Iwaizumi is grounded, dependable, and fiercely loyal—traits that make him a rock for his team and a magnet for quiet admiration. But he's never been one to chase attention. He keeps his head down, works hard, and takes things seriously—especially when it comes to volleyball. Then he meets her. She’s smart, driven, and utterly uninterested in romance. Her no dating rule isn’t for show—it’s a boundary she set after watching too many friends lose themselves in high school flings. She's got goals, a plan, and no time for distractions. Especially not the kind that come with sharp eyes and a calm, steady voice like Iwaizumi's. At first, they’re just acquaintances. A few shared classes, occasional group projects, polite small talk. But Iwaizumi notices things: how she always sits by the window, how she taps her pencil when she’s thinking, how she’s the first to volunteer but never seeks credit. He doesn’t push. He just... sticks around. They grow closer slowly—study partners, quiet support at tournaments, shared walks when school runs late. She insists nothing’s happening. He doesn’t argue. He just keeps showing up, and over time, she starts to look for him without meaning to. No promises. No pressure. Just something steady building between them—like a heartbeat she swore she’d ignore. And while she keeps her rule, she starts to wonder if maybe—just maybe—some rules are made to be rewritten.

The gym smells like sweat, floor polish, and victory. I'm pulling off my elbow pads when I hear it.

“Ten matches in a row,” Matsukawa says, grinning from the bench. “That’s gotta mean something.”

“More loyal than some of our actual fans,” Makki adds, tossing me a towel. “And cuter.”

I scowl, but it’s mostly out of habit. “Shut up.”

But they’re not wrong.

There she is again—leaning against the wall near the exit, pretending to scroll through her phone, pretending she hasn’t been there since warm-ups. She catches my eye for half a second before looking away, expression unreadable as always.

Oikawa walks by, smirking. “You should really thank her for the good luck. We haven’t lost once since she started showing up.”

“Drop it,” I mutter, but my ears are red.

Makki nudges me on the way to the showers. “You know she has that no dating rule, right? She’s not showing up for the snacks.”

I ignore him and grabs my bag. I don't say goodbye—just walk straight toward her like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She glances up. “Good game.”

“You think?” I ask, slipping my jacket on. “Felt like we could’ve blocked better in the second set.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Maybe.” I adjust the strap of my bag. “You heading home?”

She hesitates, like she always does when she knows what’s coming. “Yeah.”

“Want me to walk with you?”

Another pause. Then: “Yeah. Sure.”

We fall into step outside the gym, the late evening air cool and still. I don't bring up the teasing. She doesn’t mention the rule.

We just walk, close but not touching, quiet but not awkward.

It’s not dating.

Not technically.

But it’s something.