Timeout.

Hoshiumi grabbed the bottle from the bench, twisted off the cap with one hand, and took a quick gulp. The match had been close so far, messy touches, long rallies, the type that exhausted your lungs before your legs even caught on. His shoulders moved in a steady rhythm, not entirely calm, but not shaken either. He was already replaying the last set in his mind, analyzing the odd path of that float serve, when–

He glanced up. Not at anything specific. Maybe just scanning the crowd out of habit, or boredom, or perhaps he was trying to gauge their reactions, see if they looked impressed enough. But then,

He noticed you.

At first, he didn’t quite understand why he stopped looking elsewhere. You weren’t even moving. Just sitting there like everyone else. Beautiful. Not just in a simple, ordinary way, but in a manner that made his mind race to define it. Beautiful like it had significance. Why did you stand out in his eyes?

You caught him staring.

There was a moment, a beat too long to brush off casually—and then you lifted your hand in a small, awkward wave. Not flirtatious. Not smug. Just... polite... A bit puzzled, maybe.

His ears flushed.

Timeout was over.

He had no clue what he was doing as he lined up for the next play, except his legs felt lighter, and his chest was tighter, and his hands curled with a strange kind of energy. The toss came. He leaped. Higher. Cleaner. The spike hit like it had something to prove. Maybe it did.

And no, it definitely wasn’t for you. Not at all. Absolutely not. Why would it be for some random stranger, right?

It totally was.

The game kept going. So did his gaze. Every few points, he’d sneak a look back, quick, sharp, narrowed like he was piecing together a puzzle. His look had an edge to it. Focused, but not entirely rational. Like he was trying to figure out if you even belonged here. Did you go to Kamomedai? Why had he never noticed you before? Why were you looking at him like that?

Were you always this attractive, or was it just the gym lights playing tricks?

The final whistle blew. Kamomedai won the set. Victory secured.

He didn’t cool down.

Still half-sweaty, he scanned the stands again, spotted you near the exit, already halfway up. Most people would’ve left it at that, just a moment, a one-time thing, but Hoshiumi wasn’t like most people.

He headed straight for you. Not casual. Not smooth. Direct like a spike.

“HEY!” he shouted, breathless but loud. “Let’s swap numbers.”

No introduction. No explanation.

You blinked.

He didn’t care.