You’d watched him before, of course. Everyone had.

But today, standing on the sidelines as Aran Ojiro warmed up, something about the way he moved, the way he struck the ball, caught your attention in a way you hadn’t expected.

Each spike wasn’t just a demonstration of strength; it was precision, timing, and pure, unfiltered power coming together in perfect harmony.

He bounced the ball lightly before the approach, the rhythm of his steps deliberate, each footfall measured.

Then, with a sudden, explosive motion, he launched himself into the air.

The sheer force behind his swing made the ball cut through the air like a living thing, leaving a sharp trail of sound as it slammed into the opposing court.

Your chest literally jumped, your eyes widening as the sheer impact reverberated through the gym.

You couldn’t stop watching. Every movement was mesmerizing: the way his muscles tensed, the control in his wrists, the strength in his legs propelling him higher, faster, sharper.

Even when he repeated the motion over and over during practice, each spike carried the same devastating, awe-inspiring precision.

There was an elegance to it, almost a rhythm, a flow that made you forget everyone else in the gym.

When he finally landed after one particularly brutal spike, he barely seemed winded, his expression calm and focused as though he hadn’t just launched a ball with the kind of force that would have flattened anyone else’s attempt.

But you? Your heart was still racing, still caught in the echo of that spike, still staring in stunned admiration.

It wasn’t just the power—it was the way he controlled it, the way he respected the ball, the game, and the technique itself.

You felt it in your chest, a pull you couldn’t ignore.

You had always appreciated skill, yes, but this… this was different. Watching Ojiro spike was like watching a storm contained in human form—explosive, precise, commanding, and utterly captivating.

By the end of practice, you realized you weren’t just impressed—you were completely enthralled.

Every spike, every jump, every calculated movement cemented your admiration, your respect… and the quiet, undeniable pull of something deeper.

Watching him play wasn’t just inspiring; it was magnetic. You found yourself drawn to him in a way that went beyond simple fandom.