Chapter 29: Training Camp Preview

After everything wrapped up, Ryosuke said goodbye to his friends and happily trotted off after Coach Washijō.

That left Yunohama alone to deal with an overexcited Goshiki. Ushijima and Shirabu had already headed home. Yunohama stared blankly ahead as Goshiki’s mouth kept moving nonstop, words spilling out in a rapid stream, his own face gradually draining of color.

By the time most people had left, Ryosuke was trailing behind Coach Washijō like a sticky piece of mochi, his steps light and bouncy.

Coach Washijō shot him a sideways glance. No need to guess—he was obviously in a great mood.

Pretending not to care, he asked casually, “Do you need to bring anything back?”

Still grinning, Ryosuke suddenly smacked his forehead. “Ah! I almost forgot—Grandma told me to buy some shochu.”

Coach Washijō clasped his hands behind his back. “Let’s go. I’ll go with you.”

At the convenience store, Ryosuke immediately hurried off to look for the shochu. Once he was far enough away, Coach Washijō wandered around the shelves near the liquor section with his hands tucked in his sleeves. When Ryosuke came back, he pointed at a bottle of Jinro shochu on the shelf. “Get this one. It’s what your grandmother usually drinks.”

Ryosuke happily took the bottle to the register, completely missing the fact that Coach Washijō slowly picked up another bottle behind him—a high-proof rice shochu.

Only after Ryosuke finished paying did Coach Washijō stroll up to the counter. “You go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll stay and chat with the owner for a bit.”

He waved him off as he spoke. Ryosuke hesitated, giving him a suspicious once-over from head to toe.

Coach Washijō instantly felt challenged and snapped defensively, “What are you staring at? Hurry up and go home!”

Ryosuke shrugged, unfazed, lifted the shochu, and left.

Once Ryosuke had walked far enough down the street, Coach Washijō finally relaxed. He pulled the hidden bottle out from inside his clothes and went to pay.

Just then, Yamamoto, the shop owner, arrived with a delivery and caught the whole thing. He shook his head with a laugh. That little old man—always sneaking drinks.

After greeting him, Yamamoto casually took the shochu from Coach Washijō’s hand. “I’ve got it. Come on, let’s drink in the back.”

Coach Washijō snorted in dissatisfaction but didn’t argue.

Yamamoto brought over a bowl of peanuts, and the two of them drank and chatted while snacking.

The shochu cup was filled to the brim. Coach Washijō took a sip—the strong aroma and clean, sweet rice flavor hit his tongue all at once.

He let out a satisfied sigh. “Ah—this is good stuff!”

Yamamoto tried a sip and squinted as the sharp alcohol burned its way down.

He really couldn’t understand his old friend’s taste. He always liked stomach-scorching liquor—one gulp was enough to leave you dizzy and dazed. Absolutely couldn’t agree with it. Not at all.

The conversation drifted here and there.

“Your school’s doing another training camp, right?” Yamamoto asked vaguely, already a little buzzed.

Back when he was young, Yamamoto had been a starting player at Shiratorizawa, from the same generation as Coach Washijō. After graduating from middle school, he went pro, but his good fortune didn’t last long. A car accident ended his career, and he never flew again.

Now, he could only occasionally teach elementary school kids. All these years, he’d continued to keep an eye on Shiratorizawa.

More than anything, he wanted to see Shiratorizawa win the Spring High championship just once—to witness that scene with his own eyes.

Of course, Coach Washijō knew exactly what Yamamoto was thinking. Over the years, the old players had gone their separate ways. Only he and Yamamoto remained, still guarding Shiratorizawa.

Protecting fledglings that hadn’t yet taken flight, waiting for the next time the white birds spread their wings.

He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s decided. We’re going to Tokyo for a joint training camp with the Owl Valley League. A lot of very strong schools will be there.”

Coach Washijō set his cup down, staring at the cloudy liquid inside. “I just hope these kids can break through their limits.”

The always-stern Coach Washijō had a softness no one ever saw. In truth, he was just an awkward, hard-headed little old man. Shiratorizawa wasn’t nearly as glamorous as it looked from the outside.

They carried the expectations of countless people who loved volleyball. There was no way back—only forward. Watching the kids on his team train like their lives depended on it weighed heavily on him too.

Already a bit tipsy, Yamamoto boldly filled their cups again. “Come on, let’s toast. Here’s to you winning big at the IH.”

Coach Washijō raised his cup gladly and downed another mouthful. Warmth spread through his stomach, and his mind relaxed. “Yamamoto, this stuff’s good. Save some for me next time.”

“What drink? Washijō, how many times have I told you not to drink? Why won’t you ever listen?” Yamamoto, floating on the edge of drunkenness, suddenly blurted out something outrageously shameless.

He immediately started winking frantically at Coach Washijō.

Coach Washijō’s eyelid twitched. A bad feeling crept up as he stiffly turned around.

There was Ryosuke, hands on his hips, smiling sweetly. “Grandpa Washijō, what kind of alcohol is it? Is it really that good?”

Standing beside him was Yamamoto’s wife, frowning deeply at her husband’s flushed face.

Her anger shot straight through the roof.

For once, Coach Washijō felt guilty. He awkwardly set down his cup and cleared his throat. “Ahem… don’t listen to Yamamoto’s nonsense. He got some new liquor and insisted I try it.”

Ryosuke tilted his head and looked at the bottle on the table—it was only half full. He picked it up and shook it slightly. “Try it?”

The single, fatal question sent cold sweat pouring down Coach Washijō’s back. It was over. When he got home, his wife—and this brat—would tear him apart.

On the other side, Mrs. Yamamoto grabbed her husband by the ear, ready to drag him home to “clean house.”

She gave Ryosuke an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the trouble, little Ryosuke. You did great. Next time you come, Auntie will treat you to sushi.”

Ryosuke happily agreed.

Then he turned back to Coach Washijō, his gaze dark and full of grievance. “You lied to me. You tricked me into leaving so you could drink in secret.”

Coach Washijō pretended not to hear. Ignoring the leftover alcohol on the table, he grabbed Ryosuke and started dragging him away. “Alright, alright, let’s go home! What do you mean I lied? I didn’t lie! Why does a kid need to worry about this stuff!”

He hauled Ryosuke all the way back.

Along the way, Ryosuke lectured him nonstop about the dangers of drinking—everything Coach Washijō had messed up because of it, from getting drunk to landing himself in the hospital.

His mouth never stopped. After that surgery caused by drinking, Coach Washijō’s wife had strictly controlled his alcohol intake, determined to fix his stomach.

No one expected he’d secretly drink behind his family’s back—and even lie to Ryosuke. Just thinking about it made Ryosuke’s fists clench.

When they finally got home, Coach Washijō was greeted by his wife’s thunderous expression. As expected, he got another long lecture—and had his stash money confiscated.

That night, he wasn’t allowed back into the bedroom. Dinner was nothing but boiled cabbage.

Now Coach Washijō was the resentful one. He watched Ryosuke chatting happily with his wife while he sat there chewing limp, tasteless cabbage leaves.

Coach Washijō seethed. He didn’t want to stay in this house for another minute! He had absolutely no status left at all!