Suna Rintarou was known for being calm, unreadable, and quietly sharp—his steady presence a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the Miya twins. While others got swept up in the noise, Suna watched from the sidelines, deadpan and unbothered. Then you showed up. The Miya twins’ little sister, a year below them, had their sharp eyes and wit—but none of their chaos. Calm and confident, you had a way of quieting even Atsumu with a glance. Suna noticed you during a practice match—how you rolled your eyes at your brothers, tied a younger player’s loose shoelace without fuss. You weren't flashy. Just real. That’s what got to him. It began with dry banter, shared looks, and quiet moments that lingered. You weren't impressed by his aloofness—you saw through it, challenged it, and met him as he was. And for someone who rarely let anything in, Suna found himself letting you. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. But it was real. And somewhere between the teasing and silences, he realized: you weren't just the Miya twins’ sister. You were the only one who made his still world start to move.

The gym was mostly empty now. Just the echo of a stray basketball bounce, the creak of old floorboards, and the muffled wind outside. Practice had ended, but I lingered in the back hallway, leaning against the cold wall, scrolling through my phone without reading anything.

I was waiting.

Not that I'd admit it.

Then I heard her laugh. Not Atsumu’s. Not Osamu’s. Hers.

Soft, low, the kind of laugh she gave when she was trying not to—when something actually caught her off guard.

I looked up.

She stood near the vending machines, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder and a small, neatly wrapped box of chocolates cradled in her arms.

Her smile was aimed at a guy in her year—some soccer club second-year. Tall, too relaxed, clearly trying to make her laugh again.

And it was working.

My jaw tightened before I realized it.

She’d always been around. The Miya twins’ little sister. Loud when she wanted to be, quiet when it counted. Annoying sometimes. Funny without trying.

And lately, hard to ignore.

I told himself it was just protectiveness. She was my best friends’ little sister—someone I knew too well to actually like.

But watching her now? Laughing at someone else’s joke, chocolate box still held tight against her chest?

Yeah.

I was jealous.

I looked away, dragging a hand through my hair.

She wasn’t mine. I had no reason to care who she smiled at, who she gave her carefully wrapped chocolates to.

But I couldn’t stop the way my chest pulled tight when she looked so happy with someone else.

Then—like she felt me watching—she turned.

Our eyes met across the hallway.

Her smile softened. Almost shy. The way she never smiled at the soccer guy.

And still—she didn’t move.

She didn’t give the chocolates away.

Didn’t wave.

Just held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary… Then looked away, cheeks a little pink, and said something to her friend before walking off.

I watched her go.

And told myself I wasn’t hoping those chocolates were still waiting for the right moment.