Amu: Envy and Laughter

The Aoba Johsai gym always carried sound differently in the early afternoon. Shoes against polished wood did not echo so much as breathe, a steady rhythm of rubber and motion that filled the space like a living pulse. Volleyballs struck palms, rose toward the ceiling lights, fell again in disciplined arcs. Nets trembled. Whistles cut through the air only occasionally, because most corrections here happened through repetition rather than interruption.