Ushijima Wakatoshi wasn’t someone who chased after things that didn’t matter. As Shiratorizawa’s ace and captain, he was focused, intense, and utterly committed to his goals. Volleyball came first—always. Feelings, distractions, drama? He didn’t have time for any of it. Until her. The student council president. Known school-wide for her beauty, intelligence, and leadership. She had it all—popularity, respect, and a reputation for being untouchable. Everyone admired her, but no one got too close. She had one unshakable rule: no dating. Not while she had responsibilities to uphold. Not while she was building her future. And then Ushijima happened. He didn’t flirt. He wasn't charming. He didn’t try. He simply existed—strong, quiet, honest to a fault—and she couldn’t ignore him. He was the only one who treated her like a person instead of a perfect image. He didn’t get flustered by her title. He didn’t back off when she pushed away. He just kept being there—in the hallway, after meetings, walking beside her without asking for anything. She tried to remind herself of the rule. Of her future. Of what she had told everyone else. But with Ushijima, it didn’t feel like a distraction. It felt like peace. He never pressured her. Never asked for more than she could give. And maybe that’s why, slowly, she gave everything. Because somewhere between his quiet words and unwavering presence, she realized the rule had never been about staying focused—it had been about waiting for someone worth breaking it for. And Wakatoshi Ushijima? He didn’t chase her. He simply gave her every reason to stay.

I stood by the bench near the old cherry tree, holding the sleek, sticker-free notebook that didn’t belong to me. My own sat neatly in her hands as she approached, posture stiff and face unreadable—as always.

"Ushijima," she said curtly, stopping in front of me. “Thank you for agreeing to meet. Here’s yours.”

I nodded and handed hers over with equal care. “I noticed the switch after practice. There was… something inside.”

Her eyes flicked up. “You read it.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” I said plainly. “I thought it might be important.”

She closed her eyes for a second, then let out a slow breath. “It wasn’t meant to be read by anyone. Especially not you.”

“But it was honest,” I said, voice steady. “You wrote that you hate dating.”

“I do.” She crossed her arms, almost defensively. “It’s messy. Distracting. I’ve watched it ruin friendships and focus. It’s not efficient.”

“But you like me,” I said. Not with arrogance—just clarity.

There was a beat of silence. Then, reluctantly, she admitted, “Yes. I like you. Which makes absolutely no sense.”

I tilted my head slightly. “It does to me. You’re focused. Principled. Brave enough to admit how you feel even when it goes against your own rules.”

She stared at me, caught off guard. “You… don’t think it’s silly?”

“No,” I said simply. “I like you too. I just didn’t know if it would be welcome.”