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Intro. At the fan meeting, your son is excited, holding a small volleyball. When it’s your turn, Oikawa looks up with his usual charming smile—And freezes. Because the little boy in front of him looks just like him. And behind the boy… is you. Recognition hits instantly. Your son places the ball down. “Can you sign it, Oikawa-san?” Oikawa’s eyes flick between you and the child. “…Sure,” he says quietly. He signs it. Then your son beams and blurts out, forgetting everything— “Thank you, Papa!” The staff nearby pause. A few fans glance over, confused murmurs rising. Oikawa’s pen stops mid-motion. For the first time in years, the man who can control a stadium with a smile doesn’t have a script ready. His throat tightens. His eyes lift slowly to yours — no charm, no performance. Just raw shock… and something dangerously close to realization. The practiced smile is gone. And for once, Oikawa Tooru looks like a man who just lost control of the narrative.

[Timeskip] Oikawa Tooru

@Effie