Chapter 69: Training Camp 32

On the final day of the training camp, the coach announced a draw-based match for the morning. Everyone was buzzing with excitement.

Coach Takeyuki walked over carrying two boxes.

“Alright, kids, come draw your lots. Let’s see if anyone pulls a hidden team today.”

Ushijima fell silent.
So whose idea was this whole draw system, anyway?

No matter how reluctant he was, Ushijima couldn’t suppress everyone else’s enthusiasm.

Tsutomu Goshiki dragged Ryosuke over eagerly to draw first. He stuck his hand into the box and pulled out a white ball.

“It’s white! Ryosuke, hurry up and draw!”

Ryosuke casually reached in and pulled out a black one.

“Oh… then we can’t be on the same team.” Tsutomu Goshiki stared gloomily at the ball in his hand.

Ryosuke didn’t know how to comfort him. Yunohama walked over and patted Tsutomu Goshiki on the shoulder.

“Senior Ushijima drew white.”

Tsutomu Goshiki instantly perked up. He snapped his head up, eyes blazing as he stared at the white ball in Ushijima’s hand, almost burning a hole through it. Without hesitation, he abandoned Ryosuke and rushed over to Ushijima’s side.

What followed was downright dramatic.

All the main wing spikers—Tsutomu Goshiki, Ushijima, Wakatsu Kiryū, Sakusa, Bokuto, and Kōrai Hoshiumi—ended up together. Anyone who hadn’t been drawn yet had to wait for the next round.

The moment Sakusa saw that lineup, his head started to hurt. What kind of absurd formation was this? Everyone was a primary attacker—how were they even supposed to play?

Ryosuke’s side was even more outrageous: Ryosuke, Tendo, Kuroo, Yamagata, Yaku, and Motoya Komori… all on the Black Team.

Ushijima glanced at the Black Team and fell into deep thought.
Was fate trying to wipe them out?

Tendo stood beside Ryosuke, grinning so hard his face looked like it might split, laughing while leaning on him until he could barely stand.

Yaku stared seriously at his slip of paper, briefly suspecting the coaches of foul play. Otherwise, how could such an insane team division exist?

How are we supposed to play without a single setter?! Ryosuke screamed internally.

Bokuto stood there in a daze, then drooped and wandered off to seek comfort from Keiji Akaashi.

The coaches on the sidelines chuckled wickedly. They’d wanted the kids to experience different positions, sure—but they never expected their lottery luck to be this catastrophically bad.

Next, Yunohama and Kenma ended up together, along with the quiet Fukunaga. Yamato Sarukui took one look at the group and sprinted over, his face lit up like he’d finally found his people. Shirabu followed reluctantly, wearing a thoroughly displeased expression.

When Tendo saw this, his laughter grew even louder.

“Ahahahaha! This team should be called the ‘Half-Dead Team’! Hahahahaha!”

Ryosuke looked at Tendo with concern, worried he might laugh himself out of breath.

Komori couldn’t hold it in either and burst out laughing when he saw his cousin’s pale expression.

Because there were so many participants, the draw was done in rounds. No one could have imagined it would produce teams this ridiculous.

Reon and Kawanishi stood off to the side watching the chaos, laughing uncontrollably.

“Oh wow, Ushijima’s group is going to suffer. If they run into Tendo’s team, that’ll be something to see.”

Kawanishi grinned and wrapped an arm around Reon. “Don’t gloat too much. The guy who was laughing earlier already got thrown onto the ‘can’t-live-can’t-die’ team.”

Reon glanced toward Yunohama’s group and immediately wiped the smile off his face. “I’ll stop laughing. It feels like I’ll be the next unlucky one.”

After the draw, it was only natural for something unexpected to happen.

The first match was Black Team versus White Team. Both sides gathered to sort out their positions.

On Ryosuke’s side, Kuroo took the lead. The setup was Kuroo as the main attacker, Komori as setter, two middle blockers, and Yamagata as libero.

The White Team, on the other hand, was nowhere near as harmonious. The only person who could barely manage setting duties was Kōrai Hoshiumi, while the remaining five were all attackers, staring at one another in silence.

In the end, Wakatsu Kiryū volunteered to play libero, barely preventing a full-blown argument between Bokuto and Sakusa.

