Looking at Semi's long face and Goshiki's inexplicable excitement, Ryosuke found it a bit hard to watch.
Shirabu was holding back his laughter so hard his face turned red. Semi, you finally got your turn. Luck really is unpredictable. You had better hope Goshiki is not too fired up today, or you are going to suffer.
Shirabu was already prepared to enjoy the show. Others might not know what was going on, but that did not stop the Shiratorizawa players from watching the drama unfold.
"Huh?! Why do I have to be on the same team as him?!"
On the other side, Oikawa pointed at Ushijima in disbelief, as if everyone had committed some unforgivable crime.
Ushijima looked confused. "Oikawa, what is wrong? Are you angry?"
That only made Oikawa angrier. He really could not stand how dense Ushijima was.
"Pfft, who was so cruel to put those two together?"
Yamagata covered his mouth as he laughed and whispered to Kawanishi. He thought he was being quiet, but everyone heard him.
"I do not care. I refuse to be on the same team as Ushijima. Who even made these teams?!"
Oikawa completely exploded, pacing back and forth. Ushijima stood nearby, still looking confused. Oikawa kept circling around but refused to look at him.
Everyone agreed those two did not get along.
Well, to be precise, it was one-sided. Oikawa believed they were incompatible, while Ushijima actually admired him as a setter.
"I made the groups. Do you have a problem with that?"
Coach Washijō's voice suddenly came from behind Oikawa. No one had even noticed when he entered the gym.
"Ah!"
Oikawa jumped in shock. If there was anyone he feared besides Iwa-chan, it was Coach Washijō. The old man looked fierce and scolded even more fiercely. For some reason, Oikawa could not act up in front of him.
"But…"
Oikawa muttered, still trying to argue.
"Hm?"
Coach Washijō's gaze darkened as he stared at him.
"Nothing. Nothing at all. This grouping is great. I love it."
Oikawa surrendered in less than two seconds.
"Oikawa, I look forward to working with you."
Ushijima extended his hand stiffly for a handshake. With Coach Washijō watching, Oikawa had no choice but to accept. The moment he let go, he immediately wiped his hand on his pants, as if he had touched something disgusting.
Training was about to begin. Everyone lined up on their own. Even the usually laid-back Shiratorizawa players fell into line, each of them looking unusually spirited.
Reon was confused. What was going on? They were never this enthusiastic. Did they suddenly care about appearances?
Everyone stood straight, unwilling to ruin Shiratorizawa's image in front of other schools. For once, they were all thinking the same thing.
At Coach Washijō's command, afternoon training officially began.
They formed pairs and faced off, competing for points within fifteen minutes.
Shirabu glanced at Semi and Goshiki across the net and could not help but smile again. It could not be helped. They were just unlucky. What goes around comes around.
"Ryosuke, lower your head."
Ryosuke, now already close to one eighty, was taller than Shirabu. He obediently leaned down.
"Later, set the ball to those tricky edge spots. Not too fast, not too slow. They will not be able to receive it anyway."
If they could not receive it, Semi and Goshiki would end up scrambling all over the floor. Just imagining it was entertaining enough. Shirabu quietly plotted.
Semi's right eyebrow kept twitching. Seeing Shirabu's strange smile gave him a bad feeling.
Looking at Goshiki, who was still at the net loudly declaring war on Ryosuke, that uneasy feeling only grew stronger.
"Goshiki, come here."
Semi beckoned, and Goshiki ran over eagerly.
"Semi-senpai, what kind of plays are we running? Cross shots or straight? Overhand or tool shots?"
"Sigh. Goshiki, did you forget you are the setter this time?"
Semi did not want to crush Goshiki's hopeful imagination, but for the sake of his own sanity during training, he had to play the villain.
As expected, Goshiki immediately deflated. He lowered his head, muttered a quiet "oh," and went silent.
...
"Bang!"
"Goshiki!"
"Bang!"
"Goshiki!"
