𝐂𝐇. 𝟐

⋅. ˚₊ ‧  𐙚  ‧ ₊ ˚  ⋅

Y/N's POV

It's been three days since my dad ambushed me in my room with what he called a "favor" but what was actually a trap.Three days since I said, with absolute certainty and no hesitation, "hell no."

You'd think he'd move on by now. You'd think he'd have accepted my answer.You'd think wrong.

Every time I walk into the kitchen, he's there. Waiting. Like some kind of guilt-summoning spirit with a whistle.

This morning is no different.

I pour cereal into a bowl, and like clockwork—"Y/N," he starts, casually sipping his coffee like this is normal, "How's your schedule today? Free around 4 p.m.?"

I pause. Slowly turn. "If I say yes, are you going to drag me to the gym against my will?"

He blinks at me. "It's not dragging if you walk willingly."

I stare.

He raises his eyebrows.

I sigh.

"I'm still not doing it," I mutter, grabbing the milk.

"Okay, okay—but what if I bribed you?"

Oh, here we go.

"Starbucks," he offers. "Every day. No limit."

"No."

"Gas money. Full tank."

"No."

"You can borrow my car. The nice one."

"You mean the one with no air conditioning? I'm good."

He leans forward like he's about to drop the deal of the century. "I'll stop setting you up with sons of coworkers."

Now that's tempting.

I side-eye him. "Still no."

"You can yell at teenage boys without consequences."

...Damn him. He knows me too well.

But I don't budge. Not yet. I fold my arms and give him the look I reserve for truly stupid suggestions. "No."

He groans like I've just ruined his lifelong dream of winning Olympic gold. Then he flops forward on the table dramatically, like a man defeated.

I roll my eyes.

He's silent for a minute.

Then he speaks, and his tone changes.

"You know," he says, almost softly, "they really need someone. It's not just me asking. The boys—especially Oikawa—need someone who won't baby them. Who won't worship them like the rest of the school does."

I pause.

"They need someone who'll tell them to shut up and get over themselves. Someone they'll actually listen to."

"...Like how I talk to you?"

"Exactly. You're perfect for this."

I purse my lips. He knows I hate being called perfect for anything.

He sees me wavering. And he's already smug about it.

"Just one week," he says, hands up in surrender. "One week. Try it out. If it sucks, you can walk away and I'll never bring it up again."

I sigh so hard it feels like my soul is leaving my body. "One week."

His grin is instant. Victory. Triumph. Smug dad mode activated.

"But," I say, pointing at him, "if one of them makes a single joke about balls, I'm quitting on the spot."

"Deal."

⸻

Later That Day

I walk into the gym like I'm entering a battlefield.

Sweat. Noise. Male voices yelling.

Instant regret.

The team is already warming up. Balls flying, sneakers squeaking, someone screaming something about "back row defense."And then they see me.

The entire gym goes silent.

It's like a live-action freeze frame. I've never had this many boys look at me at once in my life.

One drops the ball he was holding. Another actually chokes on his water.

"She's kinda scary..." I hear one whisper."She's hot," another mutters."Do you think she'll hit us?""I hope so."

I keep walking. I'm already too deep to turn back.

Dad claps to get their attention. "Alright! Shut up and listen. This is my daughter, Y/N. She's going to be your manager for the week. If she chooses to stay. Which, frankly, depends on how annoying you are."

They nod. Slowly. Still staring like I'm some mythological creature.

Dad continues, "She'll be in charge of supplies, schedules, organizing equipment, and making sure none of you act like idiots—especially you, Oikawa."

That's when I finally see him up close.

Brown hair. Soft eyes. Tall. Smug.Too smug.

"So you're the mysterious daughter, huh?" he says, walking up to me with that anime protagonist confidence. "Coach didn't say you'd be this cute."

I blink once. "Don't talk to me."

His smirk falters—just slightly—but then returns, stronger.

"She's already perfect," he whispers, turning to Iwaizumi.

Dad squints at him. "Strike one."

⸻

Twenty Minutes Into Practice

Ten Minutes Later

I organize the water bottles. I find the athletic tape they somehow never put back in the right place. I wipe down a bench and watch three of them nearly kill each other trying to spike a ball over the net.

Chaos. Pure chaos.

"Do they act like this every day?" I mutter.

"Worse, sometimes," says the guy next to me—short black hair, permanent frown. "I'm Iwaizumi. You'll get used to them."

I eye Oikawa as he dramatically sets a ball and winks at a wall.

"Doubt it."

I'm wiping down a bench and trying to remember why I agreed to this when I hear Oikawa calling out again.

"Hey, manager-chan," he says sweetly, walking over, "You look tense. Want me to give you a massage?"

Without turning around, I say, "I will shove this water bottle down your throat and then report you for harassment."

"Marriage. Material," he mutters, beaming.

Iwaizumi smacks him across the back of the head before I can.

The rest of practice is just as chaotic. They miss sets, yell across the court, and trip over their own feet. I organize their mess. Bark a few commands. They weirdly listen.

By the time practice ends, I'm already exhausted. And I'm pretty sure Oikawa winked at me eight times. I counted.

⸻

That Night – Team Group Chat

Team Group Chat: Aobajosai Demons

Oikawa: coach's daughter is the love of my life

Iwaizumi: you're delusional

Matsukawa: did you see the way she looked at him???

Hanamaki: bro she almost hit him with a clipboard

Oikawa: hot

Y/N (joined the chat): I hope your knee gives out

Oikawa: MARRIAGE. MATERIAL.

Iwaizumi: oh gosh it's started

Y/N: who added me to this

Coach Sadayuki: :)