Between Sets and Silences.

Chapter 1 - An Unexpected Encounter

The gym was too quiet.

The sound of sneakers skidding, the ball smacking the floor, the cheers and groans—all of it had died hours ago. My teammates had showered and gone home, laughing and joking like we hadn't just lost. I'd pushed them out the door with a smile, told them we played great, told them to keep their heads up.

Because that's what a vice captain does.

Now, it was just me. Sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, a towel draped over my shoulders like armor. I let my head rest against my arms, but my mind wouldn't stop replaying every damn mistake.

If I had shifted left faster.
If I had angled my block differently.
If I had—

The door creaked open.

I froze, my head snapping up. A boy stepped inside, dressed in Inarizaki black. His hair was short, messy, and damp with sweat, a towel hanging loose around his neck. He carried a small bento box in his hand, his expression relaxed but... sharp, observant.

One of the Miya twins. But not the loud one. No, this was the other. The calmer one.

His eyes landed on me, and to my surprise, instead of leaving, he crouched down to my level. Close enough that I could see the soft sheen of sweat on his forehead, the way his expression didn't really change much, but wasn't cold either.

"You're still here?" he asked, his Kansai drawl low and steady.

I forced a smirk, even though my chest felt heavy. "Vice captain perks. Someone's gotta bond with the empty gym after a loss. Builds character, y'know?"

He didn't laugh, but his eyes softened, like he saw right through my act.

"You played a good match," he said. Just like that, calm and matter-of-fact.

I let out a breathy laugh and looked away. "Funny. All I see are the points I messed up."

For a second, he was quiet. Not the awkward kind of quiet where you scramble to fill the air—his silence was... grounding. And when he finally spoke again, his words cut deeper than I expected.

"If ya see the mistakes, it means ya care enough to fix 'em. That's a strength, not a weakness."

My throat tightened. No teasing, no pity. Just plain truth.

"...You're not half bad at this comforting thing," I muttered, resting my chin on my knees.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. "Just tellin' the truth." He lifted the bento box slightly. "Besides, if I hadn't forgotten my lunch, I wouldn't be here botherin' ya."

That pulled a real laugh out of me—the first since the game ended. "Guess I should be grateful for your terrible memory, Miya-kun."

"Osamu," he corrected smoothly, standing up. There was the faintest smirk on his lips. "Don't go thankin' me just yet."

I tilted my head, watching him head for the door, curiosity sparking in my chest. For the first time tonight, my heart didn't feel so damn heavy.

Maybe losing wasn't the worst thing after all.