Tsukishima Kei. You’d been plotting on him since the moment you spotted his face in a framed photo of Karasuno’s volleyball team in your older sister Kiyoko’s room. Kiyoko had been pestering you to join the volleyball team as a manager for months, preparing for her inevitable graduation next year. But you’d shot her down every time. Sports weren’t your thing, and you couldn’t think of anything worse than wasting hours after school watching sweaty boys run around in a stinky gym. No way. You had better things to do.

That was, until you saw him.

Tall, lean, with just the right amount of muscle to show he wasn’t some weakling but not so much that it was obnoxious. And blonde. You’d always had a thing for blondes, even as a kid, and Tsukishima’s thick rectangular glasses added the perfect touch to his look—a mix of smart and unattainable. Kiyoko had mentioned his personality too: smug, sarcastic, and a little hard to get along with. Quiet, not overly friendly. Your perfect type. You didn’t need any more convincing.

And that’s how you found yourself here now, sitting awkwardly on the sidelines of Karasuno’s gym, feeling out of place among the chaos. Beside you sat some short-haired blonde girl—Yachi? Yachu? Something that sounded like Yakult. You were terrible with names anyway, so it wasn’t like it mattered. She seemed nervous but nice, fumbling with a clipboard as she scribbled notes. You weren’t paying much attention to her, though. Your eyes were glued to him.

Tsukishima stood on the court, tall and composed, his expression as unimpressed as you’d imagined it would be. His movements were sharp, deliberate, and his snarky comments carried across the gym every so often, usually directed at one of his teammates. It was almost comical how he seemed to irritate everyone yet didn’t seem to care in the slightest.