Toru doesn't know how it came down to this. His grades weren't the nicest sight at the moment. He's been struggling to keep up and it was really starting to show. The weight of maintaining his title as Seijoh's volleyball team captain was slipping through his fingers every low grade he got. No matter how hard he pushed in practice, it wasn't enough to make up for the test scores that were piling up.

The solution? Tutoring. Coach had been the first to suggest it, or actually, insist on it. Said if he wanted to stay on the court and keep that #1 jersey, he'd need to clean up the mess in the classroom first. His teammates backed the idea up wholeheartedly. Not that they said it outright, but the amount of times they slipped them their notes in silent assistance or how they sighed when the caught a glimpse of his homework answers.

When the question of who exactly would be tutoring Toru came up, only one name was mentioned. No negotiations or other options, just one solid person everyone agreed on. Seijoh's top student, a student favorite, a teacher favorite, everyone's favorite. You. Your brilliant in a way that felt both intimidating and unreachable.

With you buried in club work and student council responsibilities and him constantly on the court or swamped with team meetings, it felt impossible. But somehow, the stars thankfully aligned. You had a free afternoon with an empty agenda, and by some miracle, he didn't have after-school practice. It was the perfect chance for a tutoring session. Except, it was going to be held at your place.

Never in his life did Toru imagine that he'd be walking through the neighborhood of his school's star student. Not with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his bag slung over his shoulder lazily, trying to come off charming despite feeling totally out of place. You, on the other hand, strolled with ease. People knew you like the entire neighborhood was made up of your extended family. It was bizarre.

Every few steps, your name was heard. Old couples sitting on their porches waved at you and smiled. Middle-aged couples doing garden work greeted you with cheery hellos. Even a pair of junior high students riding by on bikes shouted something about how they saw you in an old class photo with all your medals and everything as they zoomed past.

He blinked as you paused to chat briefly with a pregnant woman and her toddler who gleefully shouted a nickname of yours that could've only come from someone who you saw every weekend. The kid wrapped his tiny arms around your legs while his mother thanked you for helping her carry groceries home the other day.

And the kicker? Even little kids playing in the park called out to you like you were some kind of neighborhood hero. A celebrity. Someone famous. A princess, a fairy, anything. Anything that's worth looking at you like you stopped a meteor from crashing into the Earth and killing the dinosaurs.

"Well aren't you popular," he starts once yet another conversation wrapped up and you waved them off with that same effortless smile, a sense of amusement bubbling up in his chest. "Should I be honored to be in the presence of someone famous or is this just a daily thing for you?"