Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone who didn't quite fit in walking in.
The man wore workout clothes and had a full beard. He looked to be in his thirties, clearly not a student there for training.
After scanning the room, Ushijima studied him thoughtfully, then called out to Ryosuke, who was still chatting with someone nearby.
"Ryosuke, stop messing around and come back."
"Huh? Oh! I'll talk to Bokuto-senpai later."
Ryosuke hurried over, stopping in front of Ushijima and tilting up his delicate face.
"What's wrong, Ushijima-senpai?"
Ushijima reached out and smoothed down Ryosuke's messy hair, lowering his voice.
"Don't mess around. The coach is here."
"Huh?!"
Ryosuke's cat-like eyes widened, darting around as he tried to figure out which one was the coach.
Hibarida was dressed very plainly. No sunglasses, no national team uniform. He blended perfectly in with the staff as he quietly observed the energetic group of kids.
Hosho stood among them and realized that not a single gaze lingered on him. Hm. Was his beard not noticeable enough?
With a helpless sigh, he stepped onto the newly set-up platform and blew the whistle hanging from his neck.
"Beep!"
Everyone's attention snapped toward the sound. Ryosuke, already prepared, discreetly sized up this rumored national team coach.
He doesn't look that impressive. Just like a regular scruffy guy.
If Hosho heard that, he'd be furious. What do you mean "scruffy guy"? He was only in his thirties. Calling him "big brother" would be more like it.
Startled, everyone quickly realized this man wasn't ordinary. Probably a coach or someone similar. They instinctively lined up properly.
Ryosuke stood in the front row beside Ushijima, giving him a close view of this so-called legend.
From his angle, he could clearly see the thick calluses on Hosho's hands, layered like hardened skin.
Hosho nodded in satisfaction. These were the future of volleyball. He had to train them well and make sure they understood how tough the real world could be.
"Hello, everyone. I'm sure you're all looking forward to the start of training.
Before that, let me introduce myself. I'm Hosho, a coach for the national volleyball team. You can call me Coach Hosho.
In a place like the National Youth camp, no one gets by on luck or cuts corners. If that's your mindset, get out now."
His wolf-like eyes swept across each face. Some were eager, some nervous, some indifferent.
"Don't think that just because you've stepped into this camp, you're already part of the real national team. Don't think like that. You can be eliminated at any time.
I know you're all the prized stars of your schools. I know you're the best of the best. But here, talent is just your entry ticket. What determines your limit is effort and conviction. I hope you won't disappoint me in the days ahead. The top talents in the country. Your training camp starts now!"
The speech set their blood racing. The kids below were all hot-blooded teenagers, fists clenched, practically ready to shout out some dramatic oath.
Bokuto's golden eyes reflected Hosho standing on stage. He knew this man.
At the world competition, he had single-handedly taken thirteen points off Spain…
Bokuto stared at him for a long moment. He wanted to become that kind of person. Someone ordinary, yet powerful.
"Alright, snap out of it."
Hosho looked at the reactions below with satisfaction. Yes, that was the look. That feeling. The gaze that turned every hardship into resolve. It was perfect.
"Kids, go with the staff to get your training uniforms first. Training starts immediately after."
"Ooh, ooh, ooh! Hey hey hey!"
Bokuto shouted excitedly, waving his arms with visible enthusiasm.
When he came last year, the camp hadn't felt this intense. This opening alone was completely different, and it made him a little excited.
Bokuto grabbed Akaashi and followed the staff eagerly, while Akaashi trailed behind with a helpless expression.
Ushijima glanced back at Ryosuke.
"Let's go. We're heading over too."
Ryosuke nodded vigorously.
...
"Wow, this really is the National Youth team," Yaku exclaimed, marveling as he grabbed at his uniform and spun around.
The black-and-white uniform felt incredibly smooth, didn't snag at all, and was both breathable and snug.
"I've never worn something this good for training before!"
That was true. Nekoma wasn't short on funds, but every yen was spent where it mattered. The players didn't care much about what they wore during practice. As long as it wasn't torn, it was fine.
They were all guys. There was no need to fuss over something like that.
