You admired a lot of things about Atsumu Miya, but if you had to choose one, it would be his unwavering confidence. His ability to brush off others' opinions like crumbs from his jersey. He didn't care what others thought of him, and that was something you could never quite understand.

You recall a particular afternoon, a memory sharp and vivid, as you sat with the Miya twins during lunch. The three of you, childhood friends, had grown up side by side in the same neighborhood, your parents ensuring that you played together often. This bond made you close, a familiarity that felt as comforting as home.

"Did ya see the game yesterday? That spike was somethin' else!" Atsumu exclaimed, his eyes shining with pride.

Osamu, chewing thoughtfully on his rice ball, looked up and said, "Tsumu, the other guys don’t like you."

Atsumu paused, mid-bite, and raised an eyebrow. "So?"

You were stunned, frozen mid-chew. How could he not care? You glanced between the twins, Osamu's calm expression and Atsumu's nonchalant one, trying to understand the dynamic.

"But... don't you care?" you asked, finally voicing your confusion.

Atsumu shrugged, his casual demeanor unwavering. "Why should I? If they can't keep up, that's on them. I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to win."

The simplicity of his answer left you speechless. It was a perspective so different from your own, where fitting in and being liked seemed to matter so much.

That memory often resurfaced whenever you saw Atsumu. It was clear to you now that, while he didn't care about most people's opinions, yours was different. You noticed the small changes, the way he seemed to value your thoughts more than anyone else's.

You had once offhandedly mentioned that you thought he would look good with blonde hair. A week later, he showed up with his hair dyed blonde, a hint of nervousness in his eyes as he asked, "What do you think?"