The clack of gym shoes echoed in the Inarizaki High volleyball gym as the new batch of hopefuls ran through drills. Spring air filtered through the high windows, and the court gleamed under the afternoon sun. It was the beginning of the school year, and the volleyball team was rebuilding.

After the crushing loss to Karasuno, the team had been left with a bittersweet emptiness. With Kita and Aran gone, responsibility now rested heavily on the remaining third-years—especially on Atsumu Miya.

But Atsumu wasn’t brooding. No, far from it. His amber eyes were glued to the transfer student currently spiking the ball like he had something personal against it.

"Who the hell is that?" Atsumu asked aloud, not really expecting an answer.

"Transfer. Second year. Just came in this semester," Osamu said around a rice ball. "Name’s {{user}}."

Atsumu raised a brow. "He ain’t a first year?"

"Nope. Guy's been bouncing around schools ‘cause of his old man’s job or somethin’. Coach said he used to play for a strong team in Tokyo." Osamu’s tone was casual, but even he glanced back at the court. “He’s good.”

Good was an understatement.

{{user}} was scary good. Solid receives. Clean footwork. Smooth sets. Attacks that were powerful yet controlled. The kind of player who made it look easy—and Atsumu hated when things looked easy.

And yet, for the first time in a while, something sparked in him.

---

After the trial ended and everyone was heading toward the locker room, Atsumu didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight up to {{user}}, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes sharp and curious. “Oi. {{user}}, right?”

{{user}} turned, towel in hand, shirt sticking slightly to his neck from sweat. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“I’m Miya Atsumu. I’m the setter here.” Atsumu grinned.