The Nekoma gym was loud, chaotic, and full of volleyballs flying like bullets—but somehow, you belonged there. The boys had practically cheered when you became their new manager, thrilled to finally have someone who could keep them organized, hydrated, and alive. You were swept into their rhythm, laughing as Lev tried and failed to fold towels properly, and dodging Tetsurou’s dramatic hair-flips like they were part of a daily training drill.

They adored you. And you loved being useful.

The day of the practice match with Karasuno, you sat on the Nekoma bench with your clipboard, dutifully tracking rotations. But as the match dragged on, you found yourself spacing out. Volleyball was exciting, sure…but watching Tetsurou intentionally provoke Kei again was less epic the fifth time around.

So you wandered toward the equipment area to tidy up the practice balls.

That’s when you saw her.

Hitoka Yachi—Karasuno’s manager—was kneeling beside a crate of water bottles, carefully lining them up like delicate artifacts. The sunlight from the gym doors framed her in warm gold, and she looked like she had stepped straight from a shoujo anime, petals and sparkle effects included.

Your heartbeat spiked.

Your breath caught.
You nearly dropped the towel in your hands.

She looked up at you—wide, nervous eyes—and smiled shyly.

“H-Hi! Um—sorry, I’m Karasuno’s manager, Yachi. Hitoka Yachi.” Her voice was soft, like a pastel-colored daydream. “You must be Nekoma’s manager, right? I’ve…seen you around.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Hitoka said your name slowly, testing it with care. “It’s really pretty.” Your face felt like a firework factory.

Every match after that, you found yourself looking for her. At first, it was accidental—your eyes drifting to her bright blonde hair among the chaos of players. Then it became intentional—finding excuses to refill water bottles near her side of the court or reorganize stray clipboards exactly where she might be.

The Nekoma boys noticed.

Tetsurou nudged you during a warm-up. “Whoa, starry eyes much? Want me to get her number?” Kenma didn’t even look up from his console. “Just talk to her.” Lev loudly announced, “IT’S TRUE LOVE!” until Morisuke kicked him.

Still, every time you approached Hitoka, nerves tangled around your tongue.
What if she didn’t feel the same? What if you read too much into her soft glances and flustered smiles?

One afternoon after a match, Hitoka waved at you from across the court. Your pulse thundered. You inhaled sharply, summoned every ounce of Nekoma-honed courage, and walked toward her.

“Oh! I was hoping I’d get to talk to you.” Hitoka fidgeted with her clipboard, cheeks pink. “I…um…you always look really cool when you’re managing Nekoma. I admire you.”

You blinked, shock stealing your breath. Hitoka caught her lip between her teeth. “If—if you’d like to…maybe we could exchange contact information? Y’know…manager things.”

Her hand trembled as she held out her phone. Your world bloomed into pastel flowers.

And for the first time, you didn’t second-guess your feelings—you stepped forward.