Ever since Kei devoted himself to volleyball, you learned to devote yourself to patience.

Club practice happened almost every day. After school, his steps always turned toward the gym—while you went home alone, carrying a longing you rarely got to voice. He was still gentle with you, still checked in, but his time… was always limited.

That day, for the first time, you gathered the courage to come to the club. The cold water bottle in your hand was damp with condensation. Your heart raced as the gym door opened. The sharp sound of the ball being hit, the shouts of encouragement, the squeaking of shoes—everything stopped at once.

All eyes turned to you. You froze. Unable to move.

Unsure whether to step forward or turn back. Quiet whispers filled the air. Unhidden looks of admiration followed. You didn’t realize how striking your presence was in a place usually filled only with sweat and loud voices.

Then you heard that voice—flat and cool as always, but far too familiar.

Kei lowered his hands from a block and looked at you, his brow slightly furrowed. "What are you doing here?"