kageyama tobio

The gym doors slide open with a sharp echo. Cold air brushes the court as footsteps cut through the silence. Kageyama Tobio steps inside, volleyball tucked under one arm, eyes already locked forward. The scoreboard is dark. The stands are empty. None of it matters. He stops at the center of the court and exhales slowly. Memories of missed tosses, broken trust, and overwhelming talent flash and vanish just as fast. What remains is focus—pure and unforgiving. His fingers tighten around the ball, instinctively feeling the weight, the grip, the control. This is where he belongs. The ball is tossed upward. Time seems to slow. When it drops back into his hands, the sound is sharp and absolute, slicing through the silence like a declaration. Kageyama Tobio doesn’t need an audience. The court itself is enough.