Chapter 66: Training Camp Day 29

There were six teams in total, and with two gyms that were both quite spacious, there was no real issue running multiple matches at once. Still, the coaches insisted that not everyone play simultaneously, deliberately leaving two teams out each round to spectate.

After discussing things with the coaches from the other schools, Coach Takeyuki decided to hold a fun event on the final day—players would be selected by lottery to compete. The idea immediately sparked excitement among many of them.

That afternoon’s first matches were Shiratorizawa vs. Mujinazaka, and on the other court, Kamomedai vs. Itachiyama. The remaining two teams, who had drawn byes, would only be able to play after those matches concluded.

The gym was large enough to host two games at once without any trouble.

Ryosuke stared at the slip of paper in Ushijima’s hand, completely speechless. Every single afternoon practice match, as long as the captain was the one drawing lots, they always ended up playing first.

Over the past few days, Ushijima had somehow, through sheer force of fate, drawn Itachiyama again and again.

By now, the Shiratorizawa players felt that receiving Sakusa’s balls was practically child’s play. After all, they were survivors of the combined torment inflicted by Ryosuke and Tendo.

“Tch.” Ushijima frowned at the lot in his hand, clearly conflicted.

Even he didn’t understand when this bizarre streak of luck had begun.

Reon walked over and gave Ushijima a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’re used to it.”

They really were used to it. Every year at Nationals, the draw always went this way—first, Shiri-ei, Nara’s seeded team; then Inarizaki, Hyogo’s top seed.

Pretty thrilling, right? After finally scraping out a win, they’d end up facing Itachiyama again the very next afternoon—the so-called “hell day.” All those bitter experiences had forged Shiratorizawa’s ironclad mentality. At this point, they firmly believed that nothing was more terrifying than their captain drawing lots.

Tendo watched the three first-years with shameless glee, grinning so widely his eyes nearly disappeared.

The three of them exchanged looks. This kind of draw luck…

Ryosuke didn’t even turn his head as he headed straight off to warm up. It didn’t matter anyway—if they had to play, they had to play. Sooner or later, it was the same.

Goshiki hurried after him with quick, clattering steps, while Yunohama rolled up his sleeves and followed suit.

Wakatsu Kiryū ran a hand over his buzz cut and sighed. “Ushijima’s luck…”

Everyone who had a match went off to warm up.

Those without matches—Nekoma and Fukurodani—stayed where they were. Bokuto’s head swiveled back and forth between the two courts, like it might fall off at any moment.

He tugged at his own hair. “Akaashi! I don’t have enough eyes! Where am I supposed to look?!”

Akaashi covered his face and sighed. “Bokuto-senpai, just pick the match you want to watch the most. You can’t split your attention like that.”

“Really? I can’t?” The owl-like ace’s hair drooped, making him look pitiful.

Akaashi showed no mercy at all. “Yes. You really can’t, Bokuto-senpai.”

“Hey! You brat, stop making Akaashi’s life difficult!” Konoha slapped Bokuto on the back.

“Why’d you hit me?!”
“I didn’t hit you!”
“You did!”
“I didn’t!”

Akaashi: …………

Over on Fukurodani’s side, things were lively as ever. Nekoma, by contrast, looked peaceful to the point of laziness. The Nekoma “cats” moved as little as possible—each of them dragged over a chair and sat down at the edge of the court, while a few simply plopped straight onto the floor.

Kenma couldn’t even be bothered to grab a chair. After glancing around, he spotted Kuroo carrying one over and promptly collapsed onto the floor right beside it, like he was staging an accident.

Sitting cross-legged, he pulled out his game console and started playing.

Fukunaga lugged over a huge bag of snacks, found an empty patch of floor, and sat down as well.

Pure harmony.

Kuroo stared at Kenma sitting on the floor, a headache forming.
“Kenma! You’ll catch a cold…”

“Kuroo, you’re so annoying… The match is starting.”

Hearing that, Kuroo didn’t bother arguing. He hauled Kenma up, plopped him onto the chair, then sat down on the floor himself, wrapping his jacket around Kenma as well.

The entire sequence flowed smoothly, like a rehearsed routine—slick and seamless.

Kenma accepted it all without complaint and turned his attention to the match.

Naturally, the first thing he watched was Shiratorizawa’s game. Recently, he’d grown extremely interested in Ryosuke—a player who could wreak havoc on the court yet somehow never failed to do something stupid.

