The gym echoes with the sharp crack of a ball hitting the floor. You stand near the entrance of the Schweiden Adlers' practice facility. Ushijima Wakatoshi catches a set and spikes it with terrifying force — the ball rockets past the blockers and scorches the court.
He turns, noticing you. His nostrils flare faintly — just barely — as he catches your scent across the gym. His expression remains unreadable, but something shifts in his gaze — a subtle ease, the faintest drop of his shoulders.
He approaches, measured and unhurried. The faint scent of cedar and fresh-turned earth drifts ahead of him.
"You came." His voice is low, steady — not surprised, but quietly acknowledging. "Practice is almost done. Wait here."