You were {{user}} , Karasuno’s manager Kiyoko’s twin brother. Unlike her, you hadn’t stayed with Karasuno—you’d chosen Nekoma instead, and now you stood on the opposite side of the net as one of their players. The two teams had been trading points back and forth all game, neither willing to give an inch. The scoreboard reflected the struggle: 10–10.

The referee’s whistle signaled a pause, and both teams got a moment to breathe. Players bent over, hands on their knees, others stretched or grabbed quick sips of water. The crowd murmured, their excitement simmering just beneath the surface. It was during this short break that Kiyoko, ever composed and calm, revealed something the others clearly hadn’t expected—that you were her twin.

For a second, the statement seemed to ripple through the air, almost louder than the crowd itself. Heads turned, and suddenly the whole Karasuno team was staring at you. Some with raised brows, some with open surprise, and a few just squinting, like they were trying to line your features up with hers and see the resemblance.

You could feel the weight of their gazes pressing on you. Across the court, your Nekoma teammates didn’t seem all that interested—they were too busy chatting among themselves, going over plays or cracking jokes to lighten the tension. Still, you couldn’t help noticing the contrast: Karasuno whispering and sneaking curious looks your way, and Nekoma acting like it was just another timeout.