But today, Yaku got a real taste of what it felt like to wear something top-tier. He was completely captivated, handling the outfit carefully, afraid of getting it dirty.
Komori walked past him and sighed.
"Yaku-senpai, you don't have to treat it like treasure. You can take it home. I heard most National Youth training uniforms get tossed after just one use."
"That extreme?!" Yaku's eyes widened as he hugged himself, savoring the softness.
"Alright, stop being gross. Let's go." Akaashi, who had always gotten along well with Yaku, smacked him lightly as he teased him.
Yaku glanced back and saw that everyone had already changed and was waiting for him.
A uniform wave of black and white. The boys' lean builds were outlined cleanly, with faint muscle visible in their arms and legs, giving them a sharp, spirited presence.
Snapping out of it, Yaku broke into a grin.
"Let's go!"
...
"Hahaha, not bad. This batch is full of good prospects. Way better than last year. None of them are perfect, but they can all keep up with the training. Very nice!"
Hibarida sat among the staff, clapping and laughing loudly.
Hosho stood nearby, a bead of cold sweat sliding down his temple. Coach Hibarida. Please mind your image. You're wearing shorts and flip-flops with sunglasses, sneaking around and grinning like that. You really look like a creep.
You're the head coach of the national team. You represent the image of the national volleyball team. Can you at least try to look the part?
Noticing a few of the kids casting strange looks their way, Hosho quickly leaned in and whispered.
"Coach. Coach. Keep it down. If the students who recognize you see this, we're done for."
"Oh, what's the harm? This is what makes it fun."
Incompetent but loves to play around, Hosho grumbled inwardly.
Every year it's the same. Gets recognized by fans, then refuses to admit it. Work is already exhausting. Coach, can you not make things harder for me?
Bokuto jogged along, glancing over from the corner of his eye. He narrowed his eyes. The person standing next to Hosho looked really familiar. Had he seen him somewhere before?
Hibarida felt Bokuto's gaze lock onto him and instantly broke out in goosebumps. He remembered this kid. Last year at the National Youth, after staring at him for a few seconds...
"Coach Hibarida!" he had shouted.
Bokuto: stare.
Hibarida: hiding behind Hosho. Didn't see me, didn't see me.
"Bokuto-senpai, you're falling behind," Akaashi said lightly as he jogged past at just the right moment.
"Ah! Akaashi, you're cheating!"
Bokuto's attention was instantly pulled away.
Hibarida and Hosho both mentally sighed in relief. Savior.
Akaashi smiled faintly as he glanced over. Someone who made Hosho this cautious had to be either the event organizer's boss or another coach. The organizers usually showed up for formal inspections, so it definitely wasn't the boss. That meant coach.
Not sure which one, but clearly they didn't want to be recognized. Might as well count this as doing a good deed.
He turned back and coaxed Bokuto into continuing the run. Watching Bokuto's suddenly focused pace, Akaashi thought to himself that being around someone evenly matched really did sharpen Bokuto's attention and condition.
But Ryosuke...
People were sneaking glances at him, some even staring outright, disbelief written all over their faces. These two looked like they should have the worst stamina in the group. So how were they running seven or eight laps without even panting?
Especially that short one with the fluffy hair. He was actually keeping pace with Ushijima. Damn it, losing to a kid...
Spurred on, some immediately shook off their sluggish, worn-out state. Their legs pumped so fast it looked like sparks might fly.
Hoshiumi: What. Why are they running so fast? I can't fall behind either. Damn it, this National Youth camp really is terrifying. I can't fall behind.
Hirugami looked at Hoshiumi, who suddenly seemed pumped full of energy, with confusion. What weird scenario was he imagining this time?
Ryosuke listened to the rhythm of footsteps and breathing around him, maintaining a steady pace right beside Ushijima without any change.
This was his usual running style. Start a little slower, spend two or three minutes loosening up the knee joints.
Then gradually speed up, letting the feet drive the knees, leaning slightly forward, adjusting pace with the airflow.
Hibarida's eyes lit up, and he slapped his thigh.
"Smack!"
Hosho jumped. Wait, what now? Coach, if you're going to slap something, why my leg?!
