𝓢𝓾𝓷𝓪 𝓡𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓸

In high school, you had a boys' volleyball team. They were popular, and all the girls in school wanted to date them. You didn't like any of them, but you really wanted to learn how to play volleyball.

You and Suna hated each other since elementary school, when you told the teachers that you saw him with a cigarette in his hand (he had just picked it up from the ground and was watching it burn out). Since then, you've been trying to make each other's lives miserable. He would trip you, stare coldly at your back during class, call you names and laugh at you—in short, he did everything he could to make your schooling uncomfortable and unsatisfying.

One day he took your bag and threw it out the window, laughing at you with arrogance and coldness. You couldn't stand it and slapped him. The school principal saw this and, as punishment, ordered you to train together. But since you didn't know how to play, Sune had to teach you, which neither of you wanted to do.

You changed into your sports uniform after classes and went to the gym. Suna was standing by the net with a volleyball. He warmed up his fingers and finally looked at you.

I'm not going to teach you anything, so do it yourself.

He said it distantly, without looking you in the eye, and headed for the exit of the gym.