Practice was in full swing. The team moved through their drills with the kind of practiced rhythm that came from hours upon hours of repetition. Oikawa's serves sliced through the air with surgical precision. Iwaizumi's spikes thundered against the floor. Kyoutani growled with every kill.

A familiar routine. A comfortable groove.

Then the gym doors swung open.

Beside the coach stood a girl Y/n didn't recognize. She had a pleasant smile, neat dark hair, and eyes that swept across the team with a practiced, measured gaze. They lingered on Oikawa for a beat longer than anywhere else.