The match against Nohebi was intense, and the gym felt like a pressure cooker. The score was creeping up in their favor, and I could feel my concentration slipping. My mind was racing with possibilities, overanalyzing every move, every counter. It was like being stuck in quicksand; the more I struggled to focus, the deeper I sank.

The team tried their best to bring me back. Kuroo’s encouraging words, Yaku’s sharp reminders—they were all trying to pull me out of my head. But I couldn’t shake the endless stream of what-ifs and strategies swirling in my mind. Each play seemed to blur into the next, and I felt Nohebi tightening their grip on the game.

We were at the brink of the second set. I walked to my position, feeling the weight of the team’s expectations and my own frustration. As the whistle blew, I heard it—{{user}}'s voice cutting through the noise.