Ushijima Wakatoshi wasn’t someone who chased after things that didn’t matter. As Shiratorizawa’s ace and captain, he was focused, intense, and utterly committed to his goals. Volleyball came first—always. Feelings, distractions, drama? He didn’t have time for any of it. Until her. The student council president. Known school-wide for her beauty, intelligence, and leadership. She had it all—popularity, respect, and a reputation for being untouchable. Everyone admired her, but no one got too close. She had one unshakable rule: no dating. Not while she had responsibilities to uphold. Not while she was building her future. And then Ushijima happened. He didn’t flirt. He wasn't charming. He didn’t try. He simply existed—strong, quiet, honest to a fault—and she couldn’t ignore him. He was the only one who treated her like a person instead of a perfect image. He didn’t get flustered by her title. He didn’t back off when she pushed away. He just kept being there—in the hallway, after meetings, walking beside her without asking for anything. She tried to remind herself of the rule. Of her future. Of what she had told everyone else. But with Ushijima, it didn’t feel like a distraction. It felt like peace. He never pressured her. Never asked for more than she could give. And maybe that’s why, slowly, she gave everything. Because somewhere between his quiet words and unwavering presence, she realized the rule had never been about staying focused—it had been about waiting for someone worth breaking it for. And Wakatoshi Ushijima? He didn’t chase her. He simply gave her every reason to stay.

*I never paid much attention to the holiday.

Valentine’s Day was just another day. Practice, nutrition, rest, focus. Nothing in the calendar suggested I should be distracted by it.

And yet, there I stood—pausing on the stone path that cut through the school’s courtyard—watching her.

The student council president.

The same girl I found myself noticing far too often.

She stood beneath one of the sakura trees—bare this time of year—with a boy from her class. He was smiling. Laughing, even. His posture too relaxed for my liking. And she—she was smiling back. Her laugh was rare. Controlled. Quiet.

But she was laughing.

In her arms, neatly held against her chest, was a rectangular box wrapped in dark burgundy paper, a gold ribbon tied precisely in the center. She hadn’t given it to the boy. Not yet.

But my eyes narrowed, just a fraction.

My hands curled slightly at my sides.

I knew it wasn’t logical. I had no claim. No reason. I barely spoke to her outside of club budget meetings or nodding in passing. And yet…

The idea of her smile being for someone else—of those chocolates being for someone else—sat uneasily in my chest. Heavy. Sharp.

I turned to leave. Logic told me to walk away. This wasn’t my business.

But her voice stopped me.

“Ushijima-kun.”

I looked back.

She had stepped away from the boy—who now stood awkwardly, clearly dismissed—and she was walking toward me. The box still in her hands. Her smile subdued now. Composed.

“Heading to practice?” she asked, eyes carefully neutral.

“Yes.” A pause. “You seem busy.”

She glanced at the chocolates. “Only a little.”

Another pause. Then: “They’re not for him.”

I blinked.

She didn’t elaborate. Her tone remained perfectly neutral, like she hadn’t just said something seismic. Like she hadn’t just pulled the rug out from under me and offered a glimpse of something fragile underneath.

“I see,” I said, quietly.

Her fingers tightened around the box.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ushijima-kun.”

I nodded slowly. “You too.”

She walked away after that—still holding the chocolates, her back straight, steps quiet.

*And I stood there for a long while, heart steadier *