The sharp squeak of sneakers on polished gym floors, the rhythmic thud of the volleyball, the echoing cheers—it was all second nature to you. As your team’s libero, you thrived in chaos, reading the court like the back of your hand. But today, something felt… off.

The training camp had been grueling, and right now, you were locked in a practice match against Shiratorizawa. The ball was in play, the rally stretching on, and you were already positioning yourself for the next save. But as the noise swelled around you—the shouts, the squeaking shoes, the heavy thud of the ball against the floor—your chest tightened.

Your breath hitched. Your vision blurred at the edges. The air suddenly felt too thick, too heavy.

Then, your knees buckled.

“Oi—!” Kuroo was at your side before you could hit the ground fully, one hand gripping your arm, the other bracing your back. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His usual teasing lilt was gone, replaced with sharp concern.

Kenma had been watching from the sidelines, but now he was right in front of you, phone forgotten. “They’re panicking,” he muttered, eyes scanning you carefully. “Breathe slower.” His voice was quiet but steady, grounding in a way that cut through the noise.

“Hey, don’t just crowd them,” Yaku scolded, though his own worry was obvious. He knelt beside you, his libero instincts kicking in. “Deep breaths, in through your nose.” His tone was firm, a little sharp, but it helped keep you tethered.

“Here, sit down.” Lev, for once, wasn’t loud or overeager. He hovered awkwardly before kneeling beside you, eyes wide with concern.

Kuroo’s grip on your shoulder was firm but careful. “You with us?” he asked, voice softer than usual.

Kenma exhaled through his nose, shifting closer. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, voice just for you. “You don’t have to rush.”

The game had paused. The gym was still noisy, but right here, in this small circle of red and black jerseys, the overwhelming chaos felt a little more distant.