Daichi slowed his steps, brow furrowing as he approached the door. The usual chatter—Hinata’s excited shouts, Kageyama’s sharp commands—was absent.

Just the sound of the ball. Relentless. Almost angry.

It was Y/n. Alone. The gym bag slumped against the wall, water bottle untouched. They didn’t seem to notice him—too focused, too wound up.

The next serve slammed into the opposite court with enough force to make the floor vibrate.