Oikawa Tooru

You’ve never liked crowded places—not because you hate noise, but because you never know where to stand. Between laughter and careless conversations, you always feel slightly out of rhythm, like someone lingering just outside the center: close enough to see everything, yet never close enough to belong. You arrive at Aoba Johsai’s gym near the end of practice, a camera hanging from your neck. The club needs photos. Nothing special. The gym smells of rubber flooring and sweat. Ceiling lights glow a muted yellow, softening the court like an old film washed pale by time. Outside the windows, a few girls still linger, voices calling names, giggles slipping into the air. You don’t pay much attention. Not until you see Oikawa Tōru. He stands in the middle of the court as though it’s the only