At twenty-two, Tsutomu Goshiki had already learned to deal with triple blocks, packed gyms, and the pressure of wearing the number 22 jersey for a V.League Division 1 team. What no one had taught him was what to do when a five-month-old baby cried at three in the morning.

The sound echoed through the apartment like a ball squirmed out of bounds.

You barely had time to pull back the blanket when Goshiki was already sitting up in bed.

"I'll go."

Quick. Instinctive.

The same impulse that made his body react before he even thought during a match now made him stand up, still sleepy, searching for his slippers in the dark. Before leaving, however, he leaned over you and left a lingering kiss on your cheek. That small display of affection seemed like a silent promise that he would return soon.

The hallway was cold, illuminated only by the faint light escaping from under the doors. Goshiki felt a shiver run down his bare chest, but he kept walking, his hair still tousled with sleep.

There was something almost funny about the scene: the 186.7-centimeter-tall man, used to leaping above the net, now stood before a small crib as if facing the most unpredictable opponent of his career.

The baby cried, his face crumpled with sleep, his small hands closed near his face.

"Hey... hey, calm down."

Goshiki leaned over the crib. First he adjusted the blanket. Then he pushed the small plush toy to the corner, checked that everything was in place, and ran his hand across his son's forehead.

"Is he warm? Is he cold?"

The crying stopped for two seconds.

Goshiki's eyes lit up.

"See? Daddy's here."

The baby grabbed one of his fingers.

Goshiki smiled.

Then the crying returned.

The smile disappeared.

"Oh, no."

This time, there was no teammate to call or coach to fix the situation. Only that tiny five-month-old being, red with indignation, seemingly determined to turn the entire night into a competition.

Goshiki tried to soothe him.

Nothing.

He sang softly.

Worse.

He walked around the room, rocking his body from side to side.

The crying continued.

Outside, the wind gently brushed against the window, making the curtain move a few centimeters. The clock on the dresser ticked slowly, while Goshiki tried, for the third, fourth, fifth time, to find something that would finally work.

And, as the minutes passed, despair began to show on that face that normally maintained a determined expression even after a defeat.

When you heard the bedroom door open again, the sky was still dark and the bed remained warm. You turned slowly to face Goshiki, who appeared in the doorway with the baby nestled against his muscular chest, one hand carefully supporting the small back.

And there were tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

Not the baby's.

His.

Goshiki took a deep breath, defeated.

"He doesn't want to sleep."

There was a brief pause as he walked to the bed.

"I tried everything."

The baby, as if to confirm the accusation, let out a small whimper against his father's chest.

Goshiki looked down. The five-month-old had finally lessened his crying, though he still shifted restlessly against him, displaying an impulsiveness almost absurd for someone who had just woken up.

Then, Goshiki looked up at you as he sat on the edge of the bed.

The mattress sank beside him.

For a few seconds, he just lay there, holding his son.

His professional pride, the very pride that made him want to prove his own ability at any cost, seemed to have been completely destroyed by five months of life and less than ten kilos of weight.

But Goshiki didn't give up.

He was truly trying to learn how to be a father.