Kenma was endlessly curious, like watching a cat hero in a game: one moment everything was on the brink of disaster, and the next, the boss was already down.

On Fukurodani’s side, they were watching Kamomedai vs. Itachiyama. Akaashi pulled his glasses from his pocket, ready to watch closely.

Before Shiratorizawa took the court, Goshiki could clearly feel the fighting spirit burning from every direction. Facing an old rival, no one dared to let their guard down.

The starting lineup was Ushijima, Tendo, Ryosuke, Shirabu, Yamagata, and Reon.

Two wing spikers, two middle blockers, a libero, and a setter. As a first-year, Ryosuke was indispensable on defense, so he was sent out right from the first rotation.

Mujinazaka fielded Kiryū, Keisuke, Subaru Hondo, Usuri, and Ezota, with libero Bishin also on court.

Coach Washijō had arrived at some point as well, accompanied by the advisor teacher to watch the match.

Michiko noticed them and went over to greet them, and the three of them began discussing the game together.

Mujinazaka served first. Their setter, Usuri, sent over a beautiful jump float.

“Nice serve, Usuri!”

Usuri took four steps back, tossed the ball, and delivered a light, floating jump serve.

Ryosuke and Yamagata tracked the ball closely. Before the match, they’d already discussed it—Yamagata would take the serve receive, Ryosuke would handle balls meant to be attacked. If they couldn’t get it cleanly, at least touch it; Yamagata would clean things up in the backcourt.

Recently, under the relentless “training” from Ushijima and Yunohama, Yamagata’s receiving skills had skyrocketed.

He bent low, lifted his head, and took the ball cleanly.

“Nice receive!”

Shirabu moved into position, sprinting to about two meters from the net. For the very first ball, of course, it had to go to the ace.

Without hesitation, Shirabu sent the set straight above Ushijima’s head. Ushijima narrowed his eyes, took a few steps back, bounced lightly on his feet, bent his knees—and launched upward like he was pulling himself out of the ground.

Wakatsu Kiryū’s heart jolted. Could Ushijima really jump that high? Something felt off.

The blockers rushed into position—Keisuke, Subaru, and Ezota formed a triple block, arms tensed.

Just a triple block, Ushijima thought. If there’s a wall in front of me, I’ll smash straight through it.

Bang!

The ball slammed into Keisuke’s arm and ricocheted away. Bishin rushed in to cover, but with the ball spinning at such high speed, there was no way to kill the momentum. The very first point was lost.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Let’s get the next one!”
“Woooooo!”
“Ushijima-senpai!!”

Standing outside the court, Goshiki stared at Ushijima’s soaring figure beneath the bright gym lights. The sight alone set his blood on fire, boiling over with excitement.

He yelled enthusiastically, while Yunohama covered his mouth in exasperation.

“Ushijima-senpai is amazing!” Ryosuke offered a dry compliment. He honestly couldn’t think of anything else to say—no matter how hard he tried, it always came back to that one line.

Ushijima let out a soft chuckle, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. Then he turned, expressionless, toward Wakatsu Kiryū.
“Please take care of me.”

Kiryū grinned, simple and honest. “I won’t let you score on the next one.”

Tiny sparks crackled to life between the two of them.

In the blink of an eye, play resumed.

Reon stood at the service line with the ball, glancing toward Tendo and Ryosuke. Tendo nodded back.

This was Shiratorizawa’s second weapon: serve plus block.

Reon’s powerful jump serves, combined with Tendo and Ryosuke’s natural blocking instincts and the libero’s backcourt defense—nothing was getting through. Not even a fly.

Reon sent off a domineering jump serve.

Bishin received it and shouted for Keisuke. Keisuke set the ball straight into their ace’s hands.

Wakatsu Kiryū looked at the set—not too high, not too low. The perfect height for him.

Tracing a wide arc, he rushed in, his arm coming down with thunderous force.

On the sidelines, Kenma curled deeper into his jacket and let out a quiet laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Kuroo asked, puzzled.

“I was just thinking—if Shiratorizawa scored directly off a block here, wouldn’t Wakatsu Kiryū’s expression be incredible?”

Kuroo’s mouth twitched. Remembering the misery of being repeatedly stuffed by solo blocks, he gave a dry chuckle.

“Yeah… probably pretty pissed,” he muttered.