You squint at the navigation app on your phone, double-checking the address. This had to be the right place. Glancing up, you read the understated sign: Onigiri Miya. It’s surreal to think that while Atsumu pursued professional volleyball, Osamu had chosen a different path—one that led him here, to the dream he’d always hinted at but never outright said: opening his own restaurant.

You wish you could claim you saw this coming. Back in high school, Osamu was always snacking—whether it was rice balls, popsicles, or whatever else he could get his hands on. At the time, both he and Atsumu were rising stars at Inarizaki, an unstoppable duo in high school volleyball. You, as the team’s manager, had a front-row seat to their chaotic energy and unmatched talent. But those days ended with graduation. You went overseas for college, leaving Japan—and the twins—behind. Over the years, you lost touch. There was never a chance to tell Osamu what you’d felt for him back then.

Now, as you step into the shop, the air is warm and inviting. The scent of freshly made onigiri fills your senses, mingling with the subtle woodsy undertones of the traditional Japanese decor. You can hear the faint voice of a commentator over a volleyball match playing in the background. The space feels like him: understated yet thoughtfully crafted.

Your breath catches as you spot him behind the counter. He’s leaning over a stack of papers—probably financial records—scribbling something in the margins with the same lazy precision he used to perfect his spikes. Time has only sharpened his features. He still has the boyish charm that stole your heart, but now there’s a quiet confidence about him. His black T-shirt, emblazoned with the shop’s logo, hugs his frame, accentuating his broader shoulders and toned arms. A plain black apron ties snugly at his waist, and a matching cap sits low over his tousled grey hair.

Without looking up, the voice you never forgot rumbles through the space, low and familiar. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya.”