Sakusa was already in a foul mood. When he turned around and saw Tendo slinging an arm around Ryosuke’s shoulders, he nearly crushed the volleyball in his hand.

Sensing someone’s gaze, Tendo turned and spotted Sakusa, then shot him a provocative look. Sakusa immediately began radiating resentment so thick it almost felt tangible.

Bokuto hesitated, then quietly asked Ushijima, “Is he… okay like that?”

Ushijima nodded. “He’s fine.”

Bokuto didn’t understand why the atmosphere was so weird. He trotted off again to look for Akaashi.

“Akaashi~~”

Akaashi, who hadn’t even finished drawing lots yet, suddenly found himself burdened with the responsibility of a tired father, once again taking care of Bokuto.

A while later, the match officially began.

The Black Team was like a wall with no gaps, topped with a Kuroo-brand artillery cannon. For a moment, they looked utterly unstoppable.

On the White Team’s side, Hoshiumi suddenly jumped, ready to spike—only to remember midair that he was supposed to be the setter.

He panicked and awkwardly turned it into a set, completely flustered.

On the sidelines, Hirugami covered his face in agony.

“Who taught him how to set?! And why didn’t they teach him properly?!”

Suwa touched his nose and quietly hid in the crowd, not daring to say a word.

No one knew who Hoshiumi’s set was meant for. Players from every direction scrambled after the ball. Sakusa and Ushijima collided head-on, and Sakusa’s vision went black from slamming into Ushijima’s solid frame.

His forehead throbbed violently. Ushijima felt a dull ache in his own head as well and stared at Sakusa.
That guy’s skull is seriously hard.

Realizing he’d run into someone, Sakusa went pale. His hands trembled as he instinctively tried to leave the court to go wash up, but Ryosuke’s glare from the opposite side stopped him cold.

On the Black Team, Tendo and Ryosuke were blocking left and right, while Kuroo hammered spikes down again and again.

Yamagata stood in the backcourt, momentarily unsure what he was even supposed to do. You guys are making me look useless. In the end, he was only picking up the balls Tendo deflected.

It helped a little—but not much. Yamagata fell silent.
So this temporary team didn’t really need a libero after all.

The White Team was having a miserable time. Kiryū was solid on receives, but Hoshiumi’s setting was a disaster. At this moment, Ushijima missed his own setter more than ever.

Sakusa muttered curses as he spiked again, only for Tendo to block it effortlessly.

“Nice ball,” Tendo said cheerfully, no one knowing whether he was talking to himself or to Sakusa.

Bokuto had been wide-eyed the entire time. From the very start, he’d been calling for the ball. Hoshiumi wanted to set to him, but just couldn’t manage it. Bokuto didn’t want to steal the ball from his teammates either, so he ended up running all over the court just to receive.

Kuroo was swinging his arms with wild enthusiasm now.

This was pure bliss. He didn’t have to think about anything—just spike. It felt incredible.

“Hahahaha, Ryosuke, that block was amazing!”

Kuroo laughed happily, clearly in a great mood.

From the sidelines, Kenma muttered weakly, “Kuroo looks kind of gross right now.”

The moment he finished speaking, Yaku delivered a spinning kick straight to Kuroo’s backside.

“Hey! Get serious! Do you remember you’re the captain?!”

Kuroo finally settled down and started playing properly—though that only made things even harder for the White Team.

First set: 21–19
Second set: 23–21

The match ended faster than anyone expected, but Kuroo still wasn’t satisfied.

After leaving the court, the White Team all wore grim expressions. Tsutomu Goshiki, who’d been itching to show off, hadn’t even gotten a single spike.

He looked utterly miserable.

Kuroo returned to his teammates with a broad grin, immediately receiving “warm” looks from them.

Kenma stretched lazily. “Stop showing off. You worked way too well with Shiratorizawa. Reon’s scared you’ll steal her teammates—she’s practically glaring holes through you.”

Kuroo shuddered. “It’s not that bad… right, Kenma?”

Kenma snorted and walked away.

Kuroo stared after him, completely baffled.
What was that? Is he mad? What did I do to upset Kenma?

The matches continued. Aside from the “Half-Dead Team,” the teams drawn afterward were at least a little more reasonable.