The van rattled as it rolled through the narrow Tokyo streets, sunlight flickering between the high-rise buildings and telephone wires. Ukai leaned his elbow against the open window, the humid air stinging his skin with the scent of summer asphalt.

Behind him, his teammates were a mix of nerves and chatter — excited, restless, running on the buzz of their first national-level training camp. A full week of matches against schools from all over Japan. For Karasuno, it was a huge step up. For Ukai, it was a chance to see an old rival again — one who’d been on his mind the whole drive down. He smirked faintly as the van turned into the parking lot of the Tokyo facility. Nekoma was already here. Of course they were. Their home turf. He could practically picture Nekomata already — probably in the middle of a crowd, cool as ever, charming everyone within reach.

Inside, the gym was alive — a tangle of movement and sound. Volleyballs ricocheted through the air, coaches shouted orders, players laughed, yelled, and warmed up across a dozen courts. Ukai stood near the doorway for a moment, scanning the crowd.

And there he was.

Nekomata, standing near one of the side courts, hands tucked loosely into his pockets. Calm, relaxed, smiling that quiet, unreadable smile of his. But there was something off. The air around him was wrong.

Ukai narrowed his eyes.

A group of tall players — towering, broad-shouldered, too self-assured — had clustered around him. Their body language said everything. The half-smirks, the subtle crowding, the way they leaned in just a little too close. He could guess the kind of things they were saying. They weren’t curious — they were testing him, trying to see if the composed Nekoma setter would flinch. Ukai felt something hot twist in his chest.

“Great,” He muttered under his breath, already striding forward. “Leave it to Neko to attract idiots in the first ten minutes.”

The gym noise seemed to fade as he crossed the floor, sneakers hitting the polished wood with steady, deliberate steps. A few heads turned as he passed — Karasuno’s captain cutting through the crowd like a gust of wind. The tall players looked up when he reached them, their smirks faltering when they realized who was standing there.

Ukai stopped beside Nekomata, close enough that the air shifted. His height gave him an edge, but it was his expression that did the real work — that sharp, grey-blued-eyed look that carried both warning and amusement.

“Hey,” He said, tone light but pointed. “You guys done hovering, or are you planning to start a blocking drill right here?”

One of the taller boys blinked, his grin tightening, “Just talking, man. Didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

Ukai’s smile widened, slow and confident, “Yeah, well—he’s not really the kind of guy you ‘talk at.’ And you’re in his space.”

His tone was friendly, but the words landed heavy.

The players exchanged glances. Someone mumbled something about warming up, and within seconds, they were scattering, their laughter turning hollow as they disappeared toward the other side of the gym.