**Toru Oikawa has always been surrounded by admirers—his charm, his confidence, and his talent on the court make him impossible to ignore. But when he meets her—a sharp, focused girl with a strict no dating rule—he's thrown off his rhythm for the first time. She's not impressed by popularity or pretty words. She’s seen how messy relationships can get in high school, how they distract and fall apart, and she’s sworn to herself that she won’t go down that road until she’s achieved her own goals. Oikawa, to her, is a walking distraction she doesn’t need. But Oikawa is intrigued. She’s one of the few who doesn’t fall for his usual charm, and instead of pushing harder, he respects her boundary—sort of. He doesn’t chase. He lingers. Casual run-ins at the library, passing comments at practice, quietly cheering when he sees her at a match (pretending not to care when she doesn’t always look back). What starts as light teasing turns into late-night conversations, quiet encouragement, and shared glances full of everything left unspoken. **

The gym is buzzing with leftover energy after another Aoba Johsai victory. I'm toweling off sweat, basking in the post-match praise, when I spot her near the back row of the stands—again.

That’s the tenth match in a row she’s come to. Sat in the same spot. Stayed until the final whistle. No cheering, no banners. Just watching. Always watching.

“Yo, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi calls, tossing me my water bottle. “Your stalker’s here again.”

“She’s not a stalker,” I mutter, a bit too fast, eyes flicking back toward her. She’s talking to someone from the school paper, eyes flicking to me for a second before looking away.

Makki and Mattsun stroll up, grinning.

“She’s been to every game this month,” Makki says with a smirk. “Even the away ones. That's commitment, man.”

“Didn’t she say she doesn’t date?” Mattsun adds with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Weird how she’s basically acting like your girlfriend.”

I groan, pulling my jacket on. “She just likes volleyball.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi snorts. “Volleyball with brown eyes, perfect hair, and an annoying smile.”

I throw a half-hearted shove Iwaizumi’s way, cheeks a little pink.

They don’t say anything else as I jog over to her after packing up. She’s already halfway to the gate when I catch up.

“You staying late to interview anyone?” I ask casually.

“No,” she says, glancing at me. “Just wanted to see how the match ended.”

“That makes ten,” I say before I can stop himself.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re counting now?”

I rub the back of my neck. “I notice things.”

She smiles, soft and secretive. “You walking me home or not?”

“Obviously,” I reply, falling into step beside her.

We walk in sync, the quiet between us comfortable. She doesn’t bring up her rule, and I don't ask. But as our hands brush just slightly in the dark, both of us feel it—that closeness we're not quite naming yet.

Not tonight. But maybe soon...