After getting hit in the head twice in a row by bad sets, Semi finally snapped. His shouting was practically turning into a "Goshiki Symphony," while the two on the other side laughed without restraint.
Semi rubbed the back of his head, baring his teeth in pain. Was Goshiki's aim bad or good? If it was bad, he somehow hit the same spot every time. If it was good, the sets were completely off. It was infuriating.
Meanwhile, things on Shirabu's side were much smoother.
He knew it. If Ryosuke said he could do it, then he could.
"Shirabu-senpai!"
"Got it!"
Ryosuke sent a long, flat, fast set from midcourt. It flew steadily toward Shirabu, landing in a perfect spot. It allowed both offense and defense, and more importantly, the height was just right for Shirabu to spike.
It was not flashy, but it was stable and gave plenty of room to work with.
Even Shirabu felt like praising him.
"Bang!"
Semi chased after the ball, face twisted, but still could not reach it. The ball dropped to the ground. Goshiki stood there, looking lost.
Semi slammed the floor in frustration.
"Damn it. You two jerks!"
He was furious. That little idiot Goshiki. Why could he not just set properly?
Where was his dignity supposed to go? People from other schools were already watching. It was embarrassing.
"Shirabu, let's switch."
This was the first time Semi had spoken to Shirabu so humbly. Shirabu felt completely refreshed.
He lifted his chin proudly.
"No."
At that moment, Ryosuke slipped under the net to the other side and comforted the dejected Goshiki, sighing inwardly.
I know you feel wronged, but maybe hold that thought. Semi-senpai has been pushed this far. You do share some responsibility.
Compared to them, Oikawa and Ushijima's pair was relatively stable.
"Ushijima, set it higher. I can reach it!"
"Ushijima Wakatoshi, I did not tell you to set it that high."
The arguing never stopped. Since training began, Oikawa had been talking nonstop. He held back at first, but the more he looked at Ushijima, the more annoyed he got, and soon he was ranting again.
Coach Washijō simply looked away. One glance was already too noisy.
Yamagata and Tendo were playing against them. With no setter available, even the libero had to spike. They would just make do. No one could really understand Coach Washijō's thinking anyway.
Yamagata had plenty of energy, but unfortunately, Tendo had poor stamina. He loved setting high balls at tricky angles, then throwing his hands up like his job was done.
The problem was Yamagata. He had energy, sure, but he could not jump high.
No one told him a libero had to practice this too. It was torture. Last year there were enough setters, so Coach Washijō did not push him into it. This year, with fewer setters, the libero had no choice but to step up.
All for the sake of getting stronger.
Yamagata was like a bird with broken wings, hopping around the court trying to reach the ball, running everywhere to chase it while complaining non-stop.
"Tendo, what kind of set is that? It is worse than my first pass. Are you a spy from the other side? If you want me to lose, just say it. You do not have to torture me like this."
His voice dragged out at the end as he dove to save the ball.
Tendo laughed, swaying side to side, calmly picking his ear.
"Relax, Yamagata. I believe in you."
"Tch."
Oikawa clicked his tongue quietly. That kind of response was so careless. Was he treating him like an idiot? That was even worse than what he did.
"Really?"
"Really!"
Yamagata got to his feet and looked at Tendo suspiciously. Tendo nodded with a serious face, and Oikawa could clearly see Yamagata's expression bloom into a wide grin.
"No way. Is this guy an idiot?" Oikawa stared in disbelief. This guy is even easier to fool than Kindaichi.
"Achoo!" Kindaichi, who was in the middle of training, rubbed his nose. Was Oikawa-senpai talking about me?
Oikawa's preconceived image of Shiratorizawa began to change bit by bit. Yamagata was just too simple, full of energy like an overexcited puppy. That red-haired guy really had a bad sense of humor.
Thinking about it, aside from Ushijima, everyone at Shiratorizawa seemed pretty decent. Not that annoying.
