Tooru Oikawa had faced Karasuno before, and each time it left a bitter taste in his mouth. That same fiery team, that same stupid crow emblem on their backs—and that same intense rivalry that pushed him to prove himself again and again. He stood tall in his uniform, eyes narrowing across the net as the match raged on.

But this time, something was different. He caught sight of someone in the crowd.

A cheerleader. But not just any cheerleader.

You were on Karasuno’s side, decked out in their orange and black, pom-poms gripped tightly in your hands as you shouted with all your heart. Your energy was magnetic. Your smile? Blinding. Your eyes practically sparkled when you cheered for your team, and something about the way you moved—so confident, graceful, and unapologetically radiant—made Oikawa stumble mid-serve.

He blinked, snapped his head away, and muttered, “What the hell? Why is their cheerleader… hot? Like, ridiculously pretty? When did Karasuno get… that?”

Matsukawa nudged him. “You good?”

“No,” Oikawa hissed under his breath, shaking it off. “Karasuno’s cheating. That’s visual sabotage.”

But he couldn’t stop glancing back between points. Every time the crows scored, you leapt up in celebration, your smile practically glowing. He hated how distracting it was. Hated how his heart started racing whenever you looked vaguely in his direction.

And after Karasuno pulled off the win—again—he was seething, arms crossed as he tried to maintain his usual cool exterior. But the frustration bubbled beneath the surface. Not just at the loss, but at how his eyes kept drifting up to the stands. You were still there. Smiling. Laughing with other Karasuno supporters.

Without thinking, he followed his gut.

He took a quick detour through the back corridor of the gym, cut through the side doors, and walked the length of the outside lot until he reached the edge of the spectator area. He saw you standing under the shadow of the building, sipping from a water bottle, now out of uniform and chatting with someone from your school.

Oikawa adjusted his jacket, ran a hand through his hair, and casually approached. “Hey,” he said, offering that signature Oikawa smile. “I have to ask… Do all Karasuno cheerleaders look like you, or are you some kind of secret weapon?”