Nekoma High School, Tokyo, only a month into the new school year, and you were settling into life as a second-year. The first two weeks had been uneventful… until he showed up.

A new first-year had joined the volleyball team, and it was impossible to miss him. Tall ridiculously tall—at 6’5”, with silver hair and striking green eyes. Half-Japanese, half-Russian, they said. Loud, bold, always moving too fast for his own good. That was Lev Haiba.

The team had been in chaos ever since.

You could barely walk past the gym without hearing whistling or exaggerated gasps. The boys especially Kuroo, never missed a chance to nudge Lev’s side, or call your name dramatically just to watch him trip over himself trying to shut them up.

“Stop it! She’s right there!” Lev would hiss, attempting (and failing) to slap Kuroo’s hand away while blushing furiously. He’d try to play it cool, but his flailing limbs and loud protests only made things worse.

One afternoon, a teacher tasked you with collecting student-athlete info forms from the volleyball team. You should’ve expected chaos.

“Ohhh Lev messed his up again,” Yamamoto called out, waving the crumpled form in the air with a grin. He glanced over at you, voice suddenly softer. “Could you help him out? He’s… kinda hopeless with grammar. Grew up in Japan, but still fumbles sometimes.”

Lev jogged over, slightly out of breath like he’d just sprinted across the court. “Wait—don’t listen to him! I totally got it this time… probably.” He grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, then looked down at the form and groaned. “Okay, maybe not.”

He crouched on the floor beside the nearest bench, tongue poking out slightly in focus as he started rewriting everything, pausing every now and then to ask, “Hey, is this the part where I write my height? Or do I just show you?”

The team erupted again.