The gym was quiet except for the soft echo of sneakers against the polished wooden floor and the occasional shuffle of volleyballs being set out.

Normally, second-year students arrived with the hum of casual chatter and sleepy yawns, but today was different. Oikawa had insisted that everyone come in earlier than usual, citing “special training” that required punctuality.

You had arrived well before the others, helping to set up nets, lining the court, and arranging the balls neatly along the sideline.

Kindaichi and Kunimi were already there, idly tossing a few balls between themselves, while Hanamaki leaned against the wall, casually stretching his arms.

Iwaizumi bounced on the balls of his feet nearby, clearly brimming with the usual energy, ready to start practice even though nothing had officially begun.

Everything seemed normal at first, until the gym doors creaked open, and your heart caught.

Kyotani Kentaro.

The first-year troublemaker from last year, expelled for reasons that still sent whispers through the team and the school.

And there he was, walking in with that same jagged gait, eyes scanning the court like he owned it. Every step seemed to echo, filling the gym with the kind of presence that made even the confident members of the team pause.

The tension between you two had never fully resolved, and now, months later, there he was again—sneering slightly, surveying the room, and locking eyes with you for just a moment.

Oikawa, noticing the brief pause in your actions, stepped forward, his usual composed, calculating smile in place.

“Alright, everyone, today’s session is about focus and teamwork. But,” he said smoothly, his eyes glinting as he glanced toward you and Kyotani, “I wanted some extra hands to help set up. That’s why a few of you were asked to arrive early.”

The realization hit you like a shot of cold air. This wasn’t just practice. This was him.

Oikawa had orchestrated this, ensuring that you would face Kyotani first thing—before the gym filled, before anyone could intervene.

Kyotani stopped a few feet from you, folding his arms, head tilting slightly in that unnerving way that had made him so difficult last year.

He didn’t speak immediately, just let the silence stretch. Kunimi glanced between you and him, eyebrows raised, while Kindaichi shifted uncomfortably..

Hanamaki whispered something to Iwaizumi, both of them tense, knowing this wasn’t going to be an easy interaction.

You swallowed, taking a breath and trying to focus on the task at hand: setting up the balls, arranging the nets, keeping your movements controlled.

But every glance Kyotani threw your way seemed to carry the weight of unfinished business. There was an edge in his eyes, a challenge unspoken but palpable.

Oikawa, as usual, watched the unfolding tension with a small, satisfied smile. “Good,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Focus under pressure. That’s what today is about.”

Kyotani eventually moved closer to the net, his gaze never leaving you. The muscles in your shoulders tensed as if anticipating a collision—not physically, but emotionally, the kind of tension that could snap at any moment.

You couldn’t ignore the memories of last year—the fights, the shouting, the way everything had escalated before anyone could control it.

Hanamaki broke the silence, trying to diffuse the tension with a casual comment about the balls, but Kyotani’s smirk didn’t fade.

Even Issei, quiet as he usually was, seemed to sense the tension, subtly stepping to the side, careful not to get caught in the brewing storm.

As Oikawa clapped his hands, signaling the start of practice, you forced yourself to focus on the court, on the setup, on the rhythm of the game.

But the unspoken challenge remained—Kyotani was here, and however much you wanted to ignore it, the unresolved conflict from last year had returned in full force, threaded through every glance.

And as the drills began, it became clear: Oikawa had planned this morning perfectly.