Chapter 43: Training Camp 6

Half of the training camp had already passed.
With morning training, afternoon matches, and being dragged off by Senior Ushijima for extra practice every night, Ryosuke was honestly at the point where he just wanted to collapse and play dead.

“Haah… haah…”

Ryosuke gasped as he received yet another ball. On the opposite side of the net, the Fukurōdani players were close to breaking down.

Konoha leaned against Akaashi’s shoulder, gulping water down in huge mouthfuls.

“Ugh… this is so annoying. Shiratorizawa’s defense is just way too ridiculous.”

Akaashi let out a sigh. Ever since that 2v2 match a few days ago against that first-year opposite hitter, Shiratorizawa seemed to have suddenly unlocked some kind of hidden pathway.

Libero Yamagata might not be on the same level as Iizuna, but now there was also an opposite hitter who doubled as a middle blocker. Between blocks and receives, they didn’t give anyone else even the slightest opening.

Akaashi’s gaze drifted to the boy still wiping sweat from his face. His skin was so pale it almost hurt to look at. He seemed thin and fragile, his frame slender—so how on earth was he managing to block so many balls?

Then Akaashi glanced at Bokuto, who was squatting nearby with empty, dot-like eyes, and felt too tired to say anything at all.

Senior Bokuto! As a senpai, could you at least try to be a little more motivated?!

Fukurōdani’s middle blocker Tatsuki Washio was squatting beside Bokuto as well.

We’re both opposite hitters—so why does it feel like I’m being completely crushed in another dimension?! He’s just a first-year! That makes no sense!

After finishing their final match, the Shiratorizawa players were exhausted too, slumping into chairs one by one, towels covering their faces.

“That Kōtarō Bokuto is seriously amazing,” Kawanishi’s muffled voice came from behind his towel.

Yamagata smacked him lightly on the shoulder and grinned.

“You’re not bad yourself!”

Kawanishi bared his teeth and rubbed the spot he’d been hit. That hurt!

“But Ryosuke’s improved a lot these past few days,” Reon said, looking over at him with concern. “His blocking accuracy is almost on par with Satori’s now—he even managed to block Wakatoshi’s spikes.”

“Still… is your arm really okay?”

Ryosuke’s arm hadn’t been in good condition at all lately. And with his fair skin, the purple and green bruises looked especially alarming.

Caught completely off guard, Ryosuke sat beside Ushijima, quietly sucking down an energy jelly.

Both Ushijima and Ryosuke turned their heads toward Reon at the same time.

The expressions on their faces were identical—completely blank.

Reon’s lips twitched. If he had to say it, the way Ryosuke and Ushijima communicated was the strangest in the entire team.

It was like they were using brainwaves. Neither of them ever said a single unnecessary word.

A couple of nights ago, after extra training, Reon had walked back to the dorms together with Ryosuke and Ushijima.

When they passed a vending machine, the two of them stopped at the same time, staring intently at the green-onion-flavored shochu inside.

Ryosuke looked up at Ushijima. Ushijima gave a serious nod. Then Ryosuke solemnly bought the bottle.

The two of them poured it into small cups—one cup each—and drank it.
In the bathhouse.

Reon had already gone back earlier. When he returned and discovered two people reeking of alcohol in the bathhouse, his mind completely collapsed.

He’d wanted nothing more than to crack their skulls open and see who on earth had given them the guts to drink alcohol in the bathhouse.

Reon had been utterly devastated. Who corrupted whom? These two were usually quiet, serious people—who would’ve thought they’d pull something this outrageous?

And yet, the next day, neither of them was punished by Coach Washijō.

It wasn’t until Tendō heard about it, burst out laughing, and explained things to everyone that Reon finally understood why they’d done it.

That day, after their match against Nekoma, Ryosuke and Ushijima had been thrown off by Nekoma’s subtle tricks, and their mood had stayed low. Nekoma had always been the type to hide their sharp edges.

Shiratorizawa had never played against them before, and the two of them ended up stumbling hard—Ryosuke had clearly underestimated them.

He’d heard Senior Kuroo say their team wasn’t anything special, so Ryosuke hadn’t taken it seriously. In the end, he got taught a harsh lesson.

Coach Washijō then gave them an example, holding a bottle of green-onion-flavored shochu in his hand and shaking it in front of them.

“Say you have a bottle of green-onion shochu. You’ve never tasted it, so of course you don’t know what it’s like. One person tells you it’s very strong. Another tells you it’s mild.
When you don’t know which is true, you have to try it yourself.”

That night, the two idiots didn’t say a word. They bought a bottle, took turns drinking it, and even mixed it with water and soda and whatever else they could find.

The next morning, the first thing Ryosuke said when he woke up was, “This stuff is really strong. It burns my stomach.”

Ushijima, folding his futon, nodded solemnly at Ryosuke and said in a deep voice,
“I understand.”
There was even a hint of pride in his tone.

He understood—but not completely. Watching all of this, Reon felt numb. His gaze was incredibly complicated. Their captain really didn’t seem very bright.

What exactly do you understand?! And what are you so proud of, Captain?!

With those thick eyebrows and sharp eyes, you’re actually leading a junior into binge drinking? Reon clutched his head, falling into deep thought. Was he the only normal one here?

After Tendō found out, he mocked Ushijima relentlessly, while Ushijima still looked completely confused.

Reon covered his face hard. His own captain was honestly not much better than Fukurōdani’s Bokuto.

Bringing things back to the present—under Reon’s complicated gaze, both Ryosuke and Ushijima shuddered, looking at him in confusion.

Faced with two equally bewildered expressions, Reon ultimately couldn’t bring himself to say anything harsh.

Only then did Ryosuke finally process what Reon had said earlier.

He quickly raised his arm and pinched it hard. “Look, Senpai! It doesn’t hurt at all. Senior Wakatoshi Ushijima said this is the mark of a real man!”

Behind him, Ushijima nodded solemnly. That was how he trained too. Once his arms hurt so much they went numb, his spikes became incredibly powerful.

Reon couldn’t even bear to look anymore. How had he not noticed Ryosuke was this kind of person before?

Yunohama’s expression turned complicated. Had he misjudged him? Was Ryosuke really this simple-minded?

Goshiki’s eyes lit up as he leaned in close to Ryosuke’s arm, examining it carefully.

“Whoa… so this is what a real man is like?”

Ryosuke and Ushijima nodded in unison.

Finally snapping, Reon grabbed Goshiki by the collar and yanked him back, then flicked both Ushijima and Ryosuke on the forehead.

“Don’t drag the underclassmen into your nonsense! What ‘real man’? Of course it doesn’t hurt when your arm’s gone numb, you idiots!”

Tendō, eavesdropping nearby: snrk snrk

Everyone lounged in their chairs, enjoying the calm after the matches—and, incidentally, enjoying Ushijima’s expense. The atmosphere was relaxed and pleasant.

That pleasant calm shattered the moment team doctor Saito Satoyama arrived.

Saito Satoyama smiled at the group of boys, walked over, and clapped his hands.

“Alright, alright. The matches are over, so let’s do some massage therapy now~~”

Tendō, sharp-eyed as ever, spotted the fascia knife in the doctor’s hand. He shuddered and immediately tried to make a break for it.

“Where do you think you’re going? Yamagata, hold Satori down.”

Yamagata grimaced as he dragged Tendō back. Since escape was impossible, it was better to suffer together than alone.

Sorry about this, Satori.