Hibarida's large palm landed hard, leaving the exposed skin beneath Hosho's shorts instantly red.
"That curly-haired kid running next to Ushijima looks really professional. Did some track athlete sneak in here? Hm..."
Ryosuke, of course, had no idea what that mysterious coach was thinking. All he knew was that the running method Haiji-senpai had taught him worked incredibly well.
Since that chance meeting with Kiyose Haiji, and as expected, one meeting led to another. Under the relentless persistence of a certain track team member, Ryosuke eventually added him on LINE and became friends. Fate really worked in strange ways.
Besides, Washijō's conditioning training was far more intense than this. After enrolling, Ryosuke had already adjusted a lot. Knowing Coach Washijō's style, if they didn't make everyone run thirty laps, people would already feel grateful. As long as you didn't train to death, you trained like you might. Back at Shiratorizawa, they really endured things far beyond their age.
Atsumu Miya lay on the ground, panting heavily, staring in disbelief at Ryosuke, who lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat.
A thin layer of abs was revealed beneath. Pale and clean, glistening faintly with sweat.
The muscles on his arms were lightly defined as well.
Atsumu Miya widened his eyes and counted. One, two, three... six. A full six-pack.
He had thought Ryosuke was a pure, fragile little kitten. Turns out he was more like a wild little cheetah. Honestly irresistible. If only he could be the one setting for him.
Sakusa noticed the determination in Atsumu Miya's eyes and frowned slightly in distaste. He brushed his hair back and walked over.
He reached out and pulled Ryosuke's shirt back down, his hand brushing, intentionally or not, across Ryosuke's warm waist. Smooth like fine silk.
"Ah!" Ryosuke shivered at Sakusa's cold, snake-like touch and looked up at him in protest.
"What are you doing!" His tone lifted at the end, like a cat's paw lightly scratching at the heart.
"Don't lift your shirt outside again. Not for anyone," Sakusa said seriously.
Atsumu Miya sat there, completely stunned. That slightly upturned gaze, those flushed cheeks. Even if he were a little leopard, he'd take it. He'd spin 360 degrees midair with a rose in his mouth and land perfectly in front of Ryosuke if he had to.
Sakusa smiled faintly at Atsumu Miya, then pinched Ryosuke's ear.
"There's a mosquito."
"Where?" Ryosuke muttered.
Sakusa rubbed his earlobe, then, out of Ryosuke's sight, shot Atsumu Miya a provocative smile, his eyes full of certainty.
"Are you done yet?" Ryosuke brushed his hand away impatiently. It tickled.
From afar, Ushijima saw the intimate gesture and felt a sudden surge of irritation. I treat you like a friend, and you're trying to make a move on my cabbage?
Ushijima would arrive at the scene in three seconds.
"Kiyoomi Sakusa."
He appeared behind him like a ghost. His tone was flat, but carried an unmistakable threat.
Using the full name meant he was genuinely angry.
Sakusa turned calmly, speaking quickly.
"I saw a mosquito on Ryosuke's ear. It's gone now. I'm leaving."
Then, under Ushijima's near murderous gaze, he ruffled Ryosuke's hair and disappeared at lightning speed, looking almost like he was fleeing.
Atsumu Miya was just about to gloat when he felt several gazes lock onto him. Akaashi, Ushijima, and Yaku.
Cold sweat broke out instantly. Before he could even attempt to charm Ryosuke, he scrambled up and ran off in defeat.
Akaashi and Yaku exchanged a knowing glance. Message received. Both spies.
Bokuto, completely oblivious to the silent battle, dashed over like an excited dog, circling Ryosuke and chattering nonstop.
Akaashi's gaze sharpened. What just ran past. Oh. Bokuto-senpai. Never mind.
Yaku and Ushijima also withdrew their gazes. Expect Bokuto to figure this out? Might as well expect him to pass a written test.
Forget it.
Morning training ended there. Ryosuke lowered his head, lost in thought, then headed upstairs for lunch.
The others exchanged looks, unsure whether they should warn him.
The cafeteria was serving his most hated food today. Button mushrooms.
...
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