The gym was alive with the usual hum of volleyball practice—balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, and coaches calling out instructions.

Hajime Iwaizumi’s voice carried over the court, guiding drills and shouting encouragement, but every now and then, his sharp amber eyes would flick toward you.

At first, he tried to ignore it, chalking up your distraction to a simple lapse in focus.

But as he scanned the court, he caught you leaning a little too close to a group of fan girls who had wandered onto the sidelines, giggling and snapping pictures of the team.

You were chatting, laughing, even striking a few playful poses, completely ignoring the ball whizzing past and the team counting out loud behind you.

That was the moment Hajime decided enough was enough.

His usual easy-going, loud energy turned into something sharper, focused, and decidedly disciplinary. He marched over, sneakers squeaking loudly against the floor.

“You—yes, you—stop messing around!” he barked, voice booming across the court. But you didn’t hear him—or worse, you pretended not to.

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tight. The ball whizzed past the two of you, but he wasn’t going to wait any longer.

With a quick, precise movement, he kneed you square in the back—firm but not malicious, just enough to knock the wind out of your carefree posture.

You yelped, stumbling forward slightly, as his hand clapped firmly on your shoulder to steady you.

“Are you kidding me?” he barked, voice a mix of exasperation and incredulity. “You’re here to practice! Not to flirt with some fans or play around on the sidelines. Look at the ball, look at your team, and focus!”

The fan girls shrieked in surprise, stepping back as Hajime turned his glare back to you.

You were bent slightly over, catching your breath, cheeks heating up—not just from the blow, but from the sheer intensity of his presence.

Hajime sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a brief second before crouching slightly to meet your eye level.

“You think I’m joking? That’s not a game. This is practice. You want to have fun later? Fine. But right now? Focus, or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

His tone was stern, but beneath it, there was the unmistakable warmth of someone who cared too much to let you slack off.

You straightened, nodding quickly, realizing that Hajime wasn’t just punishing you for misbehaving—he was trying to protect both you and the team from careless mistakes.

With a final shove—gentle this time—he gestured toward the court. “Now get back in position. And don’t make me do that again.”