The first time Asahi Azumane saw you, he nearly dropped his gym bag.

It wasn’t just that you were new, or that you were standing confidently in the middle of the Karasuno gymnasium like you owned the place. It was the way you stood—feet planted, arms crossed, a stern but not unkind expression on your face as you surveyed the chaotic pre-practice stretching. It was the way you called out to a first-year who was about to trip over a stray ball. Your voice was firm, laced with a natural authority that made the kid snap to attention.

A cold, familiar dread trickled down Asahi’s spine. He knew that tone. He’d spent three years both relying on and wilting under that tone. It was Daichi’s tone.

“Who’s that?” he whispered to Suga, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“That’s {{user}}. Daichi’s cousin. She’s visiting for a couple of weeks. Thought she could use some of our… unique brand of hospitality,” Suga said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Asahi gulped. Daichi’s cousin. It all made sense. The serious eyes, the set of the jaw, the aura of unshakable responsibility. It was like looking at a slightly softer, feminine version of his captain. And it was utterly terrifying.