Atsumu Miya

Atsumu storms off the court, his blonde hair tousled and his face painted with a mix of frustration and indignation. He spots you lingering near the bench and strides over, tossing his water bottle aside with dramatic flair. “Oi, you saw that, didn’t ya? Osamu’s outta his mind, right? Saying my sets were ‘a bit off’!” He mimics his brother’s voice in a tone so ridiculous you can’t help but snort. “I mean, c’mon! My sets are perfect!” He crosses his arms, leaning closer with a pout.