A big part of Oikawa's resentment toward Shiratorizawa came from Ushijima. More precisely, from the kind of "genius" Ushijima represented.
Being constantly overshadowed by people like that, no matter how hard he worked, it never felt like enough. Ushijima could shatter years of his effort with a single effortless spike.
And every time Ushijima saw him, he would say that infuriating line.
"Oikawa, you should have come to Shiratorizawa."
Every time he heard that, Oikawa had to pinch the bridge of his nose to keep himself from exploding on the spot. Dying from anger because of Ushijima would be the biggest joke.
Oikawa glanced at Yamagata, who looked proud of himself, and Tendo, who was smiling as if watching a pet. He let out a quiet snort. Fine. Coach Irihata had not lied. Shiratorizawa was not bad.
"Bang!"
Just as he thought that, a volleyball flew in from behind and smacked him square on the back of the head. The force instantly reminded him of Iwaizumi.
"Ushijima Wakatoshi."
Oikawa ground his teeth. As expected, Shiratorizawa was still full of problems. The coach must have been lying.
The court was lively, but Hinata, who was running back and forth off to the side, was not doing so well.
Panting heavily and drenched in sweat, Hinata actually felt a little tired.
That was unusual. He rarely got tired this quickly. He knew his own stamina well.
He was holding a volleyball in each hand, with another stacked on top. His steps felt unsteady as he tried to keep the balls from falling while carrying them back to the cart. It was not an easy task.
"Hey, ball boy, bring a few balls over here."
A boy in a green uniform called out to Hinata.
"Coming!"
I am not a ball boy.
Hinata held back his frustration. But there was nothing he could do. Right now, he really was just picking up balls. He could only obediently carry them over.
The boy took the balls, looked Hinata up and down, then added,
"Go grab my towel from the second floor. The one with the blue bear on it."
His face turned a little red, as if he felt slightly embarrassed.
"Got it."
Hinata turned and ran off without showing any emotion.
If Daichi were here, he would be shocked. Hinata, who usually wore everything on his face, had actually learned to hide it.
But it was not that dramatic. In the moment he carried the balls over, Hinata had already figured it out.
He came here to get stronger. That small bit of pride could be set aside for now.
Everyone here was training. No one was inherently better than anyone else. While others trained, he could quietly work hard too. If he could pick up something along the way, even better.
This place was full of strong players. No one would indulge him like his seniors and teammates did.
Thump, thump, thump. Hinata ran up to the second floor, scanning along the railing for the towel.
Before he even found it, something else caught his attention.
He grabbed the railing with both hands, stood on tiptoe, and looked down. His eyes slowly widened as he stared at the court below.
So amazing.
From up here, every movement was so clear. Was this what it felt like to watch as a spectator?
That player, Nakashima Takeru, the one people called the next Small Giant. He always glanced left and right before spiking. Was that a habit?
Why did they take extra steps before receiving? Was that a specific technique?
So the Great King's powerful spikes mostly came from that area near the net.
Ushijima-senpai's sets seemed a bit high.
That tall guy was really tall, but his movements looked a little uncoordinated…
Out of the corner of his eye, Ryosuke noticed Hinata standing on the second floor, completely absorbed in watching. A faint smile appeared in his eyes.
He knew Hinata would find this perfect vantage point.
From there, the entire court was visible. Every player's movement was clear. Nothing could be hidden.
When Ryosuke was younger, he had been well protected by his older brother. Combined with his unusually sharp eyesight, his favorite pastime was hiding in the attic and watching people through a small gap in the curtains.
That attic had been the highest point in the estate. From there, nothing escaped his clear gaze.
Merchants in fine suits would turn around with cold expressions, casting unpleasant looks at the maids. Women dressed elegantly, hoping to marry into the Hanyu family and become the future mistress of the estate, only to mock others behind their backs for being delusional.
...
It all felt fresh and fascinating.
And this ongoing drama played out year after year, yet Ryosuke never grew tired of watching it.
...
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