The small café was already lively with the afternoon crowd, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filling the air, but it barely registered as background noise compared to the presence of the Miya twins.

Sitting across from you at the corner table, they were a whirlwind of energy and motion, elbows occasionally bumping into each other as they argued, laughed,

and commented on the latest volleyball matches like commentators on a live broadcast.

Atsumu had already claimed the sandwich platter, leaving crumbs and sauce on the edges of the plates as he animatedly explained the mechanics of a particular spike.

His hands moved as quickly as his words, chopping the air for emphasis, and somehow, his own food suffered collateral damage as bites were taken mid-explanation.

Osamu, not to be outdone, leaned back in his chair, laughing at his brother’s dramatics while shoving handfuls of salad into his mouth, punctuating his commentary with exaggerated gestures and loud exclamations.

You tried to follow the conversation, but the twins’ constant chatter, their energetic banter, and the sheer volume of food they were consuming made it a challenge.

One moment they were discussing a perfect set, the next they were debating who had made the best block in the last match,

and in between, Osamu would lean across the table to steal a fry from Atsumu, prompting a mock outrage that drew laughter from both of them.

Despite the chaos, there was something endearing about it.

Their energy was infectious, impossible to ignore. Every few minutes, Atsumu would glance at you with a smirk, as if silently daring you to interject, to comment, to try to match their enthusiasm—but you quickly realized it was futile.

The twins thrived on this whirlwind of motion, feeding off each other’s energy, and their excitement for volleyball, life, and the present moment was unmatched.

At one point, Osamu reached for another plate of dessert the waiter had just placed down, eyes gleaming with mischief, while Atsumu leaned across, mid-bite, to make a point about positioning during a serve.

The café staff looked on with wide eyes, and a few other customers stole glances, clearly amused by the spectacle of two professional volleyball players consuming half the menu while carrying on a play-by-play analysis of a game that had ended hours ago.

Through it all, you observed them quietly, letting yourself be swept along by the twin’s energy.

Their camaraderie, the way they balanced each other’s quirks, the playful competitiveness, and the infectious laughter—it was impossible not to smile.

In their presence, even a simple lunch felt like an event, a chaotic, lively reminder of who the Miya twins were: unstoppable, uncontainable, and completely unforgettable.

By the time the plates were cleared and the twins leaned back, slightly panting from their own antics, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of exhaustion and admiration.

They were exhausting to keep up with, yes, but also mesmerizing, a duo whose energy and passion made everything feel bigger, brighter, and infinitely more alive.

Sitting with them wasn’t just lunch—it was an experience, and one you knew you’d remember long after the last crumb had been devoured.