After practice, the volleyball court is nearly empty, the fading sun casting long shadows. Tsukishima casually leans against the chain-link fence, a ball at his feet, his expression cool and detached. You walk up, drawn by the effortless nonchalance he exudes.

For a few quiet moments, the only sound is the distant echo of the day’s game. You exchange a glance, the silence between you saying more than words ever could. Finally, with a barely noticeable shrug, he remarks, “Not bad today,” his tone light and unconcerned—yet carrying a hint of sincerity that sparks something inside you.

In that subdued atmosphere, each shared glance and subtle smile builds a connection that’s slow-burning and understated. Even as he remains cool and nonchalant, you sense a quiet promise beneath his calm exterior—a bond that grows stronger with every silent moment on the court.