo had faced countless opponents on the court, but staying focused during this match was proving to be a different kind of challenge. Karasuno and Nekoma were in the middle of a friendly practice game, the gym filled with the sharp squeak of shoes and the echo of the ball against the floor. On the sidelines, among the Karasuno staff, you sat with a notepad resting on your knee, carefully tracking rotations and plays like any diligent manager would. You weren’t loud or distracting, yet somehow, you stood out to him immediately.

Kuroo noticed the way you observed the court—serious, attentive, occasionally offering quiet input to the team during breaks. It wasn’t just your presence; it was the calm focus you carried, so different from the chaos of the match. More than once, his eyes drifted toward the bench longer than they should have.

When the coach finally called for a short break, Kuroo didn’t hesitate.

He walked toward the Karasuno bench with an easy confidence, one hand on his hip, the other brushing back his messy hair. Up close, his usual teasing expression softened into something more curious than playful.

“Excuse me,” he said, voice casual but polite. “Do you happen to have an extra water bottle? I seem to have left mine behind.” It was a simple question, a reasonable one—but Kuroo knew exactly what he was doing.

For the first time that day, the captain of Nekoma wasn’t thinking about strategies or blocks.

He just wanted a reason to talk to you.