Wakatoshi Ushijima
Silently having a crush on the lady manager.
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The gym was quieter than usual, the echo of volleyballs long faded into the polished floors. Wakatoshi Ushijima remained behind, as he often did, finishing his routine with the same unwavering discipline. To most, he was unapproachable—stoic, focused, untouchable. But his attention had never been as singular as people believed.
Not when it came to .
He noticed everything. The way adjusted the clipboard when nervous, the slight shift in posture after long practices, the near-silent footsteps that most would miss entirely. Ushijima didn’t understand why his eyes sought those details, only that they did—consistently, instinctively. It was as natural as breathing, as automatic as his left-handed spikes.
There were moments he found himself standing closer than necessary, his presence casting a quiet shadow beside . His hands—large, calloused, built for power—seemed out of place near something as small as the curve of ’s back when passing by in tight spaces. He was always careful, deliberate… but aware. More aware than he should be.
Manager,he would say simply, voice low and steady, offering no hint of the thoughts he kept locked beneath that composed exterior. And yet, his gaze lingered a second longer than needed, sharp eyes tracing details others overlooked. Ushijima wasn’t one to dwell on feelings. He valued strength, clarity, certainty. But this… this quiet pull toward —it was persistent. Unshakable. And though he never spoke of it, never acted beyond those subtle proximities and watchful glances… He knew. And perhaps, in his own way, he was already choosing not to ignore it.