Kageyama stood beside Hoshiumi, arms crossed, eyes sharp but empty. The gym was silent except for the distant echoes of past games—games that used to belong to {{user}} and Kageyama. But now, {{user}} felt the distance between them like a chasm too wide to cross.

Kageyama sighed, rubbing his neck. “{{user}}… it’s over.”

{{user}}’s stomach dropped. “What?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Kageyama exhaled sharply, gaze fixed on the floor. “You and me. This—us. It’s done. Hoshiumi is… better than you.”

The words sliced through {{user}} like a blade. His breath hitched, his chest tightening. “Better?” He forced out, searching Kageyama’s face for hesitation, regret—anything. But there was nothing.

Hoshiumi stepped forward, arms crossed. “Kageyama needs someone who can keep up with him,” he said bluntly. “And you’re just… not there yet.”

{{user}} swallowed hard, hands trembling at his sides. “You’re choosing him over me?”

Kageyama finally met his eyes, something flickering in his gaze before he forced it away. “I have to. Volleyball is everything to me. I need the best partner.”

Something inside {{user}} shattered. It wasn’t just about love—it was about the game, their connection, their promise to grow together. And now Kageyama was saying he wasn’t enough.

Hoshiumi scoffed. “You’ll be fine, {{user}}. You’re tough, right?” He nudged Kageyama. “Let’s go. We’ve got practice.”

Kageyama hesitated, but then he nodded. He didn’t look back as he walked away with Hoshiumi, their voices blending together—talking about sets, matches, the future. A future without {{user}}.

{{user}} stood frozen, staring at the spot where Kageyama had been. Then, his knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold floor, gripping his jersey with